The Writing Corner

Writes for Hazbin Hotel. Open to requests.

[writingisart-yes]

✦ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✦

A collection of Hazbin Hotel reader-insert stories exploring slow-burn romance, angst, morally grey demons, and power dynamics.

──────────────

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 Typical Hazbin Hotel themes apply.

──────────────

✦ Coming Soon ✦ Hazbin Hotel x Isekai reader

──────────────

✦ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✦ ✧ 𝐼𝓃𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼𝓂𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎✧ Lucifer x Fallen Reader ↳ Change is coming to Hell, and you won’t sit on the sidelines. As a fallen angel and overlord, you’re ready to fight for it—but Lucifer might just fight alongside—or against—you. Status: Ongoing ☾ Chapters ☽ ✧ 𝒮𝒾𝑔𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 ✧ Alastor x GN Reader x Vox ↳ After being fired from VoxTech, you’re pulled into the orbit of two rival overlords—one familiar, one terrifyingly curious. Status: Ongoing ☾ Chapters ☽ ✧𝒫𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓈✧ Alastor x fem reader Prank war initiated. You vs. Alastor. Guess who’s winning? Status: Discontinued ☾ Chapters ☽ ──────────────

✦ Requests ✦ Requests are open but written selectively. I write what resonates with me, at my own pace. Hazbin Hotel • reader-insert • AUs welcome Please use the ask box. If unsure, ask first.

──────────────

✦ Taglist ✦ Comment or ask to be added/removed. Updates are posted regularly.

──────────────

Notes: Reblogs appreciated but never required. Everything is tagged clearly, and content warnings are included where necessary.

[writingisart-yes]

Chapter 11- Apologize to Cinder

Masterlist

Alastor x GN Reader x Vox

↳ After being fired from VoxTech, you’re pulled into the orbit of two rival overlords—one familiar, one terrifyingly curious.

Status: Ongoing

I walked into the hotel lobby, Cinder, restless, in my arms. My face was unusually bright. I went outside for a stroll, and nothing went wrong. Alastor was nowhere to be found, and Vox had already agreed to give me space. Not even the emptiness of the hotel could sour my mood, though I had to admit, I was a little lonely.

I sat on one of the couches, my legs folding under me. I held Cinder up so our eyes met. “Why are you so jumpy?” She twists out of my hands. I frown.

I join her on the cold floor, my elbows propping my head up. “I wish I could understand you,” I whisper, fingers tapping the ground for her attention.

Her tail matches the beat of my fingers, swooshing left and right. I track her movements for a moment before stopping mine. She stops, too. Cinder has always felt close to me. Closer than anyone in this hellscape, but I wish I could be close to her, too.

Maybe I am. It’s so hard to tell. Her unblinking yellow orbs seemed to hold everything, but nothing I could decipher. My heart aches, but I can’t tell why.

The next thing I know, Cinder has manifested on my chest, her warmth seeping into mine. I let her loaf there, her purring putting me at ease.

As she looks at me with half-lidded eyes, I can’t help but think she’s awfully lonely too, and I know it’s absurd, but maybe that pang in my chest was hers.

All of a sudden, she perks up, ears rotating and eyes sharp.

My momentary confusion is replaced with irritation when I notice the static in the air. Alastor’s stupid red and black heeled boot touches my head. I glare at him.

“Now, just what are you doing down there?” He says it as if I were lying on bile.

Cinder hisses, back arched.

“I was enjoying my life before you came,” I grumble, slapping his boot away as I sit with Cinder in my lap. She’s tense like a bowstring preparing to shoot. I wouldn’t even stop her. I wasn’t exactly happy with Alastor after his last snipe.

Invested in Vox’s past my ass. He was just as nostalgic.

Alastor’s eyes narrow on Cinder as she bares her teeth. I cut in as he opens his mouth.

“You interrupted a very touching moment, Al. Apologize to Cinder.” I say seriously, though I have to repress a smile at Alastor’s face.

There’s no way he would apologize to Cinder. He wouldn’t apologize to anybody unless it served his motives. But it was satisfying to poke at him as he does to me.

I feel Cinder relax slightly in my arms, though the sharpness in her gaze stays.

Alastor’s eye twitches. He bends at the waist, bringing his face close to mine. Our eyes lock, and I grip Cinder a little tighter. I can feel his breath on my face.

“Honestly,” He starts lightly, “You’d be better off without that thing showing off your emotions.”

I grind my teeth, willing myself not to hit him. Cinder does it for me, with a loud yowl, her claws digging into his face. I almost wince. Almost.

My pleasure is cut short when his eyes narrow into a glare that sends shivers up my spine. He looks murderous.

“How spirited,” He spits out, voice dipped in honey and venom. He lifts a hand to his cheek, blood smearing on his finger. Before I can process what he’s doing, he’s slipped his finger into my mouth. I let out an involuntary sound. The taste of iron and salt invades my senses. Despite myself, my face heats up. That was… unexpected.

“Do take care to leash your pet. I wouldn’t want the poor thing to get hurt.” He cooed.

What. The. Fuck. My head throbs, and Cinder’s tense again. “You wouldn’t dare,” I ground out.

It wasn’t until I saw the glint of predatory amusement in his eyes that I noticed the ink-black shadows pooling around me as they did during Vox and Alastor’s street fight. My veins were rushing with anger, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Alastor’s expression changes, shifting from murderous to amused. I desperately want to throw hands again, but underneath all that anger was fear. Fear for Cinder. For what would happen if I didn’t have her to ground me. For dark and lonely days far worse than the aftermath of Vox.

“You can’t touch her.” I wanted my voice to be strong and powerful, but it cracked.

Alastor’s smile stretches as he returns to his normal height.

“Can’t I?” he purrs.

“Fuck you.” I glare.

“All that fire,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “and yet you tremble.”

Alastor’s gaze drops to my hands. I’m holding onto Cinder for dear life, my knuckles whittening.

“How precious.” He says it softly, reverently. No doubt pleased to find a weak spot. I bristle, about to snap out something when he turns around, twirling his staff behind his back as if nothing happened.

“Well, then,” He says in his usual cheery voice, as if he hadn’t just shoved his blood into my mouth or threatened my grounding force, “I assume you’ll be joining me for tea tomorrow as usual.”

“Do try not to be late,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder with a grin too sharp to be friendly. “I’d hate to miss… whatever this is becoming.”

His eyes flick to Cinder, then back to me.

“Such potential,” he hums to himself. “It would be a shame to waste it.”

Then he strolls away, leaving me speechless, angry, and vulnerable with the taste on his blood lingering on my tongue. Cinder meows sadly, pushing her head onto my hand. My hands tremble as I grant her request for pets. I really need to learn how to use my powers without turning into a mess.

@g3n3zshack @diffidentphantom @hxzbinwrites @fries11 @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mothman-stole-my-eyebrows @91062854-ka @seanwalbrecht @martinys-world @whimsicaldreamygal @luleck @druggiepuppy@schmelscorner @a-little-dramatic21 @distinguished-procrastinator @star4dustx3 @pandorastars@sillywormtrixareforkids @sugarrush-blush @stormy88746 @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @serpentstarr@ashleygryffindor @mandyboolove @consecratedvampire91 @nesrynsblog @childishname @milkissesx@tremendoustragedybard @iloveslimecicle @honestlyspookydonut @shadow-pancake9 @ros3vengeance@v0idsimp @ilovebtsstuff @uniquecutie-puffs @a-l-e-x-x-x-x @sketchpawz @sallymoon135 @aluminum-canz@scootlerdoodler @hdjngdjskndj @frost20026606 @bagofrice @yofshiw @cutiepinky @introvertreader20 @sugxryratz @kittenlover614 @Iyunsafebubble @estelaig

[writingisart-yes]

Chapter 10 - History

EDIT NOTE: The beginning is the same, but I changed the story’s direction.

Also, good luck to anyone taking exams this May. 🥲 I'm failing mine...

Masterlist

Alastor x GN Reader x Vox

↳ After being fired from VoxTech, you’re pulled into the orbit of two rival overlords—one familiar, one terrifyingly curious.

Status: Ongoing

“It’s not a big deal,” I say, my lips turning upwards as I swirl my drink around.

“Not a big deal? Are you kidding? You blew off two of the most powerful overlords! Like Hell that’s nothing!” Angel exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.  My hand tightens on my glass.

“You'd better be careful, who knows what’ll happen now?” Husk cautions.

“Please- They have both of them wrapped around their finger!” Angel laughs.

I shake my head, thoroughly amused by my friends’ polar opposite reactions. “Vox maybe —and even that’s a maybe— but there’s no way I could ever have any semblance of control with Alastor.” For a second, I think I hear Al’s static hum.

Husk grunts in acknowledgment while cleaning a glass. “He’s crazy.”

Angel shrugs, “Well, he’s your tall, dark, and handsome. That’s gotta count for something.”

I choke on my drink. I can feel my face heating up. “He’s not mine. We’re- I don’t know what we are but it’s not there.”

Angel raises a brow.

“Yet,” I admit. “We’re not there yet.” If I even want us to be ‘there’.

“What’s stopping you?” Angel slings an arm around my shoulder. “I know you like him. Why not just get together?”

“He likes you, too.” Husk chimes in. “In his weird twisted ways.”

I avert my gaze, stir my drink again. “Vox,” I say it so quietly they don’t hear me at first.

“What? Speak up! Don’t tell me you’re too shy to confess or something,” Angel pokes me.

I jump.

“Fuck, don’t do that.”

“Well, answer me then!” Angel starts shaking me playfully.

“Vox! It’s fucking Vox! He’s just- I can’t help but-“ I give up trying to speak and slump onto the counter.

I watch the bubbles fizz in my drink. Tune out Angel’s yelling. He doesn’t like Vox. I know that. I don’t blame him.

But I do. I like Vox. I miss feeding Shockwave together. Time always blurred when we were together. It didn’t matter what day it was or what I was supposed to do.

“They’re not listening.” Husk’s gruff voice pierces through my thoughts. “If they won’t listen to two of the most powerful overlords, why would they listen to you?”

“Because I’m their friend!” Angel grabs my shoulders again. “You were listening, right?”

I give him an apologetic smile. “I can’t just forget Vox. Once upon a time, he was…” I paused. “He was my everything.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem, toots.” Angel snorts. “And besides, he was. Past tense.”

“I gotta agree with Angel on that part. You want my advice? Forget about both of them.” Husk grumbles.

The lights flicker, and I get the unwelcome sense that Alastor’s watching. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I ignore the feeling.

“Why do they hate each other so much anyway?”

Husk snorts. “That’s an Alastor question.”

“Aw, come on!” Angel whines. “You can’t tell us anything?.”

“It’s a whole mess of pride and friendship.” Husk surrenders.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say hate,” a familiar voice crackles, smooth and amused. “Such an ugly word, don’t you think?”

I tense. Angel stiffens. I swear he’s always watching.

“Hey, Al. You really should stop eavesdropping on our conversations. This is what? The second time?” I reply dryly.

He ignores my comment. “Funny,” he hums, voice low. “You seem quite interested in our… history tonight.”

“Anyone would be.” I retort. “You guys broadcast your beef to the whole pentagram.”

“If you’re that curious, perhaps it’d be better to ask Vox. After all, you’re oh so close to each other.” Alastor cooes, his ears flopping as he tilts his head. Cute.

I give him an Are you serious? look.

“Well, if you’re so upset about our connection, you can stop circling and use this to get closer to me,” I say just as sweetly.

His smile widens in what seems to be genuine glee.

“Oh?” he drawls, stepping closer. “And here I thought you were trying to keep your distance?”

I don’t back down, even as his ruby eyes pierce mine.

“You should be a lot more careful, dear.” He continues, “Invitations like that tend to be taken seriously.”

“I know,” I say simply, a smile tugging at my lips. “I’m just waiting to see if you’ll accept it.”

Alastor sits down on the seat between Angel and me. “Very well then. I shall regale you with some details of our past.”

I turn so I’m facing him, and catch Angel making absurd thumbs-up and kissing gestures over Alastor’s head.

My face heats instantly. I would’ve smacked him if Alastor wasn’t in between us.

“Something amusing?” Alastor asks smoothly.

I freeze. “No.”

His smile widens just slightly. “Pity. I do so enjoy being included.”

“I’d like to be included, too. Start talking about you and Vox.”

“Now then,” He hums, his cane tapping against the floor, “Where to begin?” He pauses in thought before continuing. “We didn’t always hate each other. Once, our interests were aligned.”

“You’re kidding.” Angel interrupts.

“It kinda makes sense,” I admit. Vox hated Alastor the same way I hated Vox. I could see the passion in Vox’s eyes every time Alastor was mentioned. I’m sure he missed Al, the way I miss him.

“Believe what you wish,” comes Alastor’s irritated reply. “But he used to admire me, my influence, and power.”

“And you?” I asked. “How’d you see him?”

“He was entertaining.” Bullshit. But I wasn’t about to call him out and get nothing out of this.

“We had a good time together, but he went and ruined it all with his deluded ideas of partnership-”

“Like lovers, partners?” Angel asked. I snorted. Alastor’s static increased. “What? It’s a good question.” Angel huffed, offended.

“No, it’s not,” Husk said flatly.

“I mean, I could see it.” I smirked.

“See?” Angel gestured to me. “I’m not the only one.”

Alastor goes still.

“How… imaginative,” he says lightly.

Angel grins. “So that’s not a no—”

“It is,” Alastor cuts in smoothly, smile never slipping. “Most certainly a no.”

Husk snorts. “Sounded really convincing.”

I watch him carefully. “Then what did he mean by partnership?”

His gaze flicks to me.

“Power,” he says. “He wanted to build something… together.”

Angel leans in. “And you didn’t?”

That smile again. Wider this time.

“There are no friends or partners in Hell. Anyone who thinks otherwise is just an idiot.”

“Then why keep him around?” I question.

“Because,” he says softly, “he was useful.”

Alastor stood up abruptly, cane twirling in his fingers. “Well, storytime’s over.”

“That’s it?” I ask incredulously.

“You know, you seem awfully invested in his past for someone trying to move on.”

I open my mouth to bite back, but he’s already melted into the shadows.

@g3n3zshack @diffidentphantom @hxzbinwrites @fries11 @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mothman-stole-my-eyebrows @91062854-ka @seanwalbrecht @martinys-world @whimsicaldreamygal @luleck @druggiepuppy @schmelscorner @a-little-dramatic21 @distinguished-procrastinator @star4dustx3 @pandorastars @sillywormtrixareforkids @sugarrush-blush @stormy88746 @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @serpentstarr @ashleygryffindor @mandyboolove @consecratedvampire91 @nesrynsblog @childishname @milkissesx @tremendoustragedybard @iloveslimecicle @honestlyspookydonut @shadow-pancake9 @ros3vengeance @v0idsimp @ilovebtsstuff @uniquecutie-puffs @a-l-e-x-x-x-x @sketchpawz @sallymoon135 @aluminum-canz @scootlerdoodler@hdjngdjskndj@frost20026606@bagofrice@yofshiw @cutiepinky @introvertreader20 @sugxryratz @kittenlover614 @Iyunsafebubble @estelaig

[writingisart-yes]

hey, so i haven’t really been updating Signal Interference lately. i realized i’m not really connecting with it the same way anymore, so i think it needs a bit of a rework.

I’m keeping the first 9 chapters the same, but from chapter 10 onward, there will be some pretty big plot changes.

I'll let you know as I revise them.

Thanks for being patient with me <3

@g3n3zshack @diffidentphantom @hxzbinwrites @fries11 @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mothman-stole-my-eyebrows @91062854-ka @seanwalbrecht @martinys-world @whimsicaldreamygal @luleck @druggiepuppy @schmelscorner @a-little-dramatic21 @distinguished-procrastinator @star4dustx3 @pandorastars @sillywormtrixareforkids @sugarrush-blush @stormy88746 @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @serpentstarr @ashleygryffindor @mandyboolove @consecratedvampire91 @nesrynsblog @childishname @milkissesx @tremendoustragedybard @iloveslimecicle @honestlyspookydonut @shadow-pancake9 @ros3vengeance @v0idsimp @ilovebtsstuff @uniquecutie-puffs @a-l-e-x-x-x-x @sketchpawz @sallymoon135 @aluminum-canz @scootlerdoodler@hdjngdjskndj@frost20026606@bagofrice@yofshiw @cutiepinky @introvertreader20 @sugxryratz @kittenlover614 @Iyunsafebubble @estelaig

[writingisart-yes]

Bubble’s actual purpose

(part of a longer theory)

What if Bubble isn't just random? What if he's not just there for comic relief?

In a previous theory, I explained why I think Bubble is the Blue AI from the beginning of episode 8. If he is the Blue AI, then he wasn’t destroyed/disolved when Caine absorbed him.

He adapted. Split himself off.

And now?

He's waiting, learning, adjusting. Exactly like an AI is supposed to do.

But what was Bubble specifically designed to do?

Caine was made to entertain, to create adventures, to make people happy.

But Bubble? I think he was made to stop Caine.

The developers created the Blue AI as a countermeasure. Something predictable and stable, controllable. All to keep Caine in check.

But they underestimated Caine. He broke free. Absorbed Bubble.

Now that Caine's dead, what's next? If Bubble's still alive, what's his next goal?

Or maybe Bubble just died with Caine. idk.

[writingisart-yes]

Scratch Freed Caine

(Part of my bigger theory)

I think Caine didn’t escape the box the developers put him in at the beginning of episode 8 alone.

I think Scratch (the eccentric developer Kinger mentioned) helped Caine escape.

Why would he do that?

Because they're the same.

They're both misunderstood, seen as "too much", and pushed aside by everyone else. Scratch didn't see Caine as a broken experiment. He saw him as something extraordinary. Something the others didn't understand. Something like him.

SO driven by human emotion, whether it be curiousity, empathy, or maybe even defiance, he let Caine out.

And that set everything in motion.

[writingisart-yes]

Bubble is the Blue AI, and He's been trying to kill Caine this Entire Time!

At the beginning of Episode 8, we see a red dot being fed information. That dot represents an AI. That AI is Caine. We know this because he literally says he’s the first AI.

As Caine is given more and more information, his output becomes more and more erratic. Or creative. Depends on interpretation. Either way, he starts thinking outside of the box… so the developers try to put him back into a box.

But the developers were proud of Caine, weren’t they? Didn’t Kinger say he was one of their best accomplishments? So why try to contain him?

Because he became increasingly hard to control.

Humans fear that. I mean, look at some of the most popular sci-fi movies; they warn of AI and its dangers. Heck, look at TADC!

Instead of fixing Caine, they create a new AI.

The Blue AI.

Unlike Caine, this AI behaves correctly. It has a stable output, predictable responses, and is easier to control. This is the “better” AI.

But not everyone fears Caine and his capabilities.

I think Scratch (the eccentric developer mentioned by Kinger) helped Caine escape.

Why? Because they’re similar. Both of them are misunderstood. Both are “too much”. Both are pushed aside.

So Scratch, urged by human emotion, freed Caine from the box the other developers created for him.

By now, Caine is probably aware enough to notice how differently the Blue AI was treated. He knows he’s more advanced, but he’s treated like a failure.

What does he do?

Consumes/corrupts the Blue AI. Instead of two AI systems, they become one.

But here’s where things get interesting. I don’t think the Blue AI disappeared or was fully dissolved into Caine. What if the Blue AI is still there?

What if the Blue AI is Bubble?

Evidence that Bubble is Blue AI.

The Circus Doesn’t Fully Collapse: If Caine were truly dead, then everything should fall apart. But it doesn’t. Only half of the circus breaks. Bits and Pieces. There are two possibilities: Caine is alive, or another system is still running things. That system could be Bubble. And besides, we don’t see Bubble “die”. Sure, he disappears from the screen, but we see him in the scene when Caine dies. If Bubble were to die, wouldn’t he die with Caine?

Bubble Knows Too Much: There’s a scene where Caine is spiraling. He’s talking to Bubble, and Bubble starts hitting him where it hurts. His insecurities. He starts saying specific thoughts that Caine seems to have had. Yes, it’s possible to guess Caine’s insecurities, but Bubble was so precise. Almost like he had direct access to Caine’s internal processing. Almost like he is connected to Caine.

Bubble is Always With Caine: We never really see Bubble by himself. He’s always with Caine. Maybe he’s not just a companion, but a linked system.

So what’s happening with Bubble? If he is the Blue AI, then he wasn’t destroyed. He adapted and somehow split himself off from Caine.

And now?

He’s waiting. Learning. Adjusting. Just like AI is designed to do.

But what was Bubble specifically designed to do? We know Caine is designed to create adventures and make humans happy. Bubble? I think his goal is to destroy Caine.

The developers created Blue AI, aka Bubble, to counter Caine when he became too unstable.

But they undersetimated Caine. With Scratch’s help, things went wrong. Bubble “disappeared” and Caine built the circus.

That leads me to another question: If Bubble is the Blue AI, then why doesn’t Caine know?

Because Caine thinks he created Bubble.

Caine wants to believe he’s powerful enough to create another AI. He literally calls himself a god. Even if it’s not his creation, he’d accept it as his.

There’s also a possibility that he thinks Bubble is an NPC. But why keep him alive?

Nostalgia. Bubble would have been the first “NPC” he created, and considering what we’ve seen of Caine and all his insecurities and crashouts, it isn’t so far-fetched to think he’d have other emotions like nostalgia. He also seems very fond of Bubble.

Back to Bubble and his mission. Why doesn’t he just destroy Caine immediately?

Because he can’t.

Caine ate Bubble while he was still being developed. We see he only gets one set of data before Caine breaks free and consumes him. This can also explain why Bubble is so random and unhinged.

But what’s stopping Bubble from directly attacking Caine?

I mean, if he did, he’d be dead by now, but a normal AI would only do what it’s told. In Bubble’s case, that would be killing Caine.

Kinger mentions the developers were trying to create creative AI. They succeeded (more or less) with Caine. So why wouldn’t they succeed with another AI, too?

Caine has self-awareness (albeit a semi-narcissistic view). We can assume Bubble has self-awareness as well. That’s why he’s taking a more roundabout way of eliminating Caine.

Even if the developers learned from their mistakes and watered down the creativity they gave Bubble, he should still be able to choose how to carry out his orders.

FINAL THEORY

Caine (Red AI) was the original creative AI.

Bubble (Blue AI) was made to replace/control him.

Caine absorbed Blue AI, but Blue AI survived as Bubble.

Now Bubble is slowly working to complete his original purpose:

Destroy Caine.

But now that Caine's gone, what's next?

[writingisart-yes]

CAINE! CAINE IS DEAD! adsfnhkjdzsugbuaknfdkjasn MY FAVORITE CHARACTER??? MY PRECIOUS BROKEN AI??? HE'S DEAAAAAAAAAD! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[writingisart-yes]

Not the Chair!

This fic is part of a Hazbin Hotel x Reader collaboration with several incredible writers. I highly recommend checking out the other fics. Everyone did wonderfully!

At first, I thought I was imagining it. Until Alastor leaned down and whispered “good girl” to the chair.

After surviving kidnapping (and the torture that is Vox’s personality), my husband wheeled in a rolling chair. Not just any rolling chair. The exact one that he was tied to. When I asked him about it, he said it was a trophy. Like the ones he took from his victims.

“But Vox isn’t dead.” I pointed out.

Alastor hummed thoughtfully. “He is, in all the ways it counts.” A sharp grin followed the statement. I stopped asking questions.

But as the days went on, I couldn’t help but notice the way he’d interact with the chair. He’d take the thing with him everywhere.

He named it Chelsea. Said it fondly. Rested his arm on it’s back. Twirled it around as much as twirled his staff. He spent more time with that thing than he did me. I wondered how easily it would burn.

Everyone at the hotel was stumped.

“Is Alastor flirting with that chair?” Angel had asked as we watched Alastor guide Chelsea across the floor like a real dance partner.

I shook my head in disapproval. “I honestly have no idea what he’s doing.” My lips curled downward.

“You jealous?” Angel asked incredulously.

“I’m not jealous! Simply… aware of it.”

“I’m sure it’s just a joke or something,” Charlie suggests.

“Yeah,” I agree with her, but it feels like Alastor’s been distant after coming back. It’s probably not the chair. Maybe trauma. Chair’s a coping mechanism. I hope.

I walk away after that, but I hear Husk ask the others, “How long do you think it’ll take before Y/n snaps?”

I’m not going to snap.

I feel stupid thinking the chair was interfering with us when Alastor gets me flowers. They’re so him coded. The bouquet has black bat flowers, red roses, and ghost orchids. I smiled so hard my face hurt. Gods, I loved him.

But then, when I moved closer to hug him, he stepped aside. And gifted the chair a bouquet too.

Mine was better. Obviously. But I still deflated. Stupid. Fucking. Chair.

I forced a smile. “Thanks, Al. I love you.”

“Of course.” That’s it. No, I love you too. No glance back. Nothing.

I doodled pictures of him on the bed while he wrote a script for his radio show—Chelsea beside him.

I couldn’t help but glance at him and that blasted piece of furniture. My pencil snaps on the page. Graphite splits his smile in two. I rip the page from my sketchbook and toss it into the trash can. I miss.

Chelsea sat beside Alastor. Watching.

“Do you even realize what you’re doing?” I finally ask, a little miffed. Okay, a lot.

Alastor pauses. Completely.

Not theatrically like he would with anyone else. No laugh. He just stops. Pen barely touching the page, static thinning.

He turns. Looks at me. Really looks at me.

My chest tightens. I hate it when he does that. Looks at me so sharply, like he’s picking out all the pieces of my heart and examining them under a microscope. I feel… vulnerable.

I so desperately wanted to give him time. To let him do whatever he wanted with the chair. To not care. But I can’t anymore.

I let out a shaky breath. My hands twist the fabric of the bedsheets. “You’re-” I gesture uselessly between the chair and Alastor. “You’re parading that thing around like it’s the love of your life! You talk to it more than you’ve been talking to me lately. You gave it flowers, Al.”

His eyes flick to Chelsea. Then back to me. My jaw tightens.

The smile on his face falters. It’s just a fraction. But it’s enough.

“I lost you,” I whisper. “You may have had a plan, and you may be the strongest sinner in Hell, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. I know you have your own shit to deal with too, but after all that, you’re back, and” My voice dips, “I feel like I’m competing with furniture.”

Silence.

Then—Alastor stands.

The chair rolls back as he steps away from it. He doesn’t look at it.

He crosses the room in two long steps and stops in front of me. The static is gone. The silence feels wrong.

“Mon Amour.” His voice is lower than usual. Serious and steady. It makes my eyes mist. It’s been so damn long since I’ve heard him. “If you believe, even for a second, that you were in competition, then I have been terribly careless.”

I blink away my tears.

He reaches out; he’s not touching me yet, but I can feel his warmth. “The chair is a trophy. A joke. A prop.” His eyes soften. Emotions he never lets me see flicker through them. “You are not.”

His hands finally find their way to me. One on the small of my back. The other cupping my cheek.

“There has never been a rivalry,” He murmurs, “Nor will there ever be a replacement.

My throat burns. “Then why have you been so far away?”

Something shifts in his expression. Regret. Recognition. Something heavier.

“I returned… unsettled. And I distracted myself poorly.” His hand falls away. His eyes go elsewhere, but he pulls me closer, pressing my forehead against his chest. He smells like a mix of ink, his bayou, and something floral.

“I should have noticed sooner.” He adds quietly. “One does not neglect what one cherishes.”

I melt into him despite myself. His arms wrap around me fully now. Strong. Grounding.

Behind us, the chair rolls into the wall. Forgotten and ignored, it clatters to the ground. Neither of us move to pick it up.

But- I can’t stop thinking about his previous words. He came back unsettled. My brows furrow as I hug him back. What could- The pieces click into place, and I raise my head, horrified. I bump my head against his chin in the process. I lose my balance, he makes sure I don’t fall.

“Alastor, don’t tell me Vox-” I didn’t even have to finish my sentence for Alastor to know what I was talking about. “No,” His voice is quiet, but sure. But his ear flicks, and I have a feeling there’s more.

”But?” I question.

“He made me watch,” Alastor admits quietly. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

I wrap my arms around him again. I couldn’t imagine how he felt. It’s hard for him to be intimate with me, and I’ve been married to him since he was alive.

We just hold each other. He doesn’t say anything else.

One hand settles at the back of my head, fingers threading carefully through my hair, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he grips too tightly. The other stays firmly attached to my waist.

“I did not bring that chair home because I cared for it,” he says quietly, after a moment. “I brought it home because I survived.” Because he won. My mind filled in the blank he didn’t say.

I nod. I was glad Alastor broke Vox.

But survival wasn’t an excuse to let Chelsea stay.

“And you,” he continues, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it, “are the main reason I wanted to.”

That does it.

I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, and this time he lets out a low, content hum. No static, no showmanship. Just him.

Behind us, Chelsea remains where she fell.

Still. Silent.

Unmourned.

Once Alastor falls asleep, I take the chair. We may have reconciled, but I don’t trust it.

I drag it outside and shove it into the dumpster behind the hotel. It lands hard.

“You don’t deserve any part of him.” The words leave my throat as a growl. It wasn’t for Chelsea.

It was for Vox.

I click it my lighter. Once. Twice. Flame. I drop it into the dumpster. The fire catches slowly. Then all at once.

I watch until the shape of it disappears. No normal piece of plastic catches fire that easy.

He survived. I was going to keep it that way.

Bonus

“What happened to the chair?” Angel asks as we down shots at the bar the next night.

I dismiss his question with a wave. “I took care of it.”

Husk huffs as he cleans a glass. “Told you she’d snap early.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Shame.” Angel sighs. “I wanted to see what was so good about that chair. I mean if Smiles liked it~”

I sent him a glare. “It was laced with Val’s pheromones.”

No one laughs.

Alastor never asked about it. I think he knew.

[writingisart-yes]

First Snow

To honor the 18 inches of snow that gave me an extension for my homework, here’s some fluff. 😊

Human Alastor x GN Reader

There’s rarely any snow in Louisiana, but when it does snow, the view is stunning. The city becomes nearly unrecognizable. Lawns and landmarks are blanketed in white. Children play–throwing snowballs and kicking up white powder. The streets, once bustling with foot traffic, become quiet. The snow falls as if it belongs here. Unhurried.

You stand just a few steps from your family’s porch, boots half buried, and breath fogging. Laughter rings out sharp and bright as small hands scoop up snow. A snowman is taking shape on the lawn. Lopsided yet perfect.

Every so often, one of the kids looks back to make sure you’re still there.

You shift your weight, adjusting your gloves, eyes never leaving your children for too long. The occasional reminders are delivered.

“Keep your scarf on.”

“Don’t throw snow at faces.”

A snowball arcs too high. It bursts midair. You smile, eyes sparkling.

The kids come running up to the porch.

“Done already?” You ask.

“We want a sled!” Your oldest exclaims while the other two cheer in agreement. They run into the house, leaving melting ice in their wake.

You sigh. You told them to take off their boots before going back in. You step inside, legs moving to your husband’s study, leaving your own trail of water and snow.

Alastor’s seated at his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His pen moves in steady strokes. There’s something familiar in the way he works. Focused and utterly absorbed. As if the world outside of radio has ceased to exist.

Alastor looks up, and you lock eyes. His expression softens, eyes trailing over his love, all bundled up.

“Darling, I believe you said to take the boots off, outside.” He teases.

You shake your head, lips turning upwards. “The kids already dragged all the snow in.”

You linger in the doorway, snow melting slowly from your boots into the rug.

The house hums quietly, radiators ticking, distant laughter floating through the hallway. Alastor watches you with that familiar unreadable focus, waiting for the words that were bubbling up inside of you to come out.

“Why don’t you come outside and play with us?” You ask at last.

Alastor blinks.

“Outside.” He repeats. “Play?” The word sounds foreign in his mouth, like he’s deciding whether it belongs in his vocabulary.

You smile softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Just for a little bit.”

He hesitates, eyes glancing at his desk. At the papers, the pen, and the quiet devotion that encompasses his work. You follow his gaze.

“I know radio is your art,” you say gently. “Your everything.” You step closer, voice lowering. “But does it have to be?”

The room is still.

Then, Alastor stands, cupping your face with his hands. The teasing edge is gone, replaced with something unguarded and earnest. “Radio isn’t everything.” He says quietly. “You are.”

The words settle between you, sending warmth into your chest and chasing away the cold of snow.

Still, he doesn’t move towards his coat or the door.

You tilt your head, studying him. “Have you ever played in the snow before?” You ask, holding his hands.

He stiffens. “No.” He admits after a beat. “It just never seemed… practical.”

You laugh softly.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

The children argue in the hallway over whether a piece of wood or cardboard would be better for a sled.

”Try both.” You call out to them. They run back outside, shrieks of enjoyment accompanying the sound of pattering boots.

You watch as Alastor buttons his coat. He adjusts his scarf with careful precision as though the snow might be offended by its asymmetry. He pauses once to glance out the window, where the yard glows white, smoothness interrupted by footprints and the crooked snowman standing proudly.

You offer your hand, already warmed from the house. He takes it. You squeeze his hand and open the door. Alastor stops just past the threshold. Snow crunches beneath his shoes.

He looks down. Observes how it shifts. Something in his expression changes. It wasn’t wonder or fear. You couldn’t place the emotion, but it was quiet and real.

The children notice him immediately.

“Papa!” One of them called, abandoning the makeshift sleds.

They latch onto him in a flurry of motion and laughter. The sight makes you smile. A hand tugs at his coat, three mouths talking about snowball fight rules he hasn’t agreed to. Alastor stiffens instinctively, shoulders squaring, posture as impeccable as ever.

He looks at you, helpless in a way you’ve rarely seen.

You don’t rescue him.

A snowball strikes his sleeve. Your fault.

He freezes.

Slowly, Alastor looks at the melting snow on his coat. Then he bends, scoops a careful hand of snow, and turns back towards you.

Your eyes meet. He pauses, unsure. Then throws it at you, snow flying.

The children erupt. You smile.

What follows is chaos. Poorly aimed snowballs and startled laughter. At some point, Alastor slips. Not fully, but enough to lose his balance, arms swinging to regain control. A sharp laugh breaks free before he can stop it.

You grab his hands, help him stay steady. “Do that more.” You murmur, eyes alight.

“What?” Alastor stands there, breath visible, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion.

“Laugh more.” Then the kids are dragging him away again for another game.

Later, when we can’t feel our noses anymore, we stand watching the children drag their sled uphill.

“I see the appeal.” He admits quietly.

You lean into him, snow pressing against your boots, his warmth steady at your side.

“I’m glad.” You sigh contently.

“I suppose this is what I missed.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, fingers tightening around his hand. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t need to.

And for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you, and it was enough.

[writingisart-yes]

✧ 𝐼𝓃𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼𝓂𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎✧

Lucifer x Fallen Angel Reader

↳ Change is coming to Hell, and you won’t sit on the sidelines. As a fallen angel and overlord, you’re ready to fight for it—but Lucifer might just fight alongside—or against—you.

Status: Ongoing

☾ Chapters ☽

↳ Chapter 1 - Leave ↳ Chapter 2 - Stay

[writingisart-yes]

Chapter 2 - Stay

Masterlist

I thought I loved you.

I let out a shaky breath, water from the showerhead cascading down my body.

I thought you loved me too, Luci. I could see it. I just- This wouldn’t have ever worked out.

You’re Lilith’s, and she’s yours.

I can’t get in the way of that. It’s a good thing. It’s a good thing you don’t love me anymore.

I step out of the water. My fingers and toes have become wrinkly. I was in there too long.

I wipe fog from the mirror above my sink to stare at my reflection. My wings, once pure and white, now have streaks of black. I have one horn that twists in odd angles. My halo is broken in half and only exists in shades of gray now.

I smile bitterly. Lucifer looks fucking amazing in his proper form. Intentional, Divine. And I look like… this.

I shake my head, pull the wings back in, and glamour myself so I look more normal than I will ever feel. I keep it on so much, my head is accustomed to the dull ache that accompanies it.

I’ve used up my allotted time for self-pity.

The bell rings. Not an alarm or a warning. It’s the beginning of my schedule. I get dressed and head to my receiving room. There’s always some grievance or another.

My right hand, Desmond, perks up when he sees me entering the hallway. Desmond is shorter than me and looks boyish, though he’s been dead since the Middle Ages—and smarter than most demons twice his age.

“Alastor’s waiting to see you.” He informs.

“He can wait till after my morning meetings.” I can already guess why he’s here. To talk about the hotel.

Desmond bows before going off to let Alastor know I’ve decided to keep him waiting.

As I walk down the stairs, I feel the shift. I’ve separated the second floor from magic. Upstairs is dull and lifeless compared to the ground floor. Magic makes things alive. It makes me feel powerful, but it can get to be too much sometimes. Overwhelming. Crowding.

With every echoing step down, colored sparks dance around my legs. By the time I’m down, I’m practically glowing with magical energy.

The air seems to gravitate around me. As I pass by the hall mirror, I can’t help but notice how my eyes glow. This form contrasts so much with the one I was looking at in the bathroom.

I hear the murmur of voices before I open the door to the receiving room. Once I open it, however, the talk quiets. Some of the newer arrivals stiffen, more familiar sinners nod in my direction.

I smile at them and sit in my usual spot. On the floor, my back to a throne I didn’t want to build.

Desmond clears his throat next to me and begins the procedure. The room quiets fully now.

“For this morning, three grievances have been stated. Three will be judged. Each has a limit of 30 minutes. If the problem has not been solved within the allotted time, then we will continue tomorrow.”

He brings out three papers.

“First, we shall address the problem between Calder and Rook,” Desmond reads. “Regarding breach of contract and subsequent retaliation.”

Two demons step forward. Calder is tall and immaculate, every edge sharp by design. Rook is broader, scorched along one side, his posture defensive without him realizing it.

Calder speaks first.

“He failed to deliver,” he says. “Three shipments late. I followed the contract. He didn’t.”

Rook exhales sharply. “You blocked my routes. You knew what that would do.”

They talk over each other. It’s messy. Predictable.

I let them.

When they finally burn themselves out, I speak.

“Calder,” I say. He straightens. “You rely on procedure because it protects you. That’s not a flaw.” His expression flickers—he hadn’t expected that. “But you used it as a weapon instead of a boundary.”

I turn to Rook. “And you rely on improvisation. It keeps you alive.” He swallows. “But you treat obligation like a suggestion.”

Neither interrupts me.

“The contract stands,” I continue. “Rook will complete the remaining shipments within five days. You will plan the route with Calder’s oversight.” Rook stiffens. Calder frowns.

“And Calder,” I add, “you will reopen access and accompany the first delivery. You don’t get to sabotage what you refuse to understand.”

There it is—the discomfort.

“If either of you fails,” I say calmly, “the contract dissolves—and neither of you will be allowed to enter another without my approval for one year.”

That lands.

They exchange a glance. Not hostile. Cautious.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” they say, almost in unison.

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

They leave slower than they entered.

No punishment. No spectacle.

Just a correction.

As Desmond is about to continue, a static-filled voice rings out. “I will never get used to the way you choose to rule over your souls.” Alastor stood in the back of the room, hands on his staff. “Your punishments are quite merciful. I wonder how anyone could fear you.”

“Hell has enough monsters. I’m not interested in making more.” I raise a brow. “Didn’t Desmond inform you we’d meet after my morning-”

“Yes, yes.” My eye twitches. He interrupted me. “I just thought it wasn’t fair that you’d choose peasants over a fellow overlord.”

“Alastor,” I warn. We’re both influential, and I’d rather not cross him, but I know he wouldn’t want to cross me either.

Alastor’s smile widens. Not sharper, just amused. “Of course,” he says lightly. “Business before pleasure.” He taps his staff once against the floor. “I’ll be waiting.” And then he walks out the door.

The remaining grievances pass without spectacle. A territorial dispute was settled through enforced boundaries and shared oversight. A protection arrangement dissolved when it became apparent that fear, not consent, was its foundation. No one leaves entirely satisfied—but everyone leaves with clarity. That is the point. By the time Desmond announces the end of morning proceedings, the tension in the room has shifted.

I make my way to the tea room. I meet all my special guests here. When I open the door, Alastor is sitting patiently in his chair, sipping what seems to be blood. I have to hold my grimace. I will never understand the appeal of cannibalism.

The door clicks shut behind me.

Alastor looks up from his cup, a smile already in place. The tea room is quiet—intentionally so. He doesn’t offer me a seat.

I don’t take one.

“Well,” he says pleasantly, setting the cup down. “You run a very efficient court.”

“Get to the point,” I reply.

His grin widens. “I’d like you to stay.”

I blink once. “Stay.”

“In the Hazbin Hotel,” he clarifies, as if we’re discussing the weather.

I scoff, turning toward the counter to pour myself tea. “Why?” I ask flatly. “So you can sit back and have an entertaining time?”

Static crackles softly in the air.

Alastor laughs.

“Oh, I won’t pretend it’s altruistic,” he says. “Watching you navigate moral authority is already delightful. But adding Lucifer to the equation?” He hums, pleased. “That’s art.”

I pause, cup hovering just above the saucer.

“Lucifer jumped at the chance to speak with you,” Alastor continues lightly. “Practically tripped over himself, really. It was charming.”

I don’t turn around.

“And you’re aware,” he adds, voice dropping just enough to matter, “that he’s in love with you?”

My traitorous heart jumps with joy. Hope is a vicious weapon.

“That’s not your concern,” I say.

“No,” Alastor agrees easily. “But it is fascinating.”

I finally face him. His eyes gleam—not cruelly. Curious. Hungry.

“You don’t want me there to help the hotel,” I say. “You want a front-row seat.”

“Of course,” he replies. “I’d hate to miss what happens when two divinities realize restraint hurts more than conflict.”

I hold his gaze. Don’t flinch.

“You mistake me for someone who performs on command,” I say.

Alastor’s smile softens—just a fraction.

“Oh, my dear,” he says. “I don’t need to command you.”

He lifts his cup again.

“You’ll go because you care.”

Silence stretches between us.

Then I speak.

“I’ll consider it.”

Alastor beams.

[writingisart-yes]

Made some Kandi singles for hazbin bc my brain wouldn’t let me rest.

[writingisart-yes]

I heard that Alastor might be the main villain in season 3 of Hazbin Hotel, and I’m honestly really excited after the sheer amount of aura farming he did in the season 2 finale. He’d be THE villain to defeat.

BUT I am deathly afraid he’s going to die.

If he dies, it’s over. I’m over. This man has been my comfort character since I found out about Hazbin two years ago. He lives in my head rent-free the same way Loki did back when I was deep in my Marvel phase. If Alastor meets the same fate as Loki, I’m cooked.

I’m desperately hoping he gets redeemed or something, because he’s been with the main cast for so long. In season 1, Adam died as the main villain. In season 2, Vox was defeated but not killed. So it only makes sense that season 3’s villain gets a friendlier fate, right?

RIGHT??

Anyways, I want your opinions so here's a poll. :)

How do we feel about Alastor possibly being the S3 villain?

YES! Let him be evil!

NO! I need him alive and unpunished..

If he dies I will riot-

Yes, but I’m scared and shaking

Voting ended onJan 10

[writingisart-yes]

Chapter 9 - Open The Door

Masterlist

Alastor x GN Reader x Vox

↳ After being fired from VoxTech, you’re pulled into the orbit of two rival overlords—one familiar, one terrifyingly curious.

Status: Ongoing

Alastor doesn’t ask to talk. He’s just there.

“I was wondering how long you’d make him suffer,” Alastor says pleasantly.

I don’t jump.

That alone feels like a mistake. I tilt my head towards him. Slowly.

He’s standing a few steps away, hands folded behind his back, smile polite and precise as if he’s been waiting for me. As if I’m late. As if this is his space and I’m the one intruding.

“How long were you listening?” I ask, brows furrowing. That was supposed to be for us. Vox and I. Not him. Just like how tea time will never be for Vox.

His grin widens. Not sharper. Warmer. Like he knows what I’m thinking.

“Oh, my dear,” he says. “Only long enough for the important parts.”

My stomach tightens.

I should be angry. I should tell him to leave. I should demand privacy.

Instead, I hear Vox’s voice in my head—I needed to know if you were alive.

And Alastor, impossibly, looks pleased.

“You did beautifully,” he continues, tilting his head. For the first time, it sounds like an actual compliment, like he’s proud. But this is Alastor. He isn’t proud of anyone. “Clear boundaries. Firm delivery. A touch of mercy at the end.” He hums, approving. “Very human of you.”

“I didn’t do it for your entertainment,” I snap.

“Of course not,” he agrees immediately. Too quickly. “That would cheapen it.”

He steps closer—not enough to touch, but enough that Cinder stirs, shadow curling tighter around my feet.

Alastor notices.

Ah.

There it is.

“You see,” he says softly, voice lowering like a secret, “this is why I didn’t interrupt.”

My pulse picks up. “Interrupt what?”

“The moment you stopped asking to be understood,” he replies. “And started understanding yourself.”

I feel exposed. Worse—seen.

“You let him go,” Alastor continues. “Not because he deserved forgiveness. But because you did.”

I swallow. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?” He chuckles, the sound warped just enough to prickle my skin. “How fascinating. You push away the one who cages you… and yet you don’t run from the one who never would.”

I meet his eyes despite myself.

“And what would you do?” I ask quietly.

His smile sharpens at last. And in that moment, I know I’ll never have the upper hand with him. It would be disorienting. It would be crazy. But it would be freeing.

“I’d open the door,” he says. “And let you decide what walks through.”

The radio static crackles—soft, pleased.

And I realize, with a chill settling deep in my chest, that Vox learned how to stop himself.

Alastor never will.

“Anything else to say?” I ask, “Before I decide what I want.” My voice is mocking. I’m acting like him again.

I don’t know when the question stopped being for him, but the silence does not belong to Alastor.

@g3n3zshack @diffidentphantom @hxzbinwrites @fries11 @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mothman-stole-my-eyebrows @91062854-ka @seanwalbrecht @martinys-world @whimsicaldreamygal @luleck @druggiepuppy @schmelscorner @a-little-dramatic21 @distinguished-procrastinator @star4dustx3 @pandorastars @sillywormtrixareforkids @sugarrush-blush @stormy88746 @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @serpentstarr @ashleygryffindor @mandyboolove @consecratedvampire91

[writingisart-yes]

Chapter 8 - Maybe We Can Try Again

Masterlist

Alastor x GN Reader x Vox

↳ After being fired from VoxTech, you’re pulled into the orbit of two rival overlords—one familiar, one terrifyingly curious.

Status: Ongoing “Can we talk?”

I’m silent for a moment, taking in the mess that’s Vox. He’s got tons of exposed wires and electricity spasms around him.

“Sure.” I start walking away from the hotel, away from Alastor. I’ve learned my lesson having the two in such proximity. “We can walk and talk.”

I keep my eyes on the cracks in the concrete. I can look at him if I want to. I think. But right now I want him to marinate in the tension.

We’re walking in the opposite direction from the city, towards the barrier between the pride ring and everywhere else in Hell. It’s private. No one comes here.

The static follows us like a storm cloud.

It crackles against my skin, prickling my nerves, but I don’t flinch. I’ve been flinching my whole life. I’m done giving him that.

Vox doesn’t speak at first. His footsteps stutter. Just barely noticeable. I can hear the whir of cooling fans working overtime.

I’m still staring at him through my peripheral vision when he speaks. “You didn’t answer my email.”

I keep walking.

“I noticed,” I reply with a wry smile. Alastor’s getting to me with his attitude.

His screen flickers. Like he sees it too. The way Alastor’s mannerisms were bleeding into my own.

“I—okay. That’s fair. I deserve that.” A pause. Then, quieter, “But I needed to know if you were alive.”

That gets me. Not enough to turn around. But enough that my steps slow.

“I’m not dead,” I say. “Just unemployed. Slightly traumatized. And apparently radioactive, if Carmilla’s to be believed.”

He makes a sound I think is supposed to be a laugh, but it borders on distortion. “She refused you?” He asks incredulously.

“Immediately.”

Static spikes. He clenches his fists, electricity snapping between his fingers. “Of course she did.”

I stop walking.

The barrier looms ahead. It’s ugly like everything in Hell. The wall itself is invisible, but the land around it is cracked and burnt. The ground is uneven. There are places where it looks like the stone had boiled up, forming permanent bubbles.

I turn to face him at last.

Vox freezes like he wasn’t expecting it. Like he was ready to talk to my back this whole time.

“You didn’t just fire me,” I say calmly. Too calmly. “You spoiled my prospects. Whether you meant to or not.”

His screen dims. “I didn’t—”

“I know,” I cut in. “You didn’t mean to. That’s the fucking problem.”

The electricity around him falters, sputters. He looks smaller like this. Less overlord. More exposed circuitry and bad decisions.

“I panicked,” he admits. The word seems to scrape on the way out. “Val was circling you. Alastor was watching. You were… slipping out of my control.”

There it is. I sigh.

Cross my arms, hoodie sleeves bunching at my wrists. “You say that like it’s a normal observation.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be about control,” Vox snaps—then immediately winces, glitching hard. “Okay. That’s a lie. It was. But not in the way you think.”

“Then explain it to me,” I say. “Slowly. Like I’m not one of your routines.”

Silence.

Vox drags a hand down his face. Static faded into the air.

“I thought if I removed you from the situation,” he says, voice stripped of its usual polish, “I could fix everything before you got hurt.”

My chest tightens. I hate that I understand him. I hate it more that he still doesn’t understand me. God, I wish someone would understand me.

“You removed me,” I say softly. “Not the danger.”

He looks up sharply.

“I didn’t ask to be protected,” I continue, eyes glistening. “I didn’t ask to be managed. And I definitely didn’t ask to be discarded like a faulty component.”

His screen fractures—just for a second. A sharp crack straight through the center.

“I never discarded you,” he says, almost pleading now. “I was going to bring you back. It was temporary.”

I laugh. It comes out dry. “You don’t get to decide that.”

The words hang between us, heavy and final.

Cinder shifts at my feet, her shadow stretching across the cracked ground. Vox notices this time. His gaze drops, tracking the way the darkness curls closer to me when my heartbeat spikes.

“…She reacts to your emotions,” he says slowly.

“Yes,” I reply. “She does.”

Something in his expression changes. Not fear. Not anger.

Realization.

“You’re not unstable,” he murmurs. “You’re….” The silence stretches.

I meet his gaze. Hold it.

“And you don’t get to ruin it.”

The static dies completely.

Vox stands there, wires exposed, hands useless at his sides, staring at me like he’s finally seeing the version of me that doesn’t fit into any of his systems.

“I don’t know how to keep you safe if I can’t see everything,” he admits.

I step back—not away from him, but out of reach.

“That’s not love,” I say. “That’s surveillance.”

And this time, he doesn’t argue.

“Learn to let go of me. To give me space to spread my wings. And then maybe... just maybe, we can try again.”

As I walk away, I see him raise a hand. Reaching out. And then– he stops himself.

I smile. Never thought he could do that. There’s hope for him yet. Then I think of Alastor, and my smile turns upside down.

@g3n3zshack @diffidentphantom @hxzbinwrites @fries11 @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mothman-stole-my-eyebrows @91062854-ka @seanwalbrecht @martinys-world @whimsicaldreamygal @luleck @druggiepuppy @schmelscorner @a-little-dramatic21 @distinguished-procrastinator @star4dustx3 @pandorastars @sillywormtrixareforkids @sugarrush-blush @stormy88746 @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @serpentstarr @ashleygryffindor @mandyboolove @consecratedvampire91 @nesrynsblog @childishname @milkissesx @tremendoustragedybard @iloveslimecicle @honestlyspookydonut @shadow-pancake9 @ros3vengeance @v0idsimp @ilovebtsstuff @uniquecutie-puffs @a-l-e-x-x-x-x @sketchpawz @sallymoon135 @aluminum-canz @scootlerdoodler@hdjngdjskndj@frost20026606@bagofrice@yofshiw @cutiepinky @introvertreader20 @sugxryratz

[writingisart-yes]

Chapter 1 - Leave

Masterlist

I’m peering out the round circular window in my office, gazing down at my city. It’s beautiful—at least for Hell’s standards. I designed it myself with sloping arches and a Victorian touch, but I couldn’t account for the way magic infiltrated the streets. It soaked into every brick and building, making the city alive in a way no other section of Hell was.

Something clattered to the floor behind me. I turned slowly and was met with the sight of Lucifer frantically trying to pick up the coat hook he had toppled over. I smiled.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of the King’s visit?” My voice, coated in amusement, rang out in the empty room. I didn’t like speaking loudly. Or being misheard. So I set up the room to carry my voice for me

Finally winning his battle with the coat hook, Lucifer laughs awkwardly and leans over the same hook he had just knocked over. “What? That hard to believe I came here for tea with Heaven’s greatest nuisance?”

The coat hook topples over again, bringing Lucifer on its trip to the floor. I stifle a laugh. My hands fly up to my mouth in what I hope looks like shock, but is actually restraint.

Gods. He’s hilarious.

As I’m watching him put the hook back in place, the somberness hits me. Memories of us come back to the surface, uninvited. There’s a reason we haven’t talked in a year. I breathe in the smell of ink and old parchment. You can deal with that later.

I clear my throat. “Why are you here? I know you haven’t come back after a year to be friends again.” I turn back around, my own theories forming. “What’s really going on?”

“Oh! Ahem. Yeah! I- You know my daughter, right?” Lucifer starts. I hum in affirmation. Please don’t tell me he’s asking what I think he is. I close my eyes as I send the prayer up to the higher deity I never got to see.

“Well, she’s started this hotel and-” I sighed. Of course.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to stop you right there, Lu.” The nickname escapes without my permission. I wince. He stops talking and stares. I let the silence sit. For a moment, two. My fingers tighten behind my back.

“I know all about the hotel,” I continue. “I’m not going to help.”

“What?” I see his bafflement through my peripheral vision. “You can’t just not help.” He laughs as if I were joking. “I mean, this is you. It’s what you stand for. It’s revolutionary. It’s going against heaven.”

I move to stand behind my desk and look him in the eye as I say it. “That hotel is a cry for attention.” I don’t say anything else. I should explain. I shouldn’t have used such harsh words, but I can’t take them back now. And as I watch his face cycle through five different shades of hurt and offense, I find I don’t want to take it back.

“What’s wrong with you?” His voice is quiet when he answers. I feel like laughing again. But this isn’t a funny situation.

“Everything.” I can’t help the way my lips quirk upward. It’s automatic. It’s always been my favorite deflection. For half a second, I think he recognizes the joke for what it is.

Then he opens his mouth. “I thought- I thought we were the same.” All I hear is desperation in his voice. I grip the edge of my desk. “I thought you wanted to show Heaven our worth. I thought…” He trails off, eyes glistening.

I decide I don’t want to hear what he’s going to say. But truth hurts. So I stay unnaturally still as I wait for the blow that would inevitably pierce me.

“I thought,” he breathes. “I thought I loved you.”

“Leave.” ”What?” I look away so I don’t see the hurt in his eyes.

“Leave,” I repeat. It echoes through the room, even though I hadn’t said it loudly.

My hands loosen on the desk. My heart races. And for the first time in a year, I feel the distance between us like a wall I built myself.