Your New Home
Part 1 - Let's Make a Deal
Femme Demon Reader x Alastor
You're a new demon looking for a place to belong. Your past is hazy, but it's clear to higher minds that you possess something greater than the average demon. A power you've yet to tap into. A certain overtly red creature notices immediately, and acts twice as fast.
Tws- Alluding to SA as a backstory, but absolutely nothing is described. It's a self-indulgent plot device and you'll see why. Very cunty and not dead dove. Also, your character totally killed themselves.
Part 2
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It was faster than you could think. Faster than you could see, or blink. The bullets tore through every inch of your body, bringing with them the greatest burn of agonizing pain you've ever felt. One minute, you were the one inflicting pain, and the next... You were bleeding out on the pavement. Suicide by cop, that's what it's called. The dark alley walls are illuminated with the bright, flashing red and blue lights. The brightness dims quickly and the last thing you remember hearing is the inaudible gibberish that the officers are spouting at you. "Drop your weapon!" As if you aren't already halfway to being a cadaver.
Going, going... Gone.
When you open your eyes again, you're falling, fast. You gasp, filling your lungs to capacity. You don't have time to let out your building-horror scream before you smack hard against the ground, flat on your back, just like the pavement.
"What the hell?" You wheeze, focusing your blurred vision on the large clock tower nearby.
"Yeah, that's exactly where you are!" A woman with long blonde hair and clowny pink cheeks stands over you. She emits an out-of-place kindness amongst what she just confirmed for you. Hell. She extends an arm out to you and helps you to your feet. "My name's Charlie! I run a hotel not far from here!"
"I don't," you rub the back of your sore head. "I don't think I have money."
"No, you certainly don't. Check your pockets, though. Maybe you brought something along with you!" You reach into your pocket and feel something jingle. When you pull out the contents, there are several empty bullet casings.
"Not funny," you mumble.
"Well, if you're a lost soul looking to make a turn around, come on down to the Hazbin Hotel, okay?" Charlie smiles widely and then politely wanders off on hooved feet. You can hear her pitching the same invitation to someone else who has just made contact with the ground at warp speed.
You stand up, wobbly, but overall fine. You feel around for the holes you know you felt tear into your chest and stomach, but they're gone. At this point, you notice your skin has taken an inhuman hue. And your clothes are different. The night you executed the plan that eventually led to your demise, you dressed to the nines. It was a special occasion, after all. When you see your reflection in a nearby shop window, you notice your hair is different too. Your face, everything about you has taken a darker twist. You gasp, and when you do, a trail of small bullet holes drifts across your neck and then disappears. They're small, clean tunnels that cut all the way through your meat, so you can see light on the other side. The sight makes you jump.
"Oh, what the fuck?" You exclaim, clasping a hand over your now spotless neck. Finally, Charlie's first initial words begin to settle in. You're in Hell. Your eyes widen as you turn around and scan the chaotic city around you. Pentagram City, one sign reads. Creative. You're overwhelmed with emotions, glancing at your surroundings and your hands, back and forth as you speed walk down the sidewalk. "I'm dead. I went to Hell? For what?" You wonder aloud, holding yourself like a lonely child as you wander aimlessly.
After a while, night falls and you begin to hear rain in the approaching distance. You roll your eyes, unable to conceptualize how things could get any worse than being rained on in literal Hell. Suddenly, the rain catches up to you, sprinkling a few tolerable drops along your exposed skin. Within seconds, you feel an intense burn. Acid rain. You let out a pained cry and take off running, attempting without success to outrun the storm. You manage to protect your hair, but the rain corrodes clusters of tiny holes in your fancy clothes and leaves small blisters upon your flesh until you finally take refuge under a large portico.
You clasp a hand over the worst of the blisters and the bullet holes swim over you yet again, leaving healed skin in their wake. Your clothes, while still perfectly wearable, aren't as easy to mend. The pain finally ceases, and you turn to watch the discolored rain eat away at the city as it falls. Time stretches on forever, it feels. When you turn to face the door of the business you're hiding in front of, you notice two doors with the letters HH etched into the glass. "Hazbin Hotel" Charlie's words echo.
You push the doors open and step hesitantly inside. It's a beautiful establishment. The walls are seemingly endlessly tall and a bar is right in view when you walk in. Oh, thank fuck.
"What can I get you?" A creature with wings and a feline face asks with a deep, smooth voice.
"Um, anything. Anything strong." You say, taking a seat on a bar stool. He passes you a shot glass of unidentified liquid and you turn it back without hesitation. Instantly, your new body feels at ease.
"Pour me up the usual. Charlie's makin' commercials again," a tall, four-armed being groans, leaning against the bar dramatically. In the corner of his eye, he notices you. A new face, sitting all alone. "And who is this, might I ask?" He chuckles, turning his glass up in a large gulp. "A new face in the hotel is unheard of."
"Uh," you stutter before giving your name. "Charlie found me when I got... Here." You signal for another shot. "I'm in Hell, right?" The two creatures before you burst into laughter.
"What? You don't remember what ya did to get here?" The four-armed thing cackles. He gives his name, Angel, and continues to explain this new plane of existence. "You're in Hell, yes. Don't get too comfortable though, sweetheart. You just missed the last one, but every year, those loserbitches up stairs come down here and fuckin' genocide the whole function."
"Fucking what?" You furrow your brows in confusion. "I thought I was already dead?" The sultry creature-man laughs again, but he's cut off as a wisp of black smoke swells between the two of you. Suddenly, from that mist materializes a tall creature in crimson shades of red. His face is occupied with a large, wicked smile and he stares down at you with curiosity.
"And who might you be, my dear?" He asks with an analog trans-Atlantic accent. He sounds like an old radio. It's unsettling. He extends a gentlemanly hand to you and you instinctively place yours in his palm.
"I--" you search hard for your voice, but it's gone as you stare into the horrifying gaze of the antlered demon before you.
"Y/N, a pleasure," he says, brows arched in a bragging manner.
"Who are you?" You finally work up the ability to speak.
"Alastor," he bows. When he releases your hand, you feel a sense of relief. "What brings you to a place like this?"
"What, like the hotel or motherfucking Dante's Inferno?"
"Who is Dante?" The radio-voiced man tilts his head, never losing his wide, creepy smile.
"I don't know why I'm here. I didn't do anything wrong." You shrug, sending perfectly clear body language signals to tell him to fuck off.
"That's not entirely true, is it?" He asks. You look up from your drink, but you don't look at him.
"These two are gonna fuck," Angel whispers to the barkeep. You and Alastor both shoot him a flat, borderline disgusted look. With the snap of his fingers, Alastor blackens the entire room around the two of you.
"As I was saying, Miss Y/L/N--"
"Of course it's not fucking true. Leave me alone." You feel a sense of realization and panic wash over you as more and more of this new reality sinks in.
"I think you and I might have a little something in common. It'd be nice to have a friend, wouldn't you agree?" He twirls his hand and summons a drink of his own.
"I was shot by the cops... I don't remember why," you huff.
"Was bludgeoning always the plan, or did you think of that on the spot?" He sips. "A crime of passion? Revenge? Oh, that's it, isn't it?" His heinous smile widens. "Revenge."
"You're pissing me off, Radio Head." You narrow your eyes and he mirrors the gesture.
"Tell me, darling. What could've possibly warranted a lead pipe over the skull that many times? And in front of his wife!" He sounds nearly delighted.
"Well, you seem to already know enough. Seems like there isn't much to tell."
"I know plenty, sure, sure. But I can't see what put you on that path. Curiosity be damned." He shrugs.
"I don't know... I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be dead at all."
"That doesn't answer a single question, my dear." The darkness around you two closes in. His smile never wavers, but his eye twitches with frustration. "You have something within you. I crave control. Tell me, darling, what turned your soul?" His red claws hook under your chin and you're frozen in place. His eyes darken and warp into analog radio dials and a swirl of red sigils floats around him as he draws the answer from your lips.
"He hurt me, so I hurt him back. You do the math." You kick his chest and the dark shroud fades away like thinning smoke. Alastor only barely stumbles back, standing with fine posture and his hands behind his back as he watches you toss back your last shot.
Behind Alastor, Angel speaks up. "Where the fuck were you two? When are you 'n me gonna hop off to another dimensional plane all alone?" He laughs.
"Ha, ha! Never going to happen," Alastor grins and Angel rolls his eyes.
"Seriously, though. Where'd ya go?"
"I was just asking our newest resident about her time with the living. She's quite secretive." Alastor gestures to you like a sideshow. "How can we trust someone so closed off?"
"Oh, for fucks sake," you cut in. "I don't know what I did! He hurt me, so I hurt him back. Weird fucking hotel!" You explode, taking off toward the front desk.
"No offense, Al, but ya kinda shit with the ladies."
"Oh, well," the radio demon chuckles before gracefully walking away and disappearing around a corner.
"I need a room. Um, please?" You tremble at the front desk as adrenaline fills your body.
"A guest?" Charlie nearly screams as she fumbles over any and everything in her way to get to the desk, shoving the short girl with a missing eye out of the way. After a long, droning conversation about her mission when she started the hotel, you realize you really are in the right place. You're no killer, you've just killed. And you can hardly remember why, you just remember the rage.
In your room, you scan over your acid-burnt clothes in the mirror. Such an amazing outfit to spend eternity in, and somehow it's been ruined on your first day. As you blink, you notice a black, smoky mist circling your body. Like magic, your clothes are renewed to their former glory. Even higher quality now, without the scuffing of the fall.
"There you are, sweetheart. Much better." Alastor appears behind you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. This time, you don't squirm beneath his touch.
"I only just got here. Can't you give me a few days to figure it out before slipping your weird little claw hands into my eternally damned soul?" You sigh.
"I find that the sooner I seek a deal, the better." His grip on you tightens slightly.
"I don't know what else to tell you about how I got here. I don't remember anything. It's... Just red." You shake his hands from your shoulders and take a seat on the nearby bed, but Alastor remains standing with his perfect posture. There's something gentlemanly in his terrifying demeanor.
"You haven't had much explained to you since you arrived," he says, leaning on his cane. "I'd like to volunteer my expertise." You nod, allowing him to continue. In a plume of black smoke, he vanished and reappeared in a chair across from where you sit on the bed. He gives you a full, charismatic rundown. This is forever, the yearly extermination, and the best way to avoid becoming a concept in the void. That includes, of course, striking a deal with someone powerful. For protection, or power, or whatever selfish thing your heart desires.
"I sense you haven't been earth-side in a few odd decades, but we have a few movies about why making deals with demons is often a bad idea," you say. Alastor cringes at the mention of movies, the corners of his wicked smile twitch as if he wants to frown, but can't. Or won't.
"I don't usually disclose this information so early in a 'friendship,'" he says. "But I happen to be on the more," his eyes turn to radio dials once again. "Powerful side of things."
"Oh, yeah?" You tremble, swallowing the lump in your throat.
"Yes," he draws out the vowel, almost taunting. "And I'm being very generous to extend this offer to you, my dear." Alastor stands and extends a hand. "My protection for your... Allegiance."
You stare intently at his strange, clawed hand in front of you. For someone who's regularly touch-repulsed, his palm seemed otherworldly inviting. "What's the catch?"
"Catch? Can't a poor, remorseful sinner help out his fellow demon on the path to," he chuckles. "Redemption?"
"But you're not remorseful." He raises his eyebrows. "I taste blood when you lie." Alastor narrows his eyes.
"Do we have a deal or not, Miss Y/L/N?" He reasserts his hand in front of you. "Tick, tock..." He tilts his head and demands your attention with his red eyes.
"Fine. Keep me safe, and I'll--" you're reaching for his hands when suddenly, glowing golden parchment appears in his hand. A long, ancient-looking contract listing all the conditions of our agreement. You skim over it and furrow your brows. "Wait, you didn't say anything about 'under your total control' a minute ago."
"You may not remember what got you here, but someone does. And who's to say that someone didn't end up here as well?" Alastor's voice distorts. "What's your last chance at existence worth to you?" His words send chills down your spine, but from everything you've seen outside the hotel, you know a more final death awaits you at every corner. Just as you're about to announce the absence of a pen, Alastor reaches out for your hand. The contract floats supernaturally in the same spot he held it.
With one hand, he takes your wrist and gently pulls you toward him. With the other hand, he pricks your finger just enough to break the skin. Glowing, golden ichor drips from your fingertip, and he finally releases you. Hesitantly, you hover your finger over the signature line of the contract. Before you're ready, a droplet lands on the line, and the whole thing rolls up and vanishes. You jump at the sudden darkness that follows the lack of Illuminating paper.
"You're all mine, darling," he chimes. "Nothing can lay a finger on you now." He bows theatrically.
"What did you mean?" You clear your throat nervously. "When you said someone who remembers might end up here too? Someone who knows why I'm here."
"You really can't recall a thing, can you?" He chuckles. You take your same place on the bed again, and he takes his spot in the chair nearby. "New arrivals tend to get emotional over this sort of subject material, and while I certainly cherish our newfound alliance, that's just not my cup of tea."
"I'll get emotional after you leave. Can you tell me why I'm here? Can you make me remember?" It feels all too vulnerable to not know the face of someone who might want you dead. Someone who could pass by on the street and remember something you don't.
"Fine, whatever." Alastor laughs, amused by your willingness to admit that you plan to become emotional on your own time, rather than putting on a tough front. "You were careful. Very intentional and well-thought-out. An act of true artistry, I would know." He relaxes further into the chair. "You must've been planning for years— getting everything down to a T. You knew his schedule, his family's schedules. Truly, an educated move on your part. Bravo." His praise makes you feel sick to your stomach.
"What did I do to him?" You ask with a breathy voice.
"Toward the point of execution, you became a bit... Erratic. You made your move with empty hands. I do wonder if that was intentional," he says, looking at you as if he expects an answer. You shrug and he rolls his eyes, continuing on. "You were under the impression that the wife and kids were in another town, visiting her parents, yes? But she had only dropped them off. She was lying right next to him in that bed." Your heart begins to race.
"That can't be true. I would've stopped. I would've snapped out of it. I know I would've."
"And you almost did!" He exclaims. "But when you gazed upon his sleeping face, why, you grabbed the nearest object you could find, and you smashed and crushed his skull in." As he describes your graphic crime, his shadow leeches out and looms over him with an evil aura. Its antlers extend to each corner of the room. "His wife awoke, screamed, and called the authorities--"
"And I refused to put the weapon down." You interrupt. "And I charged at one of them, so they shot me. I wanted them to shoot me."
"Fan-tas-tic! You're remembering," Alastor seems happy for you, but your stomach turns as you relive your last moments.
"Why did I do it?" You ask, holding back tears as promised.
"That, only you can answer, Miss Y/L/N." He stands and teleports in his little black cloud over to the door. "I'll leave you to get settled in. Welcome to the hotel." You watch as he slips through the door and leaves you in the dim, quiet room. You stare at the wall for a long time. Suddenly, the small radio on a far table turns on by itself.
"By the way, per our agreement, I've provided a few things for you to feel more... Comfortable." Alastor's voice echoes through the little machine and then it flips off again. You glance at the closet and notice it's full of nice outfits. The chest of drawers is full too. They all look like things you wore when you were alive, only... More red. You slip on a set of pajamas and fall into bed. This is it. You're in hell for the brutal murder of someone you can't remember. What could've caused you to snap like that? What could've been worth it? You toss and turn the whole night.
