(i really feel like i shouldn't like this picture as much as i do ^)
You heard the door to the kitchen creak open. You spun around, attempting to hide the tube of raw cookie dough behind your back. You saw Alastor standing there, a slightly confused look in his eyes. "Hello, my dear," he greeted you. "Hhellow!" you said, voice muffled by the giant bite of cookie dough. You chewed nervously. "Hey (y/n), have you seen the- oh hey Al!" Domino greeted Alastor, walking out of the pantry. "Hello," Alastor said. "(Y/n), have you seen the flour? There was a 5 pound bag of it in there and now it's gone," Domino asked you. You swallowed your bite of cookie dough. "Nope, haven't seen it. Maybe ask Charlie," you told them. They stared at your arm which was tucked behind your back,attempting to hide the cookie dough from view. "Y'know, they say that when you're in love with someone, you start acting like that person," they told you quietly with a look at Alastor who also had his arm behind is back. "It's fricken cookie dough!" you told Domino, showing them the half-eaten tube. "You shouldn't eat that raw. It's got eg-" they were cut off. "I know, ya dummy. I've eaten more tubes of this stuff than I can count," you told them, gently knocking them over the head with it teasingly. Domino shrugged and walked towards the kitchen door.
You put the cookie dough in the freezer and turned back to Domino. Then, they made a really gutsy move. Reaching up, Domino pinched Alastor's cheek. "See ya later, Radio Ga Ga," they said. Alastor looked down at Domino, his eyes black with little red radio dials. Domino stared at Alastor for a moment and then continued out the door, occasionally looking behind themself in fear. Alastor shook his head and looked back at you, eyes back to normal. "That little shit is ballsy," you remarked. "What did they call me?" Alastor asked, looking confused. "Radio Ga Ga is a song, and they thought they could be really funny to call you that," you explained. You remembered how Domino was scared shitless when Alastor first arrived, and they began getting more comfortable with him being around. Too comfortable. "So, uh, what do you need?" you asked Alastor. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Angel Dust hit his head on the wall somehow, so he needs something cold for the injury," he told you. You laughed a bit at the thought of Angel hitting the wall. "I wish I could've been there to see his reaction," you said, digging through the freezer for an ice pack. "Some choice words were thrown about, along with four obscene gestures at the wall," Alastor explained. You laughed, picturing Angel cussing out the wall with four middle fingers for it. You felt the ice pack and grabbed it, walking across the kitchen to hand it to Alastor. In one, cliche, Hallmark movie-esque moment, your fingers touched his. You tried not to react to it. "Thank you, my dear," Alastor said, walking out of the kitchen. "You're welcome," you said, loud enough for him to hear you but not too loud. You placed your hand on the metal countertop and sighed. That moment was so cliche it was cheesy.
{Time Skip}
"And so (Y/n) told the druggie, 'You better fuck off or you won't see another drug again'!" Domino said with a laugh. You raised your hands up (like ¯\_(o_o)_/¯). "How was that a funny story?" you asked them. "I thought it was fricken hilarious when you told that guy off!" they said. "It wasn't really," you corrected them. They shrugged.
Tonight the whole staff of the hotel went out to dinner. You weren't sure why, but Charlie said it would be really fun. Husk recommended a steakhouse, and that's where you all went. There was a catch: there was a casino in the steakhouse. That's why he wanted to go. So, Husk was at the poker table, while the rest of the Hazbin "gang" were sitting at a table, having dinner. You were happy, and having fun, but there was an underlying nervousness. You had to handle knives really carefully, and hold them in a certain way to avoid a flashback to your past life. Domino knew how to snap you out of it before you caused physical or mental harm to yourself or anyone else.
(WARNING! There are sensitive topics like murder, prison, and suicide. Continue at your own risk.)
Ah, yes, your backstory. Tragic, angsty, and overall slightly cliche (mainly because the author has no imagination when it comes to backstories). You were a 24 year old KOA worker. A dream job for you (if it's not, then change the occupation, it doesn't really matter). You always loved to travel, camp, and you really loved RVs. You were happy there, looking at RVs, coming across the occasional vintage camper. Every day, you would go home to your little 600 square foot house. It was the perfect house. Cozy, cute, and overall a quaint little craftsman style home. Nothing went wrong.
Until, that one horrible night. You were sitting on your couch, watching youtube videos when you heard a knock on the door. It was 12 AM, and nobody came around that time. You opened the drawer of your side table and grabbed a knife out of your kitchen, completely lacking in self protection other than the knife. You opened the door to find a police officer, but something was off. He wasn't like other police officers. Something was missing. But you couldn't tell. The officer showed you a search warrant for your home that made you extremely nervous. What had you done? What happened? You let the officer in despite your instincts telling you not to. What if you didn't let him in? You could be arrested for probable cause or some shit like that. He was well into your house by the time you realized something was missing. The police radio. He didn't have one. "Where's your radio?" you asked the man. He looked at you. "What?" he asked. "Your police radio. If you're a cop, you always have one, right? And your badge, it doesn't look right," you explained. Without a moment of hesitation, the man attacked you.
You screamed, clumsily grabbing the kitchen knife off of the countertop and stabbing him. He fell to the ground, and you could have stopped there, you should have, but adrenaline and panic kept you going. You stabbed and stabbed, until you were exhausted. Over the course of the event, your hand had slid down the handle of the knife, slightly cutting your hand. Little did you know, this would be used against you in court. How many times did I stab him? you thought. Little did you know, the coroner's report would say 22 times. Your hands were covered in blood and you dropped the knife, only to see it land in a puddle of blood. You screamed in a panic, dashing to your living room and picking up your cell phone. You tried desperately to call 911, but the blood on your fingers rendered your phone unresponsive. Little did you know, this caused a delay in the paramedics arriving, in a fatal time gap where they could have saved the man. You ran into your bedroom, hitting walls as you stumbled through thanks to no lights being on. There, you picked up your home phone and called 911. Or, tried. The phone wasn't working. Little did you know, the wire wasn't cut, so your phone not working was pure coincidence, which would tell a jury you purposefully waited to call 911. You ran to the bathroom to wash the blood off your hands so you could dial 911 on your cell phone. Little did you know, this would prove to a jury that you meant to cover up your crime.
Oh, the court date now. 9 months had passed since the incident. A case had been built against you, showing you meant to kill him, not to defend yourself. You sat in your chair with your defense lawyer next to you, shuffling through papers. The jury were doing their thing (i forgot the real term), deciding whether you would be guilty or innocent. A tear rolled down your cheek as you begged whichever god would listen for you to not be found guilty. You heard a door open and looked back to see the jury pouring back into the courtroom, taking their seats. Your memory from here was a blur of sadness, panic, anger, and helplessness. "(Y/n) (Y/l/n) has been found guilty of murder in the second degree," someone announced. You wailed, feeling as if you yourself had been stabbed in the heart. You could only remember sheer panic and helplessness as your defense lawyer gently rubbed your back in order to comfort you, but if it did anything, it terrified you more. Little did you know, this was going to lead to your death.
Your whole memories were blurs, only remembering the judge sentencing you to life in prison, and your cell. But then, your memories cleared up again. The near neglect you felt, the emptiness in your heart that once used to be filled with joy. You looked at the clock. "6 o'clock," you said to yourself. At this time, you would be at your job at KOA, helping campers and travelers check in to the campground. You'd be feeling joy right now, had you stopped at one stab and not continued 21 times. You remembered how happy you were in your home, curling up under a quilt and watching a movie. You would never get that again. You shivered, staring out of your cell to all the other cells. There were real criminals here. Real murderers. Real robbers. You suddenly felt as if the cold icy claws of crime were grabbing hold of you, begging you to join the others in their dead-heartedness.
Now, the beginning of your ultimate downfall. You were cleaning the bathrooms with another inmate who had somehow smuggled a knife in. "Listen up. You're gonna give me your stuff, or I'm gonna kill you with this knife," a gruff inmate ordered you. "Look at my cell, I don't have anything!" you replied, trying to act all tough. Inside though, you were as soft as a teddy bear. "I don't care. I want your blankets, toiletries, anything. That way I can sell it off," the woman told you (o yeah ur in a women prison btw because the character i made for the reader is a woman but if ur a man then replace women with men right now). "Hell no!" you replied sassily. "Aww, look how cute, someone who thinks she can fight me off," the woman said with a mocking tone. "People think I'm a cold-hearted killer. I'm not, but I could be if you don't stop," you said defensively. "You think you can kill me? I've been here longer than you, softie!" the woman yelled. "I'm not giving you my stuff, SHITFACE!" you yelled at her, getting in her face. She looked at you, her eyes darkening. It was at this moment you knew: you fucked up.
The woman, who was significantly bigger than you (by weight, basically she chonky), charged at you. You dodged, thanking heaven for your fast metabolism (if ur a bit chunky irl, love urself). This continued, and you ran into one stall, locking it. You poised yourself on top of the toilet and placed your hands on the top of the wall. The woman had used the knife to unlock the door, and as the door swung open, you held onto the wall of the stall, leaping off the toilet and landing one swift kick to her face. She fell and dropped the knife, and you landed on your feet, swiftly grabbing the knife before she could. What she lacked in weaponry, though, she made up for in muscle. She stood up and shoved you against a wall, nearly knocking the breath out of you. Luckily you stayed standing as she approached, or more waddled, in your direction. "Stop right there if you don't wanna die, fatass!" you warned, holding the knife so it glinted in the dim lighting of the bathroom (i hate using the term fat*ss i'm sorry). She charged like a longhorn bull, and in a panic, you charged, knife held in the stabbing position. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see her get stabbed as you collided with her. Suddenly, she stopped and you heard a gurgling noise. You opened your eyes and saw that you had landed a stab wound to her neck. You stood and watched her collapse. Little did you know, this would lead to you going to hell. Your breathing was fast, your heart pounding hard and fast. You looked at yourself in the mirror, not seeing yourself in blood-stained prison uniform, but a monster. Okay, it was still your face, but you just cold-heartedly murdered someone, so basically a monster. You leaned against the wall, breath coming in huffs. You were delirious, hallucinating what appeared to be demons or shadowy monsters approaching you. "You're terrible!" "You're a horrible person!" "Murderer!" "Cold-hearted killer!" they were saying to you. You looked at the knife in your hand and held it to your neck, hallucinations urging you on. You closed your eyes and felt a searing pain in your neck before everything went black, and you opened your eyes to a red sky and a pentagram. Little did you know...
{end of warning}
You were snapped out of your thoughts by a nice, juicy steak placed in front of you. You thanked the waiter and waited for everyone else to get their plate and start eating before you did, table manners your parents had taught you. You ate the mashed potatoes first, avoiding the steak as long as possible to clear your mind of your memories. You began a conversation with Alastor and asked Domino to slice your steak for you, so that you didn't have to touch the knife. Luckily everyone at the hotel knew your backstory so you weren't acting like a child who couldn't cut her steak. Domino handed your plate back to you, and you began eating the steak. You felt someone tap your shoulder and looked. "Can you hand this to Angel? He doesn't have a knife," Vaggie asked. You nodded and she handed it to you, but you grabbed it in the worst way possible. Stabbing position. "Wait, no!" you heard Vaggie say, just before you were instantly sent into a whirlwind of flashbacks.
pretty much the whole time i was writing this, my cat had a starburst wrapper stuck to her ass
I just wanted to mention that I hated using an overweight person as the antagonist in this backstory. It was the only way to make the reader character reasonably agile, and not olympic level acrobat. I do not mean to offend anyone with this backstory.
Also, sorry this is so long. I didn't want to have to stop it too short, but didn't want to cut the backstory in half.