#but also for those who do so i didn't expressly put if they were saved or not

[radio-writes]

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

#tw: physical injuries #tw: major character death #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #vien writes #follower event #they're fine #i think #maybe #ending left intentionally ambiguous for those at the back who don't actually want to kill Al #but also for those who do so i didn't expressly put if they were saved or not #anon really saw the event and thought #im going to kill this man :)

[olreid]

bouncing off alfie's tags from yesterday and subsequent conversation in chat but as long as we're talking about things that are horrifying but ultimately weren't really treated as horror, i want to talk about copies. one of the most unsettling parts of greywaren to me was spending time with mór and feniall and realizing that for her, dreaming a copy of niall to replace him honestly ended up working pretty well. the same can be said for niall with aurora, in retrospect; he wanted a wife to raise his children and he got what he wanted. there doesn't have to be any acknowledgement of their failed first attempt, because the second generation were dreamt expressly to succeed in the wake of failure and slotted into their roles so well that niall and mór were able to bury their respective pasts almost totally. they can even unload their memories, which are the real evidence that there was something to copy in the first place, something about the original conditions that somehow wasn't enough or wasn't quite right.

it reminds me of some of the paul discussion we had after nona [ntn spoilers at the links], which is to say there is something troubling about copying because it obscures or erases the particular conditions of production that gave rise to the original. imo feniall in greywaren is a particularly unsubtle and unsettling example cause he just. carries around a memory erasure bag lol. patron saint of not having to accept the consequences of your actions; for the low low price of absolutely nothing he can not only take your place in your failmarriage but also get rid of your failmarriage memories so you can go do something else without having to feel guilty about your failure. this seems to work incredibly well and would work totally if not for the children, which are the real evidence of a marriage you can't erase (not that niall and mór didn't have that conversation; "we should kill it before it's too late.")

so much of the novels' events are set in motion by trying to erase the unerasable; a relationship you already had, a life you already lived. from aurora and feniall's point of view, what does it mean to be made to replace someone who is still living? what does it mean to be in a relationship with the person who dreamt you to replace their ex?? i want the aurora gothic horror bluebeardesque realization that she is not the first, that her schematics were drafted based on an original. i want feniall mutiny rather than cheerful obedience. i want FULL god emperor of dune where duncan idaho keeps getting cloned, discovering he's a clone, trying to rebel, and getting put down only to be cloned again, his memories erased.

another really interesting tension that was ultimately never more than glanced at is the absolute reality of dreams as fully agentic people vs. the fact that in the process of their creation, their personalities can be shaped by those who dream them; thinking of matthew saying he felt conflicted about being made to be likable but that it came in handy and also the confirmation we get in greywaren that aurora was explicitly created to be mór "but softer." i want full westworld-style grappling with the extent to which personality is destiny; i want to see characters try to figure out how much one can rebel against their original design, or whether they even want to.

anyway. i miss when trc was at least nominally interested in the consequences of copying; see a parking lot full of mitsubishis and camaros draining the ley line in dream thieves. but on the other hand, ronan was able to dream a copy that absorbed his death in bllb, and gansey was recopied so accurately he is taken to have been resurrected rather than cloned in trk. idk. something something copies only ever distracting from the root issue at hand; ronan couldn't avoid passing through death. gansey couldn't be brought back. niall and mór's relationship couldn't ever be saved. you can cover up those things but you can't undo them. can we talk about it i want to talk about it

#posts that make me go. trc post-scratch. and then immediately press the eject button on my own brain #anyway just posting recreationally at this point. good morning #greywaren spoilers #dirkposting