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Hell is Other People (except when it's not) by issu (Issushaim)
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
31 Jan 2026
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Summary
The Hell he emerged to was nothing like he remembered. No, it was more like the Hell the priest of his childhood had painted melodramatic visions of: a wasteland of desolate fire and brimstone under red skies, of agonising solitude—though it was hardly separation from God he cared about.
An AU in which things went rather differently at the end of s2, in a series of 666 word fics.
[A] Alone
Series
- Part 1 of A P O C A L Y P S E 666
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“I don’t trust him,” Alastor bites out, because it's true. It’s different. He doesn’t trust anyone, let alone Vox. All the man knows how to do is lie. “I just know him.”
There’s a soft, throaty chuckle as Valentino waves the smoke from his face to take a slow sip of his drink, closing his eyes briefly in pleasure before cracking one open to look at Alastor smugly. “Mm, and you also know that he wants to fuck you, don’t you, baby?” Discomfort crawls down Alastor’s spine, something ugly and hard settling in the pit of his stomach. “That cutesy, flirty shit you were pulling in front of the whole city—even your tits were falling out, which, nice touch by the way—yeah, you know him.”
Alastor has a plan. Then again, so does Valentino.
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There’s a shadow of disdain in Vox’s expression as he looks at Carmilla, too, and when he speaks his voice is dripping with a questioning sort of condescension. “I’ll be blunt,” Vox says smoothly, and this time deliberately allows his eyes to flick towards Alastor—and it’s quite obvious the precise moment that Carmilla realises where this is heading; she briefly casts her eyes heavensward as she visibly exhales in resignation and folds her arms. “I just can’t help but wonder why there’s a child here, Ms. Carmine, and what that says about this whole…” Vox waves his claws vaguely, “...operation.”
Alastor knows what he wants—and unfortunately for Vox, he doesn't have much say in the matter.
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Vax—an ugly, uninspired name that has clearly crushed him under the weight of his progenitors combined egos and expectations—is sitting in one of the armchairs and muttering furiously to himself. Occasionally two of his arms twitch in an unconscious, violent gesture before returning to fist the crumpled fabric at his knees. The boy is, as Angel has whispered cruelly under his breath on more than one occasion, ‘fucked in the head’.
Of course they’d considered the possibility that he might be a spy—for all of about five minutes, that is, by which time it had quickly become apparent that the boy is…well—simultaneously unstable, pathologically incapable of telling a convincing lie, in possession of a hatred for Vox that dwarfs any animosity even Alastor himself has ever felt for the man, and most delightfully suffers from a cavernous lack of self-esteem.
And with it, naturally, a deep seated, violently desperate need for recognition and approval!
Vax comes to stay at the hotel, and Alastor scents blood in the water.
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As his friendship - Vox supposes that's what they're calling it, anyway - with Alastor suffers its ups and downs, Vox finds himself drunkenly entering into a deal with an irritatingly charming whore for regular venting sessions. Secrecy is guaranteed, so what's the problem? A strict no-sexual-contact clause, because Vox isn't into men. He's really not.
Or: Vox uses a hooker as his therapist, and gets a lot more than he bargained for.
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Radiostatic yuri gift art created for Lvndr_ for the Technical Difficulties server 1 year anniversary gift exchange!
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He wonders, sometimes, if Val ever stopped hurting him—would Vox stop caring?
Fixing Val's mistakes, that's what Vox does. Angel supposes he's another of those mistakes.
Angel never expected to be taking comfort in Vox, of all people.
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138 unread messages.
9 missed calls.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Lately, Val’s been acting really fucking weird.
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"You must be tired," she murmurs, voice gentle.
Alastor doesn't respond. It's certain to be a trap—though whether the snare would be in answering or in remaining silent, it's impossible to tell. Lilith's moods are as flighty as her fancies, and he's long since resigned himself to the futility of trying to keep up.
So he says nothing, only keeps his eyes closed and forces himself not to react to the fingers that are combing through his hair with mock affection, lingering at the base of his ears and sliding down to scratch lightly at the nape of his neck. His cheek is pressed against the plush swell of her thighs where she sits, cradling him against her legs indulgently like a treasured pet.
Well, it's half true; the collar around his neck attests to that.
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Angel didn't feel like teasing, didn't really care about making it feel good despite Val's instructions; Vox was high enough off Val's shit that it didn't really matter anyway. He just wanted Vox to remember this, to remember him, that he was only here and doing this because of—
"I'm glad you invited me, Val," Angel lied with hooded eyes and a slow spreading smile, just to see Vox tense and watch the rise and fall of his chest quicken. "It's a real privilege."
VHW: bonus fic
Series
- Part 8 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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Angel leant forward, but not for Vox—he craved Val's attention, Val's approval, and suddenly he didn't give a shit whether Vox wanted him here or not.
Because when had Vox ever cared about what happened to Angel?
Day 7: Val has them right where he wants them.
Series
- Part 7 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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"Smiles," Angel says, and Vox kind of hates how affectionate he sounds, because it's just like the way he used to speak to Alastor back when they—"Babe, we've been over this." Alastor's frowning with his eyes even as his smile never wavers, though he does at last approach to stand in front of Vox, hands tucked behind his back as he leans in, peering down at him. "Sex don't have to involve sticking your dick in anything."
Day 6: Angel has a plan.
Series
- Part 6 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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"You're too stubborn, Voxy," Val murmured into his neck, "you've always wanted him, and now you'll understand why he's worth keeping around."
Day 5: Vox finally gets to try Val's poison, though not quite in the way he'd imagined.
Series
- Part 5 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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"Is that a no to a drink?" Vox had said again, shifting where he sat and looking adorably uncomfortable as he glanced to the side, mouth a tight line.
They really were so cute when they tried to act unaffected.
Day 4: Val reminisces on their first meeting.
Series
- Part 4 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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He just—well, there was no mirror back here, but he could see enough of himself to know he looked like a fucking joke.
Day 3: Alastor and Velvette know best.
Series
- Part 3 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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So here Vox had remained, in stasis, dressed up like an embarrassing doll that loudly proclaimed the weakness of Alastor's own sentimentality.
Day 2 of VHW: Alastor owns Vox's soul.
Series
- Part 2 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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The Importance of a Work-Life Balance by issu (Issushaim)
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
03 Mar 2025
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Summary
"You know he has eyes everywhere," Val murmured, leaning back and eyeing Alastor through the haze of smoke. "And I'd say he's lost his privileges tonight, wouldn't you?"
Day 1 of VHW: Val and Alastor tire of waiting.
Series
- Part 1 of Vox Humiliation Week 2025
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"Hey, hey—" Vox is bending down and snapping his fingers in front of Alastor's face, demanding his attention in an obnoxious, cocksure way he never used to dare. "Eyes on me."
But Alastor can't bring himself to do it; can't help the way his gaze instead darts from side to side like a cornered animal—because although he can think of little more humiliating than fleeing from Vox, the alternatives are—well. Worse is likely something of an understatement. Whatever Vox came here to do, he can't imagine it's to help him.
After the fight with Adam, Alastor is found by the last person he ever wanted to see.
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There, sitting on the edge of Alastor's bed, legs lazily crossed with one hand splayed out behind him, is Lucifer. His expression is strangely inscrutable, and Alastor despises the way it crawls down over him, taking in every loathsome detail of the humiliating state he's found himself in.
"Get out," he rasps—because there's no use asking how he got in. There probably isn't a single place in Hell that could keep Lucifer out if he put his mind to it. "Or are you enjoying the view that much?"
"Honestly?" Though Lucifer does not exactly smile, a dark shadow of amusement dances across his face before being replaced by something more resigned, almost disappointed. "Not as much as I thought I would. It's kind of pathetic, actually."
Alastor hadn't wanted anyone to see him like this, least of all Lucifer.
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“It’s been three years, you asshole!” was the first thing Vox said. He sounded— it was hard to say, really. Furious, hurt, relieved. A far cry from the charming composure of his on-screen demeanor. Then the second: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Alastor found himself frozen, overly self-conscious of the way his ears lay pinned back in a way neither of them could miss, broadcasting his discomfort in that very primal way he despised. At least his smile was still in place, albeit tight and closed-mouthed, straining over the grimace of his teeth.
“Hello, Vox,” he said stiffly, taking another sip of whiskey just to have something to occupy himself with. “I suppose it’s been a while.”
Day 7 of Radiostatic Week: Last Fight
Series
- Part 6 of Radiostatic Week 2024
- Part 6 of The Beautiful Lie