staticbelle au, because this bsky art gave me brainworms. seven years pre-canon, charlie's mom and the radio demon have both disappeared, though it's too early to tell whether either of them is truly gone yet, vaggie hasn't fallen yet, and charlie is completely on her own. she's estranged from her dad, she has barely an inkling of a plan for how to save sinners, and her overwhelming compassion has nowhere to go—she wants to help people, but she doesn't know how. then she notices there's a new overlord syndicate on the rise, surging to fill the spaces the radio demon has left behind, and every window advertisement or tv commercial she sees insists that the vees want nothing more than to lend a helping hand to the downtrodden, if you would only trust them.
she's not stupid. she knows not to immediately take other demons at their word, especially not overlords, but the vees are swiftly building something she hasn't been able to accrue in two centuries: influence. sinners are listening when they talk, people are tuning into their shows and flocking to the entertainment district because it's safer than many other places in the pentagram, and charlie thinks this might be exactly what she needs. if she can convince the vees to platform her, if they're half as generous as they seem, she might have a real shot at changing people's afterlives for the better. and if they don't want to help her, then... she'll just have to be really, really convincing! no biggee!
enter vox, who cannot believe his luck. the kittens and rainbows, dumb blonde princess of hell waltzes right through his front door and offers him the opportunity of a lifetime to get into good graces with the royal family. he's greedy with alastor's absence and overeager to get his foot in the door on an even playing field with the other overlords, since bringing velvette onboard has catapulted the three of them into the mainstream and he's not about to lose his momentum now. he'll entertain her delusions, maybe give her her own talkshow segment late at night when no one who matters will be watching, forge a link between the morningstar name and the new identity he's staking out for himself in the wake of alastor's disappearance. after all, the worst that can happen is she embarrasses herself under his name and he has to swoop in and oh-so-benevolently rescue her, and it's not like val doesn't already do that every other week. plus, ratings are ratings.
so he keeps his word. he gives her a platform, albeit a limited one; he enthusiastically encourages her ideas for rehabilitating hell and privately thinks it's hysterically idiotic; he lets her deliver her pitches in musical form live on air and isn't charmed, not even a little bit. he expects that eventually she'll get discouraged and give up, and when that happens, he's going to step in with a warm smile and gently suggest that they try something a little different, a little more vox's speed, and if he can get her hand shaking his in the process then that's only a magnificent bonus.
except. charlie refuses to quit. she's not an employee, so she comes and goes as she pleases from the tower and suddenly vox's days are being interrupted by a sheepishly excitable princess who has a new script for him to look over or a tune she wants a second opinion on and of course vox is accommodating every time, of course he's supportive, even when he's so fucking irritated he plasters on an indulgent grin and invites her in, because he's made an art form out of swallowing his real feelings for the sake of appeasing the public or valentino or alastor and this is not a relationship he can afford to jeopardize with something as trivial as hurting her feelings.
so he indulges her. he picks up one of her glitter pens and reaches over to scribble something on her illustration of all the overlords holding hands and it's all downhill from there. before he can think to pump the brakes, he's being looped into genuinely investigating what qualifies as sin and redemption for damned souls, he's having his architects draft plans for an extravagant rehabilitation hotel that makes her cry when he idly mentions it, he's sighing and enduring the way all his vulgar mugs have mysteriously been rewritten with positive messages instead (fuck hug alastor!), he's letting her lean over the rim of his pools and gasp with sheer delight over his sharks because that doesn't give him the warm and fuzzies, not at all—and he's even somewhat patiently heeding her constructive criticism about all the mind control and abusive work environments and predatory business practices that the vees engage in. like, obviously they're not going to stop, but he does talk to val and vel about toning it down a bit, at least while charlie is around. gotta keep little miss sunshine happy, right? (no one tell him that he really doesn't need to be doing all this, he won't listen.)
meanwhile, charlie has gone full starry-eyed dreamer with vox's backing. for the first time, someone is genuinely supporting her, even if that person is an evil capitalist who sometimes feeds his employees to his sharks and is definitely hypnotizing people with his ads but, uhh. everyone has flaws!! and doesn't it kind of balance out, if he's helping her figure out how to redeem people, ensuring her ideas have real power and structure behind them, and even limiting some of the fucked up shit his partners do for her sake? maybe he's not doing it for the right reasons, but he IS doing good, and shouldn't that matter? charlie absolutely thinks it does. she didn't really intend for vox to be her first case study for proving that every sinner has the capacity to be better when given the opportunity, but like hell is she NOT going to milk this for all it's worth for as long as it takes for vox to realize that he's committed to the bit too hard and actually. Likes her. and wants her to succeed. and feels his mood lift when she's in the room. and may or may not be addicted to making her happy. g-d fucking dammit
all this to say that one day, when he presents her with the operational plans for the grand opening of the happy hotel, and she exclaims "oh my gosh, thank you thank you thank you" and leans up on her toes to kiss the corner of his screen before tackling him into a hug, and his screen explodes with pink pixelated hearts—well, he's well and truly fucked himself. whoops! the princess of hell is your girlfriend now. yeah, you've lost the plot. mazel tov
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