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sakura-chan-25 · 15 hours

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Shadow Play

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Regressor!Charlie, caregiver!Alastor

Words: 1,965

Summary: When Charlie and Vaggie come back from Heaven, Alastor goes to seek out Charlie and finds her feeling very little indeed.

Warnings: Alastor is being a caregiver for largely manipulative reasons, so there’s an underlying issue of trust. Mentions of surveillance and lack of privacy.

A/N: I woke up this morning with this scene fully formed in my head and absolutely had to get it written as soon as possible.

Alastor was enjoying the chaos that had ensued in the aftermath of Charlie and Vaggie’s trip to Heaven. From their first appearance back in the lobby of the hotel, it was clear that things had gone badly. Their intrepid leader had run up the stairs, unwilling to meet the eyes of any of her hotel’s residents. Vaggie had hesitated, clearly caught between following Charlie and remaining to explain the events of the meeting.

In the end, Vaggie had joined the other hotel residents with slumped shoulders, uncharacteristically subdued. Alastor listened to the story of their ill-fated time in Heaven, his smile only growing.

Charlie would be utterly destroyed by the suggestion that she was responsible for the targeting of the hotel. She was separated from her most loyal source of support, and the looming threat was something that Alastor just happened to have a solution in-hand for…

Oh, things were getting interesting indeed.

As the residents started to question Vaggie’s history, Alastor slipped into the shadows, away from the group. He had no interest in the fallout on this side of things: he had another job to do.

Travelling through the shadows, he made his way up to the rooms that Charlie and Vaggie shared. It was a familiar journey: he did keep tabs on the occupants occasionally. He was hardly obsessive about surveillance, unlike some of Hell’s citizens, but it was his job to oversee the hotel, and that meant knowing about the coming-and-goings of the residents.

Alastor stepped out of the shadows and took in the scene: Charlie was fully hidden in the blankets on the bed, her little demon assistants fluttering anxiously around her. He could hear Charlie sobbing in her little nest.

“Oh, Charlie,” Alastor said, feeling his smile stretch the limits of his face. “You look an absolute mess.”

Alastor made his way to her side of the bed, shooing her little assistants away as they tried to get into his way. Even here, he couldn’t see Charlie’s face: she was completely covered, wrapped in a cocoon of sheets. Sighing, Alastor sat down on the edge of the mattress and patted the lump that he thought was likely to be Charlie’s head.

“You have a captive audience downstairs, waiting to see what inspiring performance you have planned next! Is this any way to be acting after dooming your friends?”

A hand emerged from the blankets and swatted at his arm, clearly not a fan of his attempt at comfort. Charlie’s sobs continued unabetted, choked and helpless. Alastor could feel her shifting inside the blankets, curling up tighter onto herself.

What a sorry sight. She was clearly worse off than Alastor had calculated: this might need a gentler hand than he had planned.

“Honestly, Charlie.” Alastor crossed his legs and dismissed his staff from his grasp, leaving both hands free. He gestured over one of her assistants and took the box of tissues from its hands. It glared at him distrustfully, but allowed him to take it. Alastor took advantage of the opening that Charlie had created in the blankets by trying to push him away. He gripped the corner of the blanket and pulled it down, exposing a part of the demon girl hidden inside: a bit of golden hair, mussed and staticky from the comforter.

Alastor reached in and petted Charlie’s head, keeping his claws gentle on her scalp.

“This is no way to face your problems,” he said, gentle but prodding. Let’s make a plan, Princess. Let me help you.

“Go ‘way.” Charlie shifted again inside the blankets, trying to get away from the affection, but there was really nowhere for her to go. She had trapped herself inside her little bundle, and Alastor continued his ministrations, encouraged by her voice.

“And leave you all alone? I simply couldn’t do such a thing.”

Charlie twisted, and the blankets came loose enough for Alastor to see her face, peering up at him from the shadows of her cocoon. She was, indeed, an absolute mess: her cheeks splotchy against her pale skin, eyes rimmed with red, her nose running. The most pathetic creature he’d ever seen: you would hardly guess the amount of power that hid inside that disgusting shell.

“You don’t care,” Charlie said, her voice muffled with tears.

“Of course I care.” Alastor put a hand to his chest, offended. It wasn’t a lie: he cared about quite a few things. There was no need to specify whether Charlie’s emotional well-being was one of them.

Charlie looked up at him for a moment, her expression blank. Alastor would guess that she was trying to gauge his response, but it looked like her thoughts were having difficulty. After a few seconds of staring, Charlie’s expression screwed up again and she started to cry anew.

“I wan’ Vaggie,” she said, and started to sob.

“Then I will fetch her,” Alastor said, and moved to stand. As expected, Charlie’s hand shot out from the blankets and caught his wrist.

“No!!” Charlie pulled him back down and Alastor folded easily. “No, I don’ want Vaggie.”

“You’re being very contrary,” Alastor pointed out. “Will you come out of your blankets?”

“Nnnn.” Charlie glared up at him. Alastor held up the box of tissues and wiggled it temptingly. Charlie reached out a hand, but he kept it out of her reach.

“Ah, ah. Only princesses who are sitting up are allowed to blow their noses.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes, but obediently sat up: the blankets fell around her waist as she did so, revealing her messy hair and wrinkled shirt. Alastor rewarded her with the box of tissues, and Charlie blew her nose messily, then tossed the tissue onto the floor beside the bed.

Alastor subtly used a shadow to toss it into the trash can.

“There you are.” He patted Charlie’s knee, encouragingly. “Back on the path to success. Would you like some water?” Alastor shot a look to one of her little assistants, who were still lurking around the bed, but Charlie shook her head.

“I want… I want…”

There was a moment where Alastor thought she might actually make it through a sentence, but then Charlie crumbled back into sobs.

“Oh, dear.” Alastor slipped through the shadows and re-settled on the other side of the bed, sitting beside Charlie so that he could put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve never seen such a display. What’s wrong, princess?”

“M’useless!” Charlie cried, and leaned into Alastor’s embrace.

Alastor could feel her tears getting on his coat, and could only hope that there was no snot following suit. Still, he tightened his grip on her shoulders, rubbing his hand up and down her arm comfortingly. He didn’t reply, waiting for more information.

“Vaggie l-l-lied and I don’t know what to do and I’m just too little and I hate it all,” Charlie managed through her tears. “I don’ like being alone when I’m like this but Vaggie h-hates me!”

“But you’re not alone,” Alastor said, ignoring the rest for now. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Y-yeah.” Charlie sniffed. “But you don’t… you’re not…”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you, if you need it,” Alastor said. He knew about this game that Charlie and Vaggie played occasionally, not quite mother and daughter but something approaching it. It wasn’t something he had personal interest in, but it certainly seemed to be what Charlie needed at the moment. “Would you like me to help you?”

Charlie paused for a moment, her face hidden between Alastor’s chest and her messy hair.

“Yes, please,” she whispered, and Alastor smiled down at her.

Alastor surprised himself with how much he was enjoying this game with Charlie.

He had cleaned her face and gotten out her regression gear from the drawer where it was kept. She hadn’t questioned how he knew where to get her supplies, only opened her mouth for her pacifier when he held it up. She had relaxed once it was in her mouth, blinking up at him with eyes that seemed bigger than ever before.

He let her choose a new outfit, and she chose a set of pyjamas with kittens printed on them. Alastor helped her change, slipping off her suspenders, unbuttoning her shirt. She wiggled into her pyjama pants and put her hands up in the air so that Alastor could slip the shirt over her head. It was a novel experience: Alastor didn’t undress many people, and he had never helped someone get dressed before. He could have simply snapped his fingers to change her, of course, but it felt important to take these steps slowly. The vulnerability of it almost turned his stomach on Charlie’s behalf, but the trust that she was placing in him was sweet on his tongue.

She was quiet, with her pacifier in: she looked at him with expectation in her eyes.

Alastor was at a loss for the next part of this experience, but he refused to allow Charlie to see his uncertainty. He thought of Niffty on her rare tired nights, how she would lift her arms for Alastor to carry her.

Alastor picked Charlie up and Charlie squeaked behind her pacifier, throwing her arms around Alastor’s shoulders. Alastor chuckled and gave her a little bounce in his hold. For the first time that day, he saw Charlie smile behind her pacifier, her eyes crinkling.

He brought her back to the bed, waving a hand to smooth out the blankets, and sat down with Charlie in his lap.

“Would you like to hear a story, princess?”

Charlie nodded, pulling in her legs to curl up in Alastor’s grasp.

Alastor kept one arm around his little bundle, and used his other arm to gesture to the shadows. They came alive at his command, crawling onto the sheets in indistinct shapes. Charlie tensed up slightly, but Alastor kept them at the base of the bed, far away from where they sat.

“This is a story about a girl who grew up the youngest of her siblings,” Alastor said, and the shadows drew together into the shape of a girl with long hair and billowing skirts. “They had a wealthy neighbour, named Bluebeard, who just couldn’t keep a wife. Every time he married, his wife would vanish soon after. People said that he was cursed.”

The shadows played their parts, as Alastor told the story: the hulking form of Bluebeard, the dark set of keys that he gave to his new wife: Charlie watched it all in rapt attention, as if she had never heard the story before, and perhaps she hadn’t. It was a human legend, after all, and Hell had its own folklore.

Alastor took his time with the reveal of the murdered wives, the stained keys, and Charlie looked up at him with childish horror and apprehension. The story ended happily, of course: or as happily as it could, with a bodycount of six dead wives and a righteously killed murderer.

Charlie clapped when the shadows subsided back to their natural shapes, and Alastor patted her head.

“’nthr?” Charlie asked through her pacifier. Her expression was hopeful, and she couldn’t quite look at Alastor as she asked.

“Of course,” said Alastor, and drew up the shadows once more.

There would be time enough later, to weave his web and make his deals. For now, he could feel Charlie leaning further against him, exhaustion from the trip making itself known. For now, he could feel her trust in him growing, like a flower almost ready to bloom.

Alastor softened his voice and let Charlie drift into sleep, continuing his story as his shadows played their roles, back and forth across the foot of the bed.

Yes, this was enough for now.

#that's exactly how i imagine alastor to be as a caregiver #just for the regressed person to trust him a little more so his manipulation works better #he feels very much... alastor in this story #and i love it!#regressed charlie is so cute too!#like despite it being agere it still feels very much like something that could have easily been canon #like if charlie really had regressed at that part in the show #the scene would definitely have looked like this #i'm done rambling now #have a good day #reblog

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sakura-chan-25 · 10 days

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"Is it true that you had 700 wives?"

Solomon looks up from his book, to where you're laying on his bed, homework in hand. He'd convinced you to take the class "Rhetoric 101: How to win any argument with an angel using biblical quotes" because he'd figured it'd be fun to watch you try to spark up an argument with Simeon. It was a nice perk that you could study together. It hadn't even occurred to him that he might get mentioned in the coursework.

You read over the pages, eyes brimming with amusement. "What could you possibly need 700 wives for?" you ask and he shrugs. "Mostly politics and gaining land," he says but you don't seem entirely convinced. "Might I remind you that this was happening during a period of 80 years?" he says but you just raise your brows at him. "That's still like 9 wives per year, though. How on earth did you have time for that?" you're laughing now, really laughing and Solomon has to fight a smile.

"What, they'd get like a month and a half each before you were on to the next one," you say, wiping the tears on your cheek. "Actually, I never even met most of them," he says, hoping to help his cause, but it only causes you to laugh even harder. Solomon huffs and pretends to read his book again, letting your laughter subside, but once you read the next line of your homework you're laughing again.

"You had 300 concubines? How is that even possible?" you cackle and Solomon rolls his eyes. "That was a rumour. I did not have that many," he says but you're far gone, clutching your belly as you gasp for air. "I'll have you know that having a pact with the Avatar of Lust gives you a very high libido-" he begins.

"Oh, trust me, I know," you wheeze.

He's on you in a second, pushing you down on the bed, a hand on each side of your head. You giggle, when he presses kisses to your face, any surface he can reach, your cheeks, your forehead, your nose.

"Stop" kiss "teasing" kiss "me!" kiss, he whines, but you've only just begun. "Oh, I'm sorry, my lord, it's just I haven't seen you in three years, you've been so busy with all your wives-" Solomon shuts you up with a kiss on the lips and you bury your hands in his hair, leaning into it. He lays down on top of you, using your chest as a pillow, refusing to move an inch. "Sol, you're crushing me," you complain and he grumbles. He presses a kiss to your collarbone and grabs your homework, throwing it into a corner of his room, before getting comfortable again, this time crushing you a little less. You run your fingers through his hair, humming softly.

You both know that it doesn't actually matter how many wives or concubines or past lovers he's had. Sometimes Solomon thinks that it's all just been a build-up, that none of it actually mattered. His real life didn't begin until he met you and he's completely fine with that.

"Sooo, did you have a favourite? Or perhaps 30 favourites?"

"Oh, shut up."

#this old man is a WHORE #< previous tag #YOU'RE SO RIGHT😭#i'm sitting in the bus right now and trying not to laugh out loud☠️#reblog

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