WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife156
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Video Killed The Radio Star by WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife156
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
26 Mar 2025
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Alastor knew that voice. Had heard that Northeast American voice more times than he’d have wished to. He knew the face that voice belonged to, Square jawed. Pale, Light blue eyes. Roman nose. Black hair. Scar.
And when the figure stepped out from the trees, Alastor saw him clearly, face etched into a grimace. Wide eyes. Face pale as a corpse. Him.
Vox.
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Alastor grips him with his legs before he can slink off to lick his wounds. “You’re not going anywhere,” he declares, gathering some shadows to back him up in case Vox makes a break for it. “It’s taken us 70 years to get here, and now you’re going to do the job right. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”
There’s a change in Vox’s posture, a sort of ease in the lines of his body as his breath quickens. Alastor feels the corners of his lips curling. He’ll sculpt something from this clay yet.
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OR: Vox is bad at eating deer puss. Alastor finds a use for him anyway.
Written for Vox Humiliation Week 2026 day 1, prompt: bad at sex
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,205
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 18
- Kudos:
- 236
- Bookmarks:
- 20
- Hits:
- 1,264
Bookmarked by WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife156
24 Mar 2026
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A followup to filicide, along the tracks of, 'what if killing Vox redeemed Alastor?', taken to its most extreme.
What happens when a man who desperately wants to stay in Hell is sent to Heaven, and meets an angel who wants the same?
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- Part 2 of philosophy
Bookmarked by WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife156
18 Mar 2026
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Alastor fell to Hell.
Eighty years of story-spinning and rumor mongering have made his descent sound far more graceful than it really was.
Bookmarked by WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife156
12 Mar 2026
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It was Velvette's turn to 'watch him'. She wanted to get wine drunk and watch bad television. Alastor couldn't really tell her no.
Bookmarked by WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife156
12 Mar 2026
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Hollywood is glitz and glamor and getting drunk and dancing until you can't feel your legs anymore in jazz clubs that would get shut down by the cops, if they weren't so easily bribed. For a daytime radio host, night time serial killer, it's a perfect playground. There's always someone begging to go missing in Tinseltown. Sometimes, they just happen to be a bit closer to home than usual, and what man can call himself a gentleman if he doesn't go to the aid of a lady in need?
Bookmarked by WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife156
12 Mar 2026