Pric_is_here
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Set pre-canon, 80s StaticMoth.
Situations where Vox feels like he should be enough to fit whoever that 'special someone' Val keeps talking about. He realizes otherwise.
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He curled his tall frame up into the bed, blanketing himself with his wings as he stroked his healthy antenna.
He didn't want a lot of things. He also wanted a lot.
•┈┈┈••✦ vVv ✦••┈┈┈•
A fic about how Valentino feels about most things. Situations where he finds things he doesn't want, especially after a night with some bad memories.
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He hooked his arm aggressively through Angel's, grabbing the bag from the floor. "Come on, Angel, we're leaving!"
Angel just caught Vox's astonish expression as the doors of the elevator closed, but he could feel the fury radiating off of him.
If Angel wouldn't die to exterminators tonight, he might die at the hands of Vox.
oOo
Valentino invited Angel over to stay the night during extermination in hell. Unfortunately, Vox isn't too happy about the invasion.
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Vincent Whittman, a power chaser playboy in his early 40s, works as a news broadcast co-host for a local network in 1943 Chicago. Everyone is enamoured with him, yet that doesn't seem to be enough for him: he lives in the shadow of his (more experienced) colleague, stuck in the same position for the past 10 months, with no sight of a promotion anytime soon. So when one day he's offered to interview a guy who's allegedly saved Illinois' Governor's wife from an armed robber, he jumps at the opportunity. Yet just as things start to be going his way, Vincent ends up regretting this decision. Because when he finds out that the man he has to interview is a handsome 28 year old sex worker from Puerto Rico, all his certainties about his sexuality crumble to pieces.
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Vax is still struggling to sleep by himself. With Valentino out for the night, Vox urges himself to be more understanding.
Like his mother was to him. (Minor Vincent flashbacks)
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Household Hanahaki by hazbeing (writtenwordsaloud) for borzoieyes
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
30 Jul 2025
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If the hem had come a little lower, if the shoes had been something else entirely, Vox would have compared it to some 50s fashion. Val was wearing this for him, knowing how feral Vox could get about certain unostentatious outfits. But it was the housewife vibe with Val’s particular flair. The boots specifically. Blue and white, the bottoms being more like Mary Janes than Val’s usual high heels. Somehow it all worked, as it always did whenever Val put anything on.
Vox swallowed back the petals in his throat.
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“To me,” Vox told the baby, “it seems like bad parenting to leave your helpless kid for a whole month with two unstable psychopaths and their parole officer. But hey. Who am I to judge.”
No intelligent reply was forthcoming.
Or: not-so accidental baby acquisition, starring the three least responsible idiots this side of the Pentagram.