Full summary: Thorne, a siren-imp with a stitched mouth, escapes the brutal Envy Ring, carrying the weight of her past with her to the Hazbin Hotel. Here, she claims her spot amongst others in the journey of seeking her own redemption. Helping the hotel succeed, struggling to control her long repressed desire violence, navigating her new found freedom and emotions, satiating her monstrous hunger – these are challenges far greater than she ever imagined. With all her uncertainty on whether she is worthy of salvation, Thorne continues to cling to the dream, determined to sever the chains of her past and take charge of her fate. She must ultimately decide how she will find inner peace; by embracing her darker nature and staying amongst her kind or by finding belonging beyond the pearly white gates?
Disclaimer: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss. They both belong to Vivienne Medrano.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss. They both belong to Vivienne Medrano.
Talking Notes:
"Normal speech."
"Demonic speech."
'Sign Language.'
'Thoughts.'
Inner voice (or occasional dream sequence)
Chapter 1: Escapism.
I lay what I wished was lifeless under a rough blanket of wet sand. Static is running up and down my arms and they fail me as I try to raise myself off the floor of my cave. My body won't budge and the pressure is almost more bone-crushing than usual. The struggle not to succumb to my exhaustion is a fight I can't afford to lose.
A dull, but quickly growing hunger is the force I need to finally emerge from my bed of needles. They leave my skin familiarly speckled with bioluminescent indents, evidence of what I hoped was only the miserable nightmare that was my life. I know they will fade by the time my shift starts. Tapping my wrist watch, a low hum of annoyance escapes me upon seeing the ungodly hour of 3:26am. It's flashing almost felt like mockery, as if I chose to only have 2 hours of sleep today.
Not all demons are forced to wake up before the ass crack of dawn like I do. But not all demons fought the daily battle of starvation like I did, either. And don't even get me started on finding food. The anxiety was already twisting my stomach into knots. I needed enough to last me for the next who-knows-how-many hours I'll be forced to work today. My lack of energy is no excuse to fuck anything up. I've only needed to be taught that lesson twice. The third would have been the charm that killed me.
I bubble a sigh through my gills and reach upward towards nothing, stretching the numbness in my arms away. I am still in yesterday's uniform. It's the only article of clothing I own; a simple black dress and white apron around the waist. Used to be the nicest thing I owned, too, but I didn't expect it to last long. Nothing ever lasts long here. To live in the deepest parts of this hell-forsaken ocean comes as no easy feat, but that is the fate of which I was forced into. A fate some of us were born into. I've been surrounded by this seemingly never-ending darkness, this bitter and unforgiving cold atmosphere, since I was banished here so many years ago. I'm surprised I'm still alive. You're not just at the bottom of the ocean here, you're at the bottom of the food chain, the hierarchy, all of it. Those above you with power live to kill your spirit, and then they kill your vessel, and so your fate is fulfilled; to become one with this inescapable void. It's the circle of our lives.
I ready myself to take on another day predetermined to ruin me, and I swim out on my hunt for breakfast. My thoughts take me, as they so often do, and I wonder if I am foolish to still dare dream of warmth. To dream of light and purpose, away from this awful place. I want so desperately to know, just for even a moment, what it means to feel peace. To be free. Maybe that's all they'll ever be, though. Dreams.
'Well, if I'm lucky enough, maybe I'll be someone's breakfast today.' The thought almost made me smile. I'd do just about anything to escape this dump.
"G'mornin', Thorne," a friendly voice calls out below me. Bullet, a mantis shrimp demon, waves at me from his cave. "Early bird gets the worm, I see."
I offer a nod and gesture to him and then to my stomach, silently inquiring about his breakfast luck. He gives me a toothy grin. "Got my fill today, thanks. South end's a little busy this mornin'. Your best bet."
Hunger suddenly strikes me with such impatience, I have to keep myself from echoing the growl in my stomach. I nod my silent thanks for the intel and swim south.
Some demons down here are more… animalistic, when it comes to feeding. I imagine I would be too, if my mouth wasn't stitched closed, a "gift" by Princess Bitch of the Envy Ring herself. I am immediately infuriated by the memory. Hunger strikes me again like a bell that gets louder with every passing second. It claws at my insides and clings to my misery, my anger, my hope for better and for vengeance. It fuels a primal urge to tear something apart. To tear her apart. I place a hand on my stomach in a futile attempt to soothe it, a silent vow clenched in my jaw. If I live long enough to remove this wretched thing from my mouth, she will be the first I devour.
Reaching a clearing, I sank to the floor and buried my hands in the cold sand. Here, I wait.
The silence is only broken by the whispers of the current, the occasional near and far flapping of small fins. I feel the vibrations of creatures who walk the ocean floor, some weaker than others, some further. I ignore them. Small prey won't cut it today. My eyes are wide open, scanning the inky blackness for the faintest glimmer of a bioluminescent lure. I need something big enough to quiet this simmering rage before it turns to a boiling frenzy. This hunger has become more than a quest for mere survival. I need control, power, freedom. I need my mind to be silent. I need to kill.
I don't know how much time passes, but it's enough to numb my tail that I've folded under me. My face twitches at the prickling feeling, but I dare not move.
And then I see it. A single, distant point of light deep in the abyss.
A triumphant smile stretched across my face and, in a low pitch, I hum a single note in the direction of my prey. I remove my hands from under the sand and clap in a rhythmic pattern, sending my vibrations in its direction. Whatever had its attention before, it's become bored with it now. In a matter of minutes, I am face to face with the leviathan of the deep. The Angler Beast emerging from the darkness, its bioluminescent light not just catching my attention, but what looks to be a pair of hapless suitors attached to her underside. Hunger echoes where an empty belly will soon be satisfied.
Still… I had a tradition I would never break. I must always show my thanks and my mercy for all life I will take in this moment, for I would wither away to nothing if not for their sacrifice.
Like a moth to a flame, its light guides me to it and I hold it close to me. For just a moment, I swear I can feel a sliver of warmth from it. A soft melody hummed on my lips, the age-old song of predator and prey. The beast twists, its struggle growing sluggish. I feel my strength returning, my hunger becoming satiated, my mind quieting. The hot anger within me is soothed by a cold resolve.
I have more than enough energy to survive whatever comes my way today. As the last note fades, I kiss the bulb of this beast, thanking her and her parasites as they fall lifeless on the ocean floor. I check my wristwatch again. 4:49am flashes mockingly, as if it already knew I was going to be late.
'Shit,' I thought. I turn away with little remorse and swim upward, fighting against the unrelenting pressure of the ocean. My envy of the beast's demise is buried under the anxiety of what punishment will welcome me for my tardiness.
Ten excruciating hours have passed since the guards were given blissful permission to beat my sorry blue ass purple.
Nearing the end of my shift, I was ordered to switch places with Gus, my co-worker, who scurried like a bug from one side of the bar to the next, barely keeping up with the flurry of orders. I rolled the ache of my beatings off my shoulders and caught a whiff of minty menthol. I took a mental note to thank Gus later for the pain cream. As I cleaned a whiskey glass behind the bar counter, I observed the sea of faces before me. I recognized my regulars, the ones who sat lost in drunk, solitary contemplation. Some stared longingly, almost lovingly, into the amber elixir dancing in their glass. Their heads hung with the weight of their worries, mirroring the way angel's would for prayer, before consuming its shimmering hope for forgetfulness. It saddened me to see them cling to this empty promise.
I will always be amazed at how many different stories sit in this room together, all sharing a common interest; escape. That seemed to be the thread that bound us all. Each soul here sought refuge, a temporary oblivion from burdens I could only guess at. Senses seemed to amplify for the sole purpose of drowning it all out. I listened to the overwhelmingly mindless chatter, the clinking and occasional shattering of glass. The stench of cheap cigars and stale beer filled our nostrils and glazed their tongues. It all nauseated me. It almost felt wicked to hear bursts of laughter erupting from such a melancholic atmosphere.
Despite the number of businesses shutting down recently, The Shipwreck is, to my surprise, still holding strong. In fact, it was the closure of other competitors in this district that boosted our clientele. With the rising tide of unemployment, despair plagued this city like a rat in 14th century Europe. My boss thrived on the misery and saw it not as a tragedy, but as a golden opportunity. The deeper the city sank, the fatter his pockets became. The lack of empathy in him disgusted me and I am briefly reminded of my stifled desire for more. For better.
Gus decides now is a good idea to pull me out of my thoughts. "Free at last!" He slumps onto a stool next to me and rests his head in his meaty hands. "All this extra money and Horace's cheap ass still won't hire more employees…"
'Or give us more money,' I thought bitterly. Humming my agreement, I prepare a drink, a reward for his hard work, and gently knock it on the counter twice to get his attention. When he finds the glass, he shows me his sharp yellow teeth. I have a hard time figuring out if he's smiling. "Thanks, doll. How're you feeling? That pain cream working for you?"
I nod again. A dull ache still throbbed in my shoulder, but at least it wasn't the white-hot agony of the morning. Annoying as the man could be, Gus also had a strong sense of loyalty. He's dug me out of a lot of graves I buried for myself at this job. He was my voice when the disadvantage of having none subjected me to life's undesirables. A flicker of gratitude, something rarely seen in these parts, warmed a corner of my cynical heart.
He opened his mouth to speak again, but the shitbox above our heads crackled to life, effectively cutting him off.
"Hello there, Sinner! Is your afterlife a total buzzkill? Has drowning your sorrows in that rat piss you call beer become your only method of escape from being a total fucking failure?"
"What the fuck is this…," Gus asked cautiously, voicing my thoughts as if he read my mind.
"Weeeeeeell, I've got some great news for you! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" What should have been a luxurious picture of a hotel was instead a poorly drawn image of the establishment, complete with a rainbow encompassing the roof. The image was signed by someone named Charlie.
"Our team of…" There's a cut to the most miserable looking cat I've ever seen. "... enthusiastic individuals will guide you on your journey to self-improvement, inner peace and healing! Founded by the darling Princess of Hell herself, Charlotte Morningstar!" There's another cut to a clown faced woman being shoved in front of the camera. She waves shyly to the viewers and I am surprised when the porn star, Angel Dust, appears behind her with a mischievous grin, holding up four peace signs.
"This sounds stupid- ow!" I silence Gus with a slap to his head so I can listen.
An actual image of the hotel finally appears with an address in bold yellow text. Moths flutter in the pit of my belly and up to my throat at the sight of it. A haven of marble and gold, bathed in an ethereal light. A stark contrast to the peeling paint and chipped mugs that surrounded me. It was beautiful.
"Here at the Hazbin Hotel, we believe in second chances! So don't let yourself be Torment's bitch. Imagine the pleasure of rubbing your reformed soul in the face of those angels that missed you on extermination day! Don't dilly-dally any longer and book your stay at the Hazbin Hotel today! Your path to redemption starts here! Because everyone deserves a shot at… well, something a little better than this."
When Gus looks back at me, I am already scribbling the address on a napkin. Gus furrowed his brow, his gaze flickering between the television, the crumpled napkin and me. "Whoa, Thorne. What's this?" He picked it up cautiously, his eyes widening as he read the address. "You can't be serious..."
I remained silent, as if I had any other possible option. He must have read the confusion on my face, because he sighs and downs the drink I made him in one shot. "Listen… I know things are rough here, but don't let that make you fall for this scam. I mean, come on. Free room, fancy hotel, therapy for your soul… it's too good to be true."
For some reason, his doubt angers me. It feels patronizing, limiting, silencing, stupid. What did he know? It was one thing if he didn't believe it, that has nothing to do with me. What pissed me off was him shitting on the little bit of hope I managed to claw from it. I pointed ferociously at the television, then gestured with rolling eyes at our surroundings. I am hoping he'd get the message I was trying to convey. That this place sucks and that place is simply better.
"So what, you just gonna ditch your job to go to a ring you've never been to? To chase a dream you don't even know is real? Or even works? Don't be so naive," he scoffed. Gus's words stung almost as bad as the punishment I sustained earlier. My jaw clenched, and a surge of rebellious energy coursed through me. I snatched the napkin back, the soft fabric a meager comfort in these grimy surroundings and my sweaty palms.
Seemingly hurt by my aggression, he turns his attention away from me to pour a drink for a newly seated customer. I fold my arms and stare daggers into him and I don't know if he's unfazed or simply just ignoring me. A sigh escapes him and when he looks at me, it's hard not to fold. There's a pleading in his eyes that stops me and my stubborn defiance to his protests. "Even if it is real… that place ain't for you, anyway. Didn't you hear them? It's for sinners only. Hellborns like us don't even have souls. I know it sounds harsh, but… it's best if you don't get your hopes up."
I swallow his words like bad medicine. He's only looking out for me, so I know this frustration I feel towards him is undeserving. I'm scared he may be right. I don't want to believe that he is. But the seed has been planted and the reality of my situation waters it. I look at the napkin in my hand, the ink now smudged from the cling of desperation. I don't want to let it go.
I won't let it go.
Author's note:
Man, it's good to be back. I don't know if anyone does this anymore, but I just wanted to give my thanks. I've deleted a lot of stories I had posted here, I've outgrown a lot of what I used to write. But this show has become my new hyper-fixation and I'm glad it's given me the push I needed to crawl out of this creative rut I've been stuck in. I don't know if I'll keep doing these author notes at the end of each chapter and due to my busy life, I can't promise frequent or heavily consistent content. I really just want to sink in the joy of being able to create something again with as little pressure as possible. This is the first time I've felt passionate and put ton of care into something in a long time, even if it is just a fanfiction. So I hope you'll be patient with me. Please take this creative walk with me and let me share something with you that, hopefully, you'll enjoy as much as I am. Even if I'm scared.
Here is your friendly reminder to do it scared.
Thank you.