this can also apply to the fandom overall not just shippers
Alastor is treated similar to how a lot people treat woman in fiction and real life.
I want to start this post with a bit of context before getting into specific ships and how shippers tend to depict Alastor. I’ve never really liked most Alastor ships. I’m very attached to him as a character, and anything that feels too out of character immediately loses me. To me, almost all Alastor ships especially when they’re framed as mutually romantic or sexual feel like mischaracterization.
That said, there’s been something else bothering me beyond just “this feels OOC.” While watching how Alastor is depicted in certain ships and how people interpret him, I kept feeling unsettled in a way I couldn’t fully articulate. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what, specifically, I disliked. It took me about 2 years (since season 1) to finally understand it and it turns out it wasn’t just mischaracterization that made these ships uncomfortable to me.
A lot of Alastor shipping content doesn’t engage with him as a subject. Instead, he becomes:
A status symbol (“look who I paired him with”)
A reward
A moral trophy
Or an aesthetic (voice, smile, suit, power)
These are accessory treatment.
In fiction, this has historically happened to women:
Their inner lives are irrelevant unless they serve a romance
Their trauma is “flavor”
Their boundaries are ignored because desire overrides consent
Their personality is flattened to traits that please the viewer
With Alastor, you see the same mechanic on how the fandom treats him:
His canon aversion to intimacy is dismissed as “fixable” or a kind of obstacles to work around
His autonomy is overwritten so a ship can function
His trauma is romanticized instead of respected
His violence and control issues are aestheticized rather than interrogated
He stops being a character and becomes a thing to be used for emotional payoff.
He’s objectified like how many women in fiction are because of his demeanor (I believe that’s way), it's actually really interesting to watch. Alastor’s gentleman-like behavior mirrors a set of expectations that have historically been imposed on women in fiction: perfection in every way
Women in fiction are often expected to be:
Polite
Composed
Emotionally contained
Aesthetically pleasing even in distress
Alastor performs that exact thing:
Constant smile
Controlled speech
Impeccable manners
Emotional restraint even under pressure
Alastor can not have any real uglyness to him that isn't visually pleasing to the audience I’ve seem this with how people constantly compare “pilot” Alastor to “show” Alastor (they're the same person to me) where people often expression how they don't like how “show” Alastor shows more of himself and “pilot” was far more contained and it was harder to truly see his emotions. “Pilot Alastor is praised by some people for being more energetic and enthusiastic even thought in the show they make it known that Alastor is getting more and more tired of working at the hotel, he isn't allowed to actually express that in anyway “We can know that he's annoyed but they shouldn't show that too much, it's unpleasant”.
Because he performs flawless composure, audiences subconsciously assume:
> “He exists to be looked at, not listened to.”
That’s the same expectations female characters fall into.
Moral containment
Women are often expected to be “good victims”:
Suffer quietly
Remain likable
Be redeemable and nurturing despite trauma
Alastor gets shoved into a warped version of this:
His darkness is acceptable only if it’s “cool”
His boundaries are ignored because he’s “charming”
His refusal of romance is framed as denial, not choice
Alastor is not allow to verbally express any real discomfort he feels
His gentlemanliness makes people feel entitled to him.
Emotional labor projection
Another parallel:
Women are often expected to regulate others’ emotions.
With Alastor:
People sometimes project emotional softness onto him
They expect him to “eventually open up”
People expect Alastor to open up without any real justification, as if his comfort and vulnerability are things others are entitled to. He’s expected to feel safe and emotionally available on command, even when he’s given no reason to trust or soften.
*Mind you this is the scene right after Vox forced Alastor to watch him and Val have sex
They want him to be the stable, controlled one in relationships
And humbling him and expecting him to effortlessly take care of himself and others all at the same time
But canon Alastor does not exist to soothe others.
That expectation is imposed on him just like it is on women, but why does this happens specifically to Alastor?
Alastor sits at a crossroads of traits that trigger objectification:
Power without any vulnerability
Elegance without emotional access
Restraint mistaken for consent
Trauma hidden behind competence
When a character refuses to emote on demand, fandom often responds by rewriting them to make them consumable.
That rewriting is gendered even when the character is male.
The irony here is that:
Alastor is one of the few characters whose entire arc is about:
Control
Autonomy
Refusal to be owned
Weaponized politeness
And fandom responds by trying to own him anyway.
When a character:
Is composed
Is desirable
Withholds emotional access
Refuses normative intimacy
They are punished by being objectified.
Now with all this mind
One of the things that makes Alastor such a compelling character is that he withholds from us people wanna know him more. He is polite but not warm, charming but not open, helpful but not selfless. He performs control so well that people forget it is a performance. His smile is constant, his manners are impeccable, his voice never cracks and because of that, audiences often assume he is simple. He looks and acts as if he has everything emotionally together when it far more possible he doesn’t.
Alastor is emotionally blunted, not empty. He feels selectively, inconsistently, and often without clarity. He forms attachments slowly on his own terms, and usually through routine, usefulness, or shared structure rather than intimacy. He values autonomy above almost everything. He does not like being owned, commanded, or morally reframed by others. Even his “kindness” is conditional and deliberate. Nothing about him is accidental.
And yet, despite all of this, fandom consistently treats Alastor as if his interiority is optional.
My comparison to him and how women are treated in fiction becomes unavoidable.
In fiction, women especially composed, polite, emotionally restrained women are often treated less as subjects and more as functions . Their trauma is aesthetic. Their boundaries are negotiable. Their refusal is interpreted as tension rather than a choice. Their restraint is read as availability. They are expected to be perfect, palatable, and ultimately consumable.
Alastor fits that same mold almost too well.
He is gentlemanly. He is controlled. He is aesthetically pleasing. He does not emote “correctly.” He rarely explains himself. And because of that, fandom feels entitled to rewrite him into something more accessible. His lack of interest in romance becomes a challenge. His autonomy becomes something to be overcome. His refusal becomes “he just hasn’t met the right person yet.”
Instead of asking who Alastor is, fandom often asks what he can be used for.
That pattern becomes especially obvious when you look at how he’s handled in ships.
Take Lucifer, for example.
In a lot of radioapple content, Alastor is made subservient emotionally, morally, or literally. He is framed as someone who needs to be put in his place, corrected, commanded, or owned. For a recent example of this the “executioner theory” where Lucifer makes a deal with Alastor that allows him to order Alastor to kill on command, as if Alastor’s entire character arc hasn’t been about resisting ownership and refusing chains. This theory alone full proves my point about how a lot people use and place Alastor in different pairs as a mere accessory. What benefit does Alastor have at all in this scenario and even if there was one can't he just optain it himself especially without being under ownership again.
This dynamic is bizarre on a narrative level, but it’s worse on a thematic one.
Alastor is black, mixed-raced Creole man from the early 1900s. Lucifer is depicted as a white, aristocratic embodiment of old power. When fandom imagines Lucifer commanding Alastor, controlling his violence, or “taming” him, it recreates a racialized power dynamic whether people intend it or not. A powerful Black man’s autonomy is stripped so a white authority figure can be centered as dominant, tragic, or morally superior.
What’s especially telling is that these interpretations often ignore Charlie entirely. A deal where Lucifer controls Alastor’s actions by killing any sinner he commands directly contradicts Charlie’s ideology, her dream, and goes against the overall narrative of Hazbin. But those themes are inconvenient when the goal is a ship, so they’re discarded.
Alastor’s autonomy is sacrificed first.
Instead of Lucifer fans trying to question why Lucifer sees not causing harm as a form of punishment to begin with, they instead jump to trying to fix Lucifers problem cuz “poor him” and instead of taking a moment and wondering why Lucifer has that specific punishment to begin with they come to the conclusion of “Lets use Alastor to fix Lucifers personal “problem””.
With Vox, the treatment shifts but the objectification doesn’t disappear.
In Radiosilence (the one-sided dynamic), Alastor often becomes the unattainable prize. His lack of interest isn’t respected as a boundary; it’s framed as an obstacle. Vox’s obsession is explored, centered, indulged while Alastor’s subjectivity fades into the background. He exists to be wanted. Even tho Alastor presents and how he feels about Vox is the prime reason for the existence of this specific kind of ship Ive only seen few people actually dive into how Alastor would feel or behave in this scenario (even tho its canon now) it is almost always focused on how Vox feels.
In Radiostatic, the problem becomes even clearer. Alastor is frequently aestheticized to the point of abstraction. His femininity stays in this one which for some reason is quite rare as people often remove this trait from Alastor within some ships of him, but they sometimes strip his agency. He’s depicted as something Vox has a status symbol, a beautiful possession, emotional jewelry. In many cases, some radiostatic fans have even admitted to not even liking Alastor at all even tho they full ship this ship. He’s there to make Vox happy, to complete Vox’s narrative, to serve Vox’s emotional arc.
Alastor is no longer a person. He is an accessory.
This mirrors exactly how women in fiction are often treated in shipping spaces: valued for what they provide to another characters rather than who they are themselves.
Alastor’s entire character is built around resisting this exact thing. He does not give emotional access freely because he knows what happens when he does.
In some cases people will excuse Vox’s behaviour even if it's not for a ship by saying “Alastor actually enjoys being stalked he enjoys the harrassment, the assault” this very similar how people would blame and try to excuse similar behave made towards woman not even just in fiction.
And fandom responds to this by forcing access anyways, by rewriting his resistance as desire, reframing his boundaries as a kind of denial, and turning his control into compliance.
It’s honestly a shame, because there are so many thoughtful and interesting ways to explore a character like Alastor, yet so many people default to shallow or outright harmful depictions instead. I’ve seen people dismiss the exploration of (queer)platonic dynamics as boring and even when they don’t say it outright, it often feels like they simply don’t know how to engage with a character like Alastor unless romance or sex is involved.
His identity his refusal of intimacy, his control, his emotional distance could be incredibly fun and challenging to work with, but instead fandom keeps forcing him into amatonormative frameworks that flatten him. Rather than asking what kind of connections Alastor would choose, people focus on reshaping him into something easier to consume. And that, more than anything, feels like such a waste.
I also can’t help but notice that some people pride themselves in their understanding of complex issues like representation, ethics, or specific dynamics making analysis after analysis but when the opportunity arises and if they’re not faced with anything that they personally can not relate to or can not view as surface level, they shut down. They skim the surface, dismiss concerns, or talk over people actually trying to engage, because confronting the topic might force them to confront their own perception. It’s easier to stay comfortable, keep everything flat, and avoid thinking too deeply but doing that only guarantees the same problems keep repeating. The reaction people gave when the conversation of Alastor experiencing racism while alive and how people in this fandom would much rather fight hard to dismiss this idea rather look at how that would effect him and his relationships with others characters was telling, on how they are either ignorant and/or uncomfortable with digging deep into such topic
The fact that this is happening to a male character was actually very confusing to me at first I constantly wondered “what is it about character that makes people treat him like this”. There is more I wish to expand on but Alastor is non-normatively masculine, he's feminine in how he carries himself but he visually masculine enough where his popularity isn't diminished, his racially identity, emotionally restrained, and uninterested in traditional romance. Those are the same traits that have historically made women easier to objectify in fiction.
So, Why is Alastor’s autonomy always the first thing to go?
There something about Alastor that doesn't give him the same amount of privilege that other male character get and i do believe it has to do with even more things than just him having a lot of womanly attributes and once I notice it, I started to notice it everywhere and its very obvious that people are completely unaware of these implications when addressing Alastor but then that would have to bring up another conversation as to why these kinds of interpretation of him is the “default” and and why people don't immediately notice the implications of these depictions.
I could make a second part of this and going into more as to why this happens more maybe
This could probably be seen as a fandom critique post but I get scared posting anything that has critique and Hazbin in it cuz I dont wanna attract certain kind of people 😭, but this has got to be something that is my biggest problem with being in this fandom as it melts down into a lot of issues like, racism, misygony, a/arophobia, and even ableism if I wanted to go even deeper into things, obviously not ever shipper is doing this (I feel that should be common sense)
For context: this is based on one of @elsa-fogen 's ask (I'm too lazy to look for it) basically Rosie is Lilith and Alastor knows about it, they are like one of those besties trying to supress their laughter that's why they're looking away from each other to avoid laughing their asses off, and the others mistook it as flirting, or then having a crush on each other, which is NOT the case AT ALL (they're blushing from supressed laughter bro)
I feel like Vox cause its so obvious how much I took inspiration from Elsa jxsjudskdbxnx.
It's giving "I am So Fucking Tired I slept in a God Damn Office Chair for a Bloody Week and had to Manipulate Mansplain Manwife my way through Three Fucking Deals and a Throuple Therapy in a spawn of one week just to get my Stupid Fucking Stick fixed I am so Fucking Ready to take every classical substance known to a 30s man and Black The Fuck Out for at least A Month I literally Never want to hear Any Word beginning with a V ever again."
It's giving "I am So Fucking Tired I slept in a God Damn Office Chair for a Bloody Week and had to Manipulate Mansplain Manwife my way through Three Fucking Deals and a Throuple Therapy in a spawn of one week just to get my Stupid Fucking Stick fixed I am so Fucking Ready to take every classical substance known to a 30s man and Black The Fuck Out for at least A Month I literally Never want to hear Any Word beginning with a V ever again."
For context: this is based on one of @elsa-fogen 's ask (I'm too lazy to look for it) basically Rosie is Lilith and Alastor knows about it, they are like one of those besties trying to supress their laughter that's why they're looking away from each other to avoid laughing their asses off, and the others mistook it as flirting, or then having a crush on each other, which is NOT the case AT ALL (they're blushing from supressed laughter bro)
I feel like Vox cause its so obvious how much I took inspiration from Elsa jxsjudskdbxnx.
Hazbin Hotel Scream Rain AU
Contributors in the comment section: @kiochii92, @correaceleste123, @ssree, @kitsunesongs, @renkamisato, @periguita, @mermaid-of-the-valley @ladyvsama
Summary:
What if the Scream Rain was a relatively recent phenomenon in Hell and is actually environmental contamination from the people Alastor traps in the airwaves?! The Seraphim, Lucifer and Charlie demand the release of the trapped souls when the screaming begins to infest Heaven’s Airwaves.
Except the people in the airwaves are in the airwaves for good reason…
Modern Overlords: They can't be that bad right?
Zestial: You are idiots.
Chapters 1-14
------
Chapter 1: Scream Reign
Alastor wondered if he was hallucinating, “This is an utterly terrible idea” he tried to reiterate to the fluttering seraphim.
Charlie cut in, cajoling with a smile that wouldn't dissolve sugar. “Everyone already knows how powerful you are. If anything, you’d probably get more powerful without keeping those people constantly in the airwaves!”
Alastor wondered if he should burst Charlie's bubble and tell her that wasn't how his powers worked.
Then Lucifer spoke up in the same tone, the same fucking tone, he’d used to call Vox garbage, “Come on bellhop! It’s just a couple of sinners, You’re all the same anyway”
Alastor saw red, he decided then and there that Charlie, Lucifer and the Seraphim could, as Angel Dust was prone to crassly saying, Fuck around and Find out, “If I release the souls from the airwaves want one favour from each of you, I’ll even add in Charlie’s caveat of harming no one.”
“Greedy sinner!”
“Useless Deadbeat”, Lucifer flinched back hard, good.
“In addition-”
“More?”, Lucifer shrieked like a seagull.
“In addition, I want it to be known that this was entirely YOUR joint idea, All credit for whatever comes of.. this, Falls. On. You.”
“So you’ll do it?” Charlie ought to know by now the puppy dog eyes did not work on him.
At his nod Emily and Charlie hugged each other and spun happily in circles, though whether they maintained the level of enthusiasm in the coming days...
Sera nodded amicably, “I see no harm in a small favour that harms no one”
Sera and Lucifer clearly had much better control of their magic than Charlie for the flash of light from the handshake to go off like a small party cracker, Charlie and Emily’s were loud and flashy as expected.
Alastor mused if he were a lesser person he’d vow to never wash that hand again, possibly dance and sing about swindling two seraphim, the devil himself and his daughter.
As it was, Alastor was already going to break out the good rye or maybe some moonshine and have himself a party the second he was in private.
“I’ll release all souls trapped per our agreement upon returning to my radio station at the hotel today, that should be easiest”
“Well, I see our business here is concluded, I’ll have St. Peter report on the weather status in a few days”
Sera's smile was wide, Alastor's was wider.
This was going to be entertaining!
------
Chapter 2: Announcement
Alastor was feeling something he didn't often feel, a small smidgeon of regret as he stared out of the window of his radio station at the growing number of trembling figures in the now silent rain, frantically scrambling away from where he had graciously allowed the portal to rematerialise.
The lights of the radio station’s On Air sign blazed red, illuminating his figure in the window. Appropriately dramatic and easily spotted given the renewed hoarse screaming and increased running or crawling speed of the crowd below.
“Citizens of the Pentagram, It brings me no pleasure to announce that earlier today at the embassy, at the command of His Majesty King, Lucifer and the High Seraphim of Heaven, Sera, the Airwaves will no longer be allowed to broadcast my defeated foes delightful screams.
Apparently my broadcasts now reach heaven and have been deemed unsettling, who knew the Pearly Gates on high could block broadcasts?
Not that I ever tried to broadcast into heaven all my favourite listeners are down here after all!
Understand Pentagram, I have no desire to subject my dear mother to that. Thus all the souls imprisoned within the airwaves by myself have been released to wander the streets once again at Heaven and the Morningstars behest”
As he settled in for his regular broadcast Alastor gave it less than a week before the true chaos started and Hell started to boil over like an unwatched pot.
Alastor threw subtlety out the window and strengthened the hotels wards as high as he could ignoring Lucifer's confusion echoing in the magic, where was this anxiety coming from?
It was probably from the concept of that wall being blown up again, Stupid Fallen Angel making that one wall that always blew up load bearing..
------
Chapter 3: Behind Closed Doors
“Carmilla I must urge caution the situation is rapidly becoming dangerous beyond our control, We must leave, now!”
“Zestial surely you’re overreacting, while they are Overlords they have no territory to speak of-”
The building shook, Zestial gripped the table edge tightly, claws digging into the surface, “I was the weakest Sovereign Overlord of that time, and given the power they currently have at their disposal I expect Alastor did not claim their contracts, merely imprisoned them and their followers as is.”
Noise blasted through the warehouse to the meeting room from a stout mule horse sinner with a machine gun and a veritable army of likewise formed and clad gun wielding zealots.
“COME OUT AND FACE YOUR BETTERS WOMAN! I PROMISE I’LL SHOW YOU AND YOUR DAUGHTERS A REAL GOOD TIME!!”
Carmilla Carmine recognised that fucking voice even if she didn't recognise the face, Alastor’s past broadcasts being both highly memorable and surprisingly educational, “Good grief! Is that-”
Zestial’s voice was low, “José Victoriano Huerta Márquez, Formerly the self proclaimed Sovereign Overlord of Urban Construction-” Both Camilla and Zestial ducked out of sight as his gaze swept up towards their window.
“-and Weapons Manufacture”
Again Zestial urged her to abandon her pride, “Carmilla listen, you are strong don't doubt that but if you were around back then, with your current level of power you would not qualify to be considered even a minor overlord.”, more gunfire and Carmilla winced as she felt some of her contacts unravelling, the intruders had clearly stumbled across a stash of Angelic Steel and had started using it.
“This may be harsh and hard to hear but you are outmatched!” Zestial lowered his voice to a whisper “We are both outmatched. Gather your daughters and head to the hotel, You will be safe there”
The Radio Demon had erected strongest wards around the hotel the same day he had broadcast Heavens decision and while the returned Sovereign Overlords were strong, they were not archangels strong enough to break it.
Scrambling down the fire escape Carmilla forced herself to keep running, no matter what happened.
“Zestial! Old Comrade! It’s been decades what brings you here!”
No matter what she heard.
She had to get to her daughters, the weight of the rings in her pockets burned.
Roaring, gunfire and explosions rocked the building behind her as Carmine Industries blazed with green light as another Overlord fell that night.
------
Chapter 4: Lost Vista
The madman who had marched up to and into Vee tower was laughing, the psycho who had dismantled Veetek security effortlessly. Even now he was monologuing in a booming voice that carried down the halls.
"Long was I trapped in the ethereal sea by that ever hungering deer, mere flotsam in a typhoon of screams, however my fear of losing sight of the shore has left me long before my death. Shore is within sight and what a glorious shiny new vista I see before me to conquer, truly heaven has come to hell!"
The fight for Vee Tower was depressingly short Christopher Columbus wore armour that tanked anything the two Vee’s could throw at it, a single hit of his armored fist scattering Velvette into doll parts.
Valentino's smoke only seemed to make things worse, dozens of Sovereign Overlord Columbus's men shaking it off like mad and horny was their default. They tore off Valentino's wings and gagged him with the remains of them.
Vox, stayed silent from his room several floors down watching the security feeds, as a ipad there was nothing he could do as Velvette and Valentino were led away in soul chains.
Well, maybe... not entirely nothing. If Velvette and Valentino felt him tugging on their connection they said nothing to their new owner. A single contract, as much as Valentino could spare on short notice without being noticed to help Vox escape, swapped owners and Vox pulled on it hard.
Angel Dust yelped as he materialised in a dark room met by his personal nightmare, staring at the glowing monitor face of his tormentor.
“Put me in the carry case and take me to the Hazbin Hotel”, Vox the ipad, ordered imperiously.
He did not expect Angel Dust to snort and turn to examine the room, “...and why should I help you?”
Vox wanted to scream, “I own you, you really want to go back up to that!?”
The screen lit up behind them, the sight of the Overlord’s henchmen partaking of both the models and the prostitutes.
Unexpectedly Angel Dust laughed, it was not a nice laugh and Vox got a sinking feeling at the spiders wild gaze, “You know what Vox? I’ve had worse, far worse at your hands and Valentino's hands than a couple of grabby amateurs that get horny over some exposed skin. Maybe I should open the door and turn us in?”
Vox nearly crashed, fans whirring in panic, “No! Wait Wait Wait! Bad idea! What do you want?!!”
“I want my soul back.”
“What?!”
“Or I could just leave you here, without hands you can’t exactly punish me, just summon me.” Angel sat on Vox’s favourite chair smiling at him all fangs, far to reminiscent of that fucking deer, “How long until you run out of power? Would anyone recognise you as anything other than a busted monitor?”
Vox winced and Angel taunted him, “Imagine, turned off and unaware in a landfill slowly buried in the trash pile as people throw more and more stuff away”
“enough”, Vox whispered hoarsely all too easily able to picture such a thing happening.
Angel Dust continued head tilted infuriatingly like a certain deer, “Maybe an imp will salvage you, or take you apart for spare parts?”
“I said enough! Take me to Hazbin Hotel, guarantee my safety, both getting there and staying there safely and you can have your soul back!” Vox was panicking.
Angel Dust hopped up from the chair suddenly all smiles, “Well! Why didn't you say that before!? Deal?”
A moment of silence, Valentino was going to dump him because of this, but if he could forgive him for nearly leveling the city he could forgive him for this… maybe, hopefully. “You’ve spent far too much time around that smiling bastard”
Angel Dust laughed as the light of the deal blazed.
------
Chapter 5: Buyers Remorse
Alastor sighed, idly swirling a shotglass of rye and inwardly debated drinking straight from the bottle.
Husk was as miserable as ever ever since Angel Dust had voluntarily left for Valentino.
He'd be even more miserable to know what Alastor had been strong armed into doing by Charlie, Lucifer and the High Seraphim.
"So what's the big idea with locking everyone in the hotel?" Cherri Bomb dourly asked, the rain outside was quiet for once.
Alastor’s improved barrier had bounced more than one resident off it before he had tweaked it.
"As this hotels hotelier it is my duty to see to the protection of the residents, thanks to the actions of the high seraphim Hell has once again become worthy of its name."
Alastor took another swig, it burned delightfully on the way down and numbed that niggling feeling that had been attacking him ever since he released the Overlords in the airwaves.
"We took on Exorcists and the Vee’s! What's got you so worried?" spoke Cherri Bomb, such a spry young arson enjoying innocent little grasshopper skating across a pond of hungry hell sharks. Alastor reached for the rye bottle, hard liquor loosening his tongue enough to elaborate.
"Well-"
The doors crashed open.
"The Overlords and all their territories are under attack!"
Alastor ignored Vaggi's exclamation as she ushered the cloaked figures of a bloody and shaken Carmilla and her two daughters inside, considering the matter summarised neatly by the wounded Overlord’s daughter and again reached directly for the bottle of Rye on the top shelf.
------
Chapter 6: The Ides of Murder
Sovereign Overlord Prick winced as his sides bled sluggishly from where his own needles had been extracted, Sovereign Overlord Hatchet swore colourfully as he stabbed yet another of their adversaries with his throwing knives. Doomsday district had gone feral today, ancient overlords rising out of the shadows like fucking nightmares.
The mad cackling of the overlord with the gold crown and her purple monitor lizard husband made both Prick and Hatchet shiver in disgust, let alone their unknown third who had assigned himself their torturer.
"After this shits over I’m petitioning Carmilla to ban fucking overlord triads, once was fucking enough!" Hatchet growled aloud making Prick give a pained chuckle.
“Do you really think those psychos are who they said the were?" Hatchet paused as if he hadn't truly considered it, Cleopatra, Julius Cesaer and the guy who fucking stabbed him to death so badly that thousands of years later people were STILL making ides of March memes on sinstagram in Hell, an overlord thropple?
"We need fucking answers, Carmilla's territory is that way, Zestial will know who these fucks are"
"Then we kill them?"
"Absofuckinglutely!"
Easier said than done, Prick ached from the exertion as the two of them came to a stop behind an overturned car.
“Fuck!”
Hatchet summarised their feelings up perfectly, Carmilla Industries had certainly undergone a change.
Scaffolding over one side of the incredibly battered building and welding lights aglow, horse like sinners loudly yelling and laughing as they waved angelic steel armaments around like toys.
“Hatchet! Do you see that?!”
“See wot?”
“That over there!”
Hatchet spotted it what Prick was pointing at and appropriately lost all colour “Ah.. Shit”
Zestial beaten and trussed up much like The Radio Demon had been by Vox... but downgraded to a chair without wheels, that had to hurt the ego.
But the radio demon had clearly had a plan in the works the entire time…
Hatchet decided to act on his hunch, “Prick you stay here, I’m going to sneak closer”
“Are you mad?!”
“We need to find out what’s going on!”
The horse sinners were pathetic drunks and easy to sneak around, getting as close as he dared Hatchet whispered “Psst! Zestial! what the fucks going on?!”
Zestial stirred and Hatchet realised that the overlord was in a poor state, bound tight with angelic steel and covered in sluggishly bleeding slashes
“Overlord Hatchet? What an auspicious meeting”
“Cut the crap old man, what the fuck’s happening?”
Zestial bore an unreadable look, “Did you not hear the Radio Demons broadcast?”
“My hearings been blown out for the past week.” Hatchet admitted “Some amateurs trying to replace that mad bomber ever since she went to that hotel”
Zestial sighed “Understandable, The ancient Overlords have been released from imprisonment, Carmilla has escaped but the entirety of the Pentagram is under assault”
“Huh, so that really was Caesar, Cleopatra and Stabby Ides MarchGee… Why the fuck would he release them?”
Zestial looked exasperated, “Allegedly, Heaven told him too”
“Well shit, Heaven again?”
There was a moment of silence, “You want help escaping old man? Only cost you a favour? That carmine weapon commission of mine Carmilla keeps putting off being moved to the front of production after this mess sounds good, or an angelic steel whip if she can manage it?”
Zestial sighed as though in pain, this brat, “Deal”
“Originally I had intended to as the youngsters say nowadays, pull a radio demon”, Zestial grumbled as Hatchet carefully picked at the chains.
In a successful PR Campaign Velvette and Valentino had gone fully transparent on the entirety of the Radio Demons captivity, broadcasting how pathetic Vox was using surveillance footage from inside Vee tower. People had made everything from montages of manipulation to AMV’s of the radio demons artful rage baiting of the former CEO of Voxtek into a homicidal breakdown backed to jazzy music.
Hatchet snickered, “Rage bait them to their own destruction in style?”
Zestial looked ruefully at his injuries, “I had forgotten the full measure of the overlords I was facing, I will not forget again.”
“So we leg it on three?” Hatchet eyed the mob of partying sinners.
“We can take my shadows” Zestial offered, rubbing his wrists to restore bloodflow, green light sparking from his fingertips.
Hatchet rubbed his own finger on his coat to get rid of the blood, “Prick’s over that way so you can drop me off there, we need to assemble the gang first and then contact Zeezi’s crew, you got a destination?”
“We will meet at the Hazbin Hotel”
Predictably the horse sinners erupted in furious shouting and indiscriminate gunfire when they noticed Zestial gone without a trace.
------
Chapter 7: If you can’t do the time…
"Why is this happening!" Charlie quietly screamed gripping her head in frustration, Cherri awkwardly detanged her fingers from her hair before she tore some of it out and offered her a bag to hyperventilate into.
Alastor sighed, no entirely unsympathetic but deprived of rye and forced to remain annoyingly sober.
He spoke slowly in short sentences as if to a particularly oblivious young child.
"You, your father and the Seraphim made me empty the Airwaves. The Overlords and their underlings trapped in those Airwaves are now free. This is the result. Action and consequences"
A loud whistling and thudding boom rattled the hotel and saw Husk bristling feather tail poofing up like a feather duster at a noise he found ominously familiar.
"What the fuck is happening in the Entertainment District?" Cherri Bomb looked like she wanted to join in.
Alastor listened for a moment filtering and magnifying the noise to his hearing.
"...I believe that's the Spanish inquisition and various Conquistadors led by the returned Sovereign Overlord Columbus having a spirited debate with Sovereign Overlord Himmler and his Nazi legions."
A very loud explosion rang in the distance visible dust rising in the distance through the hotels windows as the Pentagram’s skyline slowly lost a skyscraper as it toppled over, Alastor's ears drooped incrementally, "...and I think the Nazi's are winning"
"Oh fuck that!" Husk hissed wild eyed jumping over the desk angelic steel playing cards drawn, "Angels still over there with those fucks!"
"The ancient overlords are all free?" Carmilla's voice was rough "Can't you put them back?"
What a question
Alastor cracked his neck, "Best you ask the High Seraphim that question Overlord Carmilla, it was her idea, despite my protest my hands are tied. Something about heavenly noise pollution"
Husk rivaled Niffty in his movements, rapidly tucking a dozen bottles and cleaning cloths into his magic hat and grabbing a first aid kit from beneath the bar.
“I’m getting Angel out of there! Those Nazi fucks are dead if they fucking breathe in his direction”, Husk hissed and left swiftly left the hotel followed by Cherri Bomb.
Not that Alastor had any objections to Husk going on a rampage in the name of love, any excuse to fight nazi’s was a good excuse.
In the sudden silence Alastor summoned a large box of cleaning supplies and set them down next to the roach theatre, “Niffty please ready more rooms, as many as you can. I expect Carmilla and her daughters will not be the only ones to seek refuge here in the coming days”
Alastor finally had a name for his nagging anxiety that had eaten at him the moment he had agreed to the seraphim deal, something he thought he, a demon of Hell could no longer feel.
An emotion he had no right to feel, Guilt.
---
Chapter 8: Howitzer
“Another fucking detour!” Vox raged until Angel Dust hit the mute button spitefully and stuffed him under an arm.
The streets near Vee Tower were surprisingly immaculate despite the takeover, showcasing the utter lack of resistance.
Angel Dust wondered at that lack of resistance “Vox, where’s your building security fucking gone?”
Muted, Vox looked remarkably shifty giving Angel Dust a sinking feeling. “You HAD security right? Proper security, not just glorified bouncers?”
Vox undid his muting himself and replied waspishly, “Most fights are between Overlords okay! We were three Overlords and Shok.wav! We could take any fucker who fucking tried! The tower never had any value, it’s just a place, if it broke we could just throw some money at it and rebuild.”
Angel processed that concept or attempted to and... “Fucking hell Vox why didn't you just hire some ex-military fucks or something?”
Vox hissed something that had Angel Dust nearly trip, “Arackniss fucking blacklisted me!”
“what”
The ipad sighed now sounding exhausted, “...Why do you think I didn't like you?”
Angel Dust could guess, “Because Valentino was fucking me?”
Vox laughed bitterly, “Because owning you meant the mob would bar us from hiring them! They’d put out a hit on anyone who fucking tried!”
“Why would he do that...”, and what was that whistling noise..?
“Fuck if I know-”
Angel Dust and Vox shrieked as the ground shook sending them both crashing down face first into the tarmac, the deafening noise of impact was loud beyond description and a cloud of dust rolled over them, blinding them to the cause.
Angel Dust stood when it was clear the movement of the ground had stopped, reaching out towards Vox’s faintly glowing screen which was now covered in road muck and rubble dust.
His own eyes were starting to sting from whatever was in the dust and it was getting hard to breathe.
Unable to see much beyond Vox’s screen light Angel Dust picked a direction and started to walk.
And yet, what seemed like moments later, Angel Dust awoke with a cacophony of coughing as though he’s held his breath too long, “Yeah, get it out” Vox’s voice was as unwelcome as always, coming from his side propped up against a bin. “About time you respawned”
That startled Angel Dust, “I died? I don't remember... How long?”, looking around wildly Angel Dust tried to figure out where he was, no longer in the Entertainment District at least, probably.
Vox was mad, “About 5 minutes, Looks like that skyscraper that came crashing down was Valentino and Velvette’s chemical experimentation lab, I told them to move that thing to the outskirts!”
Angel Dust could care less about Vox’s whining or what OSHA codes the Vee’s violated, “So I fucking overdosed on second hand drugsmoke?!” Vox snorted unsympathetic, “Look at it this way, you can navigate to the hotel properly without being blitzed out of your mind now”
Angel Dust hit Vox’s mute button extra hard.
------
Chapter 9: Maestro and Magician
Overlord Maestro lay still in the wreckage of his own theatre playing dead and thanking his lucky stars that he wasn't actually dead in the collapse. His immunity to fire had saved him allowing him to become intangible flame much like the Radio Demon could become shadows.
Still he stayed and listened, quietly gathering information about his attackers.
The attackers had come in silent and fast, the first warning had been when he heard noises at the exit door as his theatre goers strangely backed up to the stage in a line for the exit after a performance started to grumble, then smoke had started to flood the theatre.
Everything and everyone inside had burned to ask. They’d regenerate in time, weeks later given they’d been incinerated into drifting ash.
Burning was an awful way to go.
So Maestro sat and Maestro listened silent. He heard voices, the unexpected but unforgettable voice of his killers from life made Maestro's blood run cold.
"The subhuman is dead sir" "We are sure the animal didn't escape again?" The disinterested voice of Heinrich Himmler conversing with Reinhard Heydrich, inspired such rage Maestro could barely contain himself.
If they had returned it immediately became obvious why they had targeted his theatre.
The theatre performance of The Diary of Anne Frank was a good a venue as any other for a nazi to attack.
Idiots, fanatically delusional in life and delusionally fanatic in death. How they clung to any sense of bigotry against race and religion in an afterlife that rendered the entire concept moot truly boggled the mind.
Maestro had died in a box for not matching their ideal of good breeding, he'd ripped out the throat of two Nazi's when he realised what that windowless stone box was.
The two had witnessed Maestro's rage and had him beaten with dispassionate eyes, threw him in the incinerator anyway and burned him alive.
As the voices faded away Maestro decided he was not going to let them live, the Radio Demon had his fun, it was Maestro's turn to orchestrate a symphony of screams!
“I don’t mean to interrupt your... whatever, but would you like some help?”
Maestro carefully didn't jump as he turned to the voice “Gambling Overlord Husk?”
Of course he’d spotted him amongst the flames, the gambler may physically resemble a cat in the majority but those eyes were all eagle.
“You offer help?”
Husk shrugged, “Head to the hotel, Carmilla’s there, we can get those Nazi fucks later with angelic steel.”
Maestro nodded, that was acceptable he paused and turned to the cyclop’s next to Husk.
“Ah miss bomb I trust that explosion was not you?”
Cherri Bomb looked rueful at the concept of an explosion that big not being her work.
Youngsters, “Nope, Some kind of cannon. I deal in bombs not missiles”
“Howitzer” Husk spoke up, “I recognised the sound, whatever they hit in that building, exploded and left a nasty low hanging residue of.. something in the sky or else I’d be flying right now” Now that Maestro looked he spotted small holes in the Former Overlords flight feathers as though the tips had been dissolved by acid rain.
“You were offering help?”, Maestro asked curiously.
“Hell’s going to hell in a handbasket, Alastor’s hands may be tied by the High Seraphim for now but he’s opened the hotels doors for those looking for sanctuary before the princess even suggested it”
The implications were interesting, Maestro guessed, “Weak sinners won’t make it to the hotel, their souls will be snapped up fast by torture if the rest of the ancient overlords are anything like the ones who burned my territory. The ones who do will be cunning, strong or armed with angelic steel. The perfect base for a resistance.”
Husk nodded
Very well, good luck finding whatever your looking for” Maestro bade his farewell and left the way they’d came.
Cherri Bomb side eyed Husk, “Any of that true?
Husk remained focused “Let’s get going, We still have to find Angel” What was he supposed to do tell Cherri?
‘Hell nah, they’re a live audience for when Alastor is let off his leash with the Seraphim to deal with the Ancient Overlords and cow the current Overlords into meek compliance for the rest of eternity’
Alastor would neuter him for that insight into his psyche should it be made public.
------
Chapter 10: Countess of Blood
Zeezi winced as the newly fashioned harness bit into her skin but stayed silent lest her new boss whip her again, she tried not to think who the harness was made of.
Countess Elizabeth Báthory as she insisted she be referred to as, instead of Sovereign Overlord Báthory, was bluntly put, a monster.
She had thought the Radio Demon a hypocrite of a gentleman for killing a woman even an overlord woman. She very much understood now with unwelcome clarity that some people just needed to be gone.
Watching as the clubs pool was filled with blood from the throats of people dragged in and abducted off the street by the countesses four favoured servants was horrifying in a way Zeezi couldn't, wouldn't put words to.
The panic as the sprinklers had turned on mid rave only for people to realise the water had been replaced by blood...
The world turning hazy, something in the blood acting like a sedative allowing Zeezi's people to be easily subdued.
Enough time and distraction for the vampire like Countess Báthory to handle Zeezi like a small toddler and decide she liked the saurian as a colourful and silent beast of burden with a saddle to go with the leash.
Light glinted out the corner of Zeezi’s eyes she kept her head down hair hiding her eyes as she gazed up at one of the clubs windows to meet a most surprising sight.
Angel Dust the porn star was peering inside the window of Klub Kaiju, he looked rather horrified actually.
Not surprising given the situation inside Klub Kaiju, it looked like a charnel house. Some sinners had been staked to the floor at the pools edge and used like refillable jugs to fill the pool at intervals, some were picked at random, torn to pieces and served on platters like appetisers.
Báthory the bat like sinner resplendent on a throne surrounded by chittering vulture sinners, all giggling like schoolgirls as they mutilated Zeezi’s people for sport.
Angel Dust pointed at her and made a small gesture with his hand that Zeezi as a club owner would recognise a mile away, a fist with the thumb out then tucking the thumb into fist. A silent question, ‘Do you need help?’.
Zeezi didn’t know what Angel Dust thought he could do against classical vampires, but any bar for a fistfight.
------
Chapter 11: Four of a Kind
The gunshots were loud enough to rattle the windows on houses streets away and recognisable enough that it led Husk and Cherri Bomb straight to it.
Vox’s head was propped up against Klub Kaiju’s front step flickering madly, His expression soured when he saw them, “Oh no, it’s you fucks again..”
Husk growled raising Vox to eye level, “Cut the chatter ipad, Where is Angel?”
Vox’s face shrunk slightly on the screen, “Suicidally fighting a Lolita Vampire Overlord, as if I didn't agree to free him if he got to the fucking hotel”
Vox yelped as he was tossed to the ground and walked over, “Ow! You fuck!”
The scene Husk ran into, skidding really, given the lack of traction on the blood slicked floor against his paws made him uncomfortable in many ways.
Although it was the scene of a massacre, the sight of Angel Dust firing everything at the Overlord, the fury and life in his gaze was breathtaking.
Husk’s eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he was pulled backwards by Cherri Bomb who hurled several Molotov's into the mess a wall of fire backing the Overlord into a corner with her attendants.
Angel Dust spotted them and ran over grining, “Husk! Cherri!”
Contained behind the blaze, Báthory roared loudly enough to shake lightbulbs from the ceiling and that was more teeth bared in Husks direction than he ever wanted to see again in his life. Alastor had nothing on this freak.
“Heaven forced Alastor to release the Overlords from the Airwaves, The hotel’s a safe zone, You’re beautiful”
Angel Dust huffed, “I kinda figured that when Christopher fucking Columbus made Tiffany Titfucker his favourite sex toy minutes after breaking down Vee towers doors.”
Angel clearly missed the last mumbled part of Husk's sentence over the roar of the fire.
“You’re free?”, Husk asked sounding hopeful.
Angel Dust shook his head, “Not until I get Vox to the hotel, Ooof!”, Cherri Bomb dumped a bag holding a certain glaring blue ipad into his arms, “Best you be the one to deliver him there then, don't want him pulling a Radio Demon”
Angel Dust wordlessly hit the mute button before Vox could begin swearing.
Movement out of the corner of his eyes had Husk throwing his cards with extreme prejudice, decapitated one of the creepy ladies in waiting who had made it through the wall of fire mid lunge. The fire separating them from the ancient Overlord was going out.
“Fuck Angel, you really got into a mess this time”
Báthory was as mad as Old Yeller before it got put down that much was clear, the death of one her attendants was liable to do that, just wait till she found out Husk Cards were made of Angelic Steel.
“Hey!”
Attention shifted to the still saddled and muzzled Zeezi. “Can you help me get this thing off of me?”
“How fast are you on foot?” Cherri asked instead, calculatingly.
“Whut?!”
“Look we can’t kill all these freaks, the airs contaminated and we aren't fast enough to escape on foot”, Cherri looked pointedly at Zeezi, Vox started laughing from his place in the bag.
Zeezi, who was still wearing a saddle capable of holding a vampire Overlord and five others at minimum“...You are not telling anyone about this AND AT LEAST GET THE FUCKING MUSSLE OFF ME!!”
------
Chapter 12: Shark Week is Cancelled
The gas was suffocating him, except it wasn't. Tom Trench silently trudged through the basement corridors of 666 Broadcasting. The Vee’s had now truly fallen and contrary to all of his colleagues despair all Tom felt was a sense of relief. It had been years, decades really since Vincent Whittman had killed his way to promotion again and again through his own broadcasting studio then coerced ownership of the company from him.
Vox probably thought it was funny to hunt him down in death and make him a glorified reporter under him.
Robert Tom Trench was tired, decades of cowering in the shadow of that monster would do that. Thankfully Vox had never figured out it was him and not just bad luck who had loosened the bolts of the above-head hanging televisions. Robert who had used one of the gas mask television props to escape the building when the electrocution of Vox and his cultists had set the building on fire.
Vincent had never figured out that Robert Trench had burned the ownership transfer records, or that his final murder suicide the day after had never actually been broadcast to the world.
As far as the authorities were aware it had been a studio fire that had regrettably spun out of control.
Robert’s Entertainment Network had recovered via the buildings insurance and he’d even given a touching eulogy to those lost in the accident.
Vincent Whittman, remembered only as a picture on a wall that was quietly removed by Robert between cleaning's and never returned, the same with all the footage existing that contained Vincent’s face, accidentally irreparably lost.
How tragic.
The things Robert had done to Vox’s gravesite were especially heinous and best left unmentioned in polite company.
Robert Trench was also incredibly thankful that Vox had never figured out that Robert had approached the Radio Demon decades ago and told him of all Vincent Whittman’s above ground exploits, specifically Vox’s habit of emulating his victims in manner and dress before and after he killed them.
And my, my how the Radio Demon and Vincent Whittman had started to look like part of a matching duo as every day passed...
Which was how he became the Radio Demon's inside man in media, it was safer and much better compensated job than his previous stint in the American army as a munitions specialist before going into media.
Still Tom Trench had one last job to perform, unlocking the last door at the very bottom of 666 Broadcasting Networks basement to a forest of glowing green foliage Trench turned one last time looking back up the corridor. Removing his gas mask, jacket revealing a tired looking gecko sinner he threw them into the hallway.
Stepping into the doorway held the detonator up grinning in a way that would make his soul owner proud. He said what he wished he could have said back when he realised Vincent had murdered his co-workers, “Fuck your Shark Week and go fuck yourself Whittman!”
He pressed the button, listened for the sound of distant explosions, stepped backwards into the Bayou and slammed the door shut behind him.
------
Chapter 13: Ra Ra Rasputin
@ladyvsama gave me a list of potential overlords and one of them was not like the others… (Details are kinda sus on this guy, I suspect a smear campaign by his enemies, so you all get the song version)
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
Zeezi kept a remarkable pace tearing through hells streets, “WOULD YOU STOP FUCKING KICKING ME!”, She wasn't a horse however.
“Sorry Zeezi, I ain’t never ridden a dinosaur before… at least not like this” Zeezi chuckled despite herself as Husk groaned at the spider’s lewd tone.
“Hotel Dead Ahead!” Husk shouted.
“Oh good I was starting to run out of bombs!”, came Cherri’s cheery voice from the back of the saddle, lobbing another at their pursuers.
Báthory’s vampire sinners were still chasing them, Zeezi had stomped her way over and through vehicles at an impressive stride but was wise enough to pace herself and thus kept herself several meters from the pursuing vampires.
Husk spotted a problem, “Cherri? You got one of those bombs left?”
“Bombs for days mate!” Hollered Cherri flinging one into the path of one of Báthory’s attendants.
“How do you feel about making an entrance?”
The Hotels doors weren't open and they couldn't exactly stop…
Angel Dust held tight as though bracing for impact.
“Ooh, Permission!”
The wall, THAT wall specifically, exploded like tissue paper and Zeezi dove through losing her balance on the tiles and skidding to an undignified stop.
The vampires sinners screeched as they were battered backwards by the black tentacles embedded in the hotels wards and after a moment of circling wisely retreated.
Inside the hotel Husk, Angel Dust, Cherri Bomb, Zeezi and Vox lay sprawled on the floor by the bar in a pile of tangled limbs, letting the adrenaline of the chase fade.
Voices approached, Charlie in an argument with someone, Husk didn't care, pulling himself up the bar table and taking down bottles of the high proof stuff to share around to everyone else who had outrun a horror movie cliche.
“I can’t believe you let an Overlord in here without warning!”
Angel and Cherri started to giggle eyeing Zeezi who huffed and downed her bottle before getting to work on finally escaping the saddle.
Alastor’s protest’s sounded somewhat sheepish, “He is relatively harmless-”
“Harmless! I have never felt so violated in my entire life” Charlie stated calmly eyeing a sinner resembling a cross between a borzoi and a wet mop sat peaceably by the fire.
“And yet you were never this angry what Angel Dust said those things to me.” Alastor retorted starting to look rather irritated.
Angel Dust pulled himself to his feet, “So we’re kind of in a crisis-”
“You can fucking manage- Angel!”
Angel Dust dropped what he was carrying to the floor as Charlie realised who she was speaking to and tackled him.
The disgruntled burst of static caught everyone's attention as Alastor snapped his fingers, shadow minions appearing and setting to work on repairing the wall.
Alastor strode forward and Angel Dust looked somewhat nervous. “Wait Smiles! I made a deal with Vox, If I get him to the hotel and safe, he has to free me”
Alastor stopped and looked Angel Dust directly in the eyes making the spider feel ten times smaller, “I was under the impression you were owned by Valentino?”
Vox, unwisely started to grumble, “Val transferred him to me to get me out of the Tower when those spigotty fucks-” Vox yelped as Alastor approached him with murder in his eyes. “SMILES DON’T DO IT!” Alastor stopped himself from stamping down on Vox’s face, with effort he deserved a award for.
Angel Dust pleaded his case, “Look Smiles he’s a creepy racist prick but he’s basically powerless, let him in the hotel until it’s all over and I get my soul back. Please”
Alastor abruptly found himself the subject of far too many surprisingly effective puppy dog eyes, ew stop.
Alastor huffed, “...Well, I can appreciate a good escape clause gambit. Very well Vox may stay, providing he behaves and keeps ALL racist vocabulary to himself”
“Not a problem!” Baxter piped up waving a familiar remote.
“DON’T YOU-”
click
Vox glared as he was propped up on the table, “-fucking dare!”
“Not quite muted, whisper volume level should do”, Baxter noted smugly, “Should neatly fulfil the deals clause of keeping him safe if he can’t audibly antagonise anyone into hurting him”
“Angel Dust”
“Smiles?”
“Welcome back”
“Who am I seeing a visage from heaven on high?! Are you from Moscow? Because my heart rushes to you”, The Borzoi had made his way over to Angel Dust, grasped one of his hands and started flirting.
At least Angel Dust thought he was flirting but the Russian accent was so thick he could maybe make out one word in three.
“I see you’ve met our newest resident, Rasputin of Moscow. Former Ancient Sovereign Overlord” Alastor smirked nastily at Angel Dust’s karma come to collect, “I trust you’ll be a good mentor”
Husk darted in front of Angel Dust pushing Rasputin back, “Hey pal, buzz off!”
Husk’s interference did not have the intended effect as the borzoi sinner merely leaned close and crooned in his face, movement and tone conveying what his thick accent could not, “You must be vodka—smooth, strong, and unforgettable. Come with me kitty and I’ll show you how Russians stay warm in wintertime”
Angel Dust muffled his laughter as he watched Husk dive behind the bar hissing, the borzoi waving and getting distracted neatly by spotting Rooster, licking his lips and striding forward with intent.
“Sooo uh Russia's greatest love machine huh? Not matching your previous Overlord slaying MO there Smiles.”
Alastor blushed bright red, “...It wasn't intentional” Alastor muttered “He snuck up on me and did the-” Alastor made a waggly hand gesture indicating some unknown flirtation and shuddered, “-Thing, I just shoved him in the radio waves by accident, I was not best practised at it back then”
smack!
Angel Dust, Charlie and Alastor watched as the Borzoi who had moved on from Rooster and apparently spotted a now vibrantly blushing Zeezi, gamely bowed out after getting slapped “You’re stronger than a shot of vodka.”
Then he spotted Cherri, who abruptly stopped laughing.
Angel sniggered, “You know… Apart from the weird sex thing and his...incredible optimism, that guys basically exactly like you”
“Please don't compare me to that... mess of a man”, Alastor order bordering plea went ignored as Angel continued, “I wish I could pull off the dark and mysterious act to the point everyone around me wants to crack open my skull and nosey around the grey matter with a microscope”
Alastor grinned nastily, “Who needs to wait? I could do that right now!”, Angel Dust backed off with a grin.
Vaggi called down from the second floor irritated at the noise, perhaps? “What the fuck is happening out there! Oh! Hi Angel! Welcome back!”
------
Chapter 14: Food for Thought
Former Overlord Rosie fled to the hotel along the backstreets supported by Susan with the other Cannibals and their hysterical children in tow.
Sovereign Overlord Cain had returned and had not been pleased to discover his father dead, with the Cannibals assistance.
Ordinarily Rosie would have fought him herself with Alastor's assistance but the children were in a panicked frenzy just hearing his name.
Cain had been the first murderer, in hell he became far worse and far, far creepier.
The children, un-aging in stature and maturity but eternal in memory did not, could not forget.
After all, pre-history did not have things like the age of consent and Cain was always trapped in the past.
The princess would answer for this Rosie vowed, Alastor would never do something so stupid like releasing those old monsters without her input.
Despite the Razing of Cannibal Town, Cain wasn't the biggest problem, it was the two Ancient Sovereign Overlords who came after.
Two rivals who hated each other to the marrow and were not afraid of collateral damage, one the falcon headed founder of an ancient empire, the other the very same wolfish destroyer of that empire.
Hell was never going to be big enough for Temüjin and Timur to co-exist peacefully, therefore it and anyone in its path, burned.
“Rosie...” Susan for once looked somewhat worried, never a good sign. “Some of the children are missing”
Rosie’s claws usually hidden gouged the stonework next to her, rage mounting, “Just.. Get to the hotel”
“So we aren't going back to get them” It wasn't a question, she was seeking confirmation. Bitch.
Rosie took a deep breath, “If you think you’re strong enough to survive the literal all-out war happening back there be my guest, But I have to keep my people safe”
“Good to know where we stand”, Susan mocked in a tone that made Rosie want to kill her. Bitch.
The hotels doors were thankfully open, Rosie met Alastor's eyes the moment she entered and strode right up to him heedless of the sudden silence in the room. “Alastor, would you care to explain why I just had to evacuate the burning remains of Cannibal town from two warring Khanates and the First Murderer out to re-collect his harem of children?”
A strangled sound came from the couch, Lucifer choking on some hot beverage out of a novelty mug, “-His harem of what???”
Charlie who had begun to approach the two, similarly had gone completely grey as had most of the room.
Good, let this lesson engrave itself in their memories for all eternity, Rosie let some of her carefully chained fury show, “Cain, Son of the First Man Adam, The first Murderer and the first kiddie fiddler along with all his like minded sinner followers, are no longer imprisoned in the airwaves.
Four of cannibal towns children are missing. If Cain doesn't have them then Timur will, arguably a worse fate”
“I’m so sorry-”
SLAP!
Charlie’s head snapped to the side with the force of Rosie’s slap, she stared wide-eyed as if she could not comprehend that Rosie had hit her.
Rosie clearly already knew who was at fault.
Rosies voice was raw with a kind of tranquil fury that left its listeners paralysed, “Not once since the founding of the hotel have you considered the ramifications of your actions, continuing to act like an all knowing princess.
You Princess Charlotte, have never been human, never been a sinner. All you have are stories and poorly placed pity. You do not understand us and don't even make the effort to try.
You don't understand what drives people to sin, when the only choices are sin or sin worse!”
Rosie's gaze was unforgiving, Charlie and all those watching quailed beneath it.
“And now you’ve unleashed true evil upon hell. People, truly evil people who invented the very sins that would go on to become humanity's a one-way tickets to hell. So, whatever is happening to those children, whether they’re nailed to a wall or a cock, I hope it’s worth it to you, Princess.”, The word princess was spat like a profanity.
Charlie flinched when Rosie reached forward wary of another slap, even Lucifer tensing if more violence would come, instead the hotel watched as Rosie removed her shiny head councillor badge from Charlie's jacket and crushed it under her heel until it was in pieces.
With that Rosie walked over to Alastor who wordlessly handed her a room key where she left for their rooms with the rest of the dry-eyed somber cannibals without breaking stride.
Charlie knelt by the badge fragments, picked them up and left the room to silence.
It took no time at all for Lucifer to drag Alastor into a side room, followed by Husk, Angel Dust and Cherri, “What the fuck was that!”
The King sought to blame Alastor? Too bad. “The deal means I cannot harm anyone mentioned by the deal as it still stands” Alastor pointed out mildly, “Not you, not Heaven, not Charlie, nor the overlords I have been forced to release at your command.” Alastor, rather regretted adding the last part in hindsight.
“You knew this was going to happen..” Lucifer realised.
Alastor's gaze was steady, tone uncompromising, “I did warn you, repeatedly. Had I refused, You, Charlie and Heaven would have forced the issue themselves, and we would all be in a far worse condition with no warnings or protections in place at all!”
Lucifer felt the wards ripple at Alastor's words a reminder of the massively increased number of times the wards had pinged in the past few days as they rejected enemy scrying magic and the occasional long distant curse.
In that moment a light materialised before them causing the sinners to jump back with weapons drawn.
Luckily it wasn't anything dangerous merely a glowing portal with a familiar hyper seraphim leaning through it. “Hi! Sorry to intrude, I think your mobiles out of charge or your networks down because we couldn't text you or Charlie so I came personally!” Emily the sugar fueled hurricane chirped, “I’m here to deliver the weather report on St. Peters behalf!”
Emily’s wings drooped as she took in the various sinners and Lucifer lowering their weapons and leaning against various walls or appliances as if each of them were recovering from a mild heart attack, “Is this a bad time?”
I can picture Alastor sitting down, talking about their living lives with Charlie (Translation: Bragging about being a radio star and successful serial killer), and says he was like 43 when he died, and Husk calls BS because he knows a early-mid 40 year old when he sees one and Alastor ain't one. So they figure out Alastors real age from his birth year to death year, shocking everyone, including him, with how young he is.
You know what, if Alastor actually forgot his age, that means he would have thought his rise to stardom and length of killing took longer than it did. If he got into radio at 18 and thought he died at 43 with like 30 kills, that means it took 25 years for him to become a star and get that many kills, meanwhile him actually dying at 27 means he became a star and killed that many people in only 9 years, and that would actually be kinda impressive.
LOL gonna draw that. (sometimes i forget my age. and i have a really fucking convenient year of birth) (he probably was lying about the year of birth to begin with, so they would have to figure that out) (they ask emily to look for his mom in heaven and ask her--) (oh shit i'm turning it into angst, as i always do)
Also, i don't think his bodycount went higher than 15 in life, and that's me being generous, because holy shit it was dangerous for him. Like, as a mixed man, who had to ask permission to breathe the same air with the white people, he had to maintain the PERFECT reputation, or he'd be so fucking dead. He had to be really careful with his kills and make sure that NO ONE would suspect him, and there is NOTHING that can point towards him. Like, he tried to avoid contacts with the victim, or, if it's impossible, keep it as friendly as possible, at least from his side, while learning more about the victim's behavior, and figuring out how to lure them out to the woods and don't be suspicious. Of course, reputation of the beloved local radio host helped with that, but he couldn't rely on that too much either, because a single mistake could cost him his job, just because his skin was darker than needed to.
Local nepo baby sings about why you should support her business while repeatedly trying not to have a mental breakdown. Meanwhile; 3 local business CEOs openly shit on the Nepo baby and cause general chaos for shits and giggs and money
Once We Get Up There
3 local CEOs have a “Be Prepared” moment and show off how bad their God complexes are, especially TV Jeff Bazos
Like You
3 well meaning idiots sing to newly appointed Goodest Boi how special he is to the point of attempting suicide
Sera’s Confession
Holy Hottie Anastasia sings about how “Yeah, genocide wasn’t the move. You dun goofed, but that’s ok, just fix it.” to a biblically accurate baddie and then dips after giving her a completely warranted existential crisis
Gravity
The most valid invalid crash out in history
Piss(A Love Song)
Two love struck idiots miss beating the piss out of each other and it makes them very very sad 😢
Speedrun To Redemption
Blonde Nepo baby has a manic episode and goes full “Popular” on her supposed friend by essentially telling him to stop being him and be more like their more successful friend. All while 2 out of 3 of his tormenters watch with soda and popcorn despite the fact that he’s told Blondie multiple times that they’re bad people and friends with his abuser.
Don’t You Forget
Deer Man is pouting after losing a fight he was incredibly underestimating the difficulty level for, crashes out, quits the job he was barely doing and is then reminded by his hot boss that contracts are legally binding
Clean it up
Best girl sings about how she loves her job, but no one passed Japanese on Duolingo so unfortunately, no one understands her wholesomely genuine passion
Don’t You Forget (Reprise)
Deer man and TV Bazos beef with each other, unfortunately TV man is aura farming harder and is in fact, still not over the “break up”.
Bad With Us
TV Bazos tries to indoctrinate other CEOs and industry leaders. He’s successful but fumbles a few because he’s ageist and racist.
VOX POPULI
Devil Daddy aura farms HARD on TV Bazos only to immediately get dunked on at a MAGA rally from Hell
VOX DEI
TV Bazos takes advantage of everyone’s fear and incompetence by letting you know he can and will in fact get worse.
Love In a Bottle
Alcoholic cat Daddy relapses hard and tries to convince himself that he’s fine actually he’s totally not
Losin’ Streak
The best drag show you will ever see makes Cat Daddy realize he did not in fact “Forget how to love years ago”
Easy
Blonde Nepo baby FINALLY realizes she’s been a jackass all season, crashes out and her GF decides the best cure for depression is 🍑 🐱
Brighter
TV man sings about his life. Turns out he has always been bad at not being the center of attention and used to look like every suburban white dad ever, but with herterochromia. What a twist.
Live To Live
Newly appointed Goodest Boi sings to a biblically accurate Baddie about what I means to be human in the sweetest reprise you will ever hear. Give him head pats right fucking now, he deserves them, damn it.
When I think About The Future
Everyone’s hopeful and making plans to fuck up a CEO Gala. A divorce and a few mental breakdowns are imminent.
Hear My Hope
The power of friendship and a sprinkling of manipulation on the part of Rudolph the Red Deer saves everyone from dying at the hands of a holy nuke. Ft Fallout boy, a homophobic lesbian with shit taste in men, 2/3 of an evil corporate family, a Hot MILF, her Goth hubby, Rudolph’s hot boss and other corporate industry leaders that are only marginally better than most CEOs in existence
Polished marble floors and tall arched windows that let Hell’s red light spill in soft and warm colours instead of the oppressive red Alastor and every other sinner was subjected too. The furniture looked expensive but used. Lived-in. There were rugs. Actual rugs. Plants that were somehow still alive.
Lilith nodded, taking that as permission. “As we explained—”
“You explained nothing,” Alastor interrupted.
Lucifer raised a finger. “We explained that we’re parents.”
“That explains exactly zero percent of this.”
Lilith shot Lucifer a look, then turned back to Alastor with a patient smile that mothers usually have before talking to their dumbass children.
“We’re trying to be civil,” she said. “Please extend us the same courtesy.”
Alastor tilted his head, ears twitching. “You sat at my table.”
Lucifer flinched.
Lilith pressed on. “We have a daughter.”
“Yes,” Alastor said dryly. “You’ve mentioned.”
“She’s our only child,” Lucifer added quickly, clearly feeling the need to contribute something, however useless it may be. “Our pride and joy.”
Lilith smiled softly at that, then looked back at Alastor. “Her name is Charlie.”
Alastor said nothing.
“She’s… different,” Lilith continued. “Special.”
Lucifer nodded. “Very special.”
“How special?” Alastor asked, flatly. How special can this child be for Blonde 1 & 2 to abduct a random sinner off the streets because he ‘is red and looks fluffy’.
Lilith considered him. “She’s the first of her kind.”
“A nephilim.” Lucifer gestured vaguely.
Alastor blinked.
“…A what.”
Lilith waved a hand. “Child of an angel and a human. Technically.”
Lucifer nodded again. “Long story.”
Alastor stared at them. “How is this my problem again? I wasn’t there when the child was conceived. I’m not responsible for “the miracle baby” you can’t seem to handle”
Lucifer bristled. “We are handling it just fine, you mouthy little—”
Lilith shot him another look. “Lucifer.”
He exhaled. “We are handling it carefully.”
Alastor leaned back against a pillar, crossing his arms. “I’m listening.” Though he would rather do anything else.
Lilith nodded. “Charlie has been alive for roughly eighty years.”
“Eighty-six years, three months, and twenty-two days.” Lucifer corrected.
Alastor raised an eyebrow and mentally wrote down ‘Overbearing parental delusions’ in his Lucifer notes.
Lucifer added, “But developmentally she’s eight.”
Alastor stared. “…That’s not how time works, is it?.”
“She grows differently,” Lilith said. “Her powers haven’t formed yet.”
Lucifer frowned. “Which is a problem.”
“Why?” Alastor asked.
Lucifer scoffed. “Because Hell is dangerous.”
Alastor opened his mouth—
—and then closed it.
“…Fair.”
Lucifer seized on that immediately. “Exactly! Thank you. Hell is full of sinners. Violent, selfish, destructive—”
“—trully feeling your undying love, sire.” Alastor muttered.
Lucifer shot him a glare and pretended he didn’t hear. “—awful creatures who thrive on chaos and cruelty.”
Alastor’s grin sharpened. “Wow. Rude.”
Lucifer waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” Alastor said sweetly. “You mean me.”
Lilith sighed. “Lucifer.”
“I’m not wrong Lili!”
Alastor chuckled quietly to himself.
Lucifer continued, pacing slightly but still keeping a very respectable distance. “We can’t let her explore Hell. It’s not safe. And I don’t want to expose her to—” he gestured vaguely toward hell “—that.”
Alastor tilted his head. “You invited me in.”
Lucifer winced. “Well, yes. But this is different.”
“How?”
“You’re contained.” As if he was talking about a parasite.
Alastor’s smile froze.
He could lounge at him again. Fight him. Try and kill that white man.
“But you won’t win.” his shadow quipped in his head unhelpfully. And that infernal thing was right too. Because, despite being the strongest sinner, at the end of the day he is still just a sinner.
That didn’t stop him from growling at Lucifer though, or his eyes from turning into radio dials.
Lilith stepped in smoothly. “Charlie is lonely,” she said softly. “She’s been lonely for a very long time.”
Lucifer’s expression softened. “We can’t enroll her in school. She doesn’t age like other children. She’d… notice.”
Alastor felt a little bad despite himself.
“She wants friends,” Lilith said. “She wants someone to play with. Someone who won’t leave.”
Alastor’s jaw tightened. The thing he felt disappeared.
“So,” Lucifer said, clapping his hands together nervously, “we decided a companion would be best.”
Alastor stared at him.
“A living companion,” Lilith clarified.
Alastor’s laughter burst out loud and sharp. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no.”
Lucifer blinked. “Is that—”
“No.”
Lilith tilted her head. “Alastor—”
“No,” he repeated, grin maniac now. “I don’t do children. I don’t do babysitting. I don’t do companionship. And I most certainly do not—”
Lucifer jumped slightly as Alastor took a step forward and growled.
“—become someone’s toy.”
Silence fell.
Lucifer swallowed. Took a careful step back.
Lilith’s expression did not change.
“That’s unfortunate,” she said calmly. “Because that’s what we need.”
Alastor laughed again, but this time there was a crack in it. “You need a slave.”
Lucifer flinched. “We prefer—”
“A slave,” Alastor snapped. “Call it what it is.”
Lilith nodded. “Yes.”
Lucifer looked down, a bit ashamed.
She continued, unbothered. “We need someone durable. Entertaining. Someone who won’t frighten her. Someone who won’t leave.”
Alastor felt something cold twist in his chest. The same thing he’d felt moments before that hunter shot him in the head.
“And you looked at me,” he said, “and decided I was a good idea.”
Lilith smiled faintly. “You’re red.”
Lucifer nodded. “She likes red.”
“And fluffy,” Lilith added, eyes flicking briefly to his ears.
Lucifer nodded again like a parrot. “She likes fluffy.”
Alastor stared.
“…That’s it.”
Lucifer brightened. “Also, you’re very powerful.”
Alastor laughed weakly. “You’re out of your minds.”
Lilith stepped closer. “We’re desperate.”
Silence stretched.
Alastor exhaled sharply. “Even if I wanted to do this—which I do not—you’d be insane to trust me near a child.”
Lucifer nodded vigorously. “Exactly!”
Lilith sighed. “Lucifer.”
“I’m just saying!”
Alastor looked between them. “So what happens when I scare her. Or upset her. Or she pulls my ears.”
Lilith winced.
Lucifer, on the other hand, met Alastor’s gaze steadily. “Then you die. Slowly and painfully. To the point that I will make you wish you never existed.”
Alastor laughed.
He couldn’t help it.
“Oh, that’s rich,” he said breathlessly. “So let me summarize. You kidnap me. Threaten me. Force me into eternal babysitting duty under penalty of endless torture—”
Lucifer nodded, as if this was simply a business agreement. “Yes.”
“—and you expect me to just… agree?”
Lilith considered him. “We were hoping you’d see reason.”
Alastor snarled. “Do I have a choice?!.”
Lilith’s smile softened. “No.”
Lucifer shifted awkwardly. “But we wanted to be nice about it.”
Something inside Alastor snapped.
He turned away sharply, fists clenched, static flickering at the edges of his vision.
Fuck you, Rosie, he thought viciously. I don’t want to babysit some whiny brat.
He felt it again. A tiny little pull that meant that, yes, she heard him, no, he doesn’t have a choice on the matter.
Note to self: NEVER MAKE DEALS WITH UNDEFINED CLAUSES EVER AGAIN
“…Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Lucifer blinked. “Really?”
Lilith’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You will?”
Alastor bowed mockingly. “I’ll be your perfect little toy.”
Lucifer let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank you.”
Alastor’s vision swam.
Lilith stepped closer. “Alastor?”
He swayed then promptly collapsed.
Lucifer yelped. “OH—”
Lilith caught him before he hit the floor.
She sighed, adjusting her grip. “He’s exhausted. Did you key him to the wards when we brought him here?”
Lucifer stared at the unconscious Radio Demon. “I… uh, might’ve forgotten to?”
“Well, key him! His whole focus needs to be on Charlie not on trying to stay conscious.”
“Yes! Done! …Did we just …traumatize him?” he looked suspiciously at Lilith.
Lilith looked down at Alastor’s face, expression unreadable.
“…Possibly.”
Lucifer grimaced. “He’s going to be Charlie’s only friend.”
sorry if this isn't good, it's my first time writing texts on Tumblr.
inspired by @elsa-fogen's Charlie's Toys AU
ao3 link
CHAPTER 1
Hell had cafés.
This was not, in itself, unusual. Hell had everything. Bakeries, bars, bookstores, entire streets dedicated solely to crimes that technically did not need to exist but persisted anyway out of pure spite. Cafés were inevitable. Caffeine was one of the few universally agreed-upon necessities across damnation.
This particular café was quiet.
Not peaceful. Nothing in Hell is peaceful. Ever.
But this was the kind of place where the chairs were upholstered, the cups were real porcelain, and the patrons spoke in low voices because shouting felt rude in a room this expensive.
Alastor liked it.
He liked it so much that he went there every morning. He sat at a small round table near the window, legs crossed, radio cane propped neatly against his chair. Steam curled up from his coffee. The smell was bitter and rich and familiar enough to pretend, just for a moment, that he hadn’t died ten years ago.
Ten years.
That alone still irritated him.
He lifted the cup and took a sip.
“Excuse us.”
Alastor did not look up.
He did not have to. The voice was too clean. Too nice. The sort of voice that expected compliance as a matter of course. He took another sip of his coffee, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be awkward.
“Sir?” the voice tried again, still polite.
Alastor sighed and finally raised his eyes.
Two blonde people stood at his table.
One man. One woman.
Both dressed like they had stepped out of a badly researched spy film.
The man wore a long brown-ish coat, tailored to within an inch of its life, blond hair slicked back, sunglasses indoors like an asshole. The woman beside him was all dark glamour and poise, her smile was pleasant in a way that suggested it could be weaponized.
They were smiling at him.
At his table.
Alastor’s grin sharpened automatically. “May I help you?” he asked, already annoyed.
“We were hoping,” the man said, pulling out the empty chair across from him without waiting for permission to sit his flat ass down, “that we might have a word.”
He sat.
The woman followed suit, settling gracefully into the remaining chair, folding her hands atop the table like this was a scheduled meeting and not a social crime.
Alastor stared at them.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned back and spread his arms.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “you’ve certainly picked an interesting way to start a conversation. Do you make a habit of inviting yourselves into other people’s personal space, or am I simply special?”
The woman’s eyes flicked briefly to his antlers. To his ears.
She smiled wider.
“Oh,” she said. “Very special.”
That was… unsettling. Deeply unsettling.
The man cleared his throat. “We’ll get straight to the point.”
“By all means,” Alastor said. “You’re already halfway to being thrown through a window. Might as well commit.”
The man blinked. “Is… is he joking?”
The woman tilted her head, studying Alastor like a cat contemplating whether to knock something off a shelf.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
Alastor’s grin did not change. His eyes had that murderous glint they get whenever he’s about to do something stupid.
There was a pause.
Then the man laughed. A little too loudly. “Ha! Right. Yes. Very funny.”
Alastor took another sip of his coffee.
“So,” the woman said smoothly, leaning forward. “We’re looking for a toy.”
Alastor choked.
Actual, undignified choking. Very un-gentlemanly. Coffee went down the wrong pipe, and he had to set the cup down before it shattered in his grip.
“…I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, voice crackling faintly. “A what?”
“A toy,” the man repeated, nodding earnestly. “For our daughter.”
Alastor stared at them.
Then he barked a laugh.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“Yes,” the woman said, entirely unbothered. “Very.”
Alastor wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye. “Well! That’s… certainly a first. I’m afraid you’re in the wrong establishment, my friends. You’ll want to head three blocks down, take a left at the butcher’s, and you’ll find a toy store that caters to… whatever it is you’re doing.”
The man frowned. “No, no. We’re not looking for—”
“That kind of toy,” the woman finished, smiling pleasantly.
Alastor’s laughter stopped.
His gaze flicked between them.
“…Right,” he said slowly.
The woman folded her hands. “We want something durable and entertaining but also safe for a small child.”
“Preferably colorful,” the man added. “She likes red.”
The woman let her gaze drift again to his ears.
“And soft,” she said lightly, still staring at his ears.
Alastor went very still.
“…You want a pet,” he said flatly.
They exchanged a look.
Lucifer shrugged. “Eh, more like a companion.”
“Try the pound.” Alastor deadpaned.
Lilith smiled. “We did. She got bored.”
Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist.
Eugh, rich people.
Alastor pushed his chair back slightly. “Listen,” he said, tone cooling. “I don’t know what kind of rich, delusional nonsense this is, but I’m not interested in—”
Lilith leaned forward.
Her voice dropped just enough to be dangerous.
“We know who you are.”
Alastor’s grin returned, slower this time. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Lilith said. “The Radio Demon. Appeared ten years ago. Rose through the ranks rather dramatically. Killed… what was it?”
“Eighty percent of the ruling overlords in your first year,” Lucifer supplied, weirdly exited. “Give or take.”
The café felt smaller.
Alastor’s fingers curled around his cane.
“And yet,” he said lightly, “you thought it would be wise to approach me like this.”
Lucifer swallowed. “In retrospect, perhaps not.”
Lilith hummed. “But we were curious.”
Alastor leaned forward, teeth bared in a grin that was no longer friendly.
“Leave,” he said. “Now.”
Lilith did not move.
Lucifer did not move.
Instead, Lucifer reached into his coat and pulled out—nothing.
His hand came back empty.
He froze.
Lilith glanced at him. “Did you forget it?”
“I had it,” he hissed under his breath. “I definitely had it.”
Alastor watched this exchange with growing interest, because he’s deathly allergic to fear.
“…This is getting embarrassing,” he said.
Lucifer looked back at him, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “Now, listen, there’s no need to—”
Alastor lunged at him like a rabid dog.
The café exploded into motion. Chairs toppled. Cups shattered. Demons screamed and scattered as Alastor vaulted over the table and tackled the king of hell to the ground.
Lilith shouted his name—Lucifer—just as Alastor sank his teeth into the man’s arm.
Lucifer screamed.
“OH—OW—OW—ALRIGHT—”
Lilith grabbed Alastor by the shoulders and wrenched him back, and he retaliated immediately—claws raking across her arm, tearing fabric and skin alike.
She hissed sharply, more in surprise than pain.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “He scratches too!”
“LILITH,” Lucifer yelled, clutching his bleeding arm. “I DON’T THINK THIS IS GOING WELL—”
Alastor laughed, feral and triumphant, blood smeared across his grin.
“Oh dear,” she said. “We’ve upset him.”
Lucifer stared at his arm. “I’m bleeding.”
“Yes, darling, I see that.”
“I am bleeding.”
Lilith sighed. “I told you the disguises wouldn’t help.”
Lucifer snapped his fingers and the world tilted.
Whatever Alastor was about to say died in his throat. His limbs went heavy, strength draining out of him like someone had pulled a plug.
Lucifer looked apologetic. “Sorry about this.”
Alastor collapsed.
The last thing he heard was Lilith tutting softly.
“Well,” she said. “That could have gone better.”
——————
Alastor woke up on cold marble.
His head pounded. His mouth tasted like blood and coffee.
He groaned and rolled onto his side, immediately registering three things:
One: he was not in the café.
Two: he was not restrained.
Three: the ceiling was very high.
“…Fuck,” he muttered.
He pushed himself upright.
The room was enormous. Polished floors. Gold accents. Tall windows pouring red light across velvet curtains.
A palace.
He laughed weakly. “Of course.”
“Oh, good,” a voice said. “You’re awake.”
Alastor spun.
Lucifer stood a short distance away, his coat gone, arm bandaged. He looked tired. Lilith stood beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Alastor rose slowly to his feet, shoulders tense, every instinct screaming.
“You drugged me,” he said.
“Yes,” Lucifer admitted. “You bit me.”
“You sat at my table.”
Lilith raised a hand. “Alright, everyone take a breath.”
Alastor growled. “You think this ends well for you?”
Lucifer hesitated.
Lilith met Alastor’s gaze steadily. “We think you’re perfect.”
That was not reassuring. In fact, that might be the least reassuring thing he’s ever heard in his life AND afterlife.
“Perfect for what?”
Lilith smiled. “Our daughter’s new toy.”
Alastor stared at them.
Then he laughed. “Oh,” he said breathlessly. “Oh, you’re both completely insane.”
Lucifer shifted nervously. “She’s going to love him, isn’t she?”
Lilith nodded, eyes still on Alastor. “Oh, yes.”
Alastor’s laughter faded.
“…I’m going to kill you,” he said quietly.
Lilith’s smile sharpened.
“No,” she said. “You’re not.”
And before he could lunge again, the chain pulled. Hard.
You have got to be kidding me.
Alastor froze.
His manic-murderous grin dimmed just a smidge.
Alastor swallowed and internally cursed his younger self for not reading the fine print and selling his soul before dying.
“…Fine,” he said hoarsely. “You have my attention.”
The War Is Almost Over… but Our Struggle to Rebuild Has Just Begun.
Every day here in Gaza feels like a year carved into our chests. The war isn’t like it was in the early days—the sky is quieter, the air carries less smoke, and the nights hold fewer explosions. But the pain… it still lives under the rubble, inside our memories, and in the empty spaces where our loved ones once stood.
I’m writing this today not because the war has completely ended, but because for the first time in a long while, it feels like the horizon is opening a little. A small space where we can breathe, gather ourselves, and try to rebuild what’s left of our lives.
Yet every step forward feels like walking on wounded memories, and every stone from our destroyed home whispers stories we never got to finish.
We lived through nights so heavy we thought morning would never come. We lost things that can never be replaced—homes, dreams, pieces of our hearts.
But we are still here… holding on, trying, fighting to stay standing despite everything.
And in the middle of this long road… there is a house. A house that once carried laughter, warmth, noise, and life.
Today, all that remains is an image holding a memory—and rubble longing for the people who once lived inside.
Today, we are trying to rebuild—not just the walls of a house, but an entire life that was shattered.
We are trying to create a new beginning, to live with dignity again, to give our family a sense of safety that we’ve been missing for so long.
We’re not writing this to mourn what was lost, but to ask for a chance to start again.
We ask for your support because rebuilding after a war is not something one person can do alone—it is a human effort, a shared act of compassion.
We need you.
We need your hearts.
We need your help to stand again.
My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.
Because Gaza has no working banking system, we use my brother U.S. Stripe account to safely process donations for our family. Nothing is hidden — every dollar goes where it should. We are ready to show proof of anything, at any time.
Every contribution—no matter how small—makes a difference.
It becomes part of our story, part of rebuilding a home, part of reviving a life that nearly faded.
The war may be almost over… but our journey back to life begins now.
🌿✨
Thank you to every soul who still feels our pain, and to everyone who reaches out a hand to help us rise again.
