1 - 20 of 37 Works by Souless_Robot
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There's a spring in Valentino's step as he skips down the hall towards the penthouse. Tonight was a special night—and not just because he talked Vox into having dinner—no, tonight was field testing. It only happened a few times a year when Valentino and Velvette could make their schedules align.
Two innocuous words that make Valentino's heart race every time. Somehow years later Vox has still never caught onto the true meeting. It's fine. Vox enjoys this. Val knows he does; he always mentions how well-rested he feels after these nights. Val knows how to take care of his fussy partner, knows exactly how to get his big brain to shut down even if Vox would never approve of his methods, stupid man.
Or Velvette and Valentino like to drug Vox to use him as their dress-up doll.
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Vox didn’t think about it. If he had, he’s not sure he would have done it, but his body didn’t let him think. One minute, he was watching Alastor showboat in front of the first man; the next, he was flickering in front of him while the angelic axe came down.
Hah, looked like Pentious wasn’t the only idiot who could be a self-sacrificing martyr. Vox’s eyes flicker to Alastor’s; it’s just for a second, but it’s enough. For once, his smile’s gone flat. Vox’s heart pounds, speeding up in the way it only does for Alastor, even decades later.
Pain, sharp and incompressible, burns over his chest. The air is stolen from his lungs. He always assumed angelic steel would hurt like a bitch, but the reality left him reeling. It was like his whole torso had been dipped in a vat of acid before promptly being rolled in salt and deep-fried.Or Vox is wounded in the battle with heaven. Alastor freaks out.
Series
- Part 7 of Bartender Vox Week
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“What made you do it?” Angel Dust slurs out. He’s high. His antenna twitched in irritation. Great, just how Vox wanted to spend his evening babysitting. Vox isn’t sure what the spider took, but Charlie isn’t going to be happy if he has more drug stashes hidden around; that’s not Vox’s job, though.
Vox throws down the towel he’s using to shine the cocktail glasses. “Pardon?”
“What made you sell your soul?” Vox lets out a screech of static, the edges of his screen black out, and then his entire vision goes back. Vox raises a hand up and smacks his casing a few times to get his screen to come back on.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Or Angel and Vox get a chance to talk.
Series
- Part 6 of Bartender Vox Week
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Confessions of a Three Inch Tall Radio Host by Souless_Robot
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
15 Aug 2026
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“Vox wai-” The stupid idiot ignores him, his punch manages to knock his head back. Alastor’s ears flatten. That was it. Alastor snaps out with his teeth. He finds himself sitting on Vox’s hips to pin him down. He takes a steadying breath, “Are you ready to listen now, Vox?” Alastor flexes his fingers and Vox lets out a muffled groan but stills under him. “Good boy, now, as I was saying. It appears we are in a bit of a predicament and coming up a bit short compared to usual.”
“What the fuck are you say-” Vox follows his gaze. His face freezes and then a line of static ripples across it as he sees the giant bright smiley face ball Charlie insists is something called a stress ball.
“Why are we fucking three inches tall!?” Vox asks, horrified, trying to scrabble out from under him. Alastor lets him. Their fight momentarily paused as their situation unraveled before them. Charlie's cup, filled with chewed pencils, towers over them.
Or Charlie lets loose some accidental magic during a tense therapy session, and now Vox and Alastor are three inches tall. They'll have to band together if they want to survive Niffty and return to their usual size, and they might just come to an understanding along the way.
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Alastor whistles a jaunty tune as he strolls up to the hill to the decrepit hotel. What Rosie sees in a place like this he can only guess. Much to his chagrin, it was not his place to question. So with his signature smile, he knocks on the door, only to have it promptly slammed in his face.
His grin twitches; this was going swimmingly. He could feel a headache coming on.
Pentagram City’s airwaves are noisier than he left them, but that was no worry. He would deal with that soon enough. He was itching to restart his broadcasts; the air hummed around him, saturated in unfamiliar frequencies. It was like listening to hundreds of swarming wasps. It made his antlers itch. Most irritating of all, it made it impossible to find Vox.
Or Vox finally joins Alastor at the Hazbin Hotel.
Series
- Part 5 of Bartender Vox Week
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It hurts. Everything hurts. Alastor isn’t here to deter others’ broadcasts, and Pride has grown wild and wicked in signals. Now it's a many-headed dragon. Radio waves might not be his bread and butter like they are Alastor’s, but he can feel them all. His body is the perfect little receiver, and that’s exactly the problem. It only gets worse. Vox can’t tune them out. He’s not made for it. So they thrum with constant noise and leave him with a never-ceasing migraine.
He reaches up and wrenches one of his antennas down, bending it over itself. It hurts like Hell, like breaking an arm. It quiets the never-ending deluge of foreign signals. Vox lets out a shaky breath and stands.
Alastor isn’t here to deal with this, but Vox is.
Series
- Part 4 of Bartender Vox Week
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“No,” Husk says flatly, not looking up from counting his poker chips.
Valentino scrunches his face into a pout as he stretches himself across the bartop, his fingers curling around the shot. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”
”You don’t have to. I know that look means you’re thinking about fucking someone. It’s not difficult to guess who. The answer’s no. You can’t fuck him, find someone else.”
”But Husky.” Valentino whines as he pulls himself off the bartop, throws back his drink, and falls sensually across the Casino Overlord’s lap. He reaches up to fiddle with his grumpy partner’s bow tie.
”I don’t want the Radio Demon up our asses—don’t say it!”
”Oooh, kinky.” Valentino couldn’t help himself. As soon as the sad little television in the yellow sweater walked in, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he fucked him. Val was as benevolent as he was beautiful; he could give the little television a pity fuck.
Series
- Part 3 of Bartender Vox Week
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Vox sighs at the steady drip of acid rain splats down on the pavement outside his electronic store. The neon lights glow a steady blue against the puddles. He glances at the door and then gazes across his backlog for repair: a few small portable radios, a couple of toasters, and one television set. The only thing even semi-modern was the radios. Of course, Alastor would leave loopholes for himself when he said no new technology in their deal.
The irritating blurt of Alastor’s recorded voice echoes across the empty shop. “Radio technology isn’t new, my dear! Why, it’s been around since before the war. No, these little shinier boxes are hardly new.”
He flips the back casing off the radio with extreme prejudice as he harshly adjusts the wires. Vox sneers. “Not new, my ass.”
Series
- Part 2 of Bartender Vox Week
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Alastor knows Vox is working up to something with his little speech. He can feel it in the airwaves; in the way Vox’s signal oscillates wildly despite his steady smile. His Picture Box is always so noisy, even when he tries to be quiet. It’s building word by word for the little case that Vox is making towards something Alastor is sure he’s going to dislike.
He’s seen it coming for the last six-months, the growing, writhing expectations from Vox. The way he clings harder, asks for just one more drink or one more dance. The longing little gazes Vox thinks he doesn’t see. This always happens, useless emotions from others spreading like weeds, the closer he allows them to be to his person, like what he gives them is never enough. For once, he wished it could be different. For years, he thought maybe it would be with Vox, that maybe Vox was like him.
Now he can watch that illusion fracture in real time as Vox opens his mouth.
Series
- Part 1 of Bartender Vox Week
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Make It Exclusive! by Souless_Robot
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
27 Jun 2026
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Vox snarls on the other side of the line and then snaps out, “I don’t have time for this.” And with a click, he hangs up. Mammon blinks down at the disconnected phone icon. Oh, that cocky little piece of shit. Mammon zaps into the power grid.
They were more alike than just their business practices. Sure, he couldn’t read the airwaves or the data streams like Vox could, but electricity, well, that was something Mammon could do as he appears in Vox's office with a flash. It takes Vox less than a minute until he's standing up from his throne-like chair and yelling at him.
“They interrupted my broadcast for that musical shit!” Vox raves, sparks fly and his hands are flying wildly in every direction. For only having a pair they certainly could take up space. “My broadcast. I made television down here!”
“Uh huh,” Mammon says, bobbing his head along waiting to see where Vox was going with this. He turns on Mammon, sparking. “And then who do I see on the jury? That’s right my boyfriend who couldn't even bother sending me a text to let me know what was happening! I could have had an inside scoop.”
Oh. Oh shit. That’s why Vox was pissed at him.
Series
- Part 1 of The TV-Clown Agenda
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For Shapes Came Out of the Dark to Visit the Faithful Few by Souless_Robot
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
21 Jun 2026
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Vox knew something was up. It always ended up like this when his students started asking oh so innocent questions about niche occult lore, fucking undergraduates. They never fucking listen, and where does that leave them? Joining goddamn cults and trying to summon entities best left forgotten.
Oh, and failing their fucking midterms. Worthless rich brats.
And here’s Vox left cleaning up their messes instead of curled up with a glass of whiskey and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow to mark the season. This is certainly one way to spend Halloween. The only thing that brought him any solace was that at least Velvette was in the same boat. It was boring work, but Vox would take it when he could ward his house and office from the worst fucking creatures imaginable.Or Vox and Velvette stumble on the remains of a ritual gone wrong, and Alastor has come to collect the brides he was promised.
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It’s Just Business! by Souless_Robot
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
20 Jun 2026
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Mammon rubbed his hands together. Now to get a look at the greedy bastard after his own heart. Mammon follows the tingle in his soul to the edge of one of the oldest garbage dumps in Greed. Rag covered imps pick at the edges of the trash, but quickly scurry off when they catch sight of him. Mammon throws his weight around. Empty It’s-not-beezlejuice cans crinkle as he crushes them underfoot.
The air sparks with electricity green and yellow from Mammon and then weak tiny blue sparks dance up from the grimy piles of trash. Laying half-buried under a pile of old rubbish is a little box of a sinner. Their face glows with two rods sticking straight out of the thing's head. Wide red eyes blink up at him. His little sinner’s form looks like nothing he’s ever seen in Hell.
Mammon grins, that means the sinner is proprietary, property of Mammon no one else will have one like this yet. “Bright shiny brand baby,” the sin of Greed whispers to himself as he stares down at the boxy face of the freshly fallen sinner before him.
Or Mammon acquires a freshly fallen Vox.
Series
- Part 2 of The TV-Clown Agenda
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Brand Recognition by Souless_Robot
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
20 Jun 2026
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Summary
Sinners seemed overrated. More stubborn than the imps or other hellborn in Greed, less useful too since they run around screaming every year from the extermination, not to mention they were poor. Eww. Nothing worse than bloody useless bitches that couldn’t even buy his shit. Not that Lucifer let him market much in Pride, the total prick!
Safe to say Mammon doesn’t make it a habit to notice sinners. Those are Lucifer’s domain since he was oh so insistent that he deserved the first ring and the title King of Hell. Still, this one is different. This one is flashy, noticeable, like one of Mammon’s clowns. This one should be his.
Series
- Part 3 of The TV-Clown Agenda
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“Alastor?” Vincent calls out more urgently. He doesn’t waste any time and swings the door open, stepping quickly into a narrow set of descending stairs. “Are you okay?”
There’s a familiar iron tang in the air. He recognizes it well from the operating room. It’s blood and the smell thickens, permeating the air as he approaches the last step. Vincent’s heart pounds in his chest. For there to be that much blood-- he’s already rolling his sleeves up preparing for a massive injury.
Alastor looks up at him, a furrow in his eyebrows. He’s wearing a white apron stained red. A meat cleaver in one hand. A human body laid out on the steel table in front of him, its two legs missing. The blood is still dripping. It hasn’t even started coagulating yet.
Vincent’s breath stutters. He stares, not comprehending what this is; what he’s seeing.
Alastor sighs and wipes his hands on his apron, setting the knife beside the body. “Oh, my dear, I wish you wouldn’t have come down here.’’
Or Vox is on his way to a surgical conference and after a broken down car is picked up by a kind local to use his phone, unfortunately he stumbles across what happens in the basement. -
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“Do it again.” Vox’s sharp, slightly electronic voice demands, not looking up from his dozens of screens.
Pentious rocks back on his tail. He wrings his hat nervously in his hands. He’s a relatively new employee at VoxTek; he’d only gotten the job because his ex-partner Baxter had apparently been complaining about him, and whatever that overconfident beta had said caught the attention of the only Omega Overlord.
“But sssir,” Sir Pentious hisses, his tongue flickering out to taste the air. The other omega’s scent is flat and focused; it tastes staticky with a touch of salt on his tongue. It does nothing to soothe his nerves.
“Did I stt-stt-stutter?” Vox mocks, spinning in his chair and finally looking at him with narrowed eyes. The snake omega shakes his head, lowering his gaze from the Overlord in front of him. An exercise in submission.Series
- Part 7 of Omega Vox Week 2026
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Valentino always knew this was inevitable. Vox's omega clearly found something alluring about the Radio Demon, what it was, he couldn’t begin to guess, but being so close to Alastor’s scent after fifty years had spun his partner's hormones up into another unexpected heat.
It's a good thing Valentino caught it early before Vox went off the deep end and did something truly moronic like try to crawl into the Radio Demon’s lap. Val steps across the hall, peeling Vox away from the red fuck, and he slings a protesting Vox over his shoulder and uses his other hand to grab the top of the chair and begin dragging the alpha down the hallway after them towards his bedroom.
This is a battlefield Valentino is more than happy to meet Alastor on. An omega always needs to be smart about how they put an alpha in their place.
Or two times Alastor sent Vox into heat and Valentino had to fix it.
Series
- Part 6 of Omega Vox Week 2026
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Can't Buy My Love by Souless_Robot
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
10 Apr 2026
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Vox straightens his suit lapels for the third time since he zapped down to his boyfriend’s manor in Greed. He takes another steadying breath, bracing his claws on the clown-themed door frame of Mammon’s office. He could still turn around. Return to Pride and pretend he’d never been here, ride his heat out alone.
His fans kick up. The very idea leaves his knees weak, and his inner Omega shrieks piteously at the thought. Normally, Vox would barricade himself in his room and wait for Val to help him through. He never really remembered the details of it, other than waking up on the third day purring and threatening to kill Valentino if he ever told anyone. It might have at one point been a threat, but somewhere into their fifty-year partnership, Vox felt it’d lost its edge. Now Valentino just chuckles at him, strokes his casing, and murmurs his agreement.
But that was before Mammon. Vox likes Val. He would prefer his business partner in one piece, and the Sin of Greed isn’t known for sharing.Series
- Part 5 of Omega Vox Week 2026
- Part 4 of The TV-Clown Agenda
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Alastor raps one more time, irritated by the delay. His ears twitch as he hears footsteps, and then the deadbolt slides open.
“Sorry, sorry,” Vox says with a laugh, his boxy screen is flushed, and he’s panting. Alastor delicately leans in and scents the air, but there’s no deepening sweetness to the omega’s scent. Good. Alastor means to talk to Vox about his heat, but it’s still too early. He means to do this properly, and as soon as he manages to slip his leash with Rosie, he can. “Shoky was just playing, and he wouldn’t let go!” Vox coos at the damn creature while he holds up a ruined shirt sleeve.
Truly, Alastor does not understand the charm, but he bites back a growl at the wide, soft look Vox is sparing for the stupid shark. He reaches out and grabs Vox’s hand, twirling him into an easy spin and then moving to catch him when he stumbles. His inner alpha lets out a pleased rumble when Vox’s hands land on his chest as he steadies himself. Alastor doesn’t waste the distraction as he discreetly scents the back of the omega’s neck.
Series
- Part 4 of Omega Vox Week 2026
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His heat is coming on, and Vox feels like scratching off his fucking skin. His head throbs as he walks out of his office. He’s dialed his sense of smell as low as he can, and still every sinner he passes makes him gag like he’s in a fucking perfume store. It’s all too much.
Screw Val, he’s issuing a scent blocker requirement or else he’s going to start murdering everyone in his tower. Every interaction, every faked smile when all he wants to do is claw their eyes out and crawl away to hide while he waits out his heat.
There. He locks onto the scent: strawberries and cream, the one thing wafting towards him that doesn’t make him want to commit mass murder for the second time in his life.Or Angel Dust somehow finds himself cuddled in his nest with Vox every time the other omega's heat approaches.
Series
- Part 3 of Omega Vox Week 2026
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Instincts. This should all be instincts, yet he was in the middle of this mess with nothing to show his packmates, and his heat was less than a day away.
It’s a failure. He’s a failure, such a bad omega. Why would Velvette and Valentino want to spend his heat with him?
A piteous whimper leaves his lips, and his eyes burn. He rubs furiously at them, but it doesn’t relieve the pressure as hot tears wet his palms.
“Hey Vo—shit.” Vox recognizes Velvette’s voice and huddles over cradling his screen and becoming the smallest ball he can. Maybe she’ll mistake him for one of his lumpy piles of clothes and leave.Series
- Part 2 of Omega Vox Week 2026