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I think they should continue letting Niffty do all the murders in S2 :]

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Alastor's eyes narrow as he processes his angelic counterpart's statements, deliberating on this new information. The level of caution is perhaps unusual for how quick-witted he can be, but the revelation of redemption is not something to be dismissed lightly... Even if he was still not entirely convinced of the other's identity.

"Of course not." When Alastor answers, he's sharp with disdain. He'd long been positive that heaven had absolutely nothing to offer him, and this rather seemed to confirm it. "That all certainly seems quite... Concerning."

"However, it does beg the question of what brings you here! I can't imagine Heaven would approve of such a visit, especially when the precipitating event in question has not yet occurred." Nor was it time for the surprise Extermination. Alastor suspected that it would be the easiest way for a denizen of heaven to slip below amongst the masses of exorcists, but that was still a few weeks away. Everyone knew the angels were nothing if not punctual in that regard.

A sardonic brow is lifted, as if he expects his younger self to do the math and figure it out on his own. Creatures that mimic other forms are not so uncommon, but one that would mimic him while reeking of divinity? Terribly unlikely. Then again, the chances of time travel are even less likely - he's fairly confident that he knew at least of the possibility and dangers of such a forbidden rite even at this age, but maybe he hadn't? He'd had no incentive to really look into it prior to everything turning up pastels.

While they look similar aside from the palette swap, there's other smaller differences as well. Alastor of the future has never lost his smile but it's closed-mouthed now, hiding the sharp teeth more than not. It's disconcertingly like his human self who had to hide what he was, not allowed to show the danger. It doesn't lessen that Alastor is still a predator, will always be a predator. When he speaks he minimizes just how much one can see of them, more close-lipped but no less animated.

"Ahaha, well, it's a funny story really. Side-splittingly hilarious if it had happened to anyone other than us. I was terribly displeased to know that Charlie's inane plan actually works," his own lip curled in displeasure and loathing, "And please don't do us the discourtesy of thinking it was at all purposeful on my part, either."

He paused to let that sink in.

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Hello! The name’s Ace (late 20s, they/them) and my muse is Hazbin's apparently hottest most pathetic objecthead Vox.

If you:

- think Vox deserves an RGB gamer suit! - are fascinated by the eternal torment of your entire empire being dependent on the domain of your nemesis! - are interested in seeing how badly Vox can fuck up the concept of being a lover not a fighter! - think Vox absolutely does Not deserve an RGB gamer suit!

Give a like or reblog and I’ll check you out~

Rules | About | Plot Wishlist

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He feels the sensation of the other change and shift, pouring into his studio. Eyes in the radio waves blink open and closed; others shape themselves into approximations of wings, all until the intruder settles into a visage more familiar indeed. When Alastor actually looks upon him in the visible spectrum he sees a mockery of himself, a blasphemy given physical form. Supposedly imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but to say he has doubts at this point would be an understatement. Alastor's lip curls up, making little effort to suppress a sneer. His eyes widen and then narrow to slits. "Well!" he says, picking up his own cane and idly twirling it in one hand. "I'd say no, but you are already here! I do hope you'll forgive my rudeness as host. It's not every day we get a visit from the angelic kind, much less one who bears more than a passing resemblance to myself!" It's punctuated by a short laugh. Even he's not sure whether to be amused or annoyed by the fact.

"Perhaps you'll do us both a kindness and introduce yourself?"

The wait for a reply had stretched on for an eternity, each second stretching into infinity. But the one who had supplanted the original heavenly messenger had learned patience over the course of his third existence, entertaining himself with a nearby sinner that had wandered too close to where his physical form resided. The screams weren't broadcast, that would be rude as these were no longer his airwaves. Satisfying all the same - he'd never lost the taste for blood and the suffering of others, his favorite form of entertainment. Not even Heaven could change that.

He casts his gaze across radiospace, a billion corrupted eyes blinking. The familiar sigils that he'd had as a demon were corrupted further, turned white and blue, swimming in a way that he knew would give a headache to the initiated, and make someone want to gouge out their own eyes to remove the burning images if they weren't. He's wing and tooth and static. In the past, angels had greeted mortals and told them to be not afraid.

Alastor would never lie in such a way.

Still he reeled himself in; he may revel in fear but not his own. Eyes closed, retracting into themselves. Alastor of the future was more waveform than anything, any semblance of humanity shed piecemeal as he consumed and devoured. First at the behest of Heaven, and then because there was nothing else to do but eat his grief, even if it meant becoming ouroboros.

For the first time in a long time he felt excitement, trying to stitch himself together, basing his appearance on his old self, now that he had a reference. Reds were changed for pale whites and blues, blacks for golds. Indignity after indignity heaped on his head, too full of divinity and angelic souls to change the color scheme that plagued him. Looking at his past self he's almost embarrassed at what he's become, so far from what he'd ever wanted.

"Hello, Alastor," he crooned, fiddling with the cane he'd long since lost, reassuring in a way he hadn't expected. For the first time in a long time, he feels the tingling of what may be excitement, of anticipation. He imagines this may be what hope feels like. "May I come in?"

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Funny how such a simple little tune can demand so much presence. Alastor is quite used to the idle background chatter of the radio waves, quiet like white noise. The ditty cuts through with as much weight as a gunshot in the dead of night. He stills, an action imperceptible to most, and his ears twitch ever so slightly.

He excuses himself from the latest round of shenanigans that Charlie is forcing the hotel inhabitants to participate in, and makes his way to the radio tower with haste.

The tune won't be answered with the typical two knocks, not until Alastor has a chance to investigate. After all, that's usually his signature... when he's feeling charitable enough to give warning at all. He plants his staff upon the boards and presses out into radiospace, seeking the source.

It's not hard to put two and two together, as something out there radiates with angelic ichor. And yet underneath it is almost something.... Familiar. Warped, and yet recognizable, like the sensation of looking into a funhouse mirror. He weighs the safety of the hotel against his own insatiable curiosity, eyeing the entity across the waves and knowing it - he? - can sense him back.

"... Yes, please." Alastor whistles the answer back across the radio, and rocks back on his heels to wait.

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In the ruins that was left, the radio host was left to collect himself and decide what came next. It's a startling realization to know that one has nothing left to live for, and an even worse to realize that death will not come, that the days will stretch out into years and millennia unceasing and still it will not end. So Alastor had done as he always did, breaking and bending rules and twisting the odds to his favor. Certainly he lacked no shortage of materials in which to fashion his great work, angel and demon alike. And when it was all done, divine and occult symbols twisting together to create something Else, he saw it and was pleased. Activating it had been the point of no return, and he'd reveled in once more doing something one couldn't or shouldn't. At the edge of his perception he thought he might hear the baying of hounds and welcomed it.

Being back in Hell felt like coming home, the rancid smell of fire and brimstone soothing. So very different from where he'd come from and for a moment he was overtaken by nostalgia. He let it wash over him, breathing deeply and savoring the scent. For the first time in years his smile was genuine as it stretched his lips wide, revealing sharp teeth that were too often hidden.

Well, he should be polite, shouldn't he? He had come to visit in a sense. For all his other faults he hadn't lost his manners. With little effort he plucked at the radio frequencies, knocking to the equivalent tune of Shave and a Haircut, a call awaiting a response.

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"Well, it seems the hotel's reconstruction is certainly... Eyecatching!"

So much garish neon that one might mistake it for belonging to the Vees. Alastor's smile is twitching with the suppression of a sneer.

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“Oh — give me a break.” Vox sounds terribly exasperated as he rolls his head back against his office chair. “Tell me who let you in here. I’ll have to fire them.”

"Oh, no need to worry about that, old friend!"

Alastor bypasses all social norms with a deft sidestep, settling down directly on Vox's workstation instead.

"Though you may want to have a word with your janitorial staff. I know how you prefer things a bit cleaner than the average street of our fair metropolis."

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Alastor knows romance, actually. That is to say, he knows all the steps and motions to court someone; hence why he's so popular with the ladies in Cannibal Town. It's beneficial both for his role as an overlord (dealmaking, acquiring favors, and making allies) and also for avoiding any steps that might actually land him in an actual romantic space.

He's not up-to-date on the latest trends, of course, but he knows what's timeless. He also has a borderline uncanny knack for reading people. Coupled together it makes something of a mental list he can just run down; he figures out the path to someone's heart and then actively takes the low road instead.

This is all mainly to say that he could give halfway decent dating advice, he just chooses not to because it's more entertaining.

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“Do you really expect me to see you here and not think you’re up to something?” (From Husk)

"Of course not, my dear Husker!" Alastor places a hand to his chest, mock scandalized at the accusation. "And here I thought I'd made it quite clear how much I value your talent for observation. After all, we both know the worth of a man with a keen eye and sealed lips, hmm?"

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[[jus a small note that I'm super excited to start interacting with all of you and while I am a little shy the radio silence is mostly bc I've had an eye infection and not been able to look at anything bright this past week 😔 I'm going to fuckin bite something.]]

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radiobound Patch 1.1 - Alastor has... spoken with... the post office and his show's PO box has been updated to the correct address.

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Good morning I'm here to add that he definitely has the worst late night talk show. Not like Late Night comedy (obvs Vox's corner) but like. Delilah. Write to him for the absolute worst advice you will ever receive probably.

I figure he broadcasts more regularly than just when he kills an overlord, but I'm torn between Alastor using his radio show to talk smack about the latest happenings in Hell vs him actually being relatively unbiased because 666 News doesn't seem especially reliable.

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I figure he broadcasts more regularly than just when he kills an overlord, but I'm torn between Alastor using his radio show to talk smack about the latest happenings in Hell vs him actually being relatively unbiased because 666 News doesn't seem especially reliable.

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one of the more obscure things that I'm chomping at the bit to know more about is Alastor's relationship with Zestial. Why does he look surprised when Zestial appears. What does Zestial know about him. Is it a coincidence that Zestial is the only other character with green as a prominent part of his design in Hazbin.

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indie private and selective multimuse ft. characters from Hazbin Hotel by madi featuring: vox, husk, valentino, & alastor // rules.

credit.

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                                         I'M... THE MESS?

A semi-selective, headcanon-based and low activity take on Hazbin Hotel's 'Niffty' by Killjoy. Triggering topics present, 21+ please! Mun also writes Alastor, Husk and their own personal take on Paimon upon request! ( Note: Niffty is treated as the ADULT that she is on this blog. We don't infantilise here. )

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Yo so this blog is basically inactive as I discovered my true muse is actually Vox lmao. Go find me at @voxuli <3 I promise i am very funny

Hello! The name’s Ace (late 20s, they/them) and my muse is Alastor with a focus on redemption (or at least learning to be sometimes kind of not shitty).

If you are interested in any of the following:

Batesian Mimicry characters who try to have their cake and eat it too dragging Alastor kicking and screaming into a found family

Give a like or reblog and I’ll check you out~

Rules | About | Plot Wishlist