venisn
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If there truly was a Hell on Earth, Vincent had firmly found himself there.
He couldn't wrap his head around how his life had gone ass up; how he'd fallen so far from grace that he went from scraping the heavens with greedy hands, to crashing down, down, down into the deepest pit. He had been a god. Worshiped by the masses, adored in every American home, families gathered around the altar, eyes locked onto their televisions. Unable to look away from him.
Vincent had clawed and fought and murdered up the entertainment ladder, rung by bloody rung. Proved every rich executive wrong who dared to laugh at him, doubt him. He was the phoenix: transformed and reborn from the ashes of the bumbling, stuttering, weak weatherman, grateful for scraps. He was the voice of the people, who, with a righteous baptism, would usher forth a bigger, better, brighter future of entertainment.
And then, right on the precipice of ascension, his dreams shattered around him.
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The year is 1952, and Vincent Whittman is sent to the Hazbin Lunatic Asylum for his safety and, more importantly, the safety of others. But Vincent will soon learn he's not the only monster stalking these halls...Bookmarked by venisn
08 Jun 2026
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“Alastor?” Vincent calls out more urgently. He doesn’t waste any time and swings the door open, stepping quickly into a narrow set of descending stairs. “Are you okay?”
There’s a familiar iron tang in the air. He recognizes it well from the operating room. It’s blood and the smell thickens, permeating the air as he approaches the last step. Vincent’s heart pounds in his chest. For there to be that much blood-- he’s already rolling his sleeves up preparing for a massive injury.
Alastor looks up at him, a furrow in his eyebrows. He’s wearing a white apron stained red. A meat cleaver in one hand. A human body laid out on the steel table in front of him, its two legs missing. The blood is still dripping. It hasn’t even started coagulating yet.
Vincent’s breath stutters. He stares, not comprehending what this is; what he’s seeing.
Alastor sighs and wipes his hands on his apron, setting the knife beside the body. “Oh, my dear, I wish you wouldn’t have come down here.’’
Or Vox is on his way to a surgical conference and after a broken down car is picked up by a kind local to use his phone, unfortunately he stumbles across what happens in the basement.- Language:
- English
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- 26,181
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- Kudos:
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- Bookmarks:
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Bookmarked by venisn
06 Jun 2026
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they say the world will end in fire and brimstone by Irullana
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
05 Apr 2026
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A dog will gnaw on the table’s leg, and a cat will claw the drapes, and a television will drink from his master’s cup and swallow his pills. And, Alastor thinks, if the pet is very clever and very frightened, he will pick the one lock he was forbidden to touch, to remind himself that he still has teeth, to remind himself that he is here and he matters and he endures!
The Radio Demon’s smile unfurls, slow and delighted. Oh, Vox. What delicious, suicidal, fun!
Bookmarked by venisn
01 Jun 2026
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“What the fuck does this mean?!”
She cocks her eyebrow at the screenshot then him.
Vox eventually realizes that he just flashed her a picture of him riding Valentino and his vents heat with his blush. He vooms in on what he's talking about specifically and glares at her again.
“It's a fertility blessing—or curse depending on who you ask,” she answers him plainly, “It’s ancient succubi magic. Usually used between hellborns and humans who are having a hard time conceiving."
“What is it doing on me!”
She huffs, “You tell me, kid.”
Series
- Part 1 of Our Own Form of Redemption
Bookmarked by venisn
19 May 2026
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Summary
Vincent receives a visit from his future self. Turns out that ‘getting ahead’ can be easily misconstrued.
Bookmarked by venisn
13 May 2026