HISS, WELT, GROAN.

... 𝕋𝕌ℕ𝔼 𝕆ℕ 𝕀ℕ!

[19mhz]

PRIVATE ALASTOR, THE RADIO DEMON, OF HAZBIN HOTEL. — unaffiliated with the creator, show-voiced by a. talai. SLIDES.

AFFILIATED: @xluciifer

[19mhz]

hi. every now and then i log-in solely to terrorize @ducktastic-dad with random post likes. i am playing the long game in hopes that i nibble away a bit of their sanity each time. it's a process. < 3

[19mhz]

PICKS YOU UP AND SPINS YOU I LOVE YOOOU

GRABS ONTO YOU AND SMOOCHES YOU, I LOVE YOU - UU!

[coldworldkjell-deactivated20241]

[19mhz]

@arachnaemboss: ‘what are you so afraid of?’

THERE ARE EYES IN THE WOODS. BETWIXT THE BONY BRANCHES, THEY FOLLOW YOU; THROUGH THE ROOTS, THEY SEE YOU. the city-streets are in their shadows. has the predator become the prey? (is he rotting under their perpetual gaze?) sharp-teeth grit in the trap of his smile as thumb scraped down the rod of his cane. i'm not a carcass to be fed on. he may perhaps be cornered into the hollow of a tree with thorns around his neck, but he isn't afraid (what a nice little show you put on! is that cuff 'round your throat choking you yet?). he would have to be careful. carmine eyes stared vindictively ahead as he strode beside the taller, lined underneath as the threads of his grin stretched further. zestial is no fool, after all. with a flippant toss of a gloved hand, “ha-ha! you do have a penchant for such a particular sort of humor.” the insinuation tastes like ash in his mouth, cremated inside his stomach. the simper remains unfaltering, but features pinch indignantly. if anyone else had dared ... “to say such a ludicrous thing to me — i could have almost thought you meant it!”

a merry jazz-tune emanated from the radio-cane, popping on the high notes. narrowed gaze slid sidelong to the other overlord as ears twitched. “i merely think we should exercise some good ol' chariness if the angels intend on an even bloodier display in a few months ... unle - eess,” word lilts, sing-song to the staticky number playing as he waggled an impudent finger at the taller, “... you know something i don't?” though, a-ha, i do already know it.

[faeanxrchy-deactivated20231120]

Forgive and forget? Wrong. Hellfire.

[redemptsin]

❛   ▌┊𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 :   alastor  ( @19mhz ) . ↳ making the bed — olivia rodrigo .

        ❝  I'm... so tired of being the girl that I am. Every good thing has turned into something I dread.  ❞

[19mhz]

AND UPON DREAD YOU FEED, DEVOURER. “oh, yes, fate has made for a mighty poor swing partner, hasn't it?” head canted sideward, close-lipped smile stretching as static crackled. “still, no need to fret so, dear! hell is made for turning into other - rr things.”

[19mhz]

PLEASURE TO BE MEETING YOU, SIR, QUITE A PLEASURE.

[dialradio]

the poem begins not where the knife enters but where the blade twists.

the prestige, hanif abdurraqib (orig.)

[paramoregf]

gay people can never fuck normally they have to stab each other

[19mhz]

Sending you all my love. ❤️❤️❤️

and i am giving you love & smooches, peck-peck-peck! <3

[ducktastic-dad-a]

once  confident  demeanor  slips  into  irritation,  irked  by  the  condescension  in  fuzzy  radio  static  that  grates  at  his  patience  ;  he  is  willing  to  dish  it  out,  and  yet  he  is  offended  when  he  is  met  back  with  the  mutual  disrespect.  head  honcho  huffs,

❝     oh-hoh  !   you  think  my  decor  is  tacky  ?    ❞

disbelief  bleeds  into  every  word,  as  if  the  mere  thought  itself  is  an  impossibility.  one  hand  abandons  the  hold  on  his  cane,  so  he  may  place  it  upon  his  chest  in  a  wounded  gesture.  truly,  that  is  rich  coming  from  the  radio  demon.  claws  flex  tighter  around  the  forbidden  fruit  that  occupies  his  other  palm,

❝     at  least  i'm  not  stringing  together  halloween  decorations  and  putting  up  ugly  green  wallpapers  ━    ❞

lucifer  takes  a  breath,  lips  parting  as  if  to  continue,  but  stops  himself  short  of  blowing  a  fuse.  something  about  how  alastor  manages  to  chaffe  at  his  ego  in  just  the  right  way,  push  just  the  right  buttons,  playing  into  it  feels  like  a  loss.  and  he  doesn't  like  losing. instead,  shoulders  fall  with  a  hum  that  verges  on  a  sigh.  softening  gaze  drags  down  to  look  elsewhere,

❝    mm-but  i  can  understand  why  you  would  be  upset.    ❞

false  sympathy  lingers  a  moment  too  long,  his  words  hanging  in  the  air  as  he  pauses  to  twiddle  with  the  apple-end  of  his  cane.  pin-prick  rubies  observe  the  dull  light  bouncing  off  the  rosy  coloured  fruit,  only  managing  to  pry  away  in  favor  of  direct  eye  contact.  a  smile  fights  not  to  upturn  when  he  so  smugly  responds,

❝    after  all,  while  you  were  in  hiding  the  rest  of  us  built  the  hotel  back  from  the  ground-up.  not  a  single  nail  hammered  in  by  our  supposed  host.  .  .  how  sad.  pitiable,  even.    ❞

[19mhz]

THERE'S DELIGHT IN A MOUTHFUL OF THE KING'S GORED PRIDE, THE FLESH OF IT RIPPED AND CAUGHT IN HIS TEETH. his is a smile holding blood behind its clench, the desirable taste of it awash his tongue (will he spill more for you? can you drink your fill?). smile colors into a sneer, eyes flitting idly down to a hand as he lifts it, letting his thumb slide across the sharpened ends of his other fingers. static fizzled as wrist twisted, fingers splaying with pointed apathy in the air as lidded gaze inspected them. a well-practiced show. “tacky, tawdry, garish — need i go on? i have more.” radio cackles a cheery piano-ditty, if a little ... out of tune. it fitzes out quickly.

ugly? h-ah, my elegantly macabre decor? upper lip curled atop monstrous smile, eyes narrowed to carmine cuts. far better than a pomp and flash circus tent — even if the whole thing was no better than a poor performance piece. really, how could the rest of hell be so at odds with their silly king? who somehow knew just where to turn the demon's dial and attune it to the gurgle of aggravation. he'll have to change it back to a station he directs. tut-tut, i write my own scripts. tongue ran along the back of his teeth (you're envisioning the tang of lucifer's viscera!), hands grasping severely at his cane's microphone-top.

a brow arched. he would be sincerely dubious of the shorter understanding anything of the sort. ... ? ears flicker backwards at the abrupt eye-contact, red-to-red (grinning through the strain on his chest-wound throbbing). oh-ho! there it is. indignation lined the radio-demon's features, a crescendo of static popping with a hum —

then the sound shorted, as if switched off with a tick. grin becomes an unsettling simper. raising his cane, he took it one hand, the other arm tucking behind his back. “let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” came lilted words. “perhaps dear charlie would not have had to look to me if her absent father had cared to be there ... at ... all.” the last few were punctuated by the end of his cane poking into the other's white-draped chest. “and she was quite happy to see me again, despite your flashy building.” there's an edge to the glee, eyes heavy-lidded despite his ever-present smile. “i wonder if brick and mortar is enough to fix her crumbling foundation of fatherly love ... a good try!” pitiable, indeed.

[riverbaptism]

[19mhz]

YOU, DEERSKIN STITCHED OVER A DECAYING SHAPE, YOU, THE UGLIEST PREY! PREDATOR AMONGST THE HERD, DISGUISING FORM. his are the steps of ruination, shoed hooves that deal in dreaded fates. through shadows does his form shift, turning to wisps of pitch that slide into crevice and crack. it's to the fringe of the city he heads, materializing beneath a guttering street-lamp at a dead-end lane. it's somewhere here. mere moments ago had he first felt the tingle crawl up grey-skin alike blood-splatter. something is here that shouldn't be! how rude. sharp-fingered hands were clasped behind his waist as chin canted a tad with a sniff. perpetually smiling mouth pursed. what a stench. not living ... nor dead, a-ha! well. static warbled in the sickly air.

striding forward leisurely, red gaze looked to and fro as his shadow loomed forebodingly behind him. it's quite near, he thinks. he didn't mind a bit of hunting. it was part of that good fun he had been lacking as of late (who knew hell could become so boring sometimes?). besides — ah! he's found it. walking stopped short of a crumpled form on the ground. eyes lit with an infernal gleam — not just an uncanny soul, but there was power here. static whirred shrilly. and it's mine for the taking.

arms came 'round from behind him, radio-cane tapping down in front, grasped in both hands. no matter what this little creature was, the demon had found his entertainment. tune in ... a new show on the air is about to begin! head tilted to the side, lips' gruesome smile parting to reveal sharpened teeth, splitting his face like a slash. “oh dear!” syllables fitzed as he loomed over the other, nudging him with the end of his cane (it can't hide from you!). “you're not supposed to be here - ee.” @sanguisarcana

[knifefightscene]

I don’t need therapy i need to kill people killing people would fix me being covered in blood will make me so stable and normal i promise

[19mhz]

@xluciifer: bites his arm >:]

IN THE MIDST OF POPPING STATIC IS A DISTORTED SCREECH THAT EMANATES FROM SHADOWS DARK ALIKE A BROADCAST CUT SHORT. sclera turned to black, the red of his eyes a puncture of blood as head snapped with a marrow-cracking srchk towards the misbehaving unfortunate clamping its mouth on his sleeved arm. shade loomed around him. i'm going to tear - rr you apart — !

ah. shadows abruptly bled away as he blinked once, brows pinching. ever-present smiling lips stretched irately over the contours of decaying teeth. well, well, sire. what a startling turn of events! who knew divinity had any real bite? ha-ha. gaze narrowing (your donned smile never falters!), the gloved hand of his other arm reached, pointer finger pricking up the king's throat before snatching the shorter's jaw, tugging emphatically on it as thumb scratched into his chin. if only splitting the jaw was that simple. sentence crackles, tuning across stations with a thrummed, “oh my - yy! bit off more than you can chew?” a shame! it was quite a nice jacket, too. can he pick those pearly whites out of its fabric one ... by ... one?

[dialradio]

understand that there is a beast within you that can drink till it is sick, but cannot drink till it is satisfied.

frank bidart, from “half-light: collected poems 1965-2016; ‘the third hour of the night’", published c. 2017. (orig.)