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│Prologue│

│Human! Alastor x Reader│

Ⓢⓨⓝⓞⓟⓢⓘⓢ: (Y/n), forced to be confined by societal standards, wishes for someone to understand them. Everywhere they look, it seems as though the people they once knew have abandoned them. It's not until they are introduced to a well-known radio host that they realize their true potential.

Ⓝⓞⓣⓔⓢ: The reader is indicated to be biologically female as they will face certain challenges throughout this story due to the time period. Characters set in this will refer to the reader as she, but for the most part, it will be gender neutral. This is written to be platonic but will remain ambiguous. There may be inaccuracies to the time frame. This series may and will contain things such as sexism, classism, gender dysphoria, bullying, mentions of religion, and gore. Please read at your own risk.

〣Next Part〣

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A comfortable atmosphere bustles throughout the small diner as the sun barely begins to peek above the dazzling diversity of New Orleans. 'Leave A Little for Me' lulls about the establishment as the few patrons settled for their breakfast chat away about their own little worlds. The grill behind the counter sizzles and pops with use, an aroma of breakfast foods gnawing at any hungry stomachs that walk through the waxen double doors.

A woman, dressed in pale blush, walks out from the back with the swing of her hips and trays held skillfully above her pinned back hair. She settles plates in front of customers with a dashing smile, responding with polite and charming words as they thank her for the meal, before her gaze shifts towards a booth near the windows.

Another youthful lady settles there, a focused revelation upon their face as they lean over scattered papers on the table. The tip of a pen is wedged between their teeth, and they bite at it in thought. Swinging their leg over the other, an exasperated sigh escapes as they suddenly look up at the tin roof.

The waitress quickly strides over, coffee pot in hand. The woman lets her polished grin fall into a small smile, a gentle look in her eyes. Without a word of consent, she fills the ceramic mug long forgotten at the edge of the booth.

"Thanks, Ma." The lady, who's eyes remain upward, mutters gruffly.

"You look like you need it," the waitress chuckles, amusement crossing her expression as she watches her daughter guzzle from the steaming cup. "I will never understand how you can just drink it straight, (Y/n). You truly are an enigma."

"It helps me focus," (Y/n) states. "Especially when things don't make sense."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," (Y/n)'s mom assures, but frowns when she realizes her encouragement doesn't affect the distraught mood her child is faced with. She turns her head to the bar, noting that her co-worker was reading a magazine as the traffic coming through has died down, before setting herself across the table. "What is the matter, my sweet?"

"It was hard enough getting into the major I wanted, but now I have to worry about a suitable job too," (Y/n) grumbles.

"What happened with the secretory position at the bank?"

"Lack of experience... It's either that, or I have too big ideas for anyone's liking."

"You'll find something soon enough," the older woman persuades as she takes (Y/n)'s gloved hands into her calloused own. "The perfect job is bound to pop up before summer break comes."

"I hope your optimism comes into fruition," they say with a titter. They glance to the large clock tacked to the wall beside the island, before collecting their things with a stand. "I should head out before I'm late for class. Thank you for the coffee, ma."

"Don't forget that my first shift at Mimzy's is tonight!" Their mother calls, "It's gonna be a bit of a time crunch to get used to, so I would prefer it if you met me there after your extracurricular activities. I want to walk home with you."

"You don't have to be so paranoid," (Y/n) replies as they stand by the door. "After my studies, I'm going out with Joanne for a late lunch. I'll head over once we finish our gallivanting."

"You can never be too sure, dear. The news is heating up with all kinds of stories about that serial killer. I just want you to be safe!"

The bell above the entrance rings, a chiming announcement that a customer walked in. The cook desultorily straightens herself from her torpor, a curt welcome grousing from her lips.

"I'll see you later, Ma!" (Y/n) comments over their shoulder, but not before making brief eye contact with hickory brown. Round glasses, placed on the curvature of the man's sharp nose, reflects the gleam from the sun's light. He gestures his black-clothed hand to the entry he held open, a raffish grin on his face.

"After you, mademoiselle," He cheerfully asserts.

"Thank you," (Y/n) politely curtsies before rushing out into the streets of Louisiana.

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(Y/n)'s temple pulsates with an ache as they stir the soup in front of them with disinterest. The warmth of the spring now settled into an orange hue on their skin, drawing out the time until nightfall came. Tapping the toe of their heel against the Mandala patterned floor, their eyes gaze up at Joanne.

Joanne was a high-class type of girl, with distinguished parents and a father that ran a well-known Men's Club in town. Daffodil hair curled around her ears and tickled rosy cheeks as she ate away at her salad. Gorgeous blue peek up at (Y/n), and with a giggle, she hides her mouth with the black clothed napkin that was folded nicely by her plate.

All the eligible boys were swoon by her meek personality, always gifting her lavish things with money they earned. (Y/n) can always tell that she adores the attention, even when she claims that none of them strike her fancy. Sometimes, (Y/n) wishes their life can be as simple and carefree as Joanne's; that they can embrace their femineity instead of their intelligence. That is not how they were designed though.

"Have you changed your mind about the dance?" Joanne softly asks, pink tinted lips rising into a smile.

"No," (Y/n) responds after a long pause, "My mind has been on other things."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" She exclaims with puffed cheeks. "Why don't you go with Donald?"

"The guy who pulls my hair in history? No thanks."

"He just does that cause he likes you," Joanne laughs, "You two were meant for each other!"

"I don't see any of your suitors pulling your hair," (Y/n) gripes, "Don't tell me such stupid nonsense, Ann."

A look of hurt flashes across Joanne's face, and (Y/n) considers apologizing before she runs to tell her mother. It wouldn't be the first time (Y/n)'s pragmatism got them into trouble. Joanne's mother was a snooty woman and always tried to whip (Y/n) into their place in society since they were young. Since both Joanne and (Y/n)'s fathers worked on the road for the majority of their childhood, both of their mothers came together to help one another before Joanne's father found his passion for business. Though Joanne's family has long since moved from the quaint Neiborhood (Y/n) and their mother still resides in, Joanne always reaches out to 'catch up' with her friend since diapers.

"I'm worried for you," Joanne remarks in a dull tone as she leans back in her seat, "Your mom and I aren't always going to be there for you. Your mother shouldn't bear the responsibility of looking after you forever, and soon enough, I'm going to get married and have a family! You always talk so pessimistically about love; you never give anyone a chance! If you keep up with that attitude, you are going to end up alone!"

A screech emits from (Y/n)'s chair as they push away from the table. Abhorrence filters through every thought they wanted to say in that moment, a scowl present on their face. "And what if love is not something I'm aiming for? Have you ever thought about that?"

"And you think some silly dream is? You are a lady, (Y/n). Start acting like one," Joanne spits.

Thrusting their hand into their bag, (Y/n) throws down a few dollars on the tawny surface. "Pay my meal for me, would you? I've lost my appetite."

Swiftly pulling their coat over their shoulders, and without so much as another glimpse towards Joanne, (Y/n) stomps their way to the front. Judgmental leering warms the back of their head from the ongoing patrons they pass, with societal conjectures whispered among them. (Y/n) wishes they could declare that they were used to being seen as a freak, but the pang in their heart was hard to deny.

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The buzzing of cicadas disturbs the thick despondency that hung over (Y/n) as they trudged their feet over the concrete pavement. Though yellow-hued streetlamps and distant sounds of laughter embraced the night with sweet carol, the weight of the day wore heavy on (Y/n)'s shoulders. The keister that they wore on their side swung limply as hot air blew past, and the sweat that collected on their forehead felt consciously sticky.

In a fit of frustration, (Y/n) didn't think to take a trolley over to Mimzy's. They were so engrossed by Joanne's behavior, needing time to collect their thoughts. Granted, (Y/n) did comprehend that their tongue could be snippy without second thought, but did that give their friend the right to dismiss all that they've worked for?

Ever since (Y/n) was young, they perceived that their way of thinking was far different from the others their age. While the adolescent girls that they grew with obsessed over dolls and new dresses, (Y/n) found the extortionary power of the mind. Every day, whether it would be tuning in on the latest news of horrific disasters on the radio or reading recent articles of crimes that happened within their very own city, they would journal each observation and theory that came about their wit.

(Y/n)'s mother was always a benign supporter, providing perception in their once childish dreams. Though their mother never castigates them now for pursuing what some may see as impossible, an underlying fraught tone catches in the optimism she provides.

"Why don't you become an author?" (Y/n)'s mother once persuaded as they sat to eat breakfast together one early morning, "Or a teacher! I'm sure you can put your journalism skills to use in those professions!"

(Y/n) knows their mom means well; She was the only person (Y/n) could openly talk to, and she would listen without conviction towards any words that spewed from their dreamy wonder. However, their mother did not understand the consistent resilience that they fought with every day, that it wasn't some phase that will burn out with age. (Y/n) knows what they want; they just wish sometimes that another being would appreciate that too.

A sigh of relief escapes (Y/n) as the establishment's spendthrift sign comes into view as they round the corner. The word Mimzy flickers with life, but there was no cars or pedestrians that showed if it was so. Though (Y/n) has never experienced what goes on within this club, their mother remembers fondly of the days she spent rendezvousing about with boys and her gal pals. Though, at that time, she wasn't married with a child and the night spot wasn't named Mimzy.

Only a few short years ago, did the name rebrand and (Y/n)'s mom rekindled a lost relationship with a lady she had a fondness for long ago. It wasn't shortly before the friendship blossomed once again did their mother get offered a job; she was ecstatic. (Y/n) couldn't be prouder of their mom, for she too in a way, fought for her right in the world. Not so long ago in the gossip vine of the town was (Y/n)'s mother ridiculed for working as a married woman. Some even went as far as to patronize the diner their mother works the early morning hours at, threatening to boycott if the enterprise supported such scandalous practices. However, nothing came from the situation besides nasty rumors and empty threats, as an anonymous word got out that (Y/n)'s father hasn't been seen for some time. Though there is no documentation that (Y/n)'s parents ever divorced, there was also no valid proof that their father supported the family, hence why the issue was dropped.

It was hard growing up without both parents being present consistently, and for their father's absence being a key factor on the shunning of both their mother and them. He came by every now and again when he was able to take a break from the road, but (Y/n) couldn't really orate that he made a big impact in the few memories they shared. It had been two years since his last visit. (Y/n) recalls him being a very traditional man, who put the Bible and social formalities before anything else. They always stuck to their mother's shadow whenever he was around, never really choosing to interact with him. Their mother, however, would grow a sense of urgency and remain steadfast on her feet to every beck and call that came from that man. (Y/n) always hated seeing the overwhelming dread that hung over their mother when he was around.

Grabbing the handle, (Y/n) was quite surprised to find the door unlocked. Jazz carries about the ostentatious display, but they saw no one hanging about the scenery. Following the orange luminescence that lean against the plush wallpaper, (Y/n) is led to a round counter with a large chalk menu hanging above it. Black cushioned stools line the exterior, contrasting from the red tables set on the other side of the establishment, and a jukebox is arranged in the corner where anyone can interact with it. As (Y/n) looks at their whereabouts in modest fascination, their heels clack against a wooden surface. They are quick to turn around, only to find they had stepped onto the dance floor centered in the room.

(Y/n) never went dancing before. Though everyone sought to learn for entertainment, even their own mother, they opted to stick to their own self. The mere thought of being surrounded by strangers under the strobe lights that circled about the deck gave (Y/n) languid anxiety. Many stories of love and bliss came from places like this; it made (Y/n) think back on Joanne's sternness of finding a social outlet and meeting a suitable man to be courted by. It's always been hard for (Y/n) to make friends, and with that, romance never crossed their mind.

"Sorry suga, but we ain't opened just yet!" A feminine voice evinces from behind. A short, plump woman in a bright pink flapper dress grins at (Y/n), her platinum bob cut bouncing as she walks. (Y/n) felt a sudden vulnerability of being under dressed, still sporting the same wear they've been in since they left the house.

"My mother told me to meet her here," (Y/n) breathes out, "Tonight's her first shift."

The woman's brows furrow as she ogles the person in front of her, before recognition washes over her face. "You must be Lorraine's girl! My, you are the spitting image of her!"

"That's me..." (Y/n) replies with a confining smile, "I apologize if I came in too early, the door was open."

"Not a problem at all, deary! I leave that door open a few minutes early anyway for... special guests." A small blush crosses the woman's face as she looks away to compose herself, "Make yourself comfortable! Your ma and the other gals are getting ready in the back! If you need anything, be sure to call for dear ol' aunty Mimzy!"

(Y/n) gives their thanks before the petite lady ushers herself away to prepare for opening. They decide to take up space in the far corner away from the dance floor, the table beginning to be covered with assignments and books. (Y/n) occupies themselves with their work, too engrossed to notice the oncoming crowd beginning to fill the place. Live performers took up the music as the night carried on, and congenial chatter joins into a pleasant hum. The atmosphere was quixotically pleasant to (Y/n)'s revelation, and they found themselves humming along with the songs they remembered as they wrote away.

"I hope this doesn't come off as pushy, but I couldn't help but to wonder why a lovely specimen such as yourself is all by her lonesome?" A voice articulates in a teasing tone, "It almost seems that you want to be hidden away!"

(Y/n)'s grip tightens on the pencil in their hand, and they look up with a glare. The man who spoke, sported in a red vest and black slacks, registers a simper as they make eye contact. The familiar brown hue twinkles with amusement as (Y/n) straightens in their seat. (Y/n) recognizes this man to be the one who held the door open for them at the diner earlier today.

"Alastor. Charmed to meet you!"

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#alastor x reader #human alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #romantic or platonic

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