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FUCK YEAH! Here it is! And I still don't know if it's radiohusk or just a good relationship 😹. And yes, this is my headcanon: There are nights for everyone where they decide what to do: movies, food, a show or whatever. 😻😻

Short: Real Magic

Somehow, that morning as he woke up in an ill-fitting tangle on the battered loveseat in his office had magic. It was no illusion, spun with quick hands and a distracting spiel for the audience, but REAL magic.

Real magic existed and it was special. He’d realized that as a little kid. Real magic was in little things like the way the sun made the concrete sparkle, if you looked close enough. Real magic was the feeling when his ma hugged him an extra moment longer, and he felt the warmth of her love all the way down to his bones in the way she said his name.

Real magic was crystalline chimes in your heart and the warm color of golden promises. It made your nose tickle like your first-ever sip of champagne at the bar. It shimmered dazzling rainbows; brighter than the insides of the big, brilliant diamonds worn by the ladies who lingered by the game tables.

Stage magic was a showy illusion that reminded you of what wasn’t impossible. It was special because it could be done by anyone, but only the truly gifted could make it feel REAL. That was what he learned from watching the stage shows he wasn’t supposed to be sneaking into and begging lessons from the performers afterward.

The afterlife had magic of the demonic kind; real but twisted with malice and trip-wired words. Husk had actual Power here, for all the good the temperamental stuff did him, but it didn’t have that feeling he’d wished for as a kid.

The feeling had found him, though. Today, for the first time since his human childhood, long after his own death, Husk had just awakened to the feeling of being alive.

Husk found himself wondering at the notion as he laid there, being made a mattress for the half of Alastor that had not spilled onto the floor. The Radio Demon’s long legs stretched past Husk’s own feet to cross at the ankles, careless and bizarrely elegant.

Husk couldn’t remember when exactly he’d slumped back against the high arm of the seat, gaining Alastor’s head pillowed against his chest and greedy, grasping arms that clung to his own. He remembered the movement of his own hands less. Currently one coiled against the rise of Al’s shoulder and the other was resting lightly across the curving hollow at the base of the demon’s spine. His palm fit perfectly there, as if that part of his monstrous, taloned hands had been shaped with the purpose in mind.

A fuzz-clad red and black thing twitched against the back of his hand, and Husk’s warm, enchanted bewilderment tickled with little pins.

Since when the fuck had Al had a goddamned tail?

Magic, REAL magic. The kind he’d believed in with everything when he was a kid. It was the only explanation.

Sleep reclaimed him, and he forgot.

His mind forgot, but his heart remembered.

Hazbinween Day 2: Spices

Sometimes you just need some quiet time to pet your husband

Doodle Human AL & HuskAL

Here's a few Hazbin Hotel doodles I drew a while back. Nothing special, but I like them.