I hate doing this. Last time I needed to raise money, I received the most hateful messages. I’m gonna turn off my anon asks for the time being because I have enough on my plate. Please don’t hesitate to message me with any questions, though. Just please be gentle.
I will add that I do work a few hours (all my doctor allows) but it is absolutely nowhere near enough to remain afloat.
If you can’t donate (as I know everyone is struggling right now), please take a moment to share. I love and appreciate all of you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Yami: I’ve gathered you all here because we have a serious problem.
Joey: Is it the ancient evil rising to consume our souls again?
Yami: No, it’s worse. Someone ate my last box of Pharaoh Flakes.
Tristan: [Mouth full of cereal] To be fair, the box said "A Breakfast Fit for a King," and I once played a King of Yamimakai in a duel, that never happened on camera. Technically, it was a legal gray area.
Note: If you find yourself hearing these in the specific voices of the abridged cast, don't worry. That just means your brain has been properly assimilated into the Shadow Realm.
Tristan: Why are we standing in the middle of a desert?
Tea: Friendship?
Joey: The plot?
Yami: Because the background budget for this episode was $4.00 and a half-eaten sandwich.
Note: If you find yourself hearing these in the specific voices of the abridged cast, don't worry. That just means your brain has been properly assimilated into the Shadow Realm.
Even if you are not interested in Yu-Gi-Oh, I would recommend watching Yu-Gi-Oh Abridged on YouTube by Little Kuriboh.
Because due to this goddanm series, I have gotten SOOO many vocal stims: “Nyeh” “BROOKLYN RAGE!”, “King of doors, b*tch!”, “obey glass of water….curse you glass of water!”, “Slyfer the Executive Producer!”, “Shut up Mokuba!”
I'd appreciate it if you reblogged this post! I almost fell for that shit!
A Tumblr user called me saying they reported my account by accident and I needed to call a Tumblr support on Discord: Jarell Perry (this Tumblr user account was already hacked, now I know that)
Then I called this guy on Discord. I was desperate cause in the "warning" said my account would be blocked in 24 hours. But the whole conversation was REALLY strange, even more when he gave me, OUT OF NOWHERE, his "certificate":
Here is the "certificate":
He asked, then, for me to change my email and I was like "what kind of support would ask this crap?"
Besides my suspicions, TWO things saved me to fall for this shit:
>>> Another Tumblr Warning: I decided to search a little more and found ONE, ONE POST ABOUT IT ON TUMBLR, by @stuffymcstuffsworldthesecond (here is the link, please check it too and repost).
>>> The original person that called me was hacked: I even went a little further and searched the tumblr user on Google (I needed to contact them some other way to confirm the message) and, guess what, they have an Instagram account AND A NEW TUMBLR ACCOUNT, cause the first one was HACKED!! THE ONE THAT WAS TALKING WITH ME!!! (Here is the post explaining it, also consider to follow this artist, their art is amazing! The NEW and SAFE account is @cypher-030)
THEN, I reported both the scammers and blocked them! Apparently, the hacked Tumblr account that called me is already banned at the time I write this warning! But must be more of them!
EVERYONE, DON'T FALL FOR THIS! If this happened with you, it would mean a lot if you reblogged!
Also, my followers: I will NEVER send a message about anything like this for you on private! I almost NEVER talk on private, I just talk on comments, asks and hashtag reblogs! Please please, know that!
I will mention all my moots here cause I think this whole scam warning is REALLY important!
It would be VERY bad if Carmine! Reader was in her mini bat form and sleeping upside down on the chandelier of the hotel lobby and Nifty is DETERMINED to get that, “nasty flying rat” and is like climbing the walls [like the little gremlin, she is].
Alastor walks down the stairs expecting to see his darling bat sleeping peacefully…but instead he sees Nifty crawling with a crazed smile, knife in hand. He quickly grabs Carmine! Reader, getting her away, thus showing everyone that mini bat form.
The chandelier in the Hazbin Hotel lobby swayed ever so slightly. No one noticed at first. Y/N Carmine—currently a small, very fluffy bat—hung upside down from one of the crystal arms, wings wrapped neatly around herself. Her breathing was slow, even. A soft little chirp escaped from her nose every few seconds.
She was out. Her hit from the previous night took up most of her time and energy, and she barely had enough left to want to crawl back to her and Alastor's suite. So, instead, she figured she could take a small snooze somewhere inconspicuous to recharge and then return to their room before anyone noticed.
However, she underestimated how tired she was. Since everyone was now up, and below her, chaos was brewing as Niffty froze mid-dusting, head snapping up.
“…OOH!”
Her giant single eye narrowed, grin stretching far too wide.
“A flying rat,” she whispered gleefully. “Gonna get it.”
She dropped the feather duster.
Knife out.
Within seconds, Niffty was gone, now scuttling up the wall like a possessed spider, limbs moving far too fast, blade clenched between her teeth as she giggled to herself.
“Gonna get it… gonna get it… gonna—”
The chandelier creaked.
Angel Dust, sprawled across the couch while browsing on his phone, looked up just in time to see a tiny bat sleeping peacefully above them… and Niffty halfway across the ceiling.
“Oh,” he said, already getting his camera ready in anticipation. “This is gonna be bad.”
Charlie blinked. “Is that a bat?”
Vaggi squinted. “Why is Niffty climbing the ceiling?”
At the same time, Alastor descended the stairs, humming to himself, staff tapping cheerfully with each step. He looked up and saw the chandelier, spotting the bat immediately.
His smile softened in an instant. “Ah, there you are, my little nocturnal wonder—”
Then he saw Niffty: crawling, knife raised, grinning like a demon possessed.
The temperature in the room dropped as his static screamed.
Niffty didn’t even get close as Alastor vanished in a burst of shadow and reappeared upside down on the wall beside her, eyes glowing violently, grin no longer playful.
“Niffty.”
She gasped, delighted. “Hi, Alastor! I was just gonna stab the gross flying ra—”
She was yoinked. Alastor grabbed her by the back of the dress and plucked her off the wall like an unruly cat, depositing her unceremoniously on the floor, far from the chandelier.
“No,” he said, voice still sweet but layered with lethal distortion as he joined her on the floor, standing tall to impose his authority. “You most certainly were not.”
Niffty pouted. “But it’s dirty!”
Alastor’s eyes flicked up back to the bat. Still asleep and precious.
His smile transformed into something razor-edged and proud.
“That,” he said, enunciating carefully, “is my wife.”
Silence. Dead. Utter.
The bat shifted slightly, one wing unfurling just enough to reveal her face. She squeaked, blinking awake at the sudden commotion. Red eyes opened, and she looked down, seeing everyone staring.
She chirped questionably.
Charlie made a noise that was half gasp, half squeal. “OMG, THAT'S Y/N?! SHE'S SO CUTE!"
Angel Dust clutched his chest. “NOPE. I’M DEAD. I LOVE HER. No way Carmilla Carmine’s terrifying daughter can turn into—” he gestured wildly in the bat's direction “—a spooky plushie!”
Husk narrowed his eyes, looking up at her and then at Alastor. “You’re married to a bat? Pfft figures.”
Y/N fluttered down clumsily as she was still half-asleep, landing on Alastor's shoulder like she’d done a thousand times before. She yawned, wings stretching, then promptly tucked herself against his neck, where she mumbled sleepily.
Alastor adjusted his coat collar to cradle her better. "My dear, you should've come straight to our room." He chided her softly. "Niffty almost killed you in your sleep.”
Y/N’s tiny head snapped up with a chirp that could be taken as a squeaky “…What?”
Niffty waved shamelessly at her and smiled. “Hi, Miss Bat-Y/N! Sorry for almost stabbing you!”
Y/N hissed before settling again, chittering. No doubt, if she were in her normal form, she'd be muttering in Spanish about stabby gremlins and no respetan nada, her claws gripping Alastor's coat.
Alastor’s grin widened. “She’s forgiven you,” he lied smoothly. “But only because she’s tired. And we're quite fond of you.”
Alastor looked around the lobby, eyes glittering. “Now then,” he said pleasantly, “I'm sure you all have several questions about this, and Y/N will happily answer them once she gets some proper rest that doesn't require assassination attempts. For now, let this be known: the bat is not vermin.”
He stroked her gently with one finger.
“She is beloved.”
Static hummed warmly through the room as he exited the lobby with his exhausted bat wife.
And from that day on, the Hazbin Hotel had exactly one rule everyone obeyed without question:
Za Note: got into the "Haunted Hotel" fandom after my chronic pain therapist recommended watching funny stuff to distract me. Hopefully the fandom comes back, once season 2 is released (predictions early as Spring 2026, though a later 2026 or 2027)
ft. Reader like Abaddon from Haunted Hotel
Alastor: My dear, you have such a charming aura of dread!
Abaddon! Reader: Thank you. I practice.
Alastor: Ha! A kindred spirit.
Abaddon! Reader: (slowly crawling back to the vents) We are not friends.
He stood before Lucifer’s door for a full minute before knocking. That alone was humiliating. Of all the doors in Hell that Alastor might have chosen to knock on, this was the one he despised most.
Alastor—Radio Demon, Overlord, terror of airwaves and screams alike—did not hesitate. Normally, he would dominate and take moments of weakness as opportunities to conquer. And yet here he was, staff planted neatly at his side, posture immaculate, shadow writhing faintly behind him like it could sense his displeasure, seeming to be on the receiving end this time around. Normally, weakness was something he consumed. Today, he carried it with him.
He raised his knuckle.
Finally, hesitantly, he knocked.
The door swung open with dramatic force, as though it had been waiting for the cue.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lucifer drawled, lounging against the frame in that insufferably fluffy robe that was far too short for decency. His golden-red eyes dragged over Alastor from antlers to shoes, grin widening with each inch. “If it isn’t my least favorite portable speaker. To what do I owe this… displeasure?”
Alastor’s smile did not falter, but it tightened. The kind of smile one wore to funerals or negotiations where pride went to die. “I need...” he said carefully, the word scraping against his tongue like broken glass, “your help.”
Lucifer blinked. Once.
Then he exploded into laughter, sharp and delighted, throwing his head back dramatically in amusement. “Oh, oh no, no, no, no. Stop!" He clutched his chest, wheezing theatrically. "I must be dreaming. This is too good.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Say that again. Slower, please!”
Alastor’s eye twitched. Static crackled faintly in the air as he straightened, voice lowering, sharpening. “I need,” he repeated, every syllable measured, restrained, controlled, “your help.”
The laughter stopped. Not abruptly, but deliberately. Lucifer’s grin lingered, but the mirth behind it dulled, replaced by something calculating. He straightened and stepped aside with an exaggerated flourish.
“Well, come in! We must commemorate this historic occasion. The day Alastor finally admits he needs someone more powerful than himself.”
Alastor inhaled once.
Then entered.
-------
Lucifer does not rush this because, of course, he would. He took his time to pour himself a drink first and offered none to Alastor. The couch he insisted Alastor sit on was plush to the point of insult, swallowing the Radio Demon just enough to bruise his pride. A low table separated them, already adorned with the glass of wine Lucifer poured. The room was ...more than excessive; gold trim, velvet drapes, flickering chandeliers....
And ducks, so many rubber ducks. Thousands of them on shelves, mantels, and even a small glass case labeled “Limited Editions.” Lucifer noticed Alastor’s stare and beamed, as though proud of how he unintentionally designed this feng shui of irritation.
He finally sat across from him, sprawled like a bored king on a throne forced upon him a millennium ago, and needed some sort of entertainment to help ease his eternal depression. And Alastor was just the perfect remedy for such a thing!
“You came with no threats, tricks, or radio static screaming in my walls.” His eyes gleamed. “That tells me this is serious.”
“I thought it best to be direct.”
“Shame. I had a whole monologue prepared.” He rises from his seat then, taking steps with unhurried grace until they are face to face—two titans of Hell, neither blinking. “So...what do you want?”
Static ripples through the air. Alastor’s smile flickers—not gone, but thinner as he got right to it. “My wife wants a child.”
Lucifer stopped then.
Ah. There it was.
Lucifer leaned back, expression unreadable now. “Right. The ninja bat lady,” he said lightly. "Hell hasn’t shut up about you guys. You know, some people think she’s the dangerous one.”
“She is,” Alastor agreed, almost having a look of fondness as he reflected on this.
Lucifer could only arch a brow and hummed. “And yet, she wants a baby?”
Alastor’s fingers tightened around his staff defensively, seriousness back. "I'm not naive. Y/N has done monstrous things. She'd be the first to tell you that herself, along with how she deserves Hell and the punishment it has placed on her."
Lucifer tilted his head, studying him. “But you don’t believe she deserves this punishment.”
“No,” Alastor admits. “I don't. Because even though she's done terrible things to survive life and death, she still takes the time to choose, every day, to be devoted. To be gentle. To care.”
Lucifer’s expression softens just a fraction. Not mockery.
Recognition.
The edges of his smile dulled as he studied Alastor with something closer to curiosity than ridicule.
"You really love her," he murmured in a whisper more to himself, as though needing to fully absorb this rather unique observation.
Alastor did not dodge this comment, did not joke or dress it up in clever theatrics. Instead, spoke the truth:
“I would tear this realm apart for her,” he said calmly, his eyes burning, a red light flickering beneath the static. Then, softer. Truer. “But she deserves more than destruction. She deserves hope. And I have exhausted every other avenue to gift her that: contracts, rituals, magic older than myself. None of it has worked. And yet I can't stop myself from wanting to give her something she gave up on a long time ago.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and deliberate.
Then Lucifer exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. “…Damn.” Once more, he searched the demon's face, really searching it for deception and ambition. For the telltale hunger of a sinner wanting leverage.
He found none.
That was… unsettling. Not the sentiment, but the sincerity behind it. Hell was built on obsession, possession, and domination. But this? This was devotion. Voluntary. Uncoerced. Dangerous in a way Lucifer hadn’t seen in the last 10,000 years.
He sighs again, gaze drifting to the ceiling, “You know what you’re asking for violates precedent older than you, right? It isn’t simple adoption paperwork or a clever clause. It’s a rewriting of punishment.”
He turned his full attention back to Alastor for the next part: "Which means what you’re asking would come at a cost.”
Alastor inhaled. “I expect nothing less.”
Lucifer studied him again a little longer this time. Then he chuckled, softer than before, but still with a hint of amusement. “You know I could ask for something ridiculous. Your voice. Your power. Your soul.”
The room seems to hold its breath as Alastor’s grin sharpens. “And you know I would find a way to make you regret it.”
Lucifer snorts. “Still feisty. Good!”
“I won't degrade myself for your amusement,” Alastor says evenly. “But if what you need serves a greater balance—”
Lucifer raises a hand. “Relax. I don’t want your submission.”
He takes a breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them, the decision is already made as he speaks again, the teasing edge is dulled by something older. Sadder.
“All right, here’s the deal.” He steps closer, lowering his voice—not because anyone might overhear, but because this is not meant for an audience. “I can make an exception. You and Y/N won't be able to have the baby the fun, old-fashioned way, but guardianship is possible. A Hellborn child can be offered to you two. One who has no protection, no future. Bound to you not by blood, but by covenant.”
Alastor’s breath stills.
“The child will not be a tool,” Lucifer continues with surprising firmness meant for serious situations such as this. “No grooming. No weaponization. You raise them. You protect them. You fail them, and I undo everything.”
Alastor nods once. “Agreed.”
Lucifer’s eyes gleam. “In return, you help me.”
Static crackles. “With?”
“Balance,” Lucifer says simply. “You’re good at… motivating the right sinners. Keeping certain powers in check. Appearing when I need someone to be reminded that chaos has consequences.”
A smirk. “And maybe the occasional favor when Hell gets… noisy.”
Alastor considers. Then smiles—wide and delighted. “A fair deal. One might even call it sporting.”
Lucifer chuckles. “Don’t get used to it.”
Silence hums between them, then as Alastor asked the one thing he feared to have a wrong answer tied to it, but was more than ready for the response:
“And Y/N? The cost to her?”
Lucifer’s voice lowers. “She has to choose this freely. When the time comes, she's gonna have to give her full consent to it. That means no coercion or manipulation. This only works if it’s truly wanted.”
Alastor relaxes just slightly.
Lucifer extends a hand. “So. Deal?”
Alastor takes it more willingly than when he came in.
They clasp forearms—old magic flaring briefly, sealing the pact in something far stronger than ink. It sends a ripple through the room—ancient magic acknowledging a pact forged not from greed…
…but love.
As Alastor turns to leave, Lucifer calls after him.
“Alastor.”
He pauses.
Lucifer’s voice is quieter now. Almost fond.
“You remind me of myself,” Lucifer says. “A long time ago.”
Alastor’s static dims, but he feels light enough to return to his quips. "Should I be offended?"
Lucifer could only look down at his ring as he continued. “I loved a woman who terrified Heaven. She was brilliant, ambitious. Dangerous. She made me feel like Hell could be something more than a punishment, and that love alone could protect us from consequence."
He looks back up. “It couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough to protect what mattered when it counted. Not from the world or from myself.”
Alastor narrowed his eyes at this suspiciously, not sure where he was going with this. Still, he said nothing. He didn't need to, since Lucifer gave him the point with his next words:
“What I'm trying to say is...protect what you love. But also...let her protect you.”
The Radio Demon’s static stilled as he stiffened just slightly. And then Alastor’s smile softened, just a fraction.
“…I already do,” he said quietly. “She is my equal, my choice.”
Lucifer laughed softly. “Good.”
Alastor inclines his head—not a bow, but close enough to be respectful. “I have no intention of losing her,”
And for once, Lucifer smiled without mockery. Because for the first time in centuries, the King of Hell watches a sinner walk away carrying something infinitely more dangerous than ambition.
Hope.
And somewhere else in Hell, Y/N feels an unfamiliar warmth in her chest—like something long dormant has shifted…
Unaware that this hope has just been negotiated in her name.