Hazbin Hotel Imagine: A Small Prompt
Summary: You were only trying to help. You swear.
Warnings: None
Notes:
Me: Give me a small prompt to write a HH short fic. It can even be 1 word. Bestie: ummmmmmm a prompt Me: Lmao I hate you, BUT ILL DO IT Bestie: no no wait, a SMALL prompt Me: Lmao youre the worst
As always, please do not copy or post my work elsewhere.
You didn’t mean for this to happen.
You swear.
It all started a few weeks ago, when you were eating your breakfast and couldn’t help but notice a certain someone pacing the lobby.
“You okay?” you asked tentatively, unsure of what mood the radio demon was in today.
His head snapped so forcefully toward you that you heard the bones in his neck crack. You wince.
“Why, of course!” Alastor’s voice was full of energy, but even you could hear the dangerous strained edge in them. Like he was holding himself back from absolutely destroying your damned soul. This would be a good time to make your exit.
But…you didn’t get into Hell because of your patience with dangerous men.
“What’s on your mind then?” You kept your voice light, your eyes following his movements back and forth across the floor. Even Alastor’s pacing felt threatening, like he was stalking prey rather than feeling stressed.
He looks at you, and for a moment, you think he will just deflect. He surprises you with the truth today, and you know he relishes the look of surprise that flits across your own face. Always one for entertainment. “I am just having some trouble coming up with a new story for my radio show, my dear. Nothing to worry about.”
Instantly, you’re interested. Alastor does not share much of his radio show aside from what is broadcast for all of Hell to listen to. “You write your own stories?”
He stills his pacing, staring at you. “Well, of course I do. In order to be irreplaceable, one must always come up with their own unique material.”
You both chat for a short while until you can see the subtle changes in your friend, signaling the release of at least some of the tension in his body. “What if, instead of a love drama this time…you do a friendship one?”
“Friendship?” he says doubtfully. “Would the listeners be able to enjoy the complexities and intricacies of friendship alone?” He hums, and you can hear a radio tune briefly mingling with his words. “Well, I suppose I’ve been catering to the more mundane for some time. Romance.” He moved his hands through the air, as if dismissing the thought. “Friendship. Betrayal. True passion! The greatest form of entertainment!”
You try hard to suppress a grin at the radio demon’s excitement. All he needed was a little push. A small prompt. That’s all.
“Maybe you could even write about a friendship gone wrong…you know..two driven individuals, working together to form their own little company…but something happens that drives them apart in the industry…and now it’s a battle between them to be the best in the field.”
Alastor processes your words. “Ah, ho! You seem to have a taste for the twistedly creative, my dear.” He pats your head. “Now! I must be off! Plenty of work to be done!”
You don’t hide your grin this time as he melts into the shadows.
-
It’s only a week or so later when you find yourself sitting in Vox’s office, waiting for him to get off work.
Yes, you were friends with both overlords, and it was no easy feat.
The constant squabbling and heckling often drove you insane. But, individually, you found that you enjoyed their company.
Most of the time, anyway. Not when you’re sitting here waiting for Vox to come out of his office. If he ever decided to grace you with his presence.
Finally, the door opens.
“Sorry, my dear, I got…wrapped up in something.” You look up. There are sparks flying out of his claws, and his screen glitches very briefly.
“Everything okay?” you ask, already knowing its not and bracing yourself for a rant.
And indeed it comes.
You listen as Vox complains about the ratings of several of his shows spiraling. How he needs to come up with some new ideas quickly before next week but every idea has already been done with the mass production at VoxTech. How the viewers are hungry for something new, something different.
There’s a feeling in your brain. An itch. You’ve solved this problem before, didn’t you?
“Well…the majority of your shows are romance based…why not do something on friendship?”
“Friendship?” Vox looks at you skeptically. You smirk and give him the same pitch you gave Alastor.
“I dunno…the majority of viewers are looking for the stories to end in sex.”
God, you really shouldn’t. But…it was just a prompt. A teenie nudge.
You look him square in the eye. “So can your new story.”
-
So, now you are running.
Shadows swirl across the alley ways, and you can see VoxTech security cameras swinging to face you as you run.
You really, really, didn’t mean to.
Both Alastor’s radio story and Vox’s new show were big hits. They glowed in the reviews as two entertainers tend to do. For weeks, they both tried to out shine the other with their complex stories. Both storylines were the talk of Hell. Everything was great.
Until Angel brought up to Alastor how similar the radio story was to Alastor’s and Vox’s relationship.
Until Val asked Vox if he was secretly dating the radio demon.
Both overlords fought constantly. Everyone knew that. But now, you’ve discovered something decidedly much worse.
You race into an alley, only to find yourself facing a brick wall.
“Now, my dear…let’s have a talk.” The voice was staticky and you almost didn’t understand it.
You turn slowly, mouth dry and heart pounding.
“Oh yes, a talk,” came a different glitched out sound. The voice sounded like it was coming from all around you.
You face the long shadow with red eyes standing at the end of the alley beside pops of electricity and a burning bright screen. United as one front.
“I really didn’t mean to. I swear.”