helluvabun

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forcing him to look happy in his silly little onesie

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brain off unkempt katie

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Whores with mildly entertaining holes

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RadioApple.... thing

A/n: Could be seen as not RadioApple since there's not romance, but it was written with that dynamic in mind. They're also a little OOC but I did my best. 1056 words

Lucifer's heels clicked softly on the floor of the common room as he entered, punctuating the silence. His usual bravado shimmered, muted by a flicker of something else as his eyes fell upon the lone figure in the corner.

Alastor.

Seated in a plush armchair, legs crossed, his cane resting on his lap, Alastor’s smile widened at the sight of Lucifer, though it remained sinister despite its brilliance. His red eyes gleamed, locked onto the fallen angel with predatory intensity. The static hum that followed him seemed to grow louder, feeding off the charged atmosphere between them. Lucifer observed the demon who had so arrogantly claimed a place in the Hotel.

Of all the souls in Hell, Alastor irked him most. He could tolerate the chaos of Sinners and their predictable ambitions, but Alastor was an affront to his very nature. The Radio Demon was a constant challenge, a reminder of the audacity of mortals who dared tread too close to divinity and came up short. Yet, there was something infuriatingly captivating about Alastor’s self-assured grace that kept Lucifer from dismissing him entirely.

"Lucifer," Alastor greeted, his voice dripping with vintage charm, distorted like an old phonograph. "What a delightful surprise! Come to join me for a quaint little chat, or do you simply wish to bask in my presence?"

Lucifer’s lip twitched, his gaze narrowing as he approached, the tapping of his cane echoing in tandem with his steps. "Hardly. Though I suppose I should be flattered by your assumption that I would have the time—or inclination—to indulge you."

Alastor chuckled, a deep sound that filled the room. "Oh, don’t be so dour. I hear it’s unbecoming of a king. Or is it that I make you uncomfortable, dear old Lucifer?"

Lucifer halted, his wings shifting beneath his coat. His gaze was sharp, like shards of glass, though it failed to pierce Alastor’s permanent grin. "You give yourself too much credit. You’re merely… amusing at best, Alastor."

Alastor’s smile remained, but something darker flickered in his eyes. "Ah, amusing, you say?" His voice lowered, mockery never quite leaving. "Tell me, why do I have the distinct impression that I’ve been living rent-free in that labyrinthine mind of yours?"

Lucifer’s wings flexed, feathers bristling, but he remained calm. "Rent-free? Perhaps. But the moment I find you an inconvenience, you’ll be evicted without hesitation."

Alastor rose to his feet, smooth as silk, towering over Lucifer despite the angel’s proud posture. He stepped forward, coming closer than was polite, obliterating any pretenses of civility. "I wonder," he mused softly, "is it your daughter’s project that keeps you around, or is it something more personal?"

Lucifer tightened his grip on the cane, but his gaze never faltered. "I’m here for one reason, and it’s not to entertain your delusions. Charlie’s dream�� it deserves protection."

Alastor leaned in, his grin nearly brushing Lucifer’s cheek. "Oh, but what about your dreams, Lucifer?" he whispered, the static around him caressing the air. "Or are those long dead, buried beneath centuries of failure?"

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with fury, but before he could respond, Alastor stepped back, his chuckle low and melodious. "For someone who claims to be above us all, you’re rather predictable. Everything about you—your righteousness, your arrogance—it’s all so tiresome."

"Careful," Lucifer growled, the forked tip of his tongue slipping between his sharp teeth. "You forget your place."

Alastor laughed again, wrapping his taunt around Lucifer. "I’m fully aware of my place, old friend. Right here. Standing toe-to-toe with the so-called King of Hell, yet you never quite manage to rid yourself of me."

Lucifer’s wings flared, a display of power radiating through the room. "Don’t mistake my patience for tolerance, Alastor. There’s a difference between allowing something to persist and being unable to remove it."

Alastor turned, his grin shrinking just for a moment. A flicker of something almost human passed through his eyes. "I don’t think you want to remove me, Lucifer. In fact…" His voice softened, playful lilt gone. "I think you need me."

The tension between them became a palpable force. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretching taut like a wire, ready to snap. Lucifer’s expression darkened, studying Alastor, the depths of his mind churning with unspoken thoughts.

"Need you?" Lucifer’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "You overestimate your importance. You are a mere ripple in the ocean of eternity, and I…" His wings flared wider, casting shadows, "am the storm that commands it."

Alastor tilted his head, smile returning, now sharper. "A storm, yes. But storms eventually fade. What remains after the tempest? The echoes. The whispers. The memories of those who survive."

Lucifer’s eyes burned with rage, his voice rising. "Enough of your riddles, Alastor. Speak plainly or be silent. I am not in the mood for your games."

Alastor chuckled softly. "Oh, but where would the fun be in that?" Leaning on his cane, he tapped it lightly on the floor. "Let me be clear. This hotel… your daughter’s dream… it’s fragile, delicate. And you know it’s on the verge of collapse without the right influences." His gaze flicked to Lucifer, unwavering. "You may be the storm, but I am the voice in the static. Without me, all you will have is another failure."

Lucifer tightened his grip on the cane. "You are nothing but a meddler, Alastor. A parasite feeding off the dreams of others. I could end you with a thought, and yet here you stand, as if you hold power over me."

Alastor's grin widened. "Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not about power. It’s about purpose. You could destroy me, but what would you lose? What pieces of this grand puzzle would fall apart?"

For a moment, Lucifer hesitated. The weight of those words gnawed at his resolve. He knew Alastor was dangerous, a wild card in a game where every move mattered. To remove him now could unravel more than just the Radio Demon’s schemes.

Alastor saw the flicker of doubt, and his grin turned almost gentle. "You see it now, don’t you? You may despise me, but you can’t deny I serve a purpose. Chaos needs order, and order needs chaos. Without one, the other withers."

Lucifer’s expression hardened, but his silence spoke volumes.

Alastor’s voice, velvety and dark, slid between them like a serpent. "So, tell me, my King… what will you do? Will you embrace the storm, knowing I am the wind that keeps it raging? Or will you let it die, taking your daughter’s hopes with it?"

Lucifer locked his gaze on Alastor, cold and calculating. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, low and dangerous.

"Stay out of my way, Alastor. Or you’ll learn how much of a storm I can truly be."

Alastor’s smile returned, gleaming with satisfaction. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Lucifer." He bowed mockingly. "But let me know when you’re ready to admit you need me."

Lucifer turned on his heel, wings folding against his back. "Remember your place, Radio Demon," he growled, walking away.

As Alastor’s words lingered, Lucifer stood resolute, wings poised and powerful. With a final glare, he left, the door swinging shut behind him. The conversation sealed but left behind a promise of further clashes, an inevitable dance neither could escape.

[helluvabun]

Vox x Owned!Reader drabble

323 words

Warnings: Vox being a dick, abusive undertones, controlling overtones, no starting paragraph

You stood there, heart racing, rooted to the spot. Every instinct in your body screamed to flee, but something about his presence — overwhelming and oppressive — kept you frozen in place. His voice, dripping with disdain, sliced through the silence like a knife.

“Employee? You can barely consider yourself that.” His tone was a slow drawl, laced with mocking condescension, as his cold fingers trailed gently across your cheek. It sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, his touch a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the office. He leaned in, closing the space between you, his imposing figure casting a shadow that seemed to swallow you whole.

His screen flickered, displaying faint flashes of static as he watched your reaction, taking pleasure in the fear that danced across your face. He let out a low, amused hum, his amusement palpable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he bent closer, his form blotting out everything around you.

“I own you,” he whispered, his voice a soft, sinister caress in the still air. “I control you.” His words were heavy with finality, pressing down on you like a weight you could never hope to lift.

Your breath hitched as his eyes bore into yours, glowing with cruel satisfaction.

“Everything you do belongs to me,” he continued, his words lingering in the space between you, suffocating and undeniable. “So you’re not an employee.”

He straightened up, his gaze never leaving yours, a malevolent chuckle rumbling from deep within his chest.

“You are a toy. A trophy. A pet.”

He stepped back slightly, though the sense of his ownership over you did not fade. His smile deepened, a haunting, twisted satisfaction playing across his screen. To him, you were not a person — you were a possession, a plaything. A prize.

And in that moment, you knew, with a cold certainty that wrapped around your heart, that there was no escaping him.

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based on this soap opera between @askoverlordvox and @helluvahotelfan

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In hall of steel, where weapons gleam, A dancer fair, as in a dream, An overlord of battle's art, She wields her swords with poet's heart.

With grace that rivals swan in flight, Her steps in dance, in combat's might, Each move a tale of strength and grace, A vision none can e'er replace.

O Lady of the forge and blade, In you, both beauty and crusade, My heart, a captive to your art, You hold in every thrust and dart.

With every weapon that you sell, In each blade's gleam, your story tell, For you, fair overlord, I pine, Your love, this heart of mine entwine.

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Big Zesty

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a scene from this roleplay thread with @zestialmorde and @overlordvox

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An attempt at a Voxtek magazine ad

read more for asset/inspo page thing

and a look at the individual elements on vox bc I could not count the lines >.>

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Some bad fanfiction, Some mid fanart.

Don't ask how much time I waste using Canva to 'save time' by not learning a new platform

Main Blog: Pseudobun

Zestial roleplay blog: ZestialMorde

OC roleplay blog: RueTheFae

Susan roleplay blog: UghSusan

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Little Vox sheet

Testing the limits of Canva, Vark is my Crème de la crème

edited bc I uploaded the wrong sheet. All elements are the same just placement and the background is different :)

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Angel Dust!!! One of the first ones I did and therefore one of the more simplistic, but I think it works in his favor. No background this time but I'm running out of spoons working on some of the harder characters (the ones with more human canon designs are killing me).