pushka
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Everyone is acting so weird around Alastor. Acting as though he’s a ticking time bomb. The only person who isn’t acting like that is Vox, who lovingly jokes around with Alastor every morning. It doesn’t matter that he’s sicker than normal and feels freezing to the touch. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Alastor is completely sane, and he loves Vox.
Or: Alastor is definitely not sane but still loves Vox
Bookmarked by pushka
26 Feb 2026
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Alastor had the voice of an angel. That's what everyone said before they saw him. It was easy, on the radio, to sing and talk his heart out without the look. The look that people gave him. Usually, it was the white folk. In the booth, they'd look at him with disdain and resentment. How tormenting it must be, to their feeble minds, to be doing work to support a mixed-Creole man with brown skin. Other times, it was other black folk. His skin was too dark to be welcomed by the white man, and too light to be accepted by his own community.
So he found his comfort behind a microphone. Where no one could see him, and everyone would listen.
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Or: An AU where the characters of Hazbin Hotel lived in 1930s New Orleans. Alastor is a singer/entertainer busting his ass off to make himself known. He comes to meet a young, lively man that goes by Vox. An entertainer, too, at least he says he is. Vox has many, many ideas that involved Alastor. Many that Alastor does not take kindly too, or, at least he says he doesn't.----
Author's note: Many, many 1930s music will be mentioned in this fic :) it will be a semi-slow burn. I'm obsessed with S2E4, can you tell?- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by pushka
26 Feb 2026