occasionally i just vibe with the thought of people who dealt with alastor back when he was still alive like he probably kept his distance even then but drawing mundane bits of his daily life is just such a vibe
this fellow never skimps on a gorgeous bouquet for his dear mother
anyway i was wondering what if hazbin hotel characters played dnd. like what classes and alignments would they pick? vox ended up being a lawful evil storm sorcerer but he loses his mind sometimes
charlie made everyone play dnd omg i bet she’s the dm and she’s absolutely losing it
I'm so far into my "Vox is so delusional" delusions of my own they I get so thrown off when someone is taking his backstory reveal seriously. Like, wait I thought we all (like 5 people on discord) agreed Vox is making this up to cope and avoid the reality of the end of his life being spent locked in an asylum, subject to medical abuse and experimental treatments? He's literally making up a backstory that he thinks is more narratively compelling and makes him feel closer to Alastor. What do you mean that isn't canon???? Just look at him
yeah, that sounds about right considering how truly CRAPPY his backstory turned out to be
but I'll argue about the mental hospital... the TV really should have fallen on him somehow.
(yeah, I'm just repeating my comment because I really want to discuss this, there's no way his real backstory is fucking REAL)
I mean, hasn't anyone really noticed that whenever TV presenters die in mysterious ways, he takes their place? Why does the cunning, manipulative and charismatic Vincent, instead of playing with psychology and taking positions by setting up competitors/playing them against each other, simply... kill?
The song is cool, but the story itself makes absolutely no sense.
She’s my Hazbin Hotel side OC, but she’s become such a meme in my head that I’m already starting to love her more than my main OCs, lmao.
Oh, and she also does freelance work for Carmilla Carmine.
Also, she has a twin brother who’s also in Hell. Their main curse is that they can swap bodies and literally become each other... and once a month, it happens involuntarily at the worst possible moment.
The first shot of whiskey went down like an old friend. The second — like a lover. Vox welcomed the third with open arms, the fourth felt like an unwanted guest, and the fifth finally stuck in his throat.
Vox was taking his defeat hard. His body had been restored, but his reputation and shattered ego couldn't be fixed as easily as pinning his screen back onto his shoulders. Ratings, public opinion, the roar of the crowd, and, most importantly, total control over the minds of others — that was what he had chased all his life, and all his "afterlife" too. And for what? So that Valentino could take the helm and steer their ship, the Vees, into his stupid porn-fueled gutter?
Val couldn’t handle it. He couldn't be trusted with administrative tasks; he used to draw mindless doodles in the margins during board meetings and shrug off orders. And now this moth...
Maybe the moth would actually do better. At least Valentino knew when to stop. And Valentino valued his partners, while Vox realized with a sharp, stinging pang: in his obsession with some radio-demon deer, he had completely ignored the people who were always there. And worse yet, the Vees hadn't tossed him into the trash like some obsolete hardware.
The sixth shot was poured but remained untouched. It sat on the bar, a silent reproach, the whiskey shimmering with a copper glow under the warm lounge lights. With a heavy sigh, Vox let his head drop, his screen thudding against the oak bar as if he wanted to inspect the micro-cracks in the wood. Sleep mode was begging to kick in, though he knew that "hangover mode" was lurking right behind it.
The screen stayed on, glowing a faint, flickering blue.
— VOX!
A woman’s voice, sounding more like the growl of a cornered beast, pierced the silence. Then, the front door slammed into the wall with a crash that sent a vibration through the floor.
— For fuck's sake! You...
A sharp, deep intake of breath. The clicking of heels on the floor grew louder. It wasn't Velvette — the footsteps were heavier, steadier. Someone much taller, someone with too many arms, someone Vox was probably most ashamed to face right now.
The former media mogul barely lifted his screen off the bar before a hand unceremoniously hauled him up. He was yanked to his feet, his back hitting a chest clad in soft white fur.
— Have you completely lost your mind?! — Valentino roared, dragging him away from the bar. The moth paused for a second, eyeing the untouched shot. With his free hand, he grabbed it and downed it in one go. — We’ve been looking for you all over the fucking Pride Ring!
— I was jus’... — the words came out clumsy, like a child struggling with a tongue twister. — Jus’...
— Let’s go, — Velvette snapped, grabbing Vox’s other shoulder.
Together, they hauled the drunken showman toward the exit. Vox tripped over his own feet, nearly taking Velvette down with him. To the sound of their muffled cursing, he suddenly let out a quiet, almost childish laugh.
— I lo-ove you guys... Srsly! — he slurred, his voice louder than it needed to be.
Velvette froze for a heartbeat, a flash of bewilderment in her eyes. Valentino went still too — hearing something like that from this egocentric prick was new. In his normal life, Vox was terrified of the word "friend," replacing it with "partner," "colleague," or "associate." Val blinked, his face softening for a split second before he caught himself. Avoiding eye contact, he tightened his grip on Vox to keep him upright.
— Oh, shut up... — the moth grumbled, though his pace slowed down.
— Moron, — Velvette exhaled, her voice quiet and almost fond.
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I will be VERY GLAD TO HEAR YOUR FEEDBACK GUYS THIS WAS A SPONTANEOUS WRITING OF A FANFIC plus English is not my native language I had to look for ways to translate my thoughts normally lmao
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