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ACTIVE SHIP VERSE TAGS >
verse ;; ⭐ nobody's eyes but mine ⭐ - voxtekcrown
verse ;; 🐍 i'm ready now 🐍 - sirserpentine
verse ;; 📺 crimson nights like these 📺 - videokilled
verse ;; 🌖 just too much for you 🌖 - the-devil-less-known
verse ;; 📻 on this lonely heart 📻 - alteregozowie
verse ;; 🦌 when the world slows down 🦌 - rradiio (alex)
verse ;; 🔪teeth are where your heart was🔪 - angelichooves (adaile)
verse ;; ☠ tuning out of the poison ☠ - venisontransmission
verse ;; 🩸 blood on a marble wall 🩸 - kingdomofbellows (irene)
verse ;; 🕸 let loose and love all 🕸 - a-hazbin-spider
verse ;; 🚬 smoke in my hair 🚬 - veelentino
verse ;; 🩹 the parts that won't heal 🩹 - pentious
verse ;; 🎙️praying for a wayward spark🎙️ - hellishbind (vox)
verse ;; ⚔ make a mercy out of me ⚔ - truearchangel
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IMAGE/ARTWORK TAGS >
Vox - ▽ mediocre video podcast ▽
Lucifer - ◬ path of most resistance ◬
Angel - ⧩ effeminate fellow ⧩
Charlie - ⧋ potential to guide ⧋
Nifty - ⨞ twisted little mind ⨞
Valentino - ⧊ morality in a chokehold ⧊
Rosie - ⟁ delightfully debonair debutante ⟁
Husk - ◭ graduate of bad beats ◭
Sir Pentious - ◥ remember you now ◥
Vaggie - ⨻ re-formed ex-exorcist ⨻
Cherri Bomb - ◺ explosive late entry ◺
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OTHER/BASIC TAGS >
▲ sense of self ▲ : images & art of alastor
△ on the air △ : in character posts
⨹ tune on in ⨹ : posts containing snippets of the broadcast
⨞ dash commentary ⨞ : commentary on dash happenings
▶ after-hours broadcast ▶ : out of character posts
▲ promotional material ▲ : promo posts
◭ ask memes ◭ : ask memes free for anyone to submit
⟁ starter call ⟁ : posts that can be liked for a starter
⨻ answers ⨻ : answered asks
⧊ hellish headcanon ⧊ : personal headcanons for alastor
⨺ white noise ⨺ : music or inner thoughts
⨨ nsfw ⨨ : nsfw threads or images
⧍ queued ⧍ : posts from the queue
◸ saved ◹ : saved posts
⧊ flashback ⧊ : threads occurring in the past
#⧎ crack ⧎ : 'crack' posts that may not be explicitly canon
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Credit for Icons/Avatar/Header:
Official Art - Hazbin Hotel
PFP - @/samzikei
Icon/Pinned Art - @/alloplush
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SHIP TAGS ON HIATUS >
verse ;; 🤡 fools and kings 🤡 - circus-frog
verse ;; 🥀 while your wrists are bound 🥀 - mothvalentino
verse ;; 📶 two birds on a wire 📶- hypnotic-broadcast
verse ;; 🔗 somewhere along the way 🔗 - damnedrainbows (husk)
verse ;; 🖤 won't wake up this time 🖤 - hailvoxp0puli
"Don't start, you will talk me out of it after all," Sir Precious warned, but there was a smirk on his lips. Indeed. After all was said and done, his adventure in the wild would be an amazing tale to tell his eventual grandkits whilst comfortably snuggled on his pillow as the twoleg-tended fire crackled in its nest. He could almost feel the comforting scene on his cold nose and dampened fur, and purred as he nudged each of his kits in front of him.
"Listen, boys. Like Leader Morningstar said, I will need to go away for a while. And you will have to stay here while I do."
The kits immediately protested with wheeks and meows, and mismatched begs to be included. Sir Precious hushed them patiently, his ears slightly pressed back.
"No, no. You have to promise me that you will take care of the nursery while Stagtooth and I are gone. I will hopefully learn things that will help the whole clan be safe, and I need to trust you to do as you're told and behave well meanwhile. Can you all do that for me?"
Eventually, the kits all agreed, and Pentious took his time giving each one a thorough bath. This time, none of them protested the care they would not be receiving for a while, and closed their eyes as they enjoyed their wash. Afterwards, Sir Precious carried and guided them back to the nursery, and then returned to Stagtooth.
"Alright. I've told them goodbye. Are you sure you are able to go? You are still injured." His golden eyes showed clear concern for his new friend, especially in the face of a fast.
"Too late. You've committed. No going back now," Stagtooth replied, with no real clarity as to whether or not he was being serious. Either way, the ginger tom was already preparing internally for the journey, truthfully curious as to the lay of the land and how it had changed since he'd become a full fledged member of the clan. The moor was nice, providing a life's worth of wind and the soft brush of heather against one's fur - but Stagtooth had come from a life of wandering, and sometimes he got the itch deep within his paws.
This would hopefully sate it for a good while.
Patiently, he listened for Presh's instructions given to the kits, finding some amusement in how readily the little cats seemed to take to their newfound responsibilities, no matter how real they were. He did not interrupt their time together, though he did take his own few moments to wash some of his own fur, smoothing it down where it was still lightly rumpled from the earlier encounter with Airclan.
When Precious returned from the nursery, Stagtooth leveled his gaze back at the kittypet, head tilting.
"Of course," he said, nonchalantly. "I'm a warrior, am I not? Built for the physical tests that arise, no matter how close to one another."
Besides, he would not trade the chance to see the Moonstone for himself simply because he was tired. None of the other cats would ever let him live it down.
"Come. Let's see about those traveling herbs."
Guiding the other towards the medicine den, he slipped into the small overhang of rock hidden in the gorse where the stubby brown cat was filtering through a spread of herbs along the ground. Three distinct piles were laid out, one for each of them, clearly. The tom glanced up at them as they entered the cool space, quick to acknowledge the pair.
"There you are," he meowed, gesturing to the herbs on the ground. "These are for each of you." And though he spoke to both Stagtooth and Precious, it seemed as though the brown tabby were only truly looking to Precious as he explained each herb and their purpose. Why? Stagtooth wondered. Did their medicine cat think that it was information Precious would make use of...?
"Chamomile for strength of heart, daisy leaf for easing aching joints, lamb's ear, ragweed, and ragwort leaves for physical strength, sorrel to build up one's appetite and quench thirst. All of these together will keep you on your paws and ensure that you won't feel compelled to hunt until you're well and on your way back."
The tabby stared at Precious, with Stagtooth watching curiously.
A few panicked breaths though, and Lark shook his head, forcing himself to CALM DOWN a little. "....Sorry, no, he's not. He's NOT that fast. Okay. It's fine! uh- Angels? Why are there- never mind! Who cares!"
STOP GETTING SIDE-TRACKED!
Lark was thankful for Alastor leading the way, despite his lack of urgency. It offloaded a touch of the overwhelm of the situation. Somebody else is making a decision on which way to go, and that was as good a direction as any.
"If anythin' happens to my son, I'm killing everyone in this room and then myself." He was being serious, but also comforting himself with the silly phrase.
Raven, meanwhile, wasn't in the lobby. The lobby was a little too busy for him; he'd wandered off into the hallways of bedrooms, slowly boring himself because...well. It's just. Doors. It's just doors! Until he came upon an old timey radio sitting on a little table. Well, that's something. He immediately got to playing with the dials. He knew about old radios, they're supposed to play westerns and stuff, right?
Lark's panic was distinctly reminding Alastor of Charlie's propensity for exaggeration and hyperventilation. He could not keep himself from rolling his eyes at the dramatics, venturing through the lobby to no avail and then diverting up to the second floor via the stairs, expecting Lark to follow.
"Your hysterics solve nothing, I hope you realize," the radio demon stated plainly, unafraid of agitating or otherwise hurting the other's feelings as he trotted along the balcony that overlooked the lobby, then began to trail towards the halls properly.
"There are only so many places he can be."
And, he realized after a few moments, that his ears were picking up on a signal that had gone from being stagnant and silent to suddenly present.
One of his radios that were littered across the hotel: a means of his own style of monitoring without necessarily needing to be present. Not many fiddled with the things, as most were put off by even the prospect of Alastor's presence or drawing his attention to them. Only a curious stranger would think to purposefully catch his ear.
"I think I have an idea of where he might be hiding."
Or... standing in plain sight, perhaps.
Either way, Alastor did not wait for Lark to follow in close behind before he began to make his way - a bit less urgently - towards the radio in question, ears twitching to listen for the signals that were waxing and waning as Raven adjusted the dials. The little cat would likely find some music playing on any number of the stations, but the radio itself would glow an eerie shade of bright green as Alastor neared it.
The center is specifically for transgender procedures so they’re always great. The doctor is well versed in plastic surgery to address keloid scars in a variety of people- and he told me that where I was getting 3-4 injections per side from the dermatologist I visited in the clinic, I SHOULD be getting upwards of SIXTY per side to address the level of scarring I have.
So he wants to do it in the operating room to be able to do it in that sheer volume without the agony that would come with doing that many injections directly into fatty tissue in a clinic.
I agreed- and now I just wait for more info to see if my insurance will cover it with the right letter from my old gender therapist (who hopefully will be able to provide another letter without too much hassle).
And then hopefully the injections over a several month period will lead to flattening of the scars with much less pain and itching from them.
I’m optimistic!! I’m just hoping it won’t cost me an arm and a leg. But we’ll see what insurance will do.
Thanks for your well wishes!! It’s the first step of what I imagine will be a significant journey to get my scars addressed but we’ll get there!!!
Whether or not Vox noticed or simply chose to ignore Alastor's untoward reactions to his affections, it was not apparently clear. There was a very good possibility that he'd simply grown used to Alastor's particulars over the decades, and once he'd forcibly removed the Radio Demon from the pedestal he'd perpetually elevated him to, it was a lot easier to brush off his particulars as just that.
It was a solution in kind, if in the past Vox may have fixated and asked Alastor a million times if everything was to his liking. Now, he sailed past it, carrying the evening onward to greener pastures rather than let Alastor dominate with his specific way of feeling and reacting.
As Alastor settled to him, Vox embraced him more tightly His hands sneakily falling down to Alastor's tush. Not in any lewd way, or at least he wasn't trying to be lewd. That was just where his hands naturally fell. So what if he gave a self indulgent squeeze every once in a while, that wasn't a crime?
He'd just had the deer's dick in his mouth, for crying out loud!
Though when Alastor had faltered, Vox's hands slipped out of the dangerous zone, and up his back, stroking tenderly as he listened, fingers walking up the knobs of his spine contemplatively.
Vox's heart thumped at the indication that it wasn't his fault. His eyes rounded too, he couldn't help but startle, so used to accusations. This was affirmed as Alastor rehashed the old grievance, and a thrum of pain helpped itself to Vox's chest involuntarily.
"You say that, but you're just as much a man as I am," Vox offered in return, more conversational than aggressive, even as he rolled his eyes. "For all I know you're the one trying to use me."
And he was guarded enough to have considered that option. Stupid enough to succumb to his cravings anyway. At least he could own that part, even as Alastor seemed to struggle with his own reality. That feeling wasn't unfamiliar to Vox, it was simply that in the context of the Radio Demon, he never doubted how much he wanted, even in the deepest throes of self-loathing and avoidance. And despite himself, as Alastor talked about fucking, his traitor cock twitched against Al's thighs (Vox ignored it, fighting his discomfort).
But Alastor had always been more prideful and vain than Vox was, and that was really saying something.
"Al," Vox spoke slowly, and to some extent like he was explaining something rudimentary to a particularly slow child. "Until I bumped into you the other day I was wearing the same sweatpants for the last three weeks-" he wasn't proud to admit it, but he was also trying to prove a point. "I hadn't left Vee Tower in longer, and I was entertaining summoning that one manic-depressive exorcist to hurry up and finish the job since Val and Vel refused to." At that he paused, swallowing thickly against the implications of what he'd just said.
"I'm not here seeking thrills, I've had more than enough thrills to last an afterlife," to say nothing of the gaping hole that kept widening inside of him the longer he remained benched and doing absolutely nothing of importance.
"I spent 70 years without fucking you- well not literally anyway.... I can probably spend another 70 years that way if you don't want more."
It stung. The thought stung, it did. But that wasn't so much for the physical relief it would bring about, and more so because Vox wasn't sure what he could possibly do or say to make Alastor understand the nature of his affections and needs.
Stupidly, he felt a prick at the corner of his eyes, and before he could blink it away a tear had trickled down the planes of his screen, only beading with a real, wet, surface tension when it hit the edge of his screen and pooled over to drip on Alastor's collar bone.
"Shit," Vox scoffed at himself, as another tear slipped out without his consent, and he made to raise a fist so he might press the tear (and any that might follow) out of his eyes.
Nothing said secure and satisfied like crying between sexual acts.
"I already did use you. Or have you forgotten?" Perhaps not in the way he'd originally intended, but all the same, Vox's fumble had been utilized rather perfectly to release Alastor from at least one of his longer-lasting deals. In that way, the radio demon knew he was not immune to taking advantage of something or someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time. In the moment, however, he'd believed their relationship to be well and truly lost, though he did not want to risk saying that aloud.
"But I remain here nonetheless, giving you whatever truth I am capable of giving after the fact. If I had only ever seen you as just a tool to be worked over, then we would not be having this conversation at all."
And he would have killed Vox himself a long time ago.
Alastor did not enjoy being condescended to, but he presumed that it was not intentional in the way Vox seemed to carry on through his explanation. Silent, save for a few slight crackles of white noise which may have signified his discomfort for the topic of conversation, Alastor listened anyway, disconcerted by Vox's admission - for a desire to die.
That, for some reason, did not fully surprise him.
But it was not that which made the radio demon still entirely. It was the other's spoken assurance that such bodily involvement would not be necessary. Or... at least, it would not be taken unwillingly; would not be used to hold over his head as a promise unfulfilled. Alastor found it difficult to trust such a notion, the fur on the back of his neck prickling uneasily as he mulled that over in his head, wondering about its sincerity -
Until he noticed the tear; felt it gently spatter against his fur and watched as Vox tried to stifle it.
While he could not be one-hundred percent certain (of anything, really), he knew Vox well enough to consider such a display of weakness and fragility - vulnerability, even - to be entirely unwanted and likely even embarrassing, damaging an already wilting sense of pride and ego that Alastor assumed still struggled for air after all that had occurred.
He did not like it, he realized. At least... not as a concept. Vox's large eyes were rather enticing when they were rounded and gave off the impression of something more than just bravado and anger. But Alastor knew that if he were to begin to repair what he had lost - or to build something new, anyway - he did not want to see Vox begin to crumble. Not by his own doing.
A hand extended, he braced it gently against the side of the other's face, his clawed thumb brushing curiously at where that tear had fallen - had become real, in some way.
Vox always had been a strange anomaly of a demon, Alastor thought.
"I don't want for anything," he said, vainly. But even as he spoke it aloud, it was clear that there was a lie embedded within, obvious in the way that he kept his eyes rooted on Vox's, searching them; willing them to understand that they both had their own ego to contend with. Still, it did not diminish the stark softness of his touch, shifting so that he could soon get arms back around Vox's shoulders; eager to pull him back into his orbit.
"...But I could be convinced of this."
Convinced of something shared; something desired. And though his own thoughts were not broadcast so boldly and brazenly on his face like Vox's had been, they warbled, hidden, on the radio waves that emanated from his general person, unable to be fully contained if one were of a mind to hone in on that signal.
I want. I do. I want this. Whatever this is. Whatever you are.
Charlie sized him up, ascertaining that he was serious, and feeling a bit like she'd just been granted the keys to the candy factory. Alastor was so... unknowable. She hadn't considered that she might just ask him. Prematurely assuming he would just avoid any genuine attempts to get to know him.
"Okay..." she hummed speculatively, trying to to think of something good to ask while rubbing her chin.
Despite his assurance she felt if she said the wrong thing, this opportunity would shut faster than it opened. So Charlie decided she might start simple to avoid spooking too hard.
"So... You're from Louisiana. Did you live in New Orleans at any point?" She knew enough about Earth geography to ask such a question. Charlie knew this and that about all the major cities around the world, it was part of her studies as a princess.
Truthfully, she was just lucky that he was in a decent mood. In spite of his inability to sleep, a good meal always put him in marginally good spirits, and as he settled at a place next to her with his dish, nodding for her to carry on with her questioning, he seemed somewhat patient.
Charlie seemed to have good instincts, however, for treading carefully around her questions and what would not immediately put him off.
"Born just outside of it, in fact," Alastor replied with a nod. "Later moved to a suburb within, then even later, into the heart of the city proper. To the French Quarter, actually. Never a dull moment there, though I wouldn't say my accommodations were especially grand. Not like I imagine you'd find now, simply because of its historical significance."
He eyed her for a few moments, curiously.
"Did I give that impression or were you simply guessing?"
His knowing stare makes her sink in on herself briefly, but she smiles meekly back at him. It's basically an impulse at this point, especially for Alastor, she knows how he gets about smiles.
Not that she feels much like smiles at the moment the more he digs into it. It's classic Alastor, she tells herself. He's just trying to get a reaction out of her, it's what he does- so why is she so hurt every time it happens? Did he really think she wasn't doing enough???
"It's not like I didn't try!" she puffs up, trying to maintain some honor here in front of his all too knowing stare. But she also is a bit reluctant to admit the reality, that a large part of that is due to so many sinners just flat out not taking her seriously until recently- and that was a weird side effect of her approach, randomly cannonballing into it after the first 150+ years of her life were spent with a cushioned distance keeping her away from mortals and their situations.
But at has invitation, both Charlie's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline,
"Seriously? You're going to let me ask questions about you- and you'll answer them too????"
Her offense is expected, and Alastor does not seem put off by it in the least. He is a prime example of an expert in rage batting- and even Charlie herself is not immune to such behavior if it means that he can find some semblance of an upper hand or a sense of superiority. Considering who and what he is, he rather enjoys it.
“I make no promises for privileged information,” he says, nonchalant as he begins to turn off the burner of the stove to begin plating his impromptu meal.
“But otherwise, why not? You’ve not exactly asked about me in the past. At least not in any sense that was not immediately relevant.”
At most times, he prefers it that way. But then, he still bristles internally when he thinks of the many occasions when not a singular soul at the hotel had stopped to check on him. Not after his encounter with Adam, not after his deal with Vox. A hypocrite, perhaps, in wanting to remain marginally unknowable and yet finding agitation when even an effort is not made.
Alastor seems willing to talk about his heritage so Charlie scoots closer in fascination to hear about the complicated ethnicity crossroads of his family. She doesn't totally get it but nods enthusiastically as if she understands it all.
She frowns at his observation, feeling a spark of defensiveness because it sounds like he's implying she's not trying hard enough with the sinners she's engaging with (and maybe she isn't? It's not like she's losing sleep over this or anything- or up in the kitchen smelling his cajan sausage instead of cuddled up in the cozy embrace of her sleeping girlfriend upstairs- HAHAHA!)
Snapping out of it, Charlie props her head on one fist, leaning the elbow against the counter.
"Well. Until recently, I haven't actually had all that much one on one interaction with sinners. I mean, sure I helped my Mom with her empowerment events and all that, but those were more like press conferences than actual community events, and obviously my Dad's not particularly fond of sinners, so no I'm not "hobbled" but it's not really been a "plethora" of insight. Then again, I don't think I have to tell you that the hotel's only starting to find its footing right about now, and other than Angel Dust and Pen it's not like there's been a long line of sinners offering up their stories to me..."
His doubts that she truly is picking up on much of anything are present, but he will not outright say so, simply giving her a bit of a knowing stare before he begins to douse his meal in a bit more seasoning which he has pre-prepared, a few small bowls of spice up-ended into the pan.
"As much sympathy as I have for your plight," he begins, though from the sarcasm in his tone, it's obvious he is hardly sympathetic at all. "-I would have long-since expected you to take the opportunity and ask before having someone freely offer up such information unprompted. You are the fearless leader, after all, are you not? To have someone of your station actually look towards them and express interest rather than standing on the sidelines in hopes that they will reach out first can sometimes be quite the motivation."
The advice is genuine, for once. Even if he is relishing a bit of the act of calling her out on her inaction in this regard.
"Practice on me, if you must."
If only because he does not foresee her being bold enough to ask him anything especially taboo.
If Alastor is annoyed or offended by her at all she has not picked up on it.
"Oh!" she chirps happy to learn. Then Charlie furrows her brows considering. "Are you Cajun?" She thought she'd heard him mention Louisiana before, and that would explain why he knew the recipe wouldn't it? (and was Charlie still trying to learn more about their mysterious Radio Demon? Maybe so, but he'd been staying with her for over a year now, prying a bit wasn't a sin, was it?)
"Ah," she sagged at that question, "Not as much as I'd like, unfortunately. I've never been, and Hellborns aren't really permitted to travel to the other realms without purpose, so I'm more or less limited to the library of Earth books I grew up with as a resource."
"Cajun-Creole, actually," he corrects. "Both sides of the French-originated genetic coin, evidently, though they're not the same thing."
Alastor, though guarded about many things, does not have much to hide about his ethnic identity, at the very least. While he cannot imagine he can teach her everything Charlie needs to know about the subject, he does not mind a few informative factoids.
He eyes her with some moderate confusion, however, at her admission.
"...As if you don't have a plethora of sinners in here who would be happy to provide some insight as to their cultures and backgrounds? You're not hobbled, you know."
btw for new followers: if you wanna interact, you're more than welcome to send an ask or a message or whatever, I'm not mutuals only so I'm down to clown as long as you respect da rules and all that good shit
I'm CHILL I'm RELAXED
Actually Charlie is glad it's Alastor and not someone else. She's happy that the hotel is more full than ever before- but she's also a bit burnt out on social interactions. Hanging out with Alastor is like hanging out with an old friend, and a lot less of a social burden.
Charlie kicks her feet absently, her pajama pants flowing with the movement.
"Oooo that sounds yummy!" Then she considers it deeper. "Actually, to be honest, I don't know what cajun is or tastes like, but I'm sure you know what you're doing!"
Alastor's capacity for prolonged social interactions has diminished over the years - along with his general brand of whimsy. When necessary, he can summon up the energy. But for now, he prefers not to.
Her ignorance might agitate at some other time, but it's late enough and he is more focused on his food than being irate.
"Cajuns are an ethnic group primarily found in the state of Louisiana. With them comes certain cultural practices and staples. Like flavors of food and specific spices. Cajun sausage is simply a sausage cooked with one such spice."
He stirs the contents of the pan, one ear swiveling in her direction.
"Not especially familiar with Earth culture, I suppose?"
Okay, don't mind him, he just had a hankering for a midnight snack. For once, he's not attempting to slide into the kitchen to try messing with someone who's cooking there. He's just going to calmly and quietly move towards the pantry and leave well enough alone and let Alastor attend to his cooking and--
....fuck, that smells good, though. He swivels his head around to view Alastor while the rest of his body stays pointed towards the pantry for a moment, mid-reach for a bag of shark gummies. "What'cha makin' there. Smells damn good."
Ah. And, as if by divine intervention, the one that inserts himself into Alastor's moment of meditation must be Vox. With a small roll of his eyes, he decides that finishing his meal prep is more important than being too annoyed.
"Beef ziti," he replies. "Ground beef, pasta, mozzarella. Simple, but filling. It'll go well with the apple spice cupcakes I was making an effort to bake. Not quite as sweet as some other confections that people around here may prefer me to make."
She interrupts (unintentionally) but hearing the noise in the kitchen was more or less a green light for Charlie to steamroll in and try and bond with the other insomniac among them.
Charlie invites herself to sit at the kitchen island, and examine his work.
"Oooo watcha making? Midnight snack? Sounds like fun! Just don't put any cheese in it- I heard eating cheese too late can give people bad dreams!" And on and on she goes.
His ears twitch as Charlie's voice interjects on his zen, sparing the other a sideways glance as she settles in close.
Too good to be true, he supposes.
Breathing out a small sigh, he does not stop from where he is searing a few things inside a pan.
"It tends to evade me, at times," he commiserates.
"Cajun sausage and summer vegetables. Or - as close as one gets to it down here. Easy one-skillet meal, if you've got the right size. No cheese, as far as I know."
