✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧ She/her ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ I’m a silly aroace furry artist that makes silly stuff. I go by Galaxy and Jaynoeyes on most platforms, so if you're in need of a name for me use those! I will do my best to provide a safe space for all people who are as weird as I am! I am also very awkward when it comes to human interaction, so don't mind me if I come off as a mess (I am). ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Now for interests! I have been into Hazbin since the pilot era, and Alastor has always been my favorite (I have a shrine), but I still love the other characters! I also ship Radiostatic, and I won't judge for whatever others ship. Second, I have been into TADC since the pilot as well, and I love Caine! I am also an avid Lackadaisy enjoyer, and Mordecai is my fave. Next up, I enjoy heavier music, my favorite bands being Linkin Park and Three Days Grace, and I also enjoy myself a good musical such as Hamilton or Epic! My favorite games are Zelda and FNAF, books are the Warrior cats series, movies are- actually I'm not sure- I just love Marvel (Loki my beloved). AND I should stop or I'll be here all day typing! ✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
It’s a lil comic based off a scene in this fic by @kairasonnart, Which is further based off of @elsa-fogen‘s comic Incompatible Frequencies. I just love this scene damn it. I kept re-reading it and picturing it in my head so I decided to just draw it. Hope you guys like the angst too :)
For @elsa-fogen Based on her "Incompatible Frequencies" AU
Warning: Contains themes of SA, r*pe, and abuse, as well as scenes of projectile vomiting and diarrhea.
The third year of their little arrangement. Another chance to celebrate the New Year with Alastor.
It was a bit of a tedious year, what with Alastor being a passive aggressive little brat. Seriously, what was with the attitude? A couple of scratches and he gets the fucking cold shoulder?
Still, Vox supposed he could let it slide. He did get a bit carried away last time... and the stuff Al made him do this year wasn't too horrible...
He should probably go a little easy on him this time. More flies with honey and all that.
When he arrived at the apartment, he was surprised, and pleased, at the sight.
Alastor was already in bed, and even in the dark Vox could see he was completely nude.
Vox smirked. "Oh, baby, were you waiting for me?"
He slowly undid the buttons of his shirt as he made his way towards the bed. "If I'd known you were that desperate I would've come sooner."
He slid into the other side of the bed, trailing his claws gently down Alastor's bare back. He furrowed his brow as he noticed how cold his skin was - even more so than usual.
"Already trembling and we haven't even started." As he trailed his hand down lower, he grinned widely at how wet Al was down there. "Or maybe you're just cold? Don't worry. I'll warm you up in a bi-"
And that's when the smell hit him.
Vox reeled back in disgust as the very recognizable odor of excrement hit his olfactory sensors. At the same time, something thick and warm and slimy oozed over Vox's fingers.
Horrified, Vox leapt off the bed and turned on the lamp to get a better look.
Sure enough, that wasn't lube covering Vox's hand.
Furious, and holding back the urge to vomit, he turned to the still silent and naked Alastor, grabbing his shoulder roughly and yanking him forward to look at Vox.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! DID YOU SERIOUSLY JUST- WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH-?!"
Vox froze as he got a good look at Alastor's face. His skin was pale and clammy, and he was sweating profusely. His crimson eyes were dull and had a glossiness to them. His hair was damp with sweat and sticking to his head. And his mouth - still stuck in that ever-present grin - was coated in thick, chunky, yellow bile. It coated his teeth, ran down his chin and lay drying and crusty on his chest.
Vox had to fight back the urge to vomit himself as he ripped the covers off the bed. Nearly the whole mattress was covered in vomit and excrement.
"Jesus H... are you actually serious right now? H-How long have you been like this?"
In lieu of an answer, Alastor retched and spewed out vomit like a geyser. Vox quickly dodged to the side, though not quick enough to avoid his pants leg getting drenched, as well as having some splash across his screen.
Disgusted, Vox practically ripped off his shirt and wiped furiously at his screen and his hand. Throwing it away, he headed towards the door.
"...and just where... do you think you're going...old pal...?"
Vox stopped as Alastor's voice, weak and raspy, came from the nearby radio.
"Uh, to call a hospital? I don't know what you caught, but you're clearly sick as a dog. Just because you're too stubborn to get help, doesn't mean-"
Vox froze as he felt a yank on his wrist. He looked down at the glowing green shackle and chain that slowly tapered off into blue, connected to the blue shackle on Alastor's wrist.
No.
"...You can't be serious."
"Once a year...that was the deal. The year's almost up...only three hours left...better get to it..."
"Are you fucki-NO! Hell no! Not when you're like thi-"
"Oh yes you are."
Alastor sat up with a strength he shouldn't have had in his condition. His glazed over eyes bored into Vox's.
"You see...it occurred to me, Vox...that there's nothing in our deal that says...you have to enjoy our little trysts."
"...what."
"You want to have sex with me that badly? You want to continue forcing your... disgusting perversions on me, after I told you...repeatedly, that I hate this...that I do not want this?!"
Alastor's smile grew impossibly wide and sharp, his teeth glowing as he used his radio powers. Thin green threads appeared at the edges, forming a stitch pattern.
"Then you will have me like this...or not at all."
Vox stood there, shaking with horror and fury. He'd been played. "You...you..."
Alastor retched again, splattering his chest and the mattress below him. It should have made him look pathetic. But it did nothing to detract from the frightening visage of his stitched smile, or the absolute burning hatred in the deer's eyes.
Okay so, I've been following @elsa-fogen 's Incompatible Frequencies comic, because I am an absolute sucker for Alastor whump. But part 12 reminded me that I am ALSO a sucker for protective mama Rosie. Thus I was consumed by the insatiable urge to create.
So I whipped up this fic to basically go to Rosie and say, "hey, aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just wanna say "FUCK the rules!" and go APESHIT on the bastard hurting your baby boy?" Because despite my character-centered-sadism, I DO like good endings on occasion.
I did start writing the day part 12 posted, so after part 13 dropped, I made a few changes. It's full of a bunch of my own headcanons too, particularly Rosie and her powers. Also Al's shadow, her name is Lombraj (meaning 'shade' in Kouri-Vini (Louisiana Creole))
TW: references to past sexual assault, Vox being an entitled asshole and playing the victim, eldritch horror imagery, threats of cannibalism
Overlord politics held several unspoken rules. Little expectations of etiquette meant to keep a semblance of order between them. No poaching each other's Soul Contracts. No violence at their meetings. And of course no getting involved in a deal that wasn't yours.
Basic good manners.
But with each passing second in her parlor, coffee spilled over the carpet, her favorite Soul breaking down in her arms, Rosie finds herself caring less and less for that last one.
Tonight is becoming an intense lesson in the emotions of sorrow and despair.
Sorrow grips her being, a suffocating hold, as Alastor buries himself into the folds of her dress. Distressed laughter breaking into helpless sobs. Clinging to her as if he'll be torn apart if she let him go. Only her hands stopping him from ripping out chunks of his hair and clawing at his skin. A terrified child crying, begging, for a mother he'll never see again.
The despair shoots piercing needles into her heart. The knowledge she cannot sooth his panic. Dry his tears. Prevent the agony he is doomed to tonight. Politics do not allow her.
Allow.
Allow.
The tears flowing free from her own eyes burn. A fire building within dark voids. Something new churns deep in her core. Something hot and roaring. A searing heat that boils the black blood that gives her true life in this realm of humanity's death.
No. No Rosie will not let this happen. Not to him. Not again.
This is Alastor. He is her boy.
She can't, won't bare to see him like this anymore.
To Hell with what she is or isn't allowed to do.
(She will not lose another son.)
(There will be no undoing the damage from the nightmare awaiting him if she stands idle.)
From within the crook of her neck, Alastor lifts his head. Just enough to meet her eyes. A hint of confusion mark his own, momentarily overpowering the dread. Did he notice the shift in her demeanor? The drop in the room's temperature as Rosie gave into rage?
"R-Rosie?"
She breaths deep, reigning in her emotions. There's a task to be done. With much reluctance, she gently removes the deer demon's claws from her shoulders, clasping them in her hands as she rubs circles over his knuckles. Her next words come calm, fueled with resolve.
"Ally darling, please stay here. Don't leave yet, I will return shortly." Not a command, but a request. A promise.
He blinks, caught of guard, but his trembling lessens. "Y-you….where-?" The small, stuttering voice should not belong to him.
She won't hide her intentions. Won't leave him to suffer in uncertainty all alone. "I will handle this myself." Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabs at his tear-streaked face. "I will not let him hurt you again."
"You…you can't get involved." He doesn't move from where he sits on the floor. Lombraj curls around him, the shadow's own expression crestfallen as she attempts to comfort her host.
She nods. He isn't wrong. "No. But I am anyway. I'll deal with any potential consequences later." With a wave, the shattered cup pieces itself back together, refilling with warm black coffee. She returns it to his hands. "Within the next half hour, I will make Vox break this deal. You have my word."
Over a year ago, Alastor would've balked at the idea of needing help. The sheer notion an insult, as bad as calling him weak.
It's a testament to his desperation that he makes no further attempt to stop her.
-
Every demon born under Gluttony, from Hellhound to Swarm, possesses a powerful sense of smell.
Each drop of blood is a signature. Residue of magic a beacon. Even emotions produced unique scents to one keen enough to tell.
To Rosie, fear smells sweet. A saccharine confection. Addictive and mouth watering. Hell guarantees no shortage of it. Ever since her ascension to Sovereign Overlord status, the scent veiled nearly every Sinner that crossed her path. Even fellow Hellborne knew well to remain wary.
The sugary, decadent panic overtaking her parlor, however? Unbearable. A drowning flood. A sickening miasma. So wrong. Rosie cannot stand it.
The same scent alerted her after the first time this happened, one year ago. A crack in Alastor's mask. A flag foretelling an atrocity. A betrayal that cut him open and left no one but her to treat his wounds.
Vox. Her suspicion that his pursuit of her boy hid a salacious, possessive obsession turned out correct. Why did it have to be correct?
(His charm almost fooled her too, in the beginning. Back when Alastor first introduced them. He'd been polite, slightly awkward but still a picture of a gentleman. But then again, that's the act of countless self-entitled men who later reveal they cannot take no for an answer.)
Rosie observed secondhand as the two grew closer over the years. Lingering ozone. Late night dances with alcohol. It didn't take long for her to become familiar with the TV demon's signature. That day Alastor showed up in her parlor, cloaked in a suffocating cloud of sweet terror as she made him admit to being raped, the ozone was missing. An unusual absence. Like he burned it from his clothing and scrubbed it from his skin.
Her familiarity with their scents — that ozone, the acrid earthy swamp — means that in the gore-splattered, puke-stained streets of Pentagram City, Rosie locates their apartment with ease.
An old-fashioned facade, very Alastor.
Rosie's visited a few times, making deliveries, a couple Sinsmas gatherings. A spacious two-bedroom abode with two clashing styles. The decor matched the respective designer. On one side, nice wood floors, a vintage piano, a kitchen with cabinet handles worn with use that always smelled of the echoes of homecooked meals. On the other, sleek tiles, modern electronics, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the spectacle of sin below.
(Alastor mentioned once he styled his half after his mother's family home. Would it still be someplace he could be safe after the pain Vox has invited in?)
This entire endeavor is a smear against etiquette, so Rosie sees little need to pretend. In a puff of pink smoke, she teleports into the kitchen. Psychedelic neon hues stream in through massive panes of glass, but the only lights she concerns herself with are those coming from underneath the door to Vox's bedroom. The only nearby sounds she can hear accompany them.
Silence heralds her approach. A door opens, the creaks of its hinges the only tell of her arrival.
Her quarry's back faces her. "Oh, Al! You're early!" He calls, still not turning yet. It appears he's wrapping a gift. "No looking, I've got a little surprise for you." Cheerful. Excited. Like the person he's waiting for wasn't pleading to be spared this fate. "You eager for tonight? I know you are, why else would you-?"
The second Vox's eyes fall upon her, a flash of bright blue outshines his face. With a startled squawk, he scrambles back, knocking some items across the rug. While he recovers quickly, the smile he plasters onto his screen is a poor mask. "Rosie! Uh…hi! S-sorry I uh… thought that was Al coming it." Jumping back upright, he smooths out his shirt. "He's not home yet, but how can I help you?"
It's easy to try on one of Alastor's signature grins. He's not going to like the answer to that question. "Good evening, Vox. Oh I hope I didn't give you too much of a fright."
"Me? Pfft, never."
"Do pardon the surprise stop-in, but I wanted to catch you before the end of the day." From where she stands in the doorway, the entire room lies within view. "There's something important I'd like to discuss with you." Unless Vox chose to duck underneath the bed, he will not leave her field of vision.
Excellent.
Rosie sets her Sights upon him. Tiny hooks of magic that lock in on the Sinner's body while he is none the wiser. A hunter's net. A necessary precaution. She's witnessed his own teleportation ability, the flash of lightning as he zaps around the city. She can't have him escaping her tonight.
Everyone knows your only hope is to pray once a Glutton has picked you for their next meal.
"Oh, you're…here for me?" To be offered business with an Overlord as powerful as she; alliance or a threat? One could interpret it either way. "Well how could I refuse such a request? Any friend of Alastor is a friend of mine." (She stops herself from chuckling at the bold-faced lie.) "Though forgive my rudeness, but I do have plans with him tonight for the new year, so I must ask that this be quick."
She nods. "So I've heard. You're little yearly dalliance."
His screen flickers in surprise. "Wait, he told you?"
"He did."
(She had to force him, but he did. Regret clings to her conscious, but some part fears what could've happened had she kept quiet. Would Alastor have ever told her by himself? Or would he have suffered in silence all year long without someone to confide in? To tell him he was right to be angry. To feel hurt.)
(He thought she hated him. How could she ever hate him when he reminded her so much of-?)
"Oh, uh… alright then. What can I do for you?"
The hooks dig in. The net set and ready.
"This deal you have with Alastor. I want you to break it."
For five seconds the TV demon does nothing but stare. Reading into her words and body language. Then he bursts into laughter. Disbelief and condescension laced over the surface, but underneath, Rosie can smell his nervousness. "You- haha- you can't be serious?!" He continues after taking a breath. "Come now, Rosie. You've been an Overlord far longer than I've been alive and dead. You're an intelligent woman, surely you're aware our deal isn't any of your business?"
There's a hint of bitterness over those last few words. Resentment. Poorly hidden jealousy Vox holds for her. Her close relations with Alastor.
She takes one step forward. Without looking, her magic shuts the door behind her. "It is now."
A fascinating play he performs. Acting like he holds all the chips while stuck in a cage with a monster. "Oh? And why is that?"
If Rosie plays her cards right, then nothing that occurs in this room tonight will leap from his tongue. So she shows her hand just a little. "Alastor is a close ally of mine, as you know. I do hate seeing him in a position so detrimental."
"Detrimental?! He's the one ruining my life, ordering me to do all sorts of gross, humiliating shit! What? Did he go bitching to you about how he tried to trick me out of it? He's got it easy! After all I've fucking been through, one night of pounding his ass is the least I deser-!"
A tendril of rose gold light shoots out, planting a finger over Vox's mouth.
Alastor's scream echoes through her mind, more haunting than the wailing Sirens of Greed's oceans. Snapdragons bloom around her feet. Her smile bares teeth. "I do not recall asking for your input."
('Ally thought you could be his friend. He thought he could trust you.')
There's an almost obsessive nature to the way Vox fidgets with his clothing. Brushing away wrinkles that aren't there. Adjusting a bowtie that's already straight. A puzzle of his own composure where the final piece refuses to fit. "Respectfully, I must decline. I'm perfectly happy with our arrangement. And despite what he may have told you, Alastor will come to enjoy it eventually." The conviction smells sour. A lie he's deceived himself into thinking he can make true. "What could you possibly offer me that would be more valuable than a taste of his love?"
('That is not love, you spiteful idiot.')
"A simple deal is all I ask. You release Alastor from this obligation and I will see fit to abstain from snatching your Soul and severing the connection myself."
The declaration settles, a swarm of killer bees. A nudge at the precarious tower of lies Vox has built to recline at its zenith. Only now becoming aware of a siege.
"You- you know you need a Contract to take my Soul. You can't have it without my agreement."
(Telling how he only values consent when it's his own.)
Normally he would be correct. Soul Contracts only become valid through the signed accord of both parties. A system dating back thousands of years. As integral to the functionings of Pride's nine circles as commerce and governance.
However…
"Tell me Vox, do you want to know why I am considered the most dangerous Overlord on my side of the Pentagram?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but whatever he planned to say dies on his lips. The glowing tendrils ensnare, latching onto his limbs, his torso, his neck. Holding fast. A fly in a web. "WHAT THE FU-?!" is all he's able to shout before the vines wrap tight over his speakers.
Rosie walks further into the room, and with each step, her body begins to expand. Skin hardening into a pink and black exoskeleton. "It's common knowledge that the machinations of Hell punish Sinners like you with immortality. Bodies that regenerate from injuries that kill. Doomed to eternal life alongside the most heinous of your kind." The ceiling is just high enough to accommodate a reduced, scaled-down version of her true demonic transformation. "A fascinating thing that this realm does to those Souls of yours. Did you know they can persist even without a vessel?"
Antennae sprout from her head. The skirt of her dress splits into four spiny legs. Her hands grow into long, razor-sharp, chitinous blades. "You may be thinking, 'well how can a Soul be without a vessel if our bodies always regenerate?' but what you should understand about Hell is that fairness is a scarcity. Even that rule can't cover a couple…exceptions. How can a body regenerate if there's nothing left of it? Say for instance —,"
Then Rosie's head dwarfs Vox's body, pitch black eyes reflecting back dozens of mirrored images of his restrained form, and the bottom half of her jaw splits open like a blooming flower.
"— you get devoured whole by a cannibal?"
Ah. This is the fear she craves. This scent oozing from the Sinner's thrashing body, screams of protest muffled as her vines draw him up, smells divine. Crimson blood drips down from where thorns pierce. Cyan sparks fly as he attempts to teleport away, but her Sights holds him trapped in her unblinking stare. Wires lash out, wielding electric rage, but her claws slice them into useless fragments of copper and rubber.
"A little secret I'll indulge you with, little picture box. Of the millions of Souls in my collection, only a fraction are those that are Contracted."
Pixelated eyes blow bug-wide (Haha, Alastor would appreciate that pun.) as the revelation strikes. A fact very few people know anything about. The very reason every Hellborne Cannibal is residing under the protection of her domain. The very secret she taught to her most powerful Soul, who serenades Pride with the death throes of devoured Overlords, conducted through radiowaves like a concert of death.
"So with that in mind, perhaps you'd like to hear out my offer."
He can't refuse.
"For my deal I will ask of you these conditions. 1. The next time you are in Alastor's presence, you will immediately initiate the process to nullify the deal between you that demands he has sex with you once a year in exchange for your obedience." Specifics were key. Name an exact time, giving no chance to wait until Vox got what he wanted before breaking it. Name the exact deal, so Vox can't try to redirect this onto some unimportant other agreement they may have.
"2. You will not directly or indirectly retaliate against Alastor or his belongings in anyway shape or form. Likewise for myself." Now to run some preventive measures against possible revenge. Including belongings so Vox can't direct his tantrums into vandalism against this apartment or Alastor's radio tower. Here is the moment to be vague. 'Anyway shape or form' encompasses physical, verbal, and even social methods, among others. It means he can't reveal details about the rape, nor blackmail Alastor with threats to do so. Her boy had been particularly paranoid about that.
"3. You will not communicate to anyone or anything the events that transpired between you and I tonight." There. That clause should hopefully shield herself from this breach of conduct, plus the truth of her power getting out. At least for now. 'Communicate' covers more than just speech. And adding 'anything' further prevents Vox from writing or typing the details down somewhere in the hope someone would find it by coincidence.
"For these requests, in exchange I will promise to spare your body and Soul. You will not need to fear being eaten by me or the other residents of Cannibal Town." The residents. Not 'her Cannibals'. Alastor is among the latter. Rosie will not deny him the ability to enact his own revenge if he so wished for it.
Given the hatred burning in his eyes, Rosie holds no doubt Vox is setting her on fire within his mind. But his bindings pull him closer to her teeth, and in the tug-of-war between fear and anger, fear is winning.
"So do we have a deal? I'll give you five seconds to decide." The vines release his mouth. "5."
Yelling commences. "You FUCKING HAG!! Like HELL will I agree to-!"
"4."
"The FUCK did you do to my magic! This is BULLSHIT! WHY CAN'T I-?!"
"3."
"FUCK! WAIT, JUST WAIT A DAMN MINUTE! THIS IS UNFAIR!!"
"2."
Rosie opens her mouths. Each and every one. Rows and rows of teeth glistening in the light emanating from Vox's screen. The sight strikes her prey silent. Frozen. Sweet, delicious terror.
(A deer in headlights.)
"1."
The vines yank.
"WAITWAAAITOKAYALRIGHTFINEIT'SADEAL!!!!"
Rosie doesn't allow him the chance to change his mind.
The end of a vine warps into a wispy hand that clasps his own. Power erupts. Illuminating all around them. Blue drowned in gold as shining silhouettes of rose petals burst forth between them. Framing her. Encasing him. Links of chain fasten them together. On Rosie's end, bright cyan. The color of Earth's sky from a chance trip centuries ago after borrowing a friend's Asmodean Crystal. On Vox's end, gleaming rose gold. Perhaps a tad reminiscent of the magic of the Heavenly realms above.
She speaks through each one of her mouths. "Pleasure doing business with you."
-
A faint nudge at his collar alerts Alastor to her incoming return. A moment to collect himself. To prepare.
When Rosie appears in her parlor, her boy is waiting. Mid-stride through pacing across the room. Shoulders tensed. Hands clutching his staff snug to his chest. All the food left out on the coffee table is gone.
His gaze snaps right to the Sinner tied at her feet.
Alastor's tells are difficult to spot, especially to someone unfamiliar. He's crafted his mask since childhood. A remarkable guise molded to mislead. Rosie will admit, she finds herself mimicking said mannerisms when situations call for it. Taking his advice. Learning from him just as he's learned from her.
But his Soul is still human, and perfection does not exist. The emotions surrounding this experience are a crushing, overwhelming vice. Relentless. All consuming. Biting all the way to bone marrow. Not even he can hide everything when under such an attack. The tiny, minuscule movements as the deer demon fights to stop his own instinctual panic — twitching ears, fidgeting fingers — don't escape her notice. Peering over from the floor, Lombraj hisses.
Vox kneels below her, arms and legs still bound by her magic. His form still shaking under the shock of all that just transpired.
But he locks eyes with Alastor and his face flickers into fury. "You-"
Whatever incoming accusation gets lost to the air, for a shining chain flashes. Vox cannot resist the compulsion as the first clause of his and Rosie's deal triggers. His right hand reaches out, as far as it can with the upper portion of his arm tied to his torso. Another chain materializes, one Rosie has not seen yet, but is clearly familiar to Alastor by the way he flinches as a blue shackle appears around his wrist.
"A-Alastor," the TV demon begins, words yanked from his throat through gritted teeth, "I… a-agree to… nullify our d-deal." If circumstances were different, Rosie would've found it cute how much he tried to fight.
Alastor's ears perk straight up, breath hitching in his throat as genuine surprise overtakes him. What had been running through his mind as he waited? Did the learned helplessness whisper doubts to him, extinguishing any semblance of hope? Saying he'd never escape? That peace did not come to people like him?
Is it saying anything right now? That this is too good to be true?
His eyes dart up to her. Rosie answers the unspoken plea with a firm nod.
Then he closes the distance with practiced control and grabs Vox's hand. Red claws digging in hard enough to make the kneeling man wince. "Then consider it null."
The tether between them flashes once, then shatters. Neon green and cyan particles dissolving into the ether.
Alastor pulls his hand back the second it's gone, taking one single step away. Vox doubles over, the puppet strings directing him going loose.
"Damn it!" he snaps. "DAMN IT!" Whirling around, he fixes a glare on the demon responsible. "You f-!" A mute symbol the color of Rosie's magic silences whatever ineffectual insult that would've been. "What the hell? Why did-?"
"Surely you haven't forgotten already, have you, little picture box?" she chastises, all honey and sugar, all stinging like insect bites. She's really only reminding him so that Alastor has some context. "The second clause of our deal?"
He clenches his fists. "This… this is so fucking unfair!" His ire zeroes in on Alastor again. "You seriously sicced your Cannibal sugar mommy on me cause you couldn't-?" Muted again.
Wow, rude. Somehow Rosie can feel herself and her boy become mutually offended on each other's behalf.
"I did not make her do anything."
"I came to this decision myself. Tonight is the New Year. It was the only option left."
"You- you two were conspiring against me this whole time?!"
"You sound surprised." Alastor turns his back on the other Sinner, retreating further into the parlor. "I made it blatantly obvious all year, since that first night in fact, my wish to end this." Trembling hands grip his staff. He no longer stops his ears from pinning back. "You noticed. You ignored me. You only cared about having my body as your personal toy."
"No! I care about you!" Pixelated lines fall from Vox's eyes. Tears perhaps? Rosie can only be curious how that works with his technological biology. "Damn it, Al! Why can't- why can't you see that I did this because I love you?!"
She does not interrupt. This is their conversation. But that sourness of his own myth he created leaves a vile taste in her mouth.
It only hits worse for Alastor. "I gave you a chance, Vox. Many chances to fix this and restore any good will I used to have for you." Poison tastes less bitter than the tone he speaks. "You don't love me. You never did. You're obsessed with a fantastical doppelganger that you made up in your depraved little head. I warned you I'd never be that and you refused to listen."
"Al just- fuck! Just look at me! Please let me explain!"
"Leave, Vox." The Radio Demon does not turn around. "If I ever lay eyes on you again, your Soul will be ripped apart and all of Pride will listen to your screams."
"Al-"
"GET OUT!"
Vox reels as shrieking radio feedback grates at his sensors, the muscles that still remember being human reaching to cover ears his television head doesn't possess. Lombraj rises onto the ceiling, her antlers branching from wall to wall, jagged mouth twisting into a vicious snarl. A click click click of radio dials fills the space.
It's Rosie's cue to act now. Wispy tendrils shove the TV demon towards the exit, the restraints finally releasing. He tumbles over with an indignant yelp.
The Cannibal Overlord plants herself between them. "I do believe it's safe to say that you've overstayed your welcome."
Peeling himself off the floor, all he can wield against her is muted vitriol. A barrage of silenced hatred. Frivolous. Otiose. A wasp with no stinger. A shark with no teeth.
The second clause doesn't let him slam the door shut. It doesn't let him kick up the flowers outside the Emporium nor punch holes in the walls, as Rosie watches him go. It doesn't let him damage anything as a surge of electricity bursts from his body. Not a single scorch mark on the stones beneath him. Not a single strand of hair out of place on the Cannibals witnessing his tantrum. They are all hers by technicality.
A sharp thud sounds as Alastor's knees hit the floor. A clatter as his staff falls from his grasp.
"It's over?" he breathes, voice airy and small again. Mask dropped. He stares at his wrist, where the bindings of a torture sentence no longer reside. "Truly over?"
Rosie is before him in an instant, awaiting permission to touch, to draw him into her lap and be whatever grounding structure he needs. "It's over, Ally. He's gone. Nothing more will happen. Never again." He crumbles into her embrace. "You're safe, my dear. You're safe."
"Safe," he repeats, muffled by the fabric of her dress. "Safe." He says it over and over, a little mantra.
Well- I thought one fic was enough- But I had another idea based on the comic Incompatible Frequencies by @elsa-fogen (thanks to the new chapter actually) so here's another fic! (Vox is still not an asshole in this one, but in a different way than in the other fic)
Unconditionally
Alastor had done it. After nearly a century. After more than six decades of enduring it. After years of dragging his voice, his presence, and his shadow clinging to him like an unbreakable curse. After years of suffering the pain that that demon had caused him, he had finally killed him.
Vox was dead.
The thought should have tasted like victory. But it only felt slightly relieving.
Vox would never hurt him again.
Vox would never touch him again.
He tightened his grip on his cane, holding it so hard the wood creaked under his fingers. His knuckles almost hurt, and the claws of his other hand dug into his palm. He could barely register what he was doing. All he could focus on was what he felt toward Vox— toward that demon lying on the ground, not breathing, not responding.
He hated him. God, he hated him.
Years —decades, nearly a century— had passed since they stopped being friends. Since the bond between them had twisted further and further until it finally broke. But Vox never disappeared. He never let go of him. He didn’t stay away. He remained part of his life, this time as his enemy, because he couldn’t stand rejection. He couldn’t accept a “no.”
Alastor had to break their deal by force. He decided that if Vox wouldn’t break the contract willingly, then he would break it himself, because he couldn’t stand being bound to Vox any longer. And even after that, Vox remained. Year after year, he faced him, blaming him for everything that had happened between them, painting him as the villain, as if he had been the one responsible for their relationship falling apart.
And that was what Alastor hated most. He hated that Vox thought it had all been his fault. He hated that Vox pretended he hadn’t hurt him. He hated his personality. He hated his laugh. He hated the way he spoke, like everything was a game to him. He hated how he could still remember his voice even when he wasn’t there. He hated his touch.
He hated everything about him.
“I hate you,” he murmured.
He crouched beside Vox’s motionless body and raised his hand.
“I hate you.”
He brought his hand down quickly and struck Vox’s face.
“You don’t know how much I hate you.”
Alastor hit him again, harder.
“You bastard.”
Another hit. Stronger.
“Son of a bitch.”
Another.
“The worst scum I’ve ever seen in Hell.”
His hits became more desperate, stronger, and faster, just as his voice filled more and more with static. The insults spilled out of him uncontrollably, growing increasingly cruel as he attacked Vox with all his strength. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He couldn’t control himself, nor regret it. Even though he knew he was dead. Even though he knew he couldn’t feel anything.
“I wish I had never met you, Vox.”
“Darling?”
Alastor turned around.
Rosie was there.
For a moment, he thought how absurd the situation was. He was kneeling in front of Vox’s ruined body, his hands stained with blood, breathing in sharp, uneven bursts, as if he were still fighting. He probably looked insane, beating Vox’s corpse even though he was already dead, shouting at him as if he could still hear him.
Rosie didn’t step back. She didn’t look scared. She simply approached Alastor carefully, as if trying not to startle him. She didn’t dare touch him at first. She just stood beside him, looking down at Vox’s body, frowning slightly.
“He’s dead,” Alastor said.
He felt something shift in his voice, but he didn’t pay any attention to it.
“I know, darling.”
“He’s dead for good this time,” he repeated, barely able to believe it. He had seen the angelic blade pierce Vox’s body and head, but he could hardly process the fact that it was real.
“Alastor...”
Rosie moved closer to him, careful not to frighten him. When she wrapped her arms around him gently, Alastor nearly lost the strength in his legs. He only stayed standing through sheer willpower. Rosie had seen him break down before. And he didn’t want to repeat that. Even though with her he felt safe.
Safe.
He felt a pain in his heart that almost threatened to suffocate him. Because once, he had felt safe with Vox. He believed he was his ally, his confident, his friend. His equal. He had believed there could be something more between them. That they could have had a deeper bond. Not friends, not lovers, but something in between. Something that belonged only to them. Something that didn’t need a name. And it would have been that way— if only Vox hadn’t done what he did. If only he hadn’t hurt him.
Alastor had trusted him. He had believed in Vox, and he allowed himself to lower his guard. To be his true self. He thought he was safe with Vox. He thought he could lower his defenses, that he didn’t have to pretend to be strong to earn a place at his side. He thought Vox was different from the rest of the demons.
And that was his stupidest mistake.
They danced together, laughed together, killed Overlords together. They shared tastes, ideas, ambition. They were equals. Two sides of the same coin. Vox was the first demon Alastor ever truly trusted. And Vox…
Vox turned that trust into a weapon.
All that time he was a manipulative bastard, a selfish man who only cared about himself, and Alastor was foolish enough to let himself be deceived.
The worst part wasn’t that he was selfish. Or that he was manipulative. They were in Hell— Alastor expected demons to be cruel. But Alastor truly believed Vox was something more than that. He truly believed he might find a friend. Someone to love, even if not in a romantic way, even if not in the way others did.
And Vox ruined it.
The worst part wasn’t that Vox was cruel. The worst part was that Alastor believed Vox would never be that way with him.
“Alastor, darling, it’s okay...”
Alastor blinked. He lifted his head slightly, and only then did he notice the tears falling from his eyes.
“He’s dead,” Rosie repeated, not letting go of him. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Alastor wanted to nod. He wanted to say he knew. He wanted to say out loud how much he hated Vox. But that wasn’t what left his lips.
“I loved him, Rosie,” Alastor’s fingers clenched the fabric of her dress, gripping it as if he needed something to keep himself from breaking apart. “He was my friend,” his voice cracked. “I… I thought he would be different.” He lowered his head.
“Alastor...”
“Al!” A different voice echoed in his mind, but he tried to ignore it.
“I want to hate him,” he tightened his grip on her dress. “I want to hate him, but…”
He swallowed.
“A part of me misses him. Misses what we were before the deal.”
Alastor felt Rosie’s hand gently stroking his back. “You can grieve him, Alastor. You can mourn what you lost.”
“Al, come on!” he heard that voice again, closer now, more desperate, but he kept ignoring it.
“I didn’t want it to end like this,” Alastor confessed quietly. “I didn’t want to lose him, but he… he…”
Alastor closed his eyes, unwilling to finish the sentence. He leaned into Rosie’s arms, and the tears he had been holding back finally fell.
“Open your eyes, Al!”
⋆ ═══════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════ ⋆
The moment he heard those words, Alastor opened his eyes. The change was immediate. He was no longer in the streets of Pentagram City. He was in a room he knew far too well. A room he hadn’t been in for a very long time. Decades.
He looked up, confused. He didn’t see Rosie in front of him. Only Vox. He was sitting beside him on the bed, his hands on his shoulders. Too close.
Concern was reflected in Vox’s eyes, and he saw his body tremble, as if he were afraid— but Alastor could barely process it. The only thing he could process was the fact that Vox was touching him. He pushed Vox away and got away from Vox, still on the bed, wrapping his arms around himself protectively.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Vox said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “It was just a nightmare, Al. Calm down.”
A… nightmare?
Alastor blinked, breathing unevenly, and looked around. He kept his arms wrapped around himself, still covering his chest. Vox’s room… was exactly as he remembered it. Exactly the same. The sheets were still blue, there was still a shark-shaped lamp on the bedside table, and there was a television on the dresser facing the bed.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing.
A chill ran down his spine.
What?
He looked back at Vox. And then he saw it. He didn’t have the flat-screen television for a head like in his nightmare. It was a CRT television instead— the same one he had seventy years ago. Seventy years ago? He tried to see the date on the television that was turned on, and he almost held his breath. 1970. The same year their relationship started to destabilize. The same year Vox began hurting him.
No.
No.
No.
Why am I here again?
What kind of sick joke is this?
Alastor didn’t think he could ever endure Vox hurting him again. It had taken him years —no, decades— to recover from his wounds, both physical and mental. It had taken him nearly a century to feel comfortable in his own body again, to stop feeling dirty. It had taken him a long time to tolerate being touched without trembling. He wasn’t sure he could go through all of it again.
A nightmare.
He looked back at Vox, who seemed uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t sure what to say or do. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out. He only sighed and clenched his fists.
A nightmare.
Alastor pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to process what was happening. Vox still didn’t seem angry at him, nor did he seem ready to hurt him. He didn’t seem dangerous. He had said… “It was just a nightmare.” What if it was true? What if it meant that everything that had happened —everything he remembered— was just a bad dream, a nightmare? What if none of it had ever been real?
Vox actually… hadn’t hurt him?
The thought churned his stomach.
“Vox…”
The reaction was immediate. Vox snapped his head up and took a step toward him, too fast.
“Yes?”
Alastor hesitated. Just for a second.
“Can you answer a question for me?”
“Yeah, of course, Al,” Vox took another step closer, more cautious than before. “Anything you want.”
Alastor stared at him.
“Have we… made a deal recently?”
Vox blinked.
Once.
Then again.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Alastor stared at him, unreadable, even though there was a storm of emotions inside him.
Please say no.
Please say no.
Please say no.
“A deal?” Vox repeated.
Alastor almost felt relief seeing the confusion in Vox’s eyes. Only confusion. For a moment he thought everything might be okay. If Vox didn’t know they had made a deal, it would mean his nightmare had been just that: a nightmare. He allowed himself, for a second, to think he would be safe. That Vox and he wouldn’t have to stop being friends, that there was still time, that he hadn’t lost everything.
“Do you mean the deal where we agreed I’d do anything for you in exchange for you having sex with me once a year?”
The world stopped.
No.
With those words, his hope died.
No.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Please no.
“Did you forget?” Vox let out a short laugh, light, as if he genuinely didn’t understand the seriousness of what he was saying.
I can’t do this again.
“You should know there are a couple of days left before the year ends.”
No.
No.
No.
“Hey… does that question have something to do with your…?”
Alastor didn’t even realize Vox had gone silent. He didn’t even notice how his heart started beating faster, or how his body began to tremble.
He could only focus on the pain.
“Alastor?”
The betrayal he had felt when Vox crossed his boundaries.
The sadness of realizing even he wasn’t safe from Vox’s cruelty.
“Al?”
The pain of losing Vox as a friend.
The anger when Vox blamed him for breaking their friendship.
“Al!”
I can’t do this again.
I can’t.
I can’t.
I can’t.
“Al, listen to me!”
Alastor felt a chill when Vox touched him. Without realizing what he was doing, without realizing how his breathing had quickened, his body reacted before his mind did. He lunged at him.
Both of them fell to the ground, Alastor on top of Vox. Deep down, Alastor knew the story would repeat itself. And even if he couldn’t end it, even if he couldn’t prevent losing his relationship with Vox, he could hit him. He could try to make him feel even a fraction of the pain Vox had caused to him. Even if it had only been a nightmare, both in the dream and in reality the deal existed. And Alastor didn’t doubt —not even for a second— that Vox would hurt him again, this time in reality.
He raised a fist and struck his face hard. Vox reacted immediately, trying to defend himself, but Alastor shoved him back down, using his tentacles to pin his wrists. He needed him still. He couldn’t give him a chance to escape. To hurt him again.
“I hate you! I hate you, you bastard!” He hit him again. “Why do you have to be so damn selfish? Why couldn’t you accept my decision? Why did you have to force me? Why did you have to hurt me?” With every question, he struck Vox’s face harder.
Alastor kept hitting Vox until his hands started to hurt. Until his breathing became uneven. Until something shifted.
Suddenly, something shoved him. The world spun. And before he could react, their positions were reversed. Now Vox was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. His hands gripped his wrists tightly, keeping him still.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Alastor?” Vox frowned as he looked down at him. Irritation flashed in his eyes.
Alastor wanted to keep attacking him. He wanted to scream at him, hit him, make him suffer for what he had done. But the moment he was trapped beneath Vox, with anger burning in his eyes, he froze.
He remembered the nightmare.
He remembered Vox on top of him, touching him in places he had never even touched himself.
He remembered Vox telling him Alastor was enjoying it.
He remembered the nausea of it.
How dirty he had felt afterward.
A chill ran through him again, and he shut his legs tightly, as if that alone could stop Vox from touching him there. He clenched his fists, staring at the ceiling. At anything but Vox. He didn’t want to see his expression. Didn’t want to see the desire in his gaze. Or the lust. He didn’t want to look at him at all. He closed his eyes, a tear sliding down his cheek.
It didn’t have to end like this.
Vox and he didn’t have to stop being allies. They didn’t have to stop being friends. They didn’t have to become enemies.
If only Vox had accepted his deal— the one where he would help restore his reputation in exchange for breaking their previous contract. If only Vox were a little less cruel. A little more human…
If only he wasn’t so disgusted by sex.
If only he could love Vox romantically.
If only he wasn’t broken.
“Fuck.”
Alastor kept his eyes closed, still not moving. The weight on top of him disappeared, as if no one was there anymore, but he barely reacted.
“Fuck, Al.”
This time, Alastor did open his eyes. His cheeks felt wet. He didn’t know when he had started crying. But he didn’t care. All he saw was Vox. He was no longer on top of him. He was away from him, almost leaning against the wall, arms wrapped around himself. He looked uncomfortable.
“What… what did you think I was going to do?” Vox asked quietly. His voice was tense. It almost sounded like it had taken effort to ask.
“What are you talking about?” Alastor tried to ignore the crack in his voice and tried to steady his breathing.
“When I was on top of you, you closed your legs, as if I…” he hesitated for a second, and his hands trembled. He changed the subject, unwilling to continue that line of thought. “You… you said ‘why did you have to force me.’” For a moment, it almost looked like he was going to vomit. “Alastor, is that what happened in the nightmare? Is that… what you think I am?” The pain was reflected in his eyes.
What?
“Do you really think I would force you? Do you really think I would…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. His voice cracked, and he took another step back. “I didn't realize you think so low of me”
What?
Alastor couldn’t understand what was happening. Vox wasn’t yelling at him. He wasn’t forcing him to do anything. He wasn’t touching him. He wasn’t doing anything the Vox from his nightmare would have done. He wasn’t doing anything his mind expected. Why wasn’t he doing the same thing?
“We made a deal,” Alastor replied, still not getting up from the floor. He only sat up, enough to look at Vox. “You want to have sex with me. Are you really telling me you wouldn’t stop at anything to get it?”
Vox froze, processing Alastor’s words. One second passed. Then two. Then three. And then— he started laughing.
Alastor thought he was mocking him. Maybe he thought Alastor had said something funny, even if he didn’t agree. But it wasn’t that. He knew it when Vox’s laughter broke, when he hugged himself tighter, as if trying to hold back his emotions.
It wasn’t normal laughter.
It was hysterical. Nervous.
Desperate.
“Is that what I did in your nightmare?” Vox asked between broken laughs. “Is that what makes you think I would ignore what you want, that I’d just go ahead without caring?” The laughter slowly faded, and just when Alastor thought he had calmed down, Vox let out a sob. “Do you really think I would rape you, Al?” A tear slipped from his eye, quickly wiped away. “Do you really think I care so little about you?”
“You’re a demon,” Alastor said, wrapping his arms around himself tightly, almost digging his claws into his skin. “Deals are what matter most to us.”
Vox frowned. “You think so? Then I have something to tell you, Al.”
Alastor instinctively pulled back when Vox summoned the chain that bound them. His body tensed immediately. That chain was the constant proof that they were still connected, the proof that Alastor had made a mistake making a deal with Vox. He expected Vox to pull him toward him, to hurt him again. But he— he didn’t do that.
Instead, Vox raised his hands, grabbed the chain—
“You haven’t been paying attention if you think having sex with you matters more to me than your well-being.”
—and broke it.
Alastor couldn’t believe what had just happened. Vox had broken the chain. Vox had broken the deal. Voluntarily. Without Alastor having to trick him into it. Without Alastor having to force it. That meant he wouldn’t have to have sex with him, not even once. That meant there was still a chance their relationship wouldn’t be ruined. That meant he and Vox could be…
“I don’t know what made you think I would force you to have sex with me. I don’t know what I did in your nightmare or in reality to make you think that, but…” Vox let out a shaky sigh. “I would never do that.”
“Vox…”
“No,” Vox interrupted. “No, listen to me, Al. I might have wanted to have sex with you. Hell, I won’t lie to you, Al, I still do.” He paused. “But I would never touch you that way if that’s not what you want.”
“Why not?” Alastor asked uncertainly, getting up from the floor and stepping closer to Vox.
“Because you’re the only one in this damn Hell who’s worth it, Al,” he crossed his arms. “You’re the only thing that matters to me. I’d do anything for you. And not having sex? That’s nothing compared to the idea of losing you.”
“All for me?”
Alastor couldn’t believe it. He had always wanted to be someone’s priority. Since he was a child, he had dreamed of finding someone who would love him unconditionally. Someone who would respect his boundaries, who would love him without expecting anything in return. A man, a woman, or anyone who would look at him and not see a means to an end, not someone to date, but someone to spend meaningful time with. Someone who would see a human being, someone with emotions and feelings, and not think of him as a boyfriend, a toy, a prize, or a monster.
But long ago, he had stopped believing that was possible.
Everyone wanted something from him. His power, his body, dates with him. Everyone who approached him had a hidden intention. It didn’t matter what: they always expected something in return.
Love.
Fame.
Money.
Power.
Loyalty.
Sex.
When he met Vox, he didn’t think Vox was any different from the rest of Hell’s demons. But as he got to know him, it became clear there was something special about him. Vox made him feel something special— something he hadn’t felt with anyone else. For a while, he thought maybe —just maybe— he had found that special someone he had been looking for. And then Vox proposed that deal, the deal where Vox would do anything for him if they had sex once a year.
That was when his hopes died.
That was when it was proven that no one would ever be able to love him unconditionally.
But now…
“All for you,” Vox confirmed.
Alastor swallowed and sat down on the bed. He needed something to lean on so he wouldn’t collapse. Vox sounded so sincere, so real, that it almost hurt to hear him.
“And what if I told you I’ll never have sex with you?” Alastor asked uncertainly, his voice trembling. “What would you do then? What would you do if I told you I’ll never let you touch me like that?”
Vox went silent, as if thinking about how to answer, and Alastor waited without saying anything. The last time he said that —in his nightmare, he reminded himself— Vox had refused to make a new deal with him because Alastor told him he would never have sex with him, no matter if their previous deal was broken. He didn’t know what to expect from the real Vox.
“It’s your decision, not mine,” Vox finally replied. “I told you, Al. All I care about is your well-being. If you don’t want to have sex, then that’s fine.” Vox closed his eyes for a moment, then looked back at him. “I will never force you to have sex with me, with or without a deal.”
Alastor felt a lump in his throat. He laughed to stop the tears from escaping. “Is that really enough for you?”
“Alastor.”
Vox reached out his hand, but didn’t touch him. He stopped halfway, watching him as if asking for permission. Alastor felt a sting in his chest. Why…? He nodded slightly, bracing himself for Vox’s hand on his shoulder— but it didn’t come. Instead, Vox placed a hand on his cheek. Gently.
“What you offer me is enough,” he said, caressing his cheek softly. “You will always be enough for me.”
“I… what?” Alastor blinked, feeling his eyes wet. “What did you just say?” He let out another laugh, ignoring the warmth and pain growing in his chest.
“I’ll repeat it,” Vox said, his voice firm but soft. “You are enough. You are enough for me.” He seemed to notice something in Alastor’s eyes, because he placed his other hand on his cheek too. “You are enough for me. Do you hear me, Al?” He gently wiped away a tear. “You are enough.”
Alastor tried to look away, to lower his head, to hide. Vox let him lower his head. He didn’t stop him.
What he didn’t expect was for Vox to kneel in front of him, taking his trembling hands gently and covering them with his own.
“I don’t know who convinced you otherwise, Al. But you are enough, okay?” He stroked his knuckles. “You are enough.”
Alastor couldn’t take it anymore. He collapsed onto the floor in front of Vox, resting his forehead against his shoulder. His trembling fingers clutched his shirt, and he tried to hold himself back from crying. Even though he felt a lump in his throat, even though tears wanted to escape his eyes, he couldn’t let them fall. He had already gone too far by letting himself get close to Vox like this, resting his head on his shoulder as if seeking refuge.
Vox hugged him gently, slowly, keeping his arms around his shoulders or upper back, never going below his waist. It was so different from the Vox in his dream, so gentle, that he had to squeeze his eyes shut.
The Vox from his nightmare had hit him, screamed at him, touched him without respecting his boundaries, had gotten angry when he said he would never be able to have sex with him or love him the way Vox loved him. And instead, the real Vox… had broken the deal. Had told him he didn’t care about not having sex with him. Had held him gently, without crossing his boundaries.
“You… you do realize I can never give you what you want, right?” Alastor inhaled shakily. “I can’t give you sex. And… I also can’t… I can’t love you the way you love me.”
Vox tightened his embrace slightly. “I… I know.”
“Then why aren’t you angry with me?” His voice broke. “Why aren’t you yelling at me for not loving you back?”
“Al…” Vox took a deep breath. “I don’t care that you don’t feel romantically or sexually attracted to me.” His arms trembled. “All I care about is that you feel safe with me.”
“Why?” His hands trembled harder. “Why don’t you care about not being able to kiss me, not being able to have sex with me?”
“Because I love you, Al,” Vox let out a broken, almost disbelieving laugh as he stroked Alastor’s hair. “Because love is about fully accepting the person you love. Boundaries included. And I…” He paused. “I will never cross any of your boundaries.”
Alastor shut his eyes tighter. His body trembled more than before, and before he realized it —before he could stop it— a tear escaped. Then another. All the tears he hadn’t shed in his dream. All the tears he hadn’t allowed himself to shed in front of the Vox from his nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” Alastor clutched Vox’s shirt. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t love you the way you want me to. I’m sorry I can’t give you sex. I’m sorry…” His words were cut off by a sob.
“No, no, no,” Vox pulled him back slightly and cupped his cheek. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t apologize for not being able to have sex with me. Or for not loving me the way I love you.”
“Vox…” Alastor leaned into his hand. “All demons tolerate sex. And I… I hate it. It disgusts me. It makes me feel dirty. It makes me feel…” He clenched his fists, unable to finish. “I don’t even understand romantic love,” he sobbed. “I’m sick and broken, don’t you see?” His lips trembled. “Why would you still love me like this?”
“Al…” Vox’s eyes filled with tears. Pain reflected in them— but not for himself. For Alastor. Gently, he caressed his cheek. “Don’t say you’re broken. Al, you’re not broken. You’re… just different.”
He leaned in and softly kissed his temple. A gentleness that nearly stole Alastor’s breath away.
“You’re just different,” he repeated. “And you don’t have to have sex or love anyone if you don’t want to.”
Alastor froze. For a moment, he stayed completely still, looking at Vox as if he were seeing him for the first time. Vox had just told him he wasn’t broken. That it was okay not to feel sexual or romantic attraction. That he didn’t have to force himself into anything. He was the first man who had ever told him something like that. The first man who had fully accepted him. The first one who truly loved him unconditionally.
You’re something special, Vox.
Alastor leaned back into Vox’s arms, this time crying for something more than pain. Vox immediately wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close as if trying to completely shield him. As if his only instinct was to protect him. For the first time since making the deal with Vox, for the first time since waking up in Vox’s presence, he felt like he could breathe— like there was nothing around his throat suffocating him.
“Vox…” Alastor murmured a few seconds later.
“What is it, Al?”
“Thank you,” Alastor moved closer to him.
“Al…” Vox held him tighter for a moment before softening his embrace. “You don’t have to… thank me.” He got closer to Alastor, and pressed another kiss in his temple.
So- Now I'm invested in the comic Incompatible Frequencies by @elsa-fogen, and I really wanted to explore an alternative version of the fic where Vox wasn't an asshole- so here it is!
It’s just sex.
It’s not a big deal.
It’s easy to endure.
Alastor didn’t want to admit it out loud. He didn’t want to seem weak in front of anyone. But he had been anxious all year because of the deal he’d made with Vincent. After the day they made that deal, it became uncomfortable to be around Vox, and every night he had nightmares where he woke up struggling to breathe, a scream trapped in his throat, trembling almost violently. He even began to wonder what had led him to agree to have sex in exchange for Vincent doing anything for him.
At the time, he thought it was too good an offer to pass up. He thought that having sex with Vincent wouldn’t take any effort, that it was a small price to pay for what Vincent was offering in return. It wasn’t common for demons in Hell to offer something like that in exchange for something as simple as sex, and Alastor was smart enough not to refuse that deal.
Now, after 365 days, after a whole year of nightmares, insomnia, and even night terrors, he wondered if it had been a mistake.
And the worst part wasn’t the fact that he had agreed to it. Although he despised having made a deal with Vox and offering to have sex with him once a year, he hated even more the fact that it was too late to back out.
There was nothing he could do to avoid what was going to happen. Nothing he could do to convince Vox to change the deal. He had had an entire year to do so— and he hadn’t said anything during that time. He had asked, vaguely, whether Vox wanted to change his part of the deal, but that was all. Vox’s answer had always been the same: I don’t want anything else. And Alastor had been too much of a coward to directly ask Vox to change the deal, too much of a coward to tell him he could give him anything except sex. He had hidden his discomfort, his dark circles, and had suppressed his trembling so Vox wouldn’t see how damn terrified he was, because he wasn’t capable of looking him in the eye and say, “I don’t want to have sex, don’t ask me to, let’s think about making another deal, please.”
Yes, he admitted it. He was tired of pretending he wasn’t. He was terrified. Even though he knew it was stupid, that there was no reason to be afraid of sex, every time he was near Vox, his body triggered a fight-or-flight response. The only reason he didn’t move away from him was pure willpower. The last thing he needed was for Vox to see his vulnerability and take advantage of it.
You got yourself into this mess. Alastor knew he had had many opportunities to convince Vox to break the deal. He could have talked to him. He could have even decided not to make the deal in the first place. But after a year, the day had finally come, and it was too late to back out. Vox wouldn’t be happy if he told him now that he wasn’t capable of having sex.
All he could do was endure.
Endure his discomfort.
Maybe it wasn’t a big deal.
Maybe he could get through it once they started.
“Oh, Al. I’ve been dreaming about this for a long time,” Vox almost exclaimed, with a huge smile. The excitement was shining in his eyes.
Alastor could tell that Vox was thrilled about what was about to happen between them, but his smile didn’t reassure him in the slightest. It only made a knot form in his stomach, and sudden nausea rose in his throat, forcing him to swallow to keep himself from vomiting. The idea of Vox touching him with sexual intent disgusted —and terrified— him.
“Al, don’t be shy. Come on, take something off too.” Vox watched him for a few seconds. Alastor didn’t respond. He didn’t even move to take off his shirt, as Vox already had. He couldn’t. “Do you want me to help you?”
Alastor still didn’t respond. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He had never been about to have sex before. He had no idea how to act. This would be his first time, if Vox decided to go through with it. When Vox touched his shoulder, Alastor resisted the urge to pull away as far as possible from him and from the entire situation that threatened to swallow him into a void. Instead, he took a deep breath and sighed.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Alastor asked, his tone calmer than he actually felt.
“Yes, Al, I want it. I want you.” He gave him a small smile. Alastor felt his heart clench. Vox started to take off his jacket, and when Alastor was naked from the waist up, he reacted, his heart pounding harder. He placed his hands on Vox’s chest, stopping him once more before he could kiss his neck.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” he repeated, his voice still steady. He needed to be sure he had to endure it, that there was no other option. He needed to make sure that this was really what Vox wanted. He just wanted Vox to say anything— anything he could use to get out of the situation without directly confessing that he didn’t think he could go through with it.
“Al, you’re the only thing I want.” He leaned close to his ear. “And I promise I’ll make you feel good.”
Okay.
Okay.
It’s okay.
Alastor looked at Vox, and after a soft “you can continue,” he took his hands away from Vox’s chest. A part of him was screaming at him to tell Vox to stop, but the other part didn’t dare. It was sex. Just that. He had to endure it. He had to endure it, despite the knot in his throat and stomach, despite the intense nausea he had felt since he saw Vox enter his apartment. Surely he was exaggerating. It’s not a big deal.
It’s not a big deal, he told himself, as Vox kissed his neck.
It’s not a big deal, he told himself, as Vox slid his hands behind his back.
It’s not a big deal, he told himself, as Vox pulled him closer.
It’s not a big deal.
“Al?”
I promised him.
We made a deal.
“Al?”
I have to keep the deal.
I can’t ask him to stop.
Not now.
I’m the one to blame for being in this situation.
I have to endure it.
“Al!”
Alastor tried to look at Vox through his blurred eyes. How strange. Everything was blurry, as if the room were filled with fog. He could barely see. He blinked several times, confused, trying to clear his vision. He began to hear a ringing in his ears, and his breathing quickened without him noticing. Why couldn’t he see properly? Why…?
And then he saw it. The concern in Vox’s eyes. The way he leaned toward him. The way he said his name.
Only then did Alastor understand what was happening. He was crying.
He jerked back suddenly, as if he’d been shoved. The movement made him let out a small gasp, and only then did he process what else was happening.
He could barely breathe.
His breathing was uneven. He inhaled sharply, trying to force air into his lungs, to regain the control he had lost without realizing it. No, no, no. He couldn’t let Vox see him like this. He couldn’t let him see him crying, trembling, struggling to breathe as if he were suffocating. He was stronger than that. He had to be.
It’s just sex.
It’s just sex.
Stop panicking. Get a hold of yourself. Don’t do this. Not in front of him.
“Fuck, Al.”
Vox’s voice struck him like a whip. Alastor flinched even more, bracing for a blow. For a moment, he thought Vox was disappointed, furious— that he would take what he wanted from him whether he agreed or not. That’s how Hell worked. There were no boundaries. No compassion. No—
A warm hand rested against his cheek, lifting his head and pulling him out of his thoughts. What…? He hadn’t expected that reaction from Vox. He wasn’t used to that kind of gentleness.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Al. Breathe with me.”
Alastor curled in on himself, trembling harder. He felt like he was dying. The air wouldn’t come in, and the world seemed to close in tighter around him. God. Alastor clenched his fists, digging his claws into his palms. He didn’t care if he drew blood. It was just sex. Just sex. Why was he reacting so violently?
“I don’t want this,” he admitted between broken breaths. “I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want to have sex. I don’t…”
The words came out uneven, scraping his throat, but he had to speak. He had to tell him he couldn’t go on. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he had no idea how to calm down. How to make the air come back into his lungs.
“Al, Al, listen to me.” Vox placed his other hand on his cheek. “It’s okay, alright?”
It’s okay. Alastor gasped and brought a hand to his chest, trying to stop the tremors running through his body. Vox said it was okay. Which meant he wanted him to think the situation was normal, that there was no reason to panic. Vox wanted him to calm down, to stop overreacting, to—
“No. It’s not okay. I can’t… I can’t continue.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t… Don’t ask me to…”
“Al, please.” Vox’s voice softened, though it was still laced with urgency. “I won’t touch you. I promise I’ll never touch you again, but let me help you right now. Just let me help you calm down.”
Alastor lifted his head with difficulty. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Vox’s expression. But there was no lust or desire in his eyes. No impatience. Only concern. Fear.
“Please,” he repeated, almost pleading.
That “please” hit him hard. Alastor stopped clenching his fists, stopping himself from digging his claws into his skin, and instead grabbed Vox’s wrists tightly. He needed to focus on something physical, something that wasn’t his own desperation.
“Breathe with me,” he repeated, holding his face between his hands so he wouldn’t look away. “Inhale.”
Vox inhaled slowly, setting the pace. Alastor copied him, though the air came in with difficulty.
“And now exhale.”
Alastor let the air out, following Vox’s movement. Vox repeated the process several times, guiding him with a patience Alastor didn’t know how to process. And he couldn’t help but trust him— that he would calm the storm inside him. Maybe it was the concern in his eyes, the softness with which he held his face, or the faint static he emitted, as if trying to soothe him.
“That’s it,” Vox murmured, gently caressing his cheeks. “That’s it, keep going. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay, Al. Take it easy.” He leaned slightly closer, as if trying to wrap him in his warmth to stop his trembling. “Keep breathing for me, sweetheart.”
The words wrapped around him like a warm blanket. And for the first time since the panic had taken hold, Alastor felt like he could breathe.
When he had finally calmed down completely, Alastor looked away, unable to keep meeting Vox’s gaze. Showing himself that weak in front of Vox felt strange. Uncomfortable. He wasn’t supposed to show vulnerability to anyone, and he shouldn’t.
And yet, that was exactly what had happened.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Alastor expected the worst. He expected that, once the moment of tenderness passed, Vox would break his word. That he would try to convince him to continue. That all that calm had just been a strategy to get what he wanted. That’s what demons did.
When Vox got up from the bed, Alastor’s stomach dropped. A sudden chill ran down his spine. For a moment, he thought Vox was going to get a sex toy or something to restrain him, to make sure he couldn’t move away or resist. Anything to force him to stay still.
He hugged himself, unable to get dressed. The only thing he managed to do was use his powers to stitch the wounds on his hands, and mentally prepare for the inevitable— for Vox to be even more violent when he came back.
But Vox returned with a cup of tea and a blanket.
Alastor blinked, confused. He didn’t understand. Vox approached slowly, set the cup of tea on the nightstand, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Out of instinct, Alastor held onto it, keeping it wrapped around himself. He didn’t understand why Vox was doing that, but he felt more protected wrapped in that blanket than when his chest had been uncovered.
Vox stepped a little closer, and Alastor tensed immediately, expecting him to touch him again. But Vox didn’t. He simply picked up the shirt he had left on the bed and put it back on, as if he wanted to make sure he didn’t cross any line.
“Easy,” he murmured, a clear pain in his eyes. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you again, Alastor. I…” he hesitated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He stepped away from him again. “If… if you want me to leave, just tell me.”
Alastor froze. Why? Vox had been waiting a whole year to have sex with him, they had made a deal, and Alastor had just had a panic attack. Why was Vox acting like this? Why wasn’t he yelling at him or blaming him for overreacting?
“Why?” Alastor asked when he felt he could speak without crying. “Why did you stop?”
The pain in Vox’s eyes deepened, and he clenched his fists. For a moment, Alastor thought he was going to hit him. But Vox only let out a shaky sigh. And then Alastor saw it clearly: he wasn’t angry. He was hurt.
“Al, I know we’re in Hell, but I’m not… I’m not a rapist.” His hands trembled. “I’m not going to continue when it’s clear you don’t want it.”
When it’s clear you’re terrified, he didn’t say, but Alastor knew Vox was thinking that.
“But we made a deal.” Alastor tightened his grip on the blanket, pulling it closer around himself. He still didn’t feel capable of taking it off to put his shirt back on.
“Alastor…” Vox leaned back against the wall, as if he needed the support to keep from collapsing. “Why did you accept the deal if you couldn’t handle it?”
Alastor frowned, and the knot in his throat returned. “I thought I could endure it. I thought it would be easy, I thought I… was exaggerating.”
“What?” Vox took a step toward him. “What did you say?”
“I thought I was exaggerating. Seriously, Vox, are you deaf or—?” He stopped when he saw the horror on Vox’s face.
“Alastor… what do you mean you were exaggerating?” Vox went still. Too still. As if he were in shock.
“I thought it wasn’t a big deal. All those nights with nightmares, with insomnia… I thought the problem was mine.” Alastor paused and lowered his head. “It’s just sex. Almost everyone in Hell knows what it feels like. I thought my fear was irrational.”
“Alastor” the horror on Vox’s face grew “you spent an entire year fearing the idea of having sex… and you decided not to tell me anything?”
“Yes, Vox.” Alastor frowned. “We made a deal. And I thought I was overreacting. I don’t understand why you don’t get it.”
“Al…” Vox ran a hand over his face, as if trying to contain his frustration. “Okay, listen to me.” He looked back at Alastor. “No one has the right to touch you if you don’t want them to. And you don’t have to force yourself to have sex with anyone if you don’t want to. It’s your body. You decide who you want to have sex with.”
A shiver ran through Alastor. For a moment, he imagined someone else touching him with sexual intent. He imagined someone kissing his neck, sinking their teeth into his skin, touching him in places he hadn’t even dared to touch himself. And it made him feel sick. The idea of having sex with Vox repulsed him— but imagining another demon doing the same was even worse.
“Vox, I… I don’t want to have sex with anyone.”
Vox blinked, his brow slightly furrowed. “What? What do you mean you don’t want to have sex with anyone? I thought I—”
“No. It’s not you,” Alastor clarified. “I don’t want to have sex with anyone,” he repeated, more firmly. “The idea of sex repulses me.”
Vox didn’t respond immediately. He stayed still—too still—as if he were processing everything he said, trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t quite understand. Alastor watched him uneasily, wondering what thoughts were crossing his mind. Was he disappointed? Confused? Annoyed?
A few minutes passed before Vox looked at him again, and when he did, there was something different in his expression. Something Alastor didn’t know how to interpret. But knowing how much Vox liked sex— he was sure he was disappointed or irritated with him for thinking sex was disgusting.
“You think I’m a freak, don’t you? You love sex. All demons either like it or tolerate it. I’m probably the only sick one who doesn’t.” Alastor grimaced. “I’m sure you think I’m broken.”
“Al.” Vox took another step toward him. “If the idea of sex repulses you, then…” He paused. “Don’t have it.”
“What?” Alastor went breathless. He hadn’t expected him to say that. He expected him to call him strange, to say it didn’t make sense not to like sex, that feeling repulsed by sex was the most illogical thing he’d ever heard.
“Yes, Al.” Vox’s gaze softened. “Sex is fine, I’ll admit it, but… it’s not mandatory.” He paused. “You don’t like sex. Fine. Don’t have it.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “You’re not…” Vox took a step toward him, then realized what he was doing and stepped back. “You’re not sick,” pain flickered in his eyes, “and you’re definitely not broken, Al. You just have different preferences.”
For a moment, Alastor couldn’t move. Or breathe. He froze completely. To Vox, he wasn’t sick. He wasn’t broken. There was nothing wrong with him. He was just different. He was just different.
The words repeated in his mind several times, as if he couldn’t process them. Something inside him, for the first time since his human life, fell into place. He felt a strange warmth in his chest, as if those words had touched a wound he had ignored for far too long.
Tears gathered in his eyes again before he could stop them. And Vox tensed, as if he hadn’t been prepared to see him cry again. As if it hurt him to see him upset.
“Hey, hey, I… I’m sorry,” Vox said, alarmed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, Vincent. You didn’t hurt me.” Alastor blinked, trying to keep the tears from falling.
On the contrary, Vincent.
You’ve healed a wound I didn’t even know I had.
The realization hit him so hard he had to close his eyes for a moment.
“Come closer, Vincent.”
Vox went still, as if the request had caught him off guard.
“Are you sure?” Vox asked hesitantly, not looking at him. “I don’t want to… I promised you that I…”
And that was enough.
That hesitation, that willingness to keep his promise even though he seemed to want to comfort him…
He was safe.
With Vincent, he was safe.
There was no doubt about it.
“I’m sure.” He held a hand out toward him. “I trust you, Vincent.”
Vox took a few seconds to react. His eyes flicked to the outstretched hand, then to Alastor’s face, and for a moment he seemed to struggle with himself. He looked like he wanted to come closer, but also like he was afraid of crossing a line. Finally, he let out a long sigh and stepped back toward the bed. He sat beside him, making sure not to brush against him or invade his space.
“What do you need?” Vox asked softly.
Alastor opened his arms, asking for a hug. But Vox didn’t move toward him. Instead, he looked down, picked up Alastor’s shirt, and handed it to him.
“If you want a hug, put this on first. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” Vox said gently, then looked away.
Alastor felt a lump in his throat and tried to hold back his tears. Damn it, why did he have to be so kind? He was sure Vox had only looked away so he wouldn’t see his bare chest when he stopped covering himself with the blanket.
After putting the shirt on, he touched Vox’s shoulder so he would turn around, then opened his arms again. This time, the television demon wrapped him in a hug. He did it gently, slowly, keeping one arm behind his shoulders and the other behind his back, without letting his hand wander any lower. As if he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. And for some reason, that was what finally made the tears fall.
“You wanted to have sex,” Alastor said, clutching the fabric of Vox’s shirt. “Why aren’t you angry at me for ruining it?”
“Al, you didn’t ruin anything.” Slowly, gently, he ran a hand through Alastor’s hair. “You just set a boundary. That’s all.”
“A boundary that breaks our deal.” Alastor inhaled shakily. “You should be furious. You waited a whole year for this and I…”
“Screw the deal, Alastor. What matters to me right now is you.” He tightened the embrace, pulling him closer to his chest. “You’ve always mattered more to me than the deal.”
That’s not possible. Alastor closed his eyes. It couldn’t be possible that Vox valued him more than the deal. It was so illogical it made his chest ache. He wanted it. God, he wanted someone to truly value him, to value him above everything else.
But they were in Hell.
That kind of care, that kind of affection didn’t exist there.
Why would a rising Overlord genuinely care about another Overlord?
Why would he throw away a deal with him, just for his well-being?
“Stop doing that.”
Alastor pulled back slightly from Vox. “Doing what?”
“Thinking whatever it is you’re thinking. You’re shaking, Al.” Vox moved his hands away from Alastor’s back. “What’s wrong?”
“As if I’d tell you,” Alastor scoffed, trying to regain control.
“You’re doing it again. You’re doing that thing where you…” Vox blinked and held his breath.
Alastor frowned. He didn’t understand why Vox had gone silent mid-sentence. The seconds passed without him saying anything, and unease began to creep in. It wasn’t normal for him to go still like that, studying him as if trying to find something.
He felt so exposed under his gaze that he couldn’t help crossing his arms over his chest, covering himself as if he were still naked.
“You asked me.”
“What?” Alastor didn’t lower his arms.
“You asked me if there was anything I wanted more than having sex with you. And I told you no.” Vox stepped back, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to vomit. “Oh, fuck. You asked me because you were looking for a way out. You wanted me to realize you didn’t want to have sex, and I…missed it. I didn’t think there was a hidden meaning.” He took another step back and clenched his fists. His breathing faltered. “Fuck, if you hadn’t had a panic attack, I would’ve kept going. I would have… I would have…”
Alastor straightened abruptly, no longer covering his chest in his surprise. He had seen guilt in Vox’s eyes before, but what he saw now— he didn’t like it at all. Vox was clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, drawing drops of blood. His gaze was unfocused, and his breathing grew more and more uneven.
Only when Vox tried to inhale and couldn’t did Alastor react. He got up from the bed and hurried toward him. Vox was having a panic attack.
“Vox—” Alastor cupped his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” Vox said quietly, his voice breaking, gently gripping Alastor’s wrists. “I’m so sorry.”
Alastor’s hands began to tremble. The pain and guilt in Vox’s eyes were so intense that it took his breath away. Vox was looking at him as if he had committed an unforgivable crime, as if he couldn’t bear the idea of having hurt him.
“Vox, it’s…” Alastor swallowed. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Vox said shakily.
“It is.” Alastor slid his thumb beneath one of Vox’s eyes, wiping away a small tear. “I promise I’m okay,” he repeated, more urgently. “Vox, you have to breathe.”
“I can’t…” His eyes filled with tears. “I hurt you, Al.”
Vox closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he fixed his gaze on Alastor, full of desperation. That was when Alastor understood: if he didn’t intervene, the panic would drag him deeper into that abyss of guilt and self-hatred.
He had to guide him, the same way Vox had done when Alastor was panicking.
“Breathe with me.”
Alastor inhaled slowly, waiting for Vox to copy him, and when he saw his chest rise, he exhaled just as calmly. He leaned closer, closing the distance until their foreheads touched. He needed to anchor Vox to reality.
They repeated the process again and again. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Little by little, Vox’s breathing stopped being ragged and frantic, becoming steadier, less desperate. He was no longer breathing as if he were drowning.
“That’s it. You’re okay,” Alastor murmured, wiping his tears and pulling his forehead away.
“I’m sorry,” Vox repeated, his voice breaking.
Alastor didn’t say anything. He just silently wiped away the tears that kept falling. A part of him wanted to mock Vox, to take advantage of that vulnerability, to use it to his benefit. But he didn’t. Vox hadn’t done that.
Vox hadn’t been the monster in his story.
And Alastor didn’t want to become the monster in Vox’s story.
Despite everything he had believed about him, Vox had stopped. He could have kept going despite Alastor’s refusal. He could have ignored his lack of consent, could have touched him after calming his panic attack. And instead, he had covered him with a blanket. He had brought him a cup of tea.
Vox wasn’t like the other demons in Hell.
“Al…” Vox said quietly. His voice was still unsteady, but he wasn’t crying like before. “I’m so sorry. I should have seen the signs.”
Alastor lowered his hands from Vox’s face and sighed, letting them fall to his legs.
“I wanted you to,” he admitted softly. “I wanted you to realize.” Vox pulled back slightly, but Alastor stopped him by grabbing his wrist. “But I don’t blame you for not doing it. I’m the one who didn’t ask you to stop. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
Vox frowned. “Al, you were terrified. It’s not your fault you couldn’t ask me to stop. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. After you asked me so many times if having sex with you was really what I wanted, I should have known you weren’t convinced.”
Alastor moved closer to Vox. He carefully watched his reactions as he did. He didn’t pull away. He just looked at him with exhaustion, as if what had happened between them had drained him completely. Alastor placed a hand on Vox’s arm, and when the television demon didn’t move away, he leaned in, resting his head on his shoulder.
“Don’t carry the responsibility alone. It was just miscommunication.” He leaned closer into him. “So stop overthinking it and hug me.”
Vox stayed still for a second. Then he let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around Alastor. The hug was even softer than the previous one, almost overly careful, but just as warm and safe. Vox even seemed to hold himself back from squeezing him too tightly, as if he didn’t want to scare him.
“Alright,” he said after a pause. “But I’m not going to ignore this. Tomorrow we’re going to have a conversation about boundaries, because I don’t want something like this to happen again.”
Alastor closed his eyes. The idea of that conversation unsettled him a little —talking about boundaries had never been easy for him— but even then… for the first time since the year had begun, he felt like everything would be okay.
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