#TV demon

[dysfunctionalcreature]

here's the thing, I fully believe that Alastor is aroace, but I also believe that he would commit to dating someone if he thought that doing so would be really entertaining. like absolutely Al hates Vox, but if he discovered that calling Vox "babe" made him consistently short-circuit and fry any other nearby VoxTek, I think he would seriously consider starting to call Vox "babe" just to get to see him bluescreen and wreck his own tech

[jelidonnut]

📺💜

[dragengyrr]

Forever and always screen time 🖥️

[this-hazbin-quoted]

Vox: Velvet, I can’t believe it! Alastor just liked my selfie!

Alastor, in a different part of the Pentagram, putting down his phone: Well that’s enough charity work for today.

[jmb-reverie]

@sallufix’s Disconnected DTIYS ‼️

I went a little abstract with the connection idea. I thought an aux chord would be a great physical and metaphorical connection “tying” them together…If only they’d just plug in and tune in to each other’s heart songs… I hope it got the point across! I really enjoyed working with the colors and expressions. There’s a few different versions of this one. Gosh I love love love my angsty boys 📺💜📻

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Hoping that this isn't weird but IMAGINE Vox having everything, fame, money, power, but he loses the one thing he treasures the most on extermination day– his family. Like imagine if Vox and his pregnant wife had this hugee argument before extermination day causing her to storm out of the tower, but he didn't chase her cause it was just probably the hormones and she'd come back. But she didn't manage to come back in time. So Vox had to wait in the tower cause he couldn't go out and pray that she was okay. After the extermination, he of course went ballistic trying to find her, jumping from camera to camera until he found her corpse in some random dark alley. What would be the aftermath? I HOPE THIS ISNT WEIRD I JUST CRAVEE ANGST ‼️‼️😭

A/N — I rewrote this a total of four times 😭 I hope this satisfies your need for angst, my lovely anon. This is the one my sister finally approved for everyone to see. Poor kid hates reading my fanfic and she's been subjected to being my conscience while I wrote this. I had to bribe her with coffee and a 20 piece nugget from McDonald's to get her to read more than a paragraph 😭

Fade To Black

Warnings: ANGST, pregnancy, Fem!Reader, loss of wife + child, Vox in denial, got kinda dark with the implications at the end(?), Alastor is mentioned a few times. Guys, I'm literally so sorry

Word Count: 1.2K

“You're not listening to me!” You reiterated for what felt like the billionth time, your gaze momentarily darting to the small curve of your stomach where one of your hands rested securely, the other on your hip.

Vox sighed, exasperated. “Listen, Doll, I'm hearing what you're saying and—”

“—That's exactly the problem! You're hearing what I'm saying but you're not actually listening to me, Vox! For Hell's sake, step away from your work and weird obsession with the Radio Demon for two seconds and focus on what's important!” 

The words felt like knives as you spoke them, each one spearing the air of the penthouse. The room fell silent. The other vees were no stranger to the arguments that broke out, hell, they were a part of most of them. . . But not this one. . . Vox stiffened and squared his shoulders. 

“My work is important. My work is what allows us to live the afterlife we do.” He said, his tone firm, almost condescending. 

“And what about your obsession, huh? Watching the rinky-dink hotel cameras in your office after hours for a glimpse of that antlered little freak who doesn't give a shit about you — when you should be home, here, with me?” 

You waited for an answer, yet Vox only stared at you. It was painfully clear that he didn't know what to say. “Lucifer's tits — fuck you!” You hissed, throwing your hands up in the air, showing just how done you were with all of this.

The next moment, you were turning on your heel and storming out of the room. 

Vox only scoffed and dropped onto the couch, watching as you walked away. Hormones. He thought to himself. It had to be.

He'd never seen you so worked up about his late nights at the office. Never seen you so angry when referencing Alastor, who had once been a good friend and mentor to you. 

Hormones. It was the only logical explanation, right?

He let you go, knowing you needed your space. . . Knowing you'd come home once you cleared your head and had just enough patience to once again approach the topic with a semi-level head, likely once the extermination was over.

You knew the moment you cleared the doors of the tower that you had likely overreacted. The hot, dry air of Hell against your skin seemed to bring the realization to the forefront of your mind. 

Yet it was pride and stubbornness that kept you from turning back to the tower, rather storming through the desolate back alleyways, a metaphorical thundercloud looming over your head.

Vox hadn't followed you, and you weren't about to give him the satisfaction of going back. You loved him, and you knew he loved you too — as shocking as it was that the two of you found genuine love in Hell.

As much as you loved him, he infuriated you, even more so now that you were carrying his child. . . 

The carnage of Extermination Day met your ears and your steps faltered, drawing you to a stop as your instincts then screamed at you to go home. To go where it was safe. 

Safe. 

Safe at Vox's side. At home. . .

How could you have forgotten what day it was? The anger. It had to have been the reason for your lapse in memory. . . So you began heading back towards the tower. 

Pride and stubbornness be damned.

Sticking to the shadows, you ventured forward towards the net of safety that you so desperately needed.

So close, yet so far.

Too far. 

It'd been too long. 

You'd been gone too long. 

The moment Extermination Day had been declared finished, Vox was out looking for you. Every camera on every street he could possibly reach. 

Every sinner he found dead and dying in the streets, he hoped he wouldn't see your face. Your beautiful face. . . The thought alone made something twist in his gut like a double edged blade — fear, he recognized. 

Pure unbridled fear. 

Fear of losing you. Fear of losing the two most important beings in his entire afterlife. 

He searched for what seemed like forever, until he caught a glimpse of you in an alleyway, almost entirely hidden from view. He easily recognized your clothes you had been wearing that day and your hair — oh, how he loved that hair. 

Relief flooded him as he rushed towards you, though it disappeared, his heart plummeting as he dropped to his knees.

“Hey, Doll, wake up. . . It's okay, it's over.” He said, his voice shaky as his hands came up to either side of your face. 

“You did good. . . You played dead so you could survive. They're gone now — you can open your eyes, Doll. . . Please open your eyes. . .” He begged softly, his touch and voice becoming more frantic.

“No, no, no, open your eyes for me, okay? I know you're mad at me, Doll, I'm sorry. . . I'm so sorry. . . Wake up. . . Wake up. . . Wake up. . .” He pulled your body closer to his, clutching you close. One hand held the back of your head to his chest, the other trailed down to your stomach. 

Too many emotions clawed at him as he begged you to wake up, to give up the charade. . . He made promises to make it up to you. He'd spend more time at home with you. He'd give up on his obsession with Alastor. He'd do it. He would do it for you. . . 

But it was too late. . . The blood that soaked your clothes and his was a chilling reminder. . . The all powerful TV Demon choked out a sob as your skin turned cold beneath his hands. 

His world stopped spinning, the axis snapping and floating off into the abyss as he held you close. . . He wasn't used to feeling your skin cold. He was used to the warmth, the life, the light that came from you. 

He couldn't feel you. 

And it killed him. 

He couldn't breathe. His chest ached. Nothing in all of Hell mattered more than you. More than the child that had been created out of love and the use of a loophole within Hell's complex laws of nature. 

And now it had been ripped away from him. He hated himself. He was angry. 

It felt as if the light and warmth had been sucked out of his universe, leaving nothing but cold darkness that seeped into his very soul, gnawing at him, tearing him apart from the inside out. 

He could hardly remember his afterlife before you. Now, facing a reality where he'd have to live in an afterlife without you. . . It consumed him in all the wrong ways. . . 

He wanted you back. 

He needed you back. 

Yet the darkness that gnawed and clawed at his entire being, the absence of you — your light that was supposed to guide him through this perpetual landscape of flame and rot for all eternity. . . The shadows remained like a constant reminder, a plague of its own, slowly eating away at him at every opportunity. 

Without your light, he was nothing. 

Without your laugh, he was nothing. 

Without your attitude, he was nothing. 

Without your warmth, he was nothing.

Nothing more than a shell of the overlord he used to be. . . And when the shadows clawed at his mind like a beast seeking a debt to be paid, he let them win. 

He let it all fade to black. 

[konrenartstardust]

Favorite dynamic ship

[redvexillum]

Here me out. Vox working on wiring some new monitors and getting tangled in the wires. His lovely little assistant finds her boss stuck, wires pulling his shirt a bit up and... well... Vox is pissy becasue he's being seen stuck but he needs help. And the more he tries to wiggle out of the wires, the tighter they get and oh my, does he like that?

🦊- just a random fox passing through, nothing to see here. Def Not Kit.

Dearest Kit or Def Not Kit, I've been going feral over Vox x Reader and I have no one to blame but you for making me fall deeper in love with the flat screen TV-head demon. Your request has been living rent free in my head since the day I saw your devilish prompt sitting sexily in my inbox. Kit or Def Not Kit. Do you see my request list on my front page? Do you see how long it is? I say this with utmost love and respect for you, but damn you for making me possessed and open my word document at 1 in the morning as the story gets longer and longer. XOXO, RedVexi 💋

SUMMARY: Your boss is a class-A hole, and you had envisioned tormenting him for all the overtime he was forcing you to work. Truly, he was ensuring that your time in Hell was...Hell. Perhaps it was you burning out, but you had a very vivid, steamy dream of your boss.

...At least, you were pretty sure it was a dream.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, assistant!reader, dom/sub undertone, sub!Vox, dom!reader, hating your boss to confused h*rny, reader has vivid s*xual imagination, reader is extremely sleep deprived and is so done with Vox's shenanigans, Vox is sort-of a jerk, fluff if you squint

At first, the letters on your document seemed to shift ever so slightly, causing you to misread some of the words. You squinted, trying to focus on each letter, but it was no use. The words began to dance and twist, performing their own chaotic ballet at an infuriatingly quick tempo. Your head spun, the floor beneath you tilted slightly at an angle, and a sharp pain pierced behind your eyes.  

“Ah, fuck,” you muttered, pressing your hand against the middle of your throbbing forehead in a futile attempt to alleviate the discomfort. You took a deep, fortifying breath and reached for your energy drink, downing the sickly sweet liquid that had become your elixir of life. You had lost count after the tenth can, and the end of your workload seemed to grow every time you checked your to-do list.  

Everyone else had long since left the office, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence of mandatory overtime, working under the relentless demands of the most unreasonable, Hell-worthy, boss.  

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on you, the muscles in your back and neck ached, and your mind screamed for a moment of reprieve. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glare on the endless sea of paperwork before you. Each page mocked your efforts, sadistically laughing at you to try to make sense of the cryptic mess of letters and numbers that the previous assistant had left behind.  

As you took another swig of the energy drink, the taste no longer registered, your tongue felt tingly yet numb. It was just a means to an end, a way to keep pushing forward despite the shroud of fatigue threatening to take away your sight.  

“Just a few more hours,” you whispered to yourself, a mantra of survival in the face of exhaustion. The words offered no comfort, but they were all you had now. Taking another deep breath, you picked up one of the many documents littered across your desk. One look and a wave of frustration crashed into you. What was the previous assistant even trying to achieve? 

Nothing made sense.  

Groaning, you leaned back in your chair, letting your head fall back as you squeezed your eyes shut. How many days had it been since you’d had a full night’s sleep? You’d thought being a personal assistant to the CEO of VoxTek – an Overlord of Hell – would pave your path with literal gold.  

Instead, you were wading through a relentless tide of paperwork, guzzling obscene amounts of energy drinks, and simmering in a pit of sexual frustration. Seriously, when was the last time you got laid? Every single one of your partners had left you, fed up with being forever second to your work.  

This morning, your girlfriend – ah, ex-girlfriend now – had screamed at you to choose between her and your job. Before you could respond, your Vwatch buzzed, reminding you it was time to pick up your boss’ dry cleaning.  

With an apologetic smile, you gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pleaded to postpone the conversation until after work. The last thing you heard before you closed the door was her muttering: “Go fuck yourself.” 

And…fuck yourself indeed because the moment you sat at your desk to slog through another hellish day of ungodly work hours, your phone vibrated with her text message. Her final text message telling you that she was leaving you.  

Sighing deeply, the weight of her words pressed down on you. It was a reminder that you were sacrificing everything for your job once again.  

Slowly, you opened your eyes, the fluorescent lights blinded you temporarily. You had died like this – overworked to death for a massive corporation when you were alive. Was this truly your fate, to repeat your human life in Hell?  

Could you find happiness even in this damned place? 

Your shoulders jolted up, and you scrambled to sit upright as you heard the loud crackle of electricity echoing inside the empty room. The demon responsible for your lack of sleep and failing relationships boldly strolled through your office the moment he materialized out from the security camera.  

The prick, a.k.a. your boss.  

“There you are!” Your boss, with all the glory of a cheap flat-screen TV for a head, loomed over you. With a click of his tongue, he narrowed his red digital eyes. “I asked you to bring me the reports thirty seconds ago!” he pointed at your Vwatch, the manacle chaining you to the company, to him.  

You felt your left eye twitch once, twice.  

Thirty fucking seconds.  

Was this for real? Was he seriously pissed off because you didn’t run to his fucking safety hazard of an office within thirty seconds?  

The rage simmered beneath your exhaustion, a boiling, whistling kettle ready to blow its top. The audacity of this bitch-ass baby, to demand so much for so little recognition. Every muscle in your body begged for rest, for a break from the relentless grind that had followed you from the mortal world to damnation.  

Lord, you hated him. Never mind that he could have picked up the fucking report himself.  He literally had the power to teleport anywhere in the building through the security cameras, which were everywhere.  

A sudden, intrusive thought barged its way through your mind. This was your moment. Your moment to finally release the manacle that had been wrapped around your right wrist for the past nine and a half years. A moment to throw this cheaply made watch at his equally tacky flat-screened face.  

Your left fingers twitched, but you remained still, sitting in the chair with your head bowed.  

Were you being too rash?  

Yes. You were.  

You weren’t thinking clearly, overworked and burnt out as you were. 

You couldn't quit even if you wanted to...at least not right now.

The muscles in your eyes continued to twitch as your ears slowly honed in on the sound of Vox throwing a bitch-fit, comparing you to his last assistant, who was “so” much better. He made sure to stress the word “so,” emphasizing your supposed lack of drive, productivity, and quality of work.  

You weren’t really listening to his words. His voice melded seamlessly with the whirring of the computer fans, a droning background noise to your mounting frustration. Each of his cutting remarks sliced through the restraint that held your volatile anger at bay.  

Vox could leave now that he had his report, but he chose to belittle you instead. Your gaze flickered to your wrist, to the cursed device that had dictated the course of your life. You were sure that if you threw this watch at his face, the look of shock glitching across the screen would be quite hilarious.  

“Are you even listening?” he snapped, his voice pulling you back from the haze of your addicting, intrusive thoughts.  

Your eyes flicked back up, meeting the static-filled screen that served as his face. “Yes, sir,” you lied, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.  

“God, I’m surrounded by imbeciles, you and Val–” Vox continued to rant out into the vast empty office that only housed the two of you.  

Couldn’t he see that everyone else had already left? Couldn’t he appreciate that you were still working after hours every single day for almost a fucking decade just to meet his unreasonable expectations? 

Jaws clenching, you continued to hold back your frustration and ire by the skin of your teeth. Couldn’t he just let you catch a single break? For fuck’s sake, you had just gone through a breakup because, once again, you had chosen work – chosen him – instead of your girlfriend, instead of your happiness.  

The desire to pull on his gaudy red bow tie tight, making sure he felt the constriction around his throat, was overwhelming. You imagined pushing him onto your desk, straddling him. You would make sure to crinkle all his precious reports for good measure too.  

Your gaze landed on the way the light reflected off the flat screen of his face. You would smack him, open-handed, just like you used to do with your grandpa’s old television when it fritzed out.  

You remembered your grandpa’s words: You only need one good smack to get it working right again, dear.  

Maybe all Vox needed was that one good smack to be fucking humble for once. Then your eyes dropped to the front of his pants. He was such a massive dick, probably compensating for the size of his package.  

How you wanted to strangle his limp, tiny dick, to see him helpless and subdued. Maybe you could wrap his dick with the goddamn cables you always tripped over whenever you visit his office.  

A smirk lifted your lips as you envisioned the scene. Vox, strung up by his pathetic, limp dick, his eyes wide with fear and humiliation. He would cry and whine, begging you to stop, but you wouldn’t. After all, this had been a long time coming, a deserved retribution for all the bullshit and verbal abuse he had hurled your way.  

“— and don’t get me started on the fact that you look like a hot mess! Don’t you know that VoxTek has an image to uphold–” 

You imagined forcing him to fold over your desk. You’d make him take his cock into his mouth, the humiliating act of self-servitude making him gag. With one hand, you’d grip the edge of his head, shoving his face down further, and with the other, you’d ram a thick, fat dildo into his tight, unused ass.  

His pathetic whimpers would be muffled by the growing hardness in his mouth, a pitiful noise that only drove your desire to dominate him completely.  

You’d thrust into him relentlessly, the dildo filling him over and over. The tight ring of his ass would pucker up, trying to grip the dildo, to keep it shoved up all the way in his ass. Each thrust would be a punishment, a reminder of every insult and degrading comment he had thrown at you.  

“All I’m saying is, I expect better from you–” 

You would fuck him hard and fast with the toy, spurred on by his moans he would desperately want to hold back.  

Vox let out a sardonic laugh. “Then again, maybe that’s asking too much, expecting something incredibly simple from you–” 

You would thrust into him, again.  

“You had one job, and you can’t even–” 

Again.  

“Are you even trying–” 

And again, until you forced him to swallow his own pathetic release. The thought was intoxicating, having Vox submit completely to you. You could see it vividly: his face contorting with a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure. His eyes would squeeze shut, trying to stop the tears forming in his eyes. 

“Sorry, sir,” you blurted out, feeling the heat creeping up to your cheeks and below your gut. Holy shit, were you seriously just thinking of all that? Were you fantasizing about… 

Your boss. 

Your fucking boss.

Shit.  

You were more exhausted than you thought. Clearly, you were horny, tired, and caffeinated to the point of insanity to even entertain the idea of touching your fucking boss.  

Fuck, you desperately needed rest.  

Vox paused, his eyes widened giving you a glimpse of a myriad of emotions you couldn't recognize except one: vulnerability. But that didn't make sense because you meant so little to him – he gave two shits about you.

Before you could scrutinize further, he cleared his throat drawing you away from your circling thoughts. “Yes, well, I expect you to get the reports for the new project organized before tomorrow morning.” 

This time, it was your turn for your eyes to widen. “B-but, sir, th-that's going to take me all night!” You couldn’t stop the whine from spilling out.

His expression remained impassive, the flat screen of his face reflecting your frustration and fatigue back at you. “And?” he said, his tone cold and merciless. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” 

The weight of his words doused your initial flare of anger and was now replaced with perpetual exhaustion. Your body screamed for rest, for a break from this endless cycle of work. But as you looked at Vox, you knew there was no escape, at least not tonight.  

You would push through, as you always did, because, like an idiot you had signed a contract with him to work for Voxtek for the next ten years. You couldn't afford to break that contract, as it would be an automatic forfeiture of your soul.

Curling your fingers into a tight fists, you repeated the same words that acted as your only saving grace for the past two years. You counted down the time before you could finally be freed.

Six more months.

Six more months of working under your shitty boss until you could quit and never look back.

The thought of freedom was a fragile hope, barely enough to sustain you through the grinding monotony and constant humiliation. The tension in your body slowly eased as your fists unfurled, letting your hands hang limply by your sides.

Swallowing the bitter taste of frustration, you forced yourself to nod. "Yes, sir, I'll get it–"

Vox walked away before you could finish your sentence, disappearing with a flash of electricity through his security camera.  

Sighing, you looked at the pile of papers haphazardly covering your desk. The faint hum of the overhead lights and the whirring of computer fans were your only companions. You rubbed your temples, feeling the tension in your head intensify.  

You picked up a stack of papers, and your eyes caught sight of your cell phone peeking out from the mound of documents.  

It looked like you had another long night ahead of you.  

Not that it mattered.  

You had no one to come home to anyway.  

NEXT ->

💠 MASTERLIST 💠 © Fanart of Vox by@glitterypeachy

[princesscait26]

An Unlikely Friendship

Summary: Who knew marriage came with a side of rivalry?

Alastor x Reader, Vox x No named wife, Reader x Vox’s wife platonic!

Part 2

In the confines of Alastor's radio tower, Y/n, his wife, lounges on the plush couch, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation as Alastor engages in his usual broadcasted, banter with the TV demon. With each witty comeback from Alastor, she rolls her eyes, familiar with the routine of their sparring.

As Alastor concludes his broadcast with his trademark sign-off, Y/n rises from the couch, her steps deliberate as she approaches him. With a hint of irritation, she exhales audibly before speaking, her voice tinged with sarcasm, "When are you two going to cease this endless bickering? It's like dealing with children."

Alastor, ever the charmer, feigns offense, his laughter echoing in the room. "My dear, you wound me with your accusations. I assure you, I am the epitome of civility. Once Vox comes to realize the error of his ways, our little disagreements will be a thing of the past," he responds with a disarming smile, his innocence clearly feigned.

———————————————————————

In the heart of the city, within the confines of Vox's office, his wife occupies the chair beside him, her demeanor a mixture of frustration and resignation as Vox's irritation mounts in tandem with each of Alastor's lightning-fast comebacks. With a weary sigh, she rests her head in her hand, her exasperation palpable as the verbal sparring between Vox and Alastor continues.

As the television screen abruptly flickers, losing signal, Vox releases a defeated sigh, the weight of yet another round lost evident in his slumped posture. Sensing his defeat, his wife rises from her seat, moving to console him. She envelops him in a comforting embrace, her arms encircling his neck from behind as she leans in, her voice laced with both affection and frustration, "When will you two finally put an end to this childish fighting?"

Vox swivels in his chair, his movements sharp and agitated, causing his wife to step back crossing her arms. His gaze darkens with annoyance as he retorts, his tone laced with venom, "This isn't merely bickering, my dear. We are rivals. I despise him, and he will soon realize that I am the epitome of power. That radio of his will be nothing more than a relic once I'm through." With a disappointed shake of her head, Vox's wife exits his office, leaving him to stew in his frustration and determination to best his rival, Alastor.

—————————————————————

Seated in the cozy ambiance of a charming café, Vox's wife's laughter rings out melodiously, punctuating the air as she cradles an iced coffee in her hand. Opposite her, Alastor's wife, Y/n, joins in the laughter, her own amusement evident as she delicately sips on a cup of tea.

"I can't believe this feud is still going after all this time," Vox's wife exclaims between giggles, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Y/n nods in agreement, her laughter bubbling forth, "Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like I signed up for a lifetime of babysitting rather than marriage." She punctuates her remark with an exaggerated eye roll, a smile playing on her lips.

Bonded by the shared antics and bickering of their spouses', Y/n and Vox's wife have forged a strong friendship. The two women share a knowing glance, as they exchange amused looks. It's an understanding between them, the necessity of meeting in secret. If Vox and Alastor were to discover the depth of their friendship, the consequences could be unpredictable, even chaotic.

Their laughter echoes in the cozy café, mingling with the soft clinking of cups and saucers. Y/n and Vox's wife revel in the absurdity of their situation, finding humor in the thought of their husbands' potential reactions to their clandestine meetings. Their bond forged in the secrecy of their friendship and the shared understanding of their husbands' unpredictable antics.

————————————————————————

Short story: (Should I make a part 2?) I was at war writing this as a double y/n story so you could choose who to be married to but I feared it would become too confusing.🫤

[drunkenmantis]

TV Demon

[lucifer-imaginaryfriend]

Radiostaic week 2024

Day 4: Role reversal

Is this too literal?

[xanderbaldini]

Kiss me darlin'

[paprikaries]

"Electromagnetic interference" _ sketch wip (writing exercise) Fanart/Fan-comics: Vox (the TV demon) & Alastor Pilot (the radio demon) from Hazbin Hotel (from spindlehorse studio/amazon/Vivziepop) It's an excerpt from a comic I'm creating for fun and writing exercise. I'm doing several to be honest! :F The situation is simple: they randomly found themselves in the same bar, and Alastor started teasing Vox about the failed plan during the first season and this started a series of mutual teasing.

[ripelytoo]

An electrifying sneeze fit 🤧

[mimmixerenard]

As promised, here's my attempt at drawing Vox in a more... human shape. Not an AU or anything, just me having a bit of fun. Click for better quality!