My Deer-est One 🦌 - an Alastor with Violet Evergarden! reader series - prologue
warnings: canon divergence, drug and alcohol usage, murder, possessive behavior, season two spoilers, fem!reader, cannibalism, racism, wife!reader, references to the 1920s-1930s.
author notes: hello~! Although I had initially mentioned in another post that the tentative deadline for the outline of this new series would be the week of Thanksgiving, I was able to finish it and this segment last weekend, so here is an early holiday treat from me to all of all my dear readers~! :3
If you would like to be tagged for this series, comment with a 🏨 and you will be notified when a chapter is up~! Monthly updates will continue until the spring, so please bear with me as I do have a full-time job in a very demanding field~! That's all I have for now, take care and be safe this holiday season~!
Special thanks to @ghostdoodlen and @anielly-2010 for helping polish this draft until it sparkled~!
divider by @hazbinwithquantum
You had a feeling more sinners would flock again to the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel today.
The purpose of the facility - Charlie’s vision - was rehabilitation. The guests would stay for free, including food, board, and other amenities such as valet parking and Wi-Fi. In exchange, however, they would have to attend classes designed for self-improvement, reflection, and addressing behavior issues such as substance or alcohol misuse. If they completed these sessions, they should become more empowered to make their own decisions and prevent further decline in their afterlife made by their previous choices. By doing so, redemption should be possible and earn their place in Heaven. The public is still under the misguided belief that the Hazbin Hotel is where sinners could come to kill angels or get their hands on angelic steel to protect themselves when the next Extermination arrived.
You hoped Charlie could clear up this misunderstanding soon and not get swept up in the excitement of new guests crowded around your desk, ready to check into the hotel for the wrong reasons. As the hotel receptionist, you represented the princess’s establishment and had to provide information to guests if they had questions, concerns, or complaints. It was a shame that your job could not allow you to piece together the fragmented memories that continued to haunt your dreams for nearly a century.
The smell of sizzling, sauteed onions and chicken from a pan cooking in a small kitchen, being prepared by a well-dressed man who never turns around to face you when you call out to him.
The sound of jazz came from the brightly lit street corners of Louisiana; the humid air that vibrated alongside laughter, and clinking glasses from speakeasies.
The satisfying crunch of fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade, Mama Ophelia’s specialty.
A man who lured in his captive audience with that sweet, Southern accent of his after he had his morning coffee and always appreciated the whiskey you poured for him after he had a hard day of recording at the studio. Then you wake up feeling tears trickling down your cheeks, and you do not know why.
You had thought - had hoped - that you would remember the rest of your mortal life if you became a guest of the hotel. You had been a dishonorably discharged soldier, sent to America after the war between Leidenschaftlich and Gardarik reached a tentative peace agreement as punishment for failing to protect Major Gilbert as per the request of his elder brother, the man who had taught you to hunt and kill on command, like a dog. Those are the memories you could remember clearly. The dreams, how you died and descended into Hell? A puzzle you have yet to solve.
You glanced down at the silver band coiled around your ring finger, the ruby-red light pouring in from the window bouncing off of it and your prosthetics. You had lost your original ones in the battle against Adam and his Exterminators. These were brand-new, crafted from angelic steel.
This ring was your only clue to the life you had lived before, and always invoked a feeling of recognition, something deep and painful, that went away when you pressed a kiss against it every morning without fail.
You examined yourself in the mirror one more time and walked out of your room, ready to begin another day at the Hazbin Hotel. Or as Charlie would optimistically proclaim, another fucking happy day in Hell.
The Persistence of Memory 📻 - an Alastor with Violet Evergarden! Reader scenario
warnings: marriage of convenience, racism, prohibition, drug and alcohol usage, canon divergence, murder, gore, character death, season two spoilers, fem!reader.
Synopsis: The Radio Demon is a patient gentleman, but even someone of his social standing and power has its limits. How much longer must Orpheus wait to reclaim his Eurydice, even if she still cannot remember him?
author notes: hello~! I hope everyone is doing well and thank you for being patient with me on the development of this piece after it went through a poll and honestly, I was astonished that everyone wanted me to write for Alastor, so here he is~! At the moment it is difficult to maintain this blog a weekly basis with the holidays quite literally around the corner, so please do not panic if I do not upload content on here for odd periods of time. I do hope, however, that you will continue to support this blog with likes, reblogs, and comments~!
Special thanks to @ghostdoodlen for proofreading this draft until it sparkled like a diamond~!
divider by @hazbinwithquantum
Alastor glared down at the festering wound on his chest, stitched poorly together with bright-green thread, then at his reflection in the fractured mirror. The familiar symphony of cicadas and croaking frogs in the bayou grounded him, helping him think as he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the dresser. He grabbed one, shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter while his shadow poured a whiskey on the rocks from the decanter. He lit the cigarette, allowing the woody taste of tobacco to coat his tongue before he averted his gaze to the lighter in his hand. Alastor rarely formed attachments to anything or anyone if it didn’t serve his own purposes, let alone for entertainment. And why should he, when there are no friends in Hell? Yet even when he had no reason at all to keep this damned thing, he still had it in his possession because it was the last thing he ever received from you.
A reminder of the life he led as a human, and the guilt that has continued to follow him even in death.
You were supposed to be a partner in a marriage of convenience. He needed a wife so that he could keep having fun in New Orleans and not get caught by the authorities, and you needed a husband so that the family name would carry on; quid pro quo, tit for tat. The engagement? A mere three months, because why wait? Alastor had hoped that after a few years of no romantic nights beyond dinner and an evening stroll in the French Quarter, you would leave him. Serve him divorce papers, claim alimony, and then find someone else who would live up to your expectations in a husband. You would have had it a bit more difficult to remarry of course, because no man wished to tie himself to a ‘broken’ woman - a soldier who had fought in the battlefields across Europe, and came to America in search of a new life with nothing to show your sacrifice except for shiny, skeletal prosthetic arms.
But you weren’t broken. You were just emotionally stunted. Moreso than he had initially thought when he swept you off of your feet at Lafayette Square Post Office. You were a telegraphist, an Automemory Doll who typed letters for those who cannot do it themselves due to the low literary rate. Automemory Dolls were quite popular back then, though you were initially not very good at it because you took the customer’s words too literally, appearing as insensitive and rude. He might have to work twice as hard at the radio station to bring home any semblance of income if the other Dolls hadn’t taken you under their wing and helped you understand the complexity of human emotions.
It was thanks to their guidance that you learned empathy, how to interact with your clients, crafting letters that conveyed the feelings that the senders wished to put on paper, and became so popular that you would occasionally leave New Orleans to do an out-of-state job. He was proud of you, and he hoped that your rise in popularity would provide a stable income for you to live on even after leaving him. Yet he nor you walked out of the home you shared in those five years.
He grew fond of you, more than he should have. The quiet evenings spent in the living room reading by the fireplace, him rehearsing the scripts he wrote earlier that day in front of you as his temporary audience and providing invaluable feedback that would dazzle the listeners on the next broadcast. When a recording was successful, he would sneak the two of you into the speakeasy, dancing the night away with whiskey. You preferred alcohol on the lighter side. Mimzy tolerated you. Why she didn’t like you, he couldn’t fathom the reason. Maybe you didn’t hold your liquor as well as he or her.
Then there were the cooking lessons; goodness, those were the nights he really needed to keep an eye on you~! Who would have thought you struggled so much to crack an egg over a hot pan, slice the chicken with a knife, or even boil water~! Those nights in the kitchen were chaotic and stressful, yet they were also the nights when his cooking skills shone; the whole neighborhood would line up outside once they knew he cooked his mother’s famous jambalaya, and you would always be a gracious hostess, helping bring out bowels, top of their drinks, even keep the kitchen clean.
They all thought Alastor had done well, and often commented how lucky he was to have you.
That was around the time he realized that it might be a good time to step away from being the Bayou Butcher for a while, take a break from his fun and treat you like the precious jewel you were, as a proper husband should, you were taken from him in the blink of an eye. Alastor still remembered it clearly, as if it had all happened yesterday.
November had just arrived in New Orleans, chilling the evening air even when the days were still sweltering. The popularity of Automemory Dolls had skyrocketed, and so did the number of clients who wanted your services, leading to longer hours at the office. At first glance, you seemed all right, healthy as a horse and ready to start the day, but Alastor knew better. You were on fire, and he feared you would burn yourself out before you even realized what had happened. Ms. Cattelaya Baudelaire was more than happy to allow you to take the rest of the afternoon off. He had everything planned: a lunch date at Antoine’s, a stroll around the French Quarter afterwards, and he would surprise you with two train tickets to Chicago. Yet just as he walked out of the post office with you, smiling as he placed your arm resting in the crook of his elbow, insisting that your work would be there when you returned from lunch with him, Christopher LaSalle appeared. A broad-shouldered man in his forties, balding and red-eyed, accused New Orleans’ beloved radio host of killing his son as he aimed his pistol with shaky hands and tears spilling down his oily face. The safety went off with a click, but in that split second you pushed him out of the line of fire.
A loud bang. Screeching, a thump, and blood, your blood staining the cobblestoned streets and his hands, turning an outing into a crime scene, a new headline for The Times-Picayune to run. It took three officers to pull him away from your stiffening cadaver because Alastor refused to believe you, the soldier, the poet, his wife, was gone. The silver lighter had been a late anniversary gift from you to him, initialed with an A and two tiny antlers sprouting from the letter. Ms. Baudelaire had held onto it on the office, sobbing that you were going to surprise him with it when you got home from work as she handed it to him two days after he had picked out a casket to bury you in. Mahogany, a good plot, the best he could find for you.
If he had stopped killing sooner, if he had been more careful of with his identity, switched dump sites, would you be alive? Could he have actually been happy?
He never found the answers to those questions as he followed you in death six months later, shot by a hunter who had mistaken him for a deer when he was trying to hide another body in the bayou. Yet when he arrived in Hell, he never saw you. That’s what made him believe you had gone to Heaven. For seventy years he allowed himself to get lost in the carnage, forget about his grief and become the demon pet Rosie believed him to be until he saw you walk out of the tailor shop just as he walked in to get his coat fixed after Sir Pentious had kindly put some holes in it.
He called out to you, the word Cher slipping off of his tongue instead of your name. But you stared at him blankly, asking him who he was as you clutched a briefcase in your hands, a light-blue parasol strapped to the top. You had forgotten him, even when you still wore his ring around your finger. Loyal to a fault, even in death. That’s enough to make a man like him fall in love and stay in love after almost a century of believed separation. But how much long must he wait, must he suffer, until all of your memories returned? Hadn’t his continued interactions with you, after he had subtly lured you to the hotel almost a year ago, promising redemption is within reach when all he wanted was to keep you close?
Alastor growled. He lifted the whiskey to his lips and drained in seconds, slamming it down on the dresser with a clunk. This past year in the hotel was less than ideal, and being humiliated by Adam in the battle had not been part of his long-term plans. But he will survive, he will remind Rosie of their deal, and you will remember him.
He exhaled one last wisp of gray smoke and snuffed the cigarette in the ash tray, pocketed the lighter, straightened himself up in the mirror and put a smile on before he left the sanctuary of the bayou, the grip on his broken staff tightening with each step towards the lobby, where he hopes to start his day off right.
It doesn’t, and he quitted the hotel after enduring two minutes of Lucifer’s bullshit.
A Christmas Miracle 🎄- a Lucifer and Violet Evergarden! Reader scenario
warnings: references to war, canon divergence, murder, character death, season two spoilers, minors dni, fem!reader, sprinkles of Lucifer x Lilith, angst with a happy ending, potential friends to lovers (?).
Synopsis: Lucifer isn’t too thrilled of spending another Christmas Eve alone again, but he’ll be okay. The show must go on, right? He needs to be okay, for Charlie’s sake. Wait, who is knocking on his door at this hour? Is it Bambi again?!
author notes: hello~! I hope everyone is doing well this holiday season~! I had originally planned on writing just Abel for my main Christmas fic, but I ended up doing another one, starting the one and only King of Hell~! This piece, however, has no connection to my other Hazbin Hotel fic The Persistence of Memory, and can be considered a different version of Violet Evergarden! Reader in the Hellaverse~.
If you would like to see more stories with Lu and Violet Evergarden! Reader, leave a 🍎 in the comments section~.
At the moment it is difficult to maintain this blog a weekly basis with the holidays quite literally around the corner, so please do not panic if I do not upload content on here for odd periods of time. I do hope, however, that you will continue to support this blog with likes, reblogs, and comments~! Credit goes to the rightful owner of the artwork above that was found on Pinterest.
Special thanks to @bones4thecats, @witch-of-the-writing-desk, and @sweatinghoneybee for helping me proofread~.
divider by @strangergraphics
Christmas Eve was one of the hardest nights for Lucifer to endure because it brought up memories he wished he had already forgotten. The taste of sugar plums, seeing Winners caroling or carrying brightly colored presents in their hands as they walked through the bazaar, the elder angels scolding him for his newest prank, and then being reminded why he fell; he had given humans free will, and all they’ve done with it is do terrible things to others. He made a mistake.
Lilith hadn’t seen it like that.
She believed there was still some good in them, and that they all could find their own Eden without having to succumb to Roo’s influence, to steal or kill or think they deserve nothing good because they are in Hell. Resist. Follow the beat of your own drum; be fearless. She always knew what to say to the people, how to ignore meaningless things and focus on the bigger picture. He still misses her, worries if she is doing okay and happy wherever she is. Eight years is a long time to be gone without saying a word to anyone, even Char-Char.
Imagine he is ready to spend the night holed up in his penthouse and make more rubber duckies to keep himself from spiraling instead of going down to the hotel lobby when he hears a knock at the door. When he opens the door, he is surprised to see you in such festive attire: a floor-length, fitted red velvet dress trimmed with white faux fur, boughs of holly dangling from your ear, and white gloves holding the sides of a silver tray filled with cookies and hot chocolate. He knew you worked at the front desk, helping Charlie’s girlfriend wrangle in with the guests and other hotel-y stuff. Definitely one of the more tolerable sinners in his humble opinion, ‘cause you actually respected him!
Wait, what was your name again?
Lucifer was stunned. “Uh, hi!” he stuttered. “What’s uh, what’s all of this?” he asked, waving his hand up and down. Yikes, okay, not the best conversation starter, but he’s trying! He’s never been good at talking to other people besides Lili and Char-Char!
“You weren’t at the ornament exchange, so I came to check on you.” You said, raising the tray a little higher in the air. “Niffty made the cookies; the hot chocolate is an old recipe from when I was alive, but Vaggie test-tasted them both before I brought them up here. She still doesn’t trust me to be in the kitchen by myself yet.”
Wait, you had noticed he wasn’t downstairs and came up to check on him? You even brought a tray of sweets? Did the bellhop put you up to it because the sign outside of his room clearly stated No Alastors Allowed? Or were you always so considerate and Heaven actually fumbled with a soul that deserved to be upstairs? That wouldn’t have surprised him at all, actually. But that’s beside the point~! You were here, and that made him smile even though he was trying really, really hard not to let it show on his face.
He already got duped by the TV-Head sinner not once, but twice! And look what happened - he was made a fool in front of all of Hell and almost got Charlie killed, using him as a fucking battery! God, he was a fool. Why did he even think he was worthy of someone else’s time? He’s dumb, stupid, a dreamer who shouldn’t have stepped out of line and should have just stayed in his line ‘cause he had no business giving humans free will -
“Your Highness?”
He jolted, eyes going wide, and felt his face burn with embarrassment as he realized he had almost spiraled in front of you. “Uh, yeah? Sorry, sorry! Kinda got distracted there for a minute!” He chuckled, taking the tray from you. “Well, if there’s nothing else, you can go back to the party, have fun, socialize with other sinners! I think I’ll stay up here and, you know, try not to ruin something else for Char-Char again, although last time I tried to help her -”
“Would you like some company?”
For the second time in less than an hour — no, twenty seconds, your words knocked the wind out of his lungs. “Huh?” He blinked at you. “Say what?” You repeated what you had just said, which confused him even more. “Wait, hold up, hold up, hold up.” He raised a hand in the air, balancing the tray with the other. “You want to be here?”
“If you wish.”
“Annd there are no strings attached to this little arrangement?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “Like being promised power by the bellhop if you did him this favor of checking in on me so Charlie doesn’t get mad?”
You tilted your head to the side. “Why would I involve Alastor, Your Highness?” You asked. “No one has seen him since last night, not even Niffty.”
“So, you came here of your own free will because you were worried about me?”
“Yes.”
Okay, wow. Definitely not what he was expecting to hear. Red Guy hadn’t left the hotel after Charlie and Vagine officially reinstated him as the host, which is weird because he clearly stated he was done working with his daughter before the whole ‘Might of Lilith’ situation happened. Now that he thought about it, he never strayed too far from you either. What’s the story between the two of you anyway? Wait, why does he even care? You were a sinner like everyone else, except you were actually nice and believed in Charle’s dreams and respected him as a person instead of a king or a fallen angel or a nobody and oh geez he was doing it again. Why does he keep spiraling at the weirdest of times? What if you hate him, but why does he care what you think?
“I was worried about you, Your Highness.” You said. “After what had happened with Vox, you haven’t been…yourself.” Lucifer stared at you stunned. He watched you tighten your gloved hands around the tray’s handles and noticed the cookies were shaped like ducks.
“You are being evasive. You don’t come out of your room, you aren’t showing up for dinner in your usual dramatic flair, and it is concerning.” You continued. “If I may be completely honest, your behavior reminds me of how I used to be when I was alive. I was not a saint, Your Highness. I am not proud of what I did in the war, the soldiers I killed without hesitation, their one-day wishes stolen from them in the name of peace. I regret what I have done; but when the memories of those days spent in the trenches became too much to bear, I would isolate myself from the world, even my co-workers at the postal company who had helped me remember what it was like to be a human, to have emotions. But I eventually learned that my coping mechanisms were not healthy, and I,” You took a breath. “I do not want to see you go down the same path as I had, Your Highness. I cannot pretend that I understand your pain, what you’ve been through since your arrival in Hell, because I am not you. What I do know is that it’s okay to want to have a friend to talk about these things, these memories that keep you awake and make you question your self-worth because you don’t believe you are worthy of having anything good in your life. It would mean a lot to Charlie if you came downstairs and joined in the festivities, but I will not force you if you’re not ready to interact with others yet.” You bowed your head to him. “Just…know that you aren’t alone, Your Highness, that there are people who care about you.”
Lucifer was not sure if shocking people with their words was an innate talent you possessed, but they definitely made him realize you weren’t just a sinner who got sent to Hell because you killed people. You were once a human, and humans weren’t perfect and did terrible things with the free will he had gifted them. He’s stuck down here because of that, unable to harm sinners or do anything to keep them in line because, why should he when all they’ve done is destroy everything that’s good with that free will.
But then you came knocking on his door, with duck-shaped cookies and hot chocolate of your own free will, because you cared about him, and that scares him. Like, a lot, because no one has ever thought about him, worried for his well-being, the stupid, useless King of Hell who gets attached easily. He is growing attached to you now, even when he still misses his wife every second of every day. Or was it ex-wife now, since she never answers his calls anymore? God, he’s a mess.
He squeezed his hands together. “I…guess I can come down, but not for long!” He quickly added. “Just to say hi to Char-Char, show off my amazing ornament to the hotel, and then come right back here to my room to watch the Great Qacksby!” He looked at you warily. “T-That’s okay, right?”
He felt the wind being knocked out of him as the corners of your mouth curled upwards into a small smile. “That’s more than okay, Your Highness. Charlie will be thrilled.” You then turned around, tray still in your hands, but one elbow stuck out just enough to slide a hand inside of it. “Shall we, Your Highness?”
And then he smiled too.
“We shall, and please don’t call me that. Call me Lu.” He insisted, tucking his hand inside your elbow.
You nodded. Then just like that, the two of you descended down the stairs and made a beeline for the bar. He used his magic to make the tray disappear, leaving only the hot chocolate behind. He did promise to try the cookies later. Can’t let the maid’s sweets go to waste on a night like this, because that is un-Christmas-y behavior even for a fallen angel like himself.
He smiled as he took the steaming mug of hot chocolate from you. “Thanks.” You nodded and sat next to him at the bar, placing your own mug on the counter before you greeted Husk. The kitty-cat magician grunted, wiping down a martini glass with a cloth until someone flagged him down.
Lucifer swiveled around in his seat, watching the camaraderie among the hotel guests and his darling daughter. They did a good job with the decorations: dark green garland with sparkling ornaments draped over the mantle, an enormous Christmas tree near the front desk with presents underneath, one of the bellhop’s antique radios sitting on top of the television, playing music. Some sinners were listening; others were glued to the couch watching 666 News, a blond news anchor rambling about Voxtek undergoing more managerial changes.
This wasn’t exactly what Lucifer had in mind for Christmas Eve. He would have been all right being alone, making more rubber ducks and trying to call Lilith again. But he supposed that being here amongst sinners, with his ornament for you tucked inside his pocket, sharing some lukewarm hot chocolate with you at a bar, wasn’t so bad after all.
Perhaps one day, if he’s brave enough to move forward, maybe the next time Christmas comes around, he won’t hesitate to seek your company. Maybe the two of you could be more than friends.
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario
Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], obsessive behavior, implied violence, implied emotional and physical abuse, implied brainwashing, knowledge based on spoilers from the first two episodes of the 2024 series.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!
Hey guys, welcome back to another Hazbin Hotel fic, starring Hell's one and only Radio Demon, Alastor! This is a collaborative piece written with @isuckatwritingsobenice, whom I share a mutual adoration for Violet Evergarden, the anime and titular character who is in my humble opinion, one of the best written female protagonists I have seen in anime.
As always, bullying is not tolerated here. If you have nothing nice to say, please do not say it. Furthermore, if you believe the warnings listed above will make you uncomfortable, please leave now.
For those who have decided to stay, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going for tonight's broadcast :)
Alastor is someone who thrives on entertainment and chaos. Seeing the scourge of Hell striving to redeem themselves in Charlie’s hotel, only to fail as soon as they gave into the vices they’ve been trying to cure themselves of? That’s the only reason he agreed to help the princess with her passion project. He needed some inspiration after lacking it for so many decades!
When you had arrived at the hotel with nothing except the clothes on your back and a suitcase that protected your precious Remington typewriter, the Radio Demon would not deny that he was amused to see a sinner who actually saw his advertisement on the television. After all, no one was taking Charlie seriously, and who would? Apparently you did, but for a different reason: you were looking for a job, a purpose. You said so in the interview, and you were willing to learn. When Vagatha asked what would be considered a flaw in your work ethic, you took off your leather gloves and showed her and Charlie the alloy prosthetics that acted as your new limbs after losing them in the war.
Why you still had them and why your appearance was wholly human, you did not know. Would this be considered a flaw? You were not sure either. You are still learning about modern technology, especially the handheld devices called cell phones.
Although the staff was in dire need of someone who could advertise the Hazbin Hotel on the Internet, the princess found something you could do and might be adequate at: gardening. More specifically, being the hotel’s groundskeeper. Someone who can maintain the hotel’s outward appearance and make sure the hell-grass or weeds don’t get too out of control. You stood up from your seat, feet planted together and saluted Charlie, promising that you will do your best in a monotone voice.
The poor dear did get a little flustered from your actions, but Vagatha did not seem to mind, asking you to follow her upstairs so that she could show you your new room and give you the key. Your first day will be tomorrow.
Oh, this will be fun~! Alastor thought with a wide grin. Someone new to antagonize and watch fall into the fiery pits of failure! Husk was starting to bore him anyway.
And he was not disappointed.
He saw you struggle with holding a garden spade, laying down carpets of fresh grass neatly without trying to crush it between your prosthetic limbs, carrying fertilizer and what flowers to plant! These entertaining events happened within the first week of being here. Is he sorry that his shadows purposely swapped the fertilizer bags and replaced the seed bags to plant roses with rat bait? Absolutely not!
The more chaos that he created, the more entertained he will be. The anticipation to see you crumble from the pressure and expectations of dear Vagatha and Charlie is almost palpable, he couldn’t wait!
However, you were not someone who gave up as easily as he hoped you would.
You kept showing up every day at the exact time, and worked in the garden until Niffty had to drag you inside to have lunch. Then you stayed outside for a bit longer, making sure everything was ready for the following day. You even tried to help out in the kitchen, though you were still struggling to properly hold a knife and chop up vegetables for his jambalaya or cracking eggs in a bowl to help Niffty bake a cake at nine o’clock in the evening because she was bored and wanted something sweet.
You carried heavy crates of liquor for Husk and even massaged his temples when he complained of a headache. When you discreetly switched out the liquor in his booze for water one time he held a grudge against you for pulling that stunt for almost a week. He eventually forgave you by preparing a Shirley Temple on the house after you politely rejected a whiskey on the rocks because you did not drink alcohol.
Sir Pentious, the wannabe overlord, was utterly fascinated with your prosthetic limbs and had asked you to let him examine them. That comment earned him a low, menacing growl from Vagatha, spear in hand. The Egg Bois seemed to like you well enough that they tried to help you out in the garden when all they really did was make your job a bit harder. You still thanked them anyway.
Angel Dust tried to take you shopping for a new wardrobe since you always wore the same outfit every day, but his definition of fashion bordered on risque and flaunting his assets. You were not here to flaunt your appearance, you were here to work, but you thanked him anyway. When he came back to the hotel, staggering inside on wobbly legs and his face covered in black-blue bruises, you were the one who caught him and helped him settle on a table as Husk pulled out a first aid kit. You allowed Angel to put all four of his arms around you and cry on your shoulders, carefully placing your skeletal prosthetics around his back.
How is it that a single sinner could empathize with everyone here except him?
This singular thought, this curious idea, is what motivated Alastor to find out more about you. And there is no else in Hell who can spill the tea on someone as accurately as his dear friend Rosie.
A trip to Cannibal Colony was in order~! So he did go there, proclaiming he’ll be back before dinner and ignoring Vagatha’s cursing as well as the princess trying to calm down her short-tempered lover.
As it turned out, he had heard about you, it’s just that the topic in question did not interest him at the time. Rosie conjured up some old newspaper clippings, pointing at the image of you fighting against an exorcist in hand-to-hand combat during the Extermination. This article had been written five years ago, and the one before that? Three years ago. It seemed like you were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, and you fought back because that is what your life had been before; surrounded by violence, vanquishing enemy forces when they crossed your path. Yet when you did make an appearance, everyone in Hell clamored for any scraps of information. Anything to find out who is the mysterious sinner who looked like a human and could rip off an exorcist’s head bare-handed.
Now, you were staying at the hotel trying to put whatever remained of your afterlife together. That is your true purpose and now the Radio Demon knew.
Alastor thanked Rosie for the information and the company, leaving Cannibal Colony in a merry mood. Everything was in place. Everything made perfect sense now.
If you were looking for a way to be useful in his newest project, he can make that happen. All he needs to do is nudge you in the right direction without Charlie and Vagatha around.
They are adorable when they are taking turns being a guard dog around you, you sweet little darling~.
Taglist
@chroniccorvus
@imperfectbloodmoon
@doc-tooth
@nixie-writes
@riddle-simp
@tired-of-life-86
@blackmageoffandoms
If you would like to be tagged in future yandere hazbin x reader fics, please comment on this post here. If you do not comment, then you will not be added on the taglist.
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love
Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, spoilers for episodes 7 and 8 in the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial, physical abuse, implication of friends to enemies.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
Hey guys, welcome to another Hazbin Hotel fic! I know I had said that I was going to be on a break until the 8th or 14th in my last post, but I had gotten a burst of inspiration after watching the season finale and wrote this after discussing the idea with @riddle-simp and collaborated with @witch-of-the-writing-desk. It's because of these two that I managed to write 2k in a single day, so please give a big round of applause to these amazing individuals.
So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!
Part Two
Alastor could not believe what had happened on the rooftop. No, he refused to believe that he was nearly killed by a hair. To almost die for his friends, a fucking altruist of all things. Sorry to disappoint, but this is not how his story will end here. He thought viciously, tugging at his hair as memories rushed through his mind. He needed more. He needed his freedom. Yet this deal is restricting his powers from reaching their fullest potential, and it almost killed him. Yes, there has to be another way to get out of it. But more importantly….he needed to stop these feelings bubbling inside of him. These feelings he felt towards you.
You, a simple groundskeeper who had forgotten what it meant to be a human and served as a weapon in war. You, who did not use technology like him yet still found a way to connect with the rest of the hotel’s wayward souls.
He hates it and he wants you gone, out of sight and out of mind, because these feelings have put him in more danger than necessary. When he finds the backdoor of his deal, how to unclip his wings, he will be the one pulling all of the strings and claim the power that he rightfully deserves. He is the Radio Demon, the Great Alastor! Nothing else matters to him!
He made his decision right in the dilapidated radio station to never get attached to you or anyone else again. To only focus on himself and no one else. He is in Hell for a reason, after all. He cackled, feeling the thrum of his power rising in unison with his conviction. Yes. He thought. Yes, he’s Alastor! The cold, ruthless overlord who always has room for more voices on his broadcast. Not some soft-hearted twit who would die for someone!
But what he did not realize at the time, just right underneath the hatch, you had heard everything.
Despite your injuries and losing both of your arms to angelic steel, you had used your strength to trek through the debris and look for him. Now knowing that he despised you, knowing that he sees you as nothing more than a weapon to use for his convenience….well, you could not blame him. You were a weapon when you were alive. You were feared, you were hated, and you did not care at the time. So why did it hurt so much when he said that? You did not know, except it was better to keep your distance from him.
So you left the Radio Demon alone, staggering away to join the others.
Vaggie was somehow able to find Sir Pentious’ blueprints for your prosthetics in a fireproof trunk beneath the rubble, and put in a call to Carmilla Carmine to see if she could make them with angelic steel instead of adamantine. Of course, the angelic arms dealer took a look at them first before agreeing to it, but not before telling Vaggie she must ask for your consent to do the procedure and what you wanted to add or remove. You gave your input, and the procedure was scheduled for the following week. Although you could not help with the construction of the hotel, you did assist Charlie by putting together an eulogy and memorial service for Sir Pentious. The princess was not sure when it would be held, hopefully when the hotel was finished.
You understood, softly promising to be by her side for support, even if you had to be pushed in a wheelchair. Sir Pentious had been a good person, an inventor and a gentleman who was nothing but kind and respectful to you. Even though you offered to pay him for doing repairs on your arms in the past, he brushed it off and instead asked you to join him for tea. He…you hoped he found peace.
On the day of your procedure, you asked the overlord a question that had been plaguing your mind since the war. “Madam Carmilla, I am a weapon. I was raised to be one, to be used and tossed aside when my usefulness had expired. So…why is it that I am bothered by what Alastor said…on that day?” You did not dare to elaborate on what he exactly said to her, just that he said that he did not want to see you anymore. Be gone from his sight and mind.
She stared at you for a long moment before she replied coolly, “So I have heard from Vaggie. But I do not share her thoughts. A weapon is lifeless. You are a person. An emotionally stunted one, but someone is living, breathing, and who can still be hurt by what others say about them even if they can’t see it. You are upset because of what Alastor said….and in my humble opinion, whatever you feel towards him, discard it. There is nothing to gain by being close to him.” She then turned away, pulling on a pair of gloves over her hands as one of her daughters placed a mask over her face. “Are you ready to begin? This is your last chance, and I cannot promise it won’t hurt.”
“I am.” You said. “Thank you for answering my question.”
Carmilla nodded, and proceeded to give out instructions to you and the rest of the staff in the operating room. You complied, not wanting any more time to be wasted on your behalf. At least now you knew why you were upset. It was because you cared about Alastor. Cared….yes, that is the appropriate word. You had to distance yourself from him. It is what he wanted, so you must respect his decision as the manager of the Hazbin Hotel.
Yes, it is better this way.
That was the last thought that crossed your mind before a mask was placed over your face, and everything fell into darkness.
Alastor did not understand. You were doing what he wanted you to do. He did not want to see or talk to you unless it was necessary. So why was it making him angry? When he congratulated you on a successful recovery from your procedure, complimented your progress in physical therapy per Carmilla’s instructions, or how lovely the eulogy you wrote for Sir Pentious' memorial service, you showed no reaction. You simply stared at him with a hollow expression before thanking him, excusing yourself with a bow of your head.
He should be elated. No, he is pleased. He is satisfied that his relationship with you has not gone by being professional. Why, you even pull away as soon as he lays a finger on you~! So why does it bother him that you recoil from his touch? No. He…cannot accept it. He cannot accept this. He needed to speak to you. Discreetly.
However, now that this new and improved Hazbin Hotel stood in place of the old one, everything is much bigger with the additional square footage; meaning there would be more ground to cover if Alastor is to ever find you, even if you do not wish to see him.
Niffty, bless her little deranged mind, pointed him in the direction of the greenhouse. Of course, it was much bigger than the old one. But he still saw the old stained glass windows of the Moriningstar family crest lined up on the south side, allowing red light to come through and shine down on seedling trays with new shoots poking out of the inky soil. The clean, fragrant scent of herbs permeated the air as he walked through the rows of berries, juicy melons, and other culinary delights. He did not think this place would already be thriving when you were the only one who tended to it, as the hotel’s groundskeeper. However…this is you. You, who is able to accomplish anything once you put your mind to it.
He found you hiding just beyond the apple trees, kneeling beside a bush of glistening roses, armed with pruning shears and an apron over your clothes. A watering can sat on the grass by your side. Your back was facing him…which allowed him the element of surprise. Grinning, he leaned forward, stretching his gloved fingers to lightly caress the petals of the rose you were about to snip off.
“Oh, my apologies dear. My hand slipped!”
You glanced at him over your shoulder, emotionless [Eye Color] irises holding a steady gaze before turning away. “It’s all right. There are others that I can place at Sir Pentious’ memorial site.” You said, raising the shears to carefully cut another rose with a small snip. “Thank you for your concern.”
The static around him buzzed, swelling in synchronization with his boiling anger towards you. “I see.” He hissed. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you.”
“It is all right.” Snip. “If there is nothing else, please allow me to finish this so that I can go on break. Niffty will not be happy if I am not out of here within ten minutes.”
“I’m afraid we must discuss something, [First Name].” He pressed on, irritated at your uncharacteristic rudeness. “That is why I am here. So please turn around and look at me.”
You did. You placed the shears down, twisted your body around so that you looked at him straight in the eye. “Yes?” You said. “What do you need?”
He smiled, the static around him coming to a screeching halt and he was much calmer. Finally, He thought. You were looking at him, instead of avoiding his gaze. “I understand that since you have been cleared to return to work, you’ve been quite busy~! However! What I do not understand is why you have been ignoring me.” He leaned forward, feeling his eyes transform into radio dials. “You do not greet me as much as you have before, we haven’t had tea together, nor have we taken a stroll in Cannibal Colony~! So…why are you acting like I am a complete stranger to you?”
“Because I know the truth.”
Any and every thought he could have possibly said to her at this moment evaporated upon hearing your answer. “Pardon? I’m sorry but I didn’t catch that.” His voice leaked through the rising static. He felt his antlers grow, expanding past his ears with cr-crik, crick noises. Like the roots of a tree.
“I know the truth. I know that you are angry over what happened in the war, how everyone saw you flee from your battle against Adam. I know you wish to unclip your wings and that you utterly despise me. So I am doing what you wish for. To maintain a professional relationship as the groundskeeper and the manager of the Hazbin Hotel. Our goal is to redeem sinners. There’s nothing beyond business between us.” You said with a calm and expressionless composure. “I went there that day, to the radio station. I had gone there to look for you, to make sure you were all right when I heard your words. But know this,” A sudden sheen of ice glazed over your eyes. “If you bring harm to Charlie or anyone in this hotel, I will kill you where you stand.”
The last thread of patience in his psyche split in half. Before he could stop himself, Alastor pinned you against the ground, his hands on your shoulders and glaring at you, trying to intimate you with his true form, to scare you into silence as he had done with Husk…but you held your gaze.
“It’s terrible manners to eavesdrop on someone, my dear.”
“And it isn’t wise to attack someone when you are not even at your full strength.”
In a flash you immediately flipped him over, straddling his hips as you held down his wrists over his head with one hand. The other held a garden spade to his throat and he was burning. That was when he realized you weren’t wearing your gloves, thus the angelic steel is the reason why his skin is on fire.
“Calm yourself, Alastor.” You said. “There is no reason to be angry when I am doing what you want me to do. Nor to act as you are doing right now. I advise you to take slow, deep breaths and count to five backwards.”
“Release me.”
“Not until you have calmed down.” The way you replied so calmly, so…lifelessly, made Alastor angry. Angrier than he has felt in a long, long time. Not since his prey had escaped the forest and he did not get to eat them. Not since his mother died, leaving him alone in the world except for a drunken asshole who wasn’t worthy of being his father. Make these feelings stop NOW
“Come to my office in exactly twenty minutes for an evaluation about your conduct at work. Do not be late.”
That was the last thing he said to you before he sunk into the grass as an inky shadow, slithering back towards the greenhouse’s entrance towards his room. He couldn’t believe it. How could you have known everything? How could he not have sensed your presence? Was he that weak? No. No, he assumed he was alone and clearly he had not been. You were an anomaly. You were raised as a weapon; to spy, to kill, to search and destroy upon the command of your master.
So why does it still bother him? Why does his head feel like it is about to split in half as he goes over the conversation over and over in his mind? Why is his heart falling into the pit of his stomach at remembering your promise to kill him if he harmed anyone here in the hotel? Why does he have this urge to know how you truly feel towards him? Do you still care for him? Do you love him?
In twenty minutes, he needed to know the truth…or else he would go insane.
What Alastor did not realize though, as he holed up himself in his quarters until the allotted time to meet with you, Husk had seen the whole thing from the door.
He was going to drag you to lunch because Niffty had gotten pissed that you were skipping meals again…and thank fuck Alastor did not see him. Husk, the drunken gambler and former overlord, almost flew over to you with a worried look, grumbling under his breath. Once he saw that you were all right and did not have visible bruises or injuries courtesy of a certain someone, he grabbed you by the hand, leading out of the greenhouse. He was not going to let Alastor hurt you again.
He might be a dumbass, can’t fight worth shit…but you are important to him, and he’ll protect you even if it means putting himself in the line of fire again.
Secret Santa 🎅 - an Abel and Violet Evergarden! Reader series - part one
warnings: fem!reader references to war and murder, canon divergence, character death, season two spoilers, minors dni, winner!reader.
Synopsis: You have survived the trenches against all the odds as a human, and ascended to Heaven alongside Sir Pentious after you sacrificed yourselves to save everyone at the hotel in the battle against Adam’s Extermination. Now, you face your toughest assignment yet: finding the perfect gift for your Secret Santa with less than twenty-four hours left until Christmas comes.
author notes: hello~! I hope everyone is doing well this holiday season~! This scenario won by a landslide in a poll, and I am happy to present it to you as a collaborative piece with an incredibly talented writer friend of mine, @bones4thecats~! We will posting each chapter on our respective blogs, so if you are looking for part two, the link shall be here. This piece will have references to my other Hazbin Hotel fic The Persistence of Memory, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Credit goes to the rightful owner of the artwork above that I found on Pinterest.
Merry Christmas to one and all, and to all a good night~! :3
dividers by @strangergraphics
Christmas was an entirely different holiday than you had expected it to be in Heaven.
Pine garlands twisted around marbled street lamps, twinkling lights shone in the display windows of bustling shops, and the scent of piping hot chocolate being sold by the dozen from vendors tickled your nose. You weaved through the crowds, careful not to jostle anyone who was carrying brightly colored presents tied off with snow-white ribbons or sugared treats. As curious as you were to see how a choir singing Joy to the World in front of a massive tree decorated with sparkling ornaments enhanced the celebration of the winter solstice, the window to secure the perfect gift for your Secret Santa was closing in, and fast.
Who would have thought that finding a present inside the pearly gates of Heaven would have higher stakes than dodging Molotov cocktails back on the streets of the Pentagram?
Hellborns celebrate this day, quaintly called Sinmas. They embraced their native sins amongst friends and family, based on which ring they were raised in. The Molotov cocktails? Wrath. Drinking gallons of alcoholic eggnog with charcuterie boards of food? Gluttony, and the list goes on. There were many Hellborns in the Pride Ring, including imps and Hellhounds. Charlie celebrated Sinmas too, but she didn’t like how it encouraged violence instead of joy, so it would go against the hotel’s goal towards redemption. She had wanted everyone to take part in the customs of Christmas as part of a group activity. She thought it would be an excellent way to teach the residents how an act of kindness and generosity could make a difference, big or small.
It was a shame that neither you nor Sir Pentious would be there to see it. No one could leave Heaven once they had ascended, as Emily had once told you before gushing that everyone would love to be your friend here. Because you two were one of a kind. Redeemed Winners, who had sacrificed their lives to save the hotel from being destroyed by Adam’s Exterminators.
You just hoped Sir Pentious was having better luck with preparing a gift for his Secret Santa than you were. Perhaps you should have consulted with Saint Peter before you had ventured into the market, carrying nothing but a folded-up piece of paper in your pocket with the name of your Secret Santa written on it.
Abel. The son of Adam and the new head of the Exorcist army.
He had been at your trial, heard your story, and knew what you were capable of. So why would the commander of Heaven’s celestial guard take a chance and want to be your friend? You had nothing to offer except the blood on your hands.
“Speaker.” You said as you lowered your head towards the marble floor, hands still bound by holy chains. “I have confessed all of my sins before this court - but my place is not here. I belong in Hell. Sir Pentious belongs here, in Paradise. Allow me to return to the darkness where I may continue to serve out my eternal punishment.”
You waited. You waited for a portal to open up behind you, to be thrown back into Hell or worse, Lute would take it as an opportunity to stab you with an angelic weapon and use your death to declare another one-sided war against the hotel so that she could avenge Adam. But none of these scenarios prepared you for the hushed whispers followed by the feeling of being gently pulled up from the floor by the Speaker.
“My child,” the Speaker said softly as the chains disintegrated beneath her touch, taking your hands into her larger ones. “You are here now. This does not just happen by coincidence. You are here because you are worthy. You had taken many lives over the course of your young life. And when the drums of war were silenced, you found a new purpose as an Auto-Memory Doll. You became a beacon of hope to those who wished to connect their loved ones with words they struggled to say and protected those you cared about until the very end. You and Sir Pentious have atoned for the sins in your lives. Neither of you will have anything to fear here.”
The Speaker had been right, to that extent. Had she known the chaos that would follow afterwards was another question entirely.
You shook your head at the thought and continued your quest through the market. Abel didn’t seem the person who would like a raffle’s grand prize of free sodas from the food court for an entire year as a Christmas gift. He seemed to enjoy going to the unicorn polo stadium, the multiplex, the disco club, and the zoo all the time, so a gift from any of those places would be meaningful. But there had to be something that Abel wished Santa would leave for him under the tree on Christmas morning. Why else would he put his name in the Secret Santa game if he did not want one thing that would make him happy to have? Does it even come from a store?
You were about to turn around and retrace your steps when your eye caught the sign of an establishment unlike anything you had seen before; mortar and brick, squished between two other buildings with an intricate wooden sign hanging from the door.
The Vibe Shop - Custom Guitars, Vintage Records, Disco, We’ve Got It All!
The window displayed exactly what they were advertising: headless electric guitars, a record player with autographed vinyls leaning against either side, and a pair of the limited pearlescent Nimbus disco boots. You remembered Emily gushing excitedly over these shoes and how they would look exceptionally pretty beneath the light of the club’s disco ball. Abel liked to dance there too, you just weren’t sure if the Nimbus was a suitable Christmas gift for him. Then you saw it, mounted on the wall inside behind the counter.
A lute, laminated with golden foil that shimmers between violet and blue hues, dotted with constellations and the carving of a lady in flowing robes hollowed out in the sound-hole. Golden strings and knobs laced the top half, with more foiled stars cascading down the lute’s neck. It seemed like someone had crafted it from innocence and dreams, with intention and stardust. It seemed someone had made it for only one person, and it would cherish that person forever. Someone like Abel.
You had found it. The perfect Christmas present for your Secret Santa.
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader Valentine's Day scenario
Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], obsessive behavior, vulgar language, knowledge based on the first four episodes of the 2024 series.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!
Hey guys, welcome back to another Hazbin Hotel fic, starring Hell's one and only Radio Demon, Alastor and his little darling!
This is a collaborative piece with @isuckatwritingsobenice with special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing-desk and @riddle-simp for providing criticism and feedback. If you would like to read the one that started it all, I'll leave a link to it here.
As always, bullying is not tolerated here. If you have nothing nice to say, please do not say it. Furthermore, if you believe the warnings listed above will make you uncomfortable, please leave now.
For those who have decided to stay, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on for tonight's broadcast :)
Although he had figured out why you were and what he needed to do to push you in the right direction, Alastor was still annoyed with what he was…feeling towards you.
When his mother died, he had stopped feeling. There was no reason to keep feeling when the only person in his entire world was gone. Is that the reason why he became a serial killer? Who knows. Is she the reason why he keeps smiling, because he always remembered her saying that you never fully dressed without one? Absolutely! Why bother wearing a frown all the time when he could keep everyone on their toes with a smile and a salutations over the radio?
So why is it that when he thinks about you, it is like his mind is torn between annoyance and fondness? Why does he have the urge to simply hide you away from the world and keep you all to himself instead of making your misery even greater for his own amusement? He doesn’t know and if he doesn’t figure out why, he knows he will lose his temper very soon. Charlie had already demolished the second to last wall of his patience on the insistence that everyone in the hotel should participate in a crafting session to celebrate a human holiday. Valentine’s Day, of all things.
He is a gentleman. And a gentleman, as his mother has always taught him, is to never raise his hand against a woman. She did not say anything about Lucifer’s delusional daughter who believes that the people of Hell can be redeemed. Even you, someone who is just as rational and calm as he, believed in her. That a sinner had a chance to go to Heaven when their actions in life are reflected on their afterlife. It’s common sense, really.
So why couldn’t you see that? Even Vagatha was starting to have some doubts too. But she would not dare say what is truly on her mind about this passion project to Charlie’s face yet due to her incredibly strong loyalty towards the princess.
Regardless of his observations of these two ladies, Alastor found himself caught in the enigmatic web of emotions as he observed your seemingly indifferent facade from his favorite chair in the parlor. He was not helping with decorating the hotel. You were though. You stood underneath Charlie, steadying the ladder she stood with gloved hands as she pinned strings of pink and red paper hearts over the hotel’s entryway. Vagatha was nearby, busying herself with other tasks, including asking Husk to please not drink all of the red wine, they are saving it for tonight! Angel was flirting with Husk. Husk shot a rude gesture in return. Niffty was making the hotel spotless again when she already cleaned it a few hours ago. Alastor had no idea where Sir Pentious was and frankly did not care.
When he had decided to help with the hotel, he was just going to watch from the sidelines and let everything run its course. But there was something being formed here. A connection was beginning to make itself known and he did not like that. The Radio Demon comes and goes as he pleases without being tied down to anything or anyone. If this feeling continues to fester inside of him, why he’ll toss himself into the fiery pits just so that he could be his old self again!
“All right, these are all done!” Charlie said happily, pulling away to look at her handiwork with pride before she averted her gaze to you. “You good there, [First Name]? Sorry I had to pull you away from gardening to do this!”
“I don’t mind.” You said. [Eye Color] irises watched as the princess began to climb down, each step squealing creak-creak beneath her stilettos. “What will we do about snacks and dinner? We already have the drinks covered through Husk.” You held out a gloved hand to the princess on the third step from the bottom. Charlie gladly took it, but not before she spun you around, the bone-white skirt billowing slightly to reveal the laced-up boots on your feet.
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out! In fact, I’ll make a grocery list for Niffty right now! Then we’ll need to see if we can add anything else. Ooh, maybe something for the staircase? Or the chandelier? This party is going to be so much fun! Can’t you feel the love in the air, [First Name]?!”
You blinked at her. “No.” You carefully distanced yourself away from her. “But I do remember there is something I need to bring inside before I forget about it again. I’ll be right back.”
You bowed your head to them and scurried across the parlor, making quick strides across the parlor and taking a left underneath the intricate railings of the grand staircase. There was a light click, and then there was silence.
The hotel, constructed on the hill, possessed a limited garden space that showcased carefully manicured flora. There was also a greenhouse. Both locations were left unexplored by Alastor because he knew the flora you had carefully tended to, and in his opinion, it was too soon to share his secret just yet. However, he did know that the door under the grand staircase, the centerpiece of the hotel’s architecture, was how you always traveled around.
Each corridor held secrets, inviting exploration and mystery within the confines of the Pride Ring’s overlook. But the door you took was a shortcut to whichever place you desired to go to: the garden or the greenhouse. Fifteen minutes passed, and then the door opened again.
Walking out of the staircase, everyone saw the bright red roses cradled carefully in your gloved hands.
Charlie squealed in delight, racing towards you with wide eyes. Vagatha followed close behind. Angel just looked up from his phone to see what was all the ruckus in faint interest.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh! You did it, [First Name]! You really grew something!!” Charlie all but shouted, her excited cries bouncing across the vaulted ceilings. Vagatha leaned forward, a small smile stretching across her face. “Great job.”
“It was a little tricky, but I was finally able to figure out the proper fertilizing formula, including a place where they can get just enough sunshine but not so much that the petals would not be burned. An inch of water each week. Too much water and I might actually kill the roots.” You explained. “Since the weather doesn’t change much down here except for the occasional acid rain, these actually had time to grow.” You then took one flower, holding out to Vaggie. “For you.” You said, then placing another one in Charlie’s hands. “And you. If you’d like to make them last for a little longer, put them in a vase with sugar water.”
Charlie beamed. “Thank you!”
“Thanks.” Vagatha said.
You inclined your head, then crossed the room and proceeded to pass around your hard earned flowers to everyone. You kneeled down to Niffty’s height, tucking one behind her ear before standing up. She jumped up and down in happiness, causing the flower to fall but she caught it, holding it as if it’s the most precious treasure she had ever been given. She promised to give you something in return, to which you politely declined.
You walked over to the bar and handed a rose to Husk. He stared at the flower, then back at you before he put down the bottle he had been drinking from on the counter, plucking it from your hand. “Thanks kid.” He muttered, laying it next to him and then taking another swing of his booze. Angel immediately slid into one of the booths, grinning toothily at you.
“Got any for me, toots?”
You held out a rose to him. He made a flirty joke and promptly shoved it in his chest. “So~? How do I look?” He crooned, batting his eyes at you as he pushed up his chest floof right in front of your face. Honestly, when will this whore learn this is not how someone speaks to a lady?
Your countenance held a fleeting perplexity at his vulgar words and actions, your brow furrowing for a moment before your stoic expression returned…though Alastor could see…an inquisitive expression in your eyes. You were thinking about something. What he did not know and he was quite curious to see what you do next.
So he sat in silence and watched.
He watched you stretch your hand outwards, carefully extracting the rose from Angel’s person. Angel opened his mouth, no doubt ready to complain when he froze midway as you artfully placed it on the right side of his head. You withdrew, casting a scrutinizing gaze upon him before nodding in approval.
“Flowers adorning your hair enhance your allure far beyond the glimmer of rainbow glitter or imitation jewels.” You said. For the first time since he arrived at the hotel, the famous pornstar Angel Dust was rendered completely speechless. The only thing he could stutter was a ‘thanks’, a faint red hue staining his pale face.
The gradual decay of the rose in your hand did not escape Alastor’s notice and he was delighted. A manifestation of the latent powers he possessed, to cause living things within a certain distance to wither. He smirked, appreciating the subtle dance of his influence. You spun around, meeting his gaze. “Permission to approach, sir?”
Husk gagged. Vaggie groaned. He laughed.
“Of course you can~!” He said. Oh, you were trying so hard to respect his personal space, how adorable! Goodness, hadn’t you caught on that he only touches people that he is interested in? Why, he’s touched Charlie’s shoulders so many times that he is shocked that Vagatha hasn’t tried to stab him out of jealousy!
So you approached him. But when you held out his rose to him, it was already dead.
You were shocked but you did not need to say anything; your face, and your eyes, told him everything. He was pleased and amused all at the same time. What would you do next? He thought. You looked down at the rose, then back at him. Carefully placing the other rose, the one that wasn’t completely decayed yet, on the coffee table. Your gloved fingers coiled around the stem of his rose and deftly snapped it in half. You took another step, and leaned forward to pin it to the left side of his coat.
You took a step back. You looked at the flower, then back at him. “It still suits you.” You said. “Although it is dead, a decayed rose suits you just as much as a fresh one.”
Alastor felt his withered heart pulse under his skin for the briefest moment until it went still again. He knows he is a dapper of a gentleman, someone who takes pride in his appearance and knows how to use it to his advantage. But hearing your compliment made him preen in his seat. Almost. He had a reputation to uphold.
“Coming from you my dear, that is the highest praise I had never believed would be uttered from your lips~!” He said, abruptly standing up from his chair and staring down at you with a grin. “Now that I’m all spiffed up, it’s your turn~!”
You tilted your head to the side. “I don’t understand.” You said with an expressionless face.
“I just remembered that I have an errand to run in our dear city, and I am in need of your skill sets~!” He was rambling. He knew it and it was pissing him off because the Radio Demon does not stutter or act flustered around anyone. He snapped his fingers, feeling the familiar thrum of his magic as it left his body, evaporating into a plume of red mist that covered your body before it disappeared as quickly it had come. Gone was the same outfit you wore every day, and in its place was an outfit much more suited for any self-respecting woman; a light pink sequined flapper dress, a rope of pearls around your neck with a nice little cloche hat to top it off. And he mustn’t forget the pair of white heels on your feet!
Yet just as the applause track echoed across the parlor, Alastor noticed that you looked away from him. You were uncrossing and crossing your adamantine skeletal arms, the gloved hands being the remaining piece from exposing the scars of war entirely to curious eyes.
Oh. Oh. You were even quivering? Such a shame.
Trying his best to ignore the disappointment gnawing at his bones, Alastor sighed and snapped his fingers again, dispelling the enchantment on you and simultaneously replacing the outfit with something….much more suited to your style, but matching him in every sense of the word. A white ruffled white blouse poking out from the collar of a red waistcoat, a matching ruffled skirt that covered your legs and stretched to your ankles, where the black-heeled stilettos peeked out from. The white gloves were dyed to onyx, and the cute hat was replaced with one that had a wider brim with a black rose stitched on the side. In your hands was a red parasol. But his favorite, personal touch was the ruby brooch shaped like a stag, like him.
Replacing the emerald one you wore every day, supposedly in memory of Major Gilbert. The man whom you claimed did not love him romantically since you cannot love. That tad-bit he had overheard when you shared one thing about yourself in the group exercise.
But more importantly, you no longer seemed anxious. In fact, you were back to your normal, monotone self~! How wonderful and annoying!
Alastor grinned in approval, twirling his microphone expertly between his fingers before rapping the end of it against the floor with a loud thump. “Now then, shall we be off, my dear~?” He said, extending his arm for you to take. You looked at him, then back at Vagatha before you stepped towards him, very cautiously placing your gloved hand in the crook of his arm. It took a lot of self-control to not pull away in disgust from the contact, but he held onto his composure because he is a gentleman not a brute.
“Now then, let us be off~!” He bellowed.
“You’re supposed to actually be helping us around the hotel, not fucking off, you prick!” Vagatha yelled, her lovely silver hair standing on end as she swore in Spanish. Charlie was trying to calm her darling down with a sheepish smile, wishing the two of you a good time and don’t worry about a thing. Alastor just grinned and quickly led them out of the hotel, down the steep hill and into the city.
Though as soon the two of you were parading through the streets, you immediately pulled away from him and stood exactly five feet behind him. He could not help but feel amused by your antics, nor the relief of actually having his personal space back even when he had offered his arm for you to take, not the other way around. You knew better than to initiate contact. Although unexpected joy hummed in his veins, this…genuine connection, this bond, began to chip away around the edges of his collected facade. And as the two of you continued your walk through the Pentagram at a steady pace, there was also this irritable and irresistible annoyance starting to bloom in the back of his head and quite frankly it was beginning to give him a headache. Why is he feeling so many things at once? Can’t feelings have an arranged timetable so he doesn’t lose his reputation as a fearsome overlord?
Why are feelings…so damn complicated? Why?
Not wanting to sink any further between the allure of your company and his own resistance to vulnerability, Alastor began to hum a little tune to distract himself. He did not want to think. He refuses to fall even further than he already has. He turned his head slightly, gazing at you from his peripheral vision. You were looking around curiously, watching sinners live their sinful lives and probably wondering why you had earned the same damnation as they did. At least that was what he initially thought until he saw your eyes darting from the street corners, the buildings…ah. The cameras.
You were worried about Vox seeing him after he had put the little pest in his place last week? Oh, you were quite a little darling, weren’t you?
“There’s no need to be concerned about those tiny picture boxes, my dear!” He exclaimed suddenly. “This face was made for radio, the proper medium to express oneself!”
“...You’re certain?”
“Of course! Now it should be around here…ah-ha! Here we are! Follow me or you might get swept up by another gentleman!” Alastor joked as he quickened his pace towards a mortar-and brick building sandwiched between two other more modern buildings on the other side of the street. The restaurant, embraced by mortar and brick, stood between modern edifices. Its interior exuded a warm ambiance, with dim lighting casting a subtle glow on polished wooden tables. The booths were nestled in the back, providing a private setting for the two of you. The menu possessed an array of culinary delights, promised a refined venison experience.
Rosie had recommended this place to him a while back, but never got around to it after he left for his sabbatical seven years ago. You did not keep him waiting, matching your stride with his and the host’s.
Despite just how much the host trembled in fear at the sight of him, handing out the menus and stuttering the name of their server, the host couldn’t stop staring at you with a dazzled, licentious look in his eyes. Alastor had to hold back the urge to make the server part of his menu. Or maybe he shouldn’t? Perhaps this youngster needed a reminder just who he is?
“…Alastor? Alastor? Sir?”
Your voice called out to him, the barest hint of concern laced with curiosity before he shook himself out of his thoughts. “Yes, my dear?” He asked.
“Are we doing a reconnaissance mission?”
The static around him screeched to a halt, and he stared at you with an incredulous expression.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You had said that you needed my skill sets on this outing,” You said, blinking at him, folding your gloved hands together on the sleek wood table. “My specialties from serving in the war include that as well as hand-to-hand combat and weapon handling. Is….this about new territories that are up for the taking? Why was the extermination date moved up to six months? Or this mission on a need-to-know basis?”
…He knew you were oblivious to Angel’s flirtatious remarks and modern slang, but he did not think that it would extend that you did not know that when a gentleman takes a beautiful lady for a night around the town, it means he has the intention of courting. What sort of life had you lived before coming down here? More importantly, how does he explain without looking like a complete fool?
The Radio Demon thought for a long moment before a proverbial lightbulb went off inside his mind. Yes, he thought delightfully. That will do. Mirroring your position - spine straight, bony fingers interlaced, and placed neatly on the table, maintaining eye contact. He spoke.
“Considering your skills-set, I wanted to see if you are truly as talented as you claim to be~! And there is no better way to evaluate a person’s worth than through a simple test. A game, if you will!” He leaned forward, pushing a wave of his powers throughout his body, releasing it from the bottom of his shoes and scattering throughout the establishment. Well, his friends at least. Now for the rules.
“My shadows are somewhere in this restaurant. Some are easy to see at first glance, some are not~! Find all six of them, and you get a prize! If you guess incorrectly, however, then you must truthfully answer a question I will ask. The time limit will be until we leave, and you must maintain eye contact with me at all times! Since this mission is….a personal one of mine, you must be able to blend with the crowd and not draw attention to yourself, to us, or this mission will be compromised. Any questions?” You shook your head.
“Wonderful~!” He bellowed in delight
And then the game began.
Between interruptions with their server and mild conversation, you whispered where each shadow as you looked at the second side of the menu, unable to decide what to try. He obviously recommended the venison, and he would either say you found a shadow or guessed incorrectly. By the time you had informed the server of your entrees, you found three out of six. You got two tries wrong. Alastor got two questions out of you.
“What was your life like before coming down here, my dear?” He asked.
“I served in The Great War as a soldier of the Leidenschaftlich Army. My commanding officer was Major Gilbert Bougainvillea.” You answered. “When I was relieved from my duties, I worked at a postal company until my death.”
“And do you know what it means when a gentleman asks a young lady to join him for an outing?”
You opened your mouth, and then closed it, confusion flitting across your face for the briefest moment until you answered him. “I do not.” You said slowly. “From my experience in the barracks, the men would escort the young ladies that have caught their interest to the pub or somewhere else…and they would not come back until past curfew. The major would lecture them if he caught them. He told me…it was a sex thing. But I was too young to understand what he meant back then.”
Alastor almost choked on his venison at your words, his equilibrium thrown off for a moment before he quickly recovered, swallowing the delicious morsel and maintaining his dignity by wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I…see.” He said slowly. “And you are aware that this is not that kind of courting, correct?”
“Yes.” You answered. “Because you do not like anything related to sex, which is perfectly fine.”
“But do you know that when a gentleman courts a young lady without…that in mind, it is because he has a romantic interest in her?” He asked, staring at you straight in the eye. “And he would like to get to know a little more in a setting that does not include any third parties?” There. He thought as he saw your eyes widen just a fraction. Understanding. You were catching onto his intentions! Finally, another emotion! You have shown him another expression besides indifference and confusion! Good job! Now will these blasted feelings finally go away? Out of sight, out of mind as they say!
Then the look on your face melted away, becoming a mask of stoicism as you answered him softly.
“I appreciate the sentiment….but I am afraid that I am no longer capable of feeling emotions, at least…what it truly means to love someone. It can come in many forms and is expressed differently with each person. The romantic sense…it isn’t meant for me. And I’ve come to terms with that when I was alive, and when I came here. I am grateful for what I already have.”
In the back of his mind, Alastor had actually thought he would get another reaction out of you, perhaps seeing your cheeks turn red and hear your heart thumping against your rib cage. But at the cost of hearing someone actually reject his advances?
That does not seem quite fair, does it? He chuckled darkly in amusement.
“Hm~. You say that you are no longer capable of expressing yourself beyond a grim facade? I beg to differ, my dear. I have seen you show discomfort, anxiety, and understanding all within a single day of being in my company. I can guarantee that’s the most I have ever seen of you since you came to the hotel.” He craned his head to one side, still smiling. “But fear not, I wholeheartedly welcome a challenge.”
With that being said, he graciously decided to extend the little game with the progression of their meal, right up to when the waiter brought them your desserts. There were still three shadows to find, and he continued his line of questioning, observing your reactions and demeanor as you answered him.
Alastor will not lie and say that your rejection of courtship did not bruise his pride. He was used to being feared and worshiped in a single breath. Being liked was something else entirely, yet being disliked? Quite rare, with the exception of Vox and the other Vs.
“You can certainly keep me on my toes, darling.” He said playfully as he stood up from his seat, walking to your side and offering his hand. You stared at him owlishly before placing your hand in his gloved one.
“My mind cannot change that easily I’m afraid, Alastor. You are wasting your time.” You said.
“We shall see, my dear. Perhaps you just need a little more…persuasion.” He replied, before delivering the final question to you, a personal one: how many had you killed when you were a soldier? You replied. I cannot remember anymore.
He was quite stunned at your answer…but he was satisfied, and that was all that mattered. He knew more about you than Charlie probably could ever pull out of you during a group exercise. No one else. Not Husk, Not Niffty, and certainly not Angel Dust nor Sir Pentious. And that gave him an advantage over anyone else who would be so bold as to approach you with a romantic intention.
“I see.” He hummed. “Come, come, you’ve passed the test~! And I did promise a prize to the winner~!”
Instead of the traditional flowers, chocolates, or stuffed animals that were given to a lover on this atrocious holiday, Alastor had purchased new ink ribbons for your Remington typewriter and another pair of leather gloves. Perhaps he will allow you to keep the outfit he dressed you up in. You did wear the same thing every day. It was better than trusting Angel Dust with upgrading your wardrobe.
You thanked him, the barest stretch of a genuine smile stretched across your face as you cradled the bag that held your gifts before it disappeared as quickly as it came, and you focused on the road ahead. Yet to him, the fearsome Radio Demon…it was such a smile that lasted long enough to commit it to his memory, and reinvigorate his desire to pursue you.
After all, no one else in this cesspool is worthy to court the soldier maiden of the Hazbin Hotel except for him…
Taglist
@frompeach
@lunaramune
@imperfectbloodmoon
@candyladycry
@sleepy-hutao
@luthefriendlywitch
@ozzersauce
@22carolina08
@weirdducky17
@justamegafan
@lanxianschoenheit
@frenchtoastmafia
@theunknowntravel3r
@nixie-writes
@hellbornediamonddreams
@riddle-simp
@chroniccorvus
@tired-of-life-86
@angelltheninth
@trecllllllll
@yandere-dark-cupid
@kanroji-san
@purposefulwhale
@likesugarandcyanide
@swallowtailcherry
@silkythewriter
@the-cat-queen-peasants
@faux-ecrivain
@angel-tsugikuni-kamukura
@rebloglikeyouneedtoo
@oucx
@victheauthor
@navierkalani
If you would like to be tagged in future yandere hazbin x reader fics, please comment on this post here. If you do not comment, then you will not be added on the taglist.
The poll for Dante Sparda with Violet Evergarden!reader content to be featured on my new blog will soon come to end, but what shall the final outcome be? Will we all fall down the rabbit hole as Alice did, or shall we remain in reality?
Reply with a ⚔️ on this post to be tagged for the content if it wins, or a 🌻 if you would like to suggest an idea/prompt~.
5/2/25 update: the votes are in and everyone would love to see it being written~! Reply on here with appropriate emojis, and it’ll be posted on my new blog @acaffeinated-constellation! Please be aware that this is an +18 blog, so minors or ageless blogs will be automatically blocked or not tagged.
