Now that part 3 is done, I feel like the whole Hellspawn series deserves its own post.
Hellspawn is a 3-part (for now) Hazbin Hotel fanfiction series focused on Angel Dust stumbling into parenthood with the support of his chosen family of partners and friends, then following the family as it grows.
It's an mpreg story with a remarkable track record in its comments of appealing both to people who generally enjoy mpreg, and those who do not, so if that's not your usual cup of tea but not too bad of a squick, I invite you to give it a chance!
Series Rating: M+ For the most part, the series lands at an M rating, but parts 1 and 3 are listed as E on Ao3 due to occasional scenes of explicit on-screen intimacy. Those scenes are noted for at the top of chapters in which they appear
Central Relationships: Angel/Husk, Angel + Alastor (QPR with aroace Alastor), Angel & Cherri, Angel & the Hazbin Crew
Series Length: 201k total Part 1 is 50.8k, part 2 is 8.8k, part 3 is 141.3k
Start reading (or re-reading!) on Ao3 here, or check under the cut for a preview before you commit to the click!
Chapter 1: A Mysterious Malady
Cherri let her gaze wander up to the concrete ceiling, over across the nearby parked cars as she rubbed Angel’s back while he puked over the low wall of the parking deck into the bushes.
“Since when the fuck have you got a gag reflex?” she asked with concern once he was done.
He shrugged frustratedly, snatched a napkin from their spread of takeout food on the trunk of a car neither of them owned, wiped his mouth, chucked the wadded-up napkin over the wall with the puke, and slurped at the straw in his cup of soda. “I think I musta got food poisoning—probably from Al’s cooking, or Niffty’s, I dunno—and it’s takin’ me for fuckin’ ever to really get over it.”
He pushed his half-eaten burger away and nibbled disinterestedly at his fries.
“Have you, like, seen a doctor about it?” She picked up his burger to take a bite of it herself, eyeing him uncertainly. The burger seemed fine. Maybe a little heavy on the ketchup, but fine.
“Mentioned it when I got my tests done last week,” Angel mumbled. “Best they can tell, I’m fine.”
“You’re clearly not fuckin’ fine if you’ve been sick more than a week, babe.”
He tossed a couple hands up. “If the doc says I’m fine—”
“Maybe you should see a different doc,” Cherri pressed. “The guy who spends all his time checkin’ porn stars and hookers for crabs and the clap maybe ain’t gonna be the most well-rounded GP, y’know?”
Angel sighed, took another sip of his drink, checked the time on his phone, then leaned on the car and lit himself a cigarette. “Look, I gotta get back to work in a minute here. You wanna drag my ass to a different doctor, you got about six hours to find one takin’ walk-ins in the middle a the night.”
~
By the time Angel finished his work day, he kinda felt like he wanted to die. Again.
“Fuck, Angie, you look like shit.” Cherrie hopped down from where she’d perched on the railing near the door, wrapped an arm around his waist, and let him lean on her.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, I’m fuckin’ gorgeous,” Angel said, voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. He sagged against her and let her guide their steps as they started walking away from the building, but then took a breath and straightened up. “I’m starving, but I’m still queasy as all shit—I barely managed not to puke in the middle of a scene; it was bad, babe, and Val was not happy—and I’m exhausted. Aaand this is not the way to the hotel or your place,” he noted as she tugged him with her to turn a corner.
“Nope,” she agreed. “We’re goin’ to Cannibal Town; I found you a GP that’ll take ya late-night.”
~
Nibbling on vending machine crackers as he and Cherri walked through the gaslamp-lit streets of Cannibal Town, Angel suspected that this doctor Cherri had found either did not normally take patients at this hour, or was way fucking shadier than the window boxes full of allium let on, because the office they were walking up to did not look open. When Cherrie knocked, though, the door opened and a distinctly rodent-like demon in a blue frock and white capelet and apron beckoned them in with a smile.
“Good evening, good evening,” she said pleasantly, shutting and locking the front door in a way that perhaps should have felt ominous, yet didn’t. “Mr. Angel Dust, yes?”
“Just Angel is fine, thanks.”
“Alright,” the demon’s big dark eyes crinkled jovially, “Angel it is. I’m Dr. Mysken, glad to meet you but sorry you’re needing to meet me. Come on back, and let’s see if we can’t figure out why you’re not feeling well. Do you want your friend to come with you?”
“Yes,” Angel answered with immediate certainty.
Dr. Mysken nodded with an agreeable hum and motioned them both back to a plain but pleasant exam room. Cannibal Town was really a weirdly well-kempt corner of of hell.
“You, uh, don’t look like a cannibal,” Angel noted, pulling himself up onto the exam table.
“Oh, I’m not!” Dr. Mysken said brightly, washing her hands. “I just have a particular interest in amputation surgeries, and there’s not very much need for that among a population who regenerate from most any injury, unless the amputations are voluntary, and for that, well,” she shrugged, “best to be where the highest demand for severed limbs is.” She dried her hands and threw the paper towel away. “Anyway! Miss Bomb—”
“Cherri’s fine,” Cherri interrupted.
Dr. Mysken smiled a little then sobered to continue. “Cherri called earlier, said you’ve been feeling ill for a while and your regular doctor isn’t finding anything wrong, so you’re wanting a second opinion. Can you tell me what’s been going on and for how long?”
Angel shrugged. “Got some kinda stomach bug I’m havin’ trouble shakin’ off. Mostly just queasy and tired for, maybe, three weeks?”
“Stomach bugs don’t usually last that long,” Dr. Mysken noted.
“Yeah, that’s why we’re here,” Cherri said, arms crossed.
“The two people who do most a the cooking where I live are a cannibalistic roadkill-eating murderer and bug-obsessed crazy lady with a creative streak,” Angel said flatly. “I would not be surprised if I picked up somethin’ weird.”
Dr. Mysken cocked her head curiously. “Has anyone else you live with been sick?”
Angel shook his head. “Don’t think so.”
“Hm. May I?” she asked perfunctorily, gesturing to Angel’s chest, stethoscope in one hand.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Angel answered.
She gave his chest and back a listen, prompting him to breathe as she did, then stepped back. “This being Hell, I expect the answer is yes, but do you drink or do drugs?”
Angel gave a changrinned little laugh. “Drink, smoke, don’t do as much drugs as I used to but it’d be overgenerous to call me clean.”
“Tell me more about the drugs pease,” she instructed, reaching for an otoscope
One thorough examination and several rapid-result blood and mucus tests later, Dr. Mysken crossed her arms over her apron, expression thoughtful and serious. “Nothing’s immediately jumping out at me as being wrong, but that just means we need to look a little harder. Mind if I stick a camera down your throat?”
“Usually I’d just thank ya for askin’ first and say go for it, but I definitely might puke,” Angel said uncertainly.
“I’ve got anesthetic that ought to alleviate that,” Dr. Mysken said.
Angel shared a look with Cherri, then shrugged. “Then go for it.”
The endoscopy didn’t turn anything up either, though Angel did, thankfully, weather it just fine until the very end when the sensation of the endoscopy tube being removed did send him retching into the sink.
Dr. Mysken got him a glass of water.
“At least we know it’s not anything physically wrong with your stomach,” she said. “Now, to take a look at things around your stomach, I’d like to do an ultrasound. The ideal for that would be to shave the fur from your abdomen, but I’m guessing you’d rather avoid that.”
“If at all possible,” Angel agreed with a grimace.
“He gets videoed naked for a living.” Cherri shrugged.
“In that case, the other option is to slather you in enough probe jelly to fill in all the air gaps between the hair.”
Angel sighed. “Slime me, doc.”
Dr. Mysken gave him a little smile then went to get the ultrasound cart and a whole new bottle of jelly.
Honestly, Angel had found himself covered in much more unpleasant kinds of goo, and at least this was limited to his belly.
Watching the screen intently, Dr. Mysken slid the blunt probe in a meticulous search pattern, humming little confirmations to herself as he slowly worked her way down his abdomen. She’d gotten fairly low when one of the hums came out more curious.
“Just to confirm, you are entirely male, right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Angel snorted. “I think my co stars woulda noticed by now if I were anything else.”
Dr. Mysken indulged him with a twitch of a grin but narrowed her eyes at the screen, carefully shifting the probe against him. “As far as you know, do you have any additional organs besides the usual human set? Venom sacks maybe?”
Angel shook his head slowly. “No.”
“Silk glands?”
“Pretty sure my balls are on silk duty,” Angel muttered. “…why?”
“Just trying rule out other explanations for what I think I’m looking at here,” Dr. Mysken said slowly.
“Does he have a tumor or somethin’?” Cherri asked.
“No…. Okay,” Dr. Mysken took a breath, “I will admit this isn’t my area of expertise—I died long before ultrasounds were invented, and the obstetrics field in Pentagram City isn’t exactly flourishing given that sinners can’t reproduce, but,” she turned the screen so Angel and Cherri could see, “that really looks to me like a uterus,” she said. “A pregnant uterus.”
“That is exactly what that looks like,” Cherri breathed.
“Bullshit,” Angel laughed. “C’mon, you just said it—sinners can’t reproduce. And I’m a man, a cis man. That’s not possible.” He swallowed, staring at the bean-shaped blob nestled against the edge of an ovoid black void on the screen. “That’s not possible.”
Dr. Mysken flicked a couple buttons on the machine and the room was filled with a rapid, rhythmic sucking sort of noise crackling through speakers in time with the slight grey-on-grey flutter visible near the middle of the bean. “That’s a heartbeat.”
“Morning sickness,” Cherri said softly, tone somewhere between wonder and horror. “And you’ve had fatigue, and hunger.”
Angel shoved Dr. Mysken’s hand away and got to his feet—the sound of the heartbeat cut off.
“Maybe I have a parasite or something,” Angel said, ripping a couple handfuls of paper towels from the dispenser to wipe jelly from his fur.
“Babe, I think the doc’s right,” Cherri said carefully. “That kinda ultrasound is…a pretty specific thing.”
“Fucking how?!” Angel shouted, rounding on the two women with fists full of goopy paper towels.
Dr. Mysken held her hands up placatingly but Cherri preempted anything she may have been about to say. “We’re demons,” Cherri shrugged. “Heaven and angels and original sin and all that shit are real. Why the fuck would you think miracles don’t happen, too, Angie? Of course they do, and of course they’re gonna happen in the most fuck-up-your-life way, cuz this is Hell and that’s just how shit is.”
Angel stared at her, breathing hard, then sank into a chair and ran a hand over his face.
“Give me tomorrow to find someone better versed in modern obstetrics,” Dr. Mysken said, gentle and professional. “I will get some additional bloodwork done, and I am going to ask you for a urine sample. Then, in a couple days you come back, we’ll double check, and decide next steps from there. Okay?”
Angel nodded. “Okay.”
Continue to Chapter 2 on Ao3 ->
