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will byers stan first human second
if i look back, i am lost
hello vonnie
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@rainelovesfandomshit
Hi! You can call me Raine. I use She/They pronouns!
My Ao3 is the same user as it is here! (rainelovesfandomshit) I tend to write identity focused things, not really big, dramatic things, but more so how dramatic things change people, I'd say?
If I follow you, don't feel any pressure to follow me back. Just 'cause I like your stuff doesn't mean you gotta like mine! More stuff about me and my fics below the cut!
I am above 18, but below 30. I made this account so I could write smut and omegaverse stuff without my family and friends seeing it (they know my main). I am aceflux and I can't always write smut, so my updates will likely be very sporadic.
All to say, MINORS DNI.
If you do, then that is not my responsibility for what you see. I will not censor myself because some people might be too young for it, it is their / their parents fault if they see something bad.
Fandoms:
Hazbin Hotel (Specifically Vox and Lucifer. Mostly Vox)
Horizon (Both Zero Dawn and Forbidden West)
The Owl House
The Amazing Digital Circus
Kpop Demon Hunters
Gravity Falls
I mostly expect to post about Hazbin, because that's what I'm hyperfixated on atm, but I might post about these other things.
Fics:
My one-shot/shorts collection! (Mostly smut)
Like You Did Before
It's been a while, I've missed that smile
Split Screen (Series)
You've Forgotten Who We Are
(11/15 chapters so far, 41k words)
"After Vox’s head gets reattached, he deletes his memories of the last fifty years, to right before the moment Alastor had rejected him. Now Vox from the 70s is fifty years in the future, roommates with people he doesn’t remember, a body that is different than it was before, and an enemy who, last time he’d checked, was his friend."
Two of a Kind (Series)
Alastor and Vox are soulmates. Vox thought that was the beginning of their story. Alastor thought it was the end. What happens when they're forced together by something neither of them asked for?
Not Everything is Spelled in Ink
(3/9 chapters so far, 11k words)
"When Vox discovered that Alastor was his soulmate, he thought it made perfect sense.
Radio and television. The past and the future of entertainment. Two ambitious sinners destined to stand at the top.
Alastor disagreed.
The moment their bond clicked into place, Alastor walked away, and over the years, indifference curdled into rivalry.
Now they're enemies.
Unfortunately for both of them, the universe still insists they're soulmates.
-
A dangerous heat forces two estranged soulmates to face a bond neither of them wants."
My requests are open!
Doesn't mean I'll always do it, but if I like the idea I might.
Headcanon: They have a giant bowl of rice at VoxTek that they put Vox in when he accidentally falls into his shark tank again
Velvette as the GTA 6 girl
Text posts part 24!
22 / 23 / 24
📻📺 lemon rant
I miss them being drunk idiots
theyre so cute and clingy and all over each other ough
[HH S2 D118] Day 2 of #VoxWeek2026 : Shark Vox ! 🦈 x 📺 I hope he's waterproof
underrated vees moment in S1 actually is val giving the very unserious suggestion to 'put something inside them' as a solution to the hotel and Vox and Velvette not only ignoring his nonsense but automatically and without hesitation translating it into a functional suggestion
Chapter 4 of Not Everything is Spelled in Ink is out now!
Summary:
When Vox discovered that Alastor was his soulmate, he thought it made perfect sense.
Radio and television. The past and the future of entertainment. Two ambitious sinners destined to stand at the top.
Alastor disagreed.
The moment their bond clicked into place, Alastor walked away, and over the years, indifference curdled into rivalry.
Now they're enemies.
Unfortunately for both of them, the universe still insists they're soulmates.
-
A dangerous heat forces two estranged soulmates to face a bond neither of them wants.
Chapter under cut! (2.8k words)
Three days.
It had been three days since Vox had left the hotel.
Three days since Alastor had discovered the impossible- Rosie's contract had begun to change.
It still felt wrong. Every morning, before he even bothered making coffee, he reached inward toward the familiar chain wrapped around his soul. Every morning, it yielded.
Not enough to break.
Just enough to remind him it could.
He hated it.
He hated that he'd started checking.
The first day, he'd assumed the sensation was lingering exhaustion.
The second, he'd blamed the angelic wound.
By the third he’d run out of lies to tell himself.
The contract had weakened.
Something had changed.
And every path his thoughts wandered eventually arrived at the same, deeply irritating destination.
Vox.
Alastor sighed into his coffee.
“I despise being correct.” He muttered.
The room, naturally, offered no sympathy.
It wasn't only the contract.
That would have been manageable.
Instead, his own body had apparently decided to become just as traitorous.
He hadn't slept properly since the mating.
Every time he settled into bed, something felt wrong.
The nest he'd built during his heat suddenly seemed too large. Too cold.
His pillows no longer smelled right.
His blankets refused to settle no matter how many times he rearranged them.
His instincts insisted something important was missing.
His conscious mind insisted his instincts were idiots.
Neither side had won.
Instead, he simply hadn't slept. Not well, anyway. When he did, he woke up every hour or so. And every single one of his dreams had been about Vox, which made him deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t even usually get dreams- not nearly this often- but now he’d had one for nearly every fitful hour of rest he managed.
The exhaustion was beginning to show. Even his smile required more effort than usual- which was entirely unacceptable.
The angelic wound across his chest continued healing, but slower than it had during the first few weeks after the last extermination.
Even his chest was cramping in dull throbs every few minutes. It didn’t hurt much, but it was annoying.
Overall, he was tired, everything felt wrong, and the world hated him.
Great.
He reached, almost absentmindedly, toward the fresh bite resting against his neck.
The moment his fingers brushed the mark…
Relief.
Not much.
Just enough to notice.
Like taking one proper breath after hours of stale air.
His hand froze.
“...No.” He pulled it away immediately.
The sensation vanished.
Alastor stared at the wall.
He very carefully did not touch the mark again.
His instincts, apparently offended by that decision, rewarded him with another dull ache settling somewhere behind his ribs.
Ridiculous.
Utterly ridiculous.
He was being held hostage by biology.
A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts. Charlie cracked the door open just enough to peek inside.
“There you are.” She offered him a small smile that disappeared almost immediately. “...Can I come in?”
“You already have.”
“...Right.” She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
For a moment she simply looked at him.
Then she frowned.
“...Alastor.”
“What?”
“You don't look well.”
“I assure you, Princess, I have looked considerably worse.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“You've barely come out of your room.”
“I've been occupied.”
“You haven't been eating much.”
“I've eaten.”
“Husk said you've only picked at your food.”
Alastor silently added 'traitorous bartender' to the growing list of inconveniences.
Charlie hesitated. “And...” She said it quietly. “...you're healing slower.”
"I fail to see how that concerns you.” He snapped back.
"Because I care.”
The answer was so immediate that it caught him slightly off guard.
Charlie wrung her hands together. “I've just been... thinking.”
“A dangerous pastime.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between them.
When Charlie spoke again, her voice was much quieter.
“...I've noticed something.”
“Oh?”
“You've been getting worse.” She paused. “...And...” She swallowed. “...So has Vox.”
Alastor looked up sharply. “...Excuse me?”
“He hasn't left Vee Tower since that day.”
“...How do you know that?”
“I called Velvette yesterday.” That explained considerably more than Alastor appreciated. Charlie looked uncomfortable. “She said Vox isn't doing well either."
Alastor remained silent. Charlie took a slow breath.
“I don't know if it's because of…” Her eyes flicked toward the bite mark before darting away again. “...what happened.”
Neither did he.
“And I'm not saying you should…” She quickly corrected herself. “Actually, I don't know what I'm saying.” She sighed. “I don't want to ask you to be anywhere near someone who hurt you.”
The words landed heavily. He blinked.
“But…” She looked genuinely conflicted. “...I also don't want either of you getting sicker if... if the bond is doing this.”
Alastor stared at her. Charlie hurried on before he could interrupt.
“I'm not saying forgive him. I'm not saying trust him. I'm not even saying to be alone with him.” She took another breath. “I'm just... wondering if the two of you being completely separated is making things worse.”
Silence. Finally, he spoke. “...You truly believe that?”
“I don't know.” Charlie shook her head. “I just know that a week ago neither of you looked like this.” She offered a sad, hesitant smile. “And now you both do.”
The room fell quiet once more. Charlie eventually gave him a small nod.
“You don't have to decide now.” She turned toward the door. “I just... I thought you deserved to know that he’s not doing well either.”
Charlie slipped quietly from the room, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.
This changed nothing.
It didn’t matter that this basically confirmed the source of his illness.
His chest throbbed with pain again. Not unmanageable levels of pain, but it would distract him in a fight- an unacceptable danger for an overlord like himself.
After nearly an hour of staring at the floor and intermittent throbs of pain, he checked the contract again.
It responded the same way it had that morning.
It was still thinner.
Still weaker.
Infuriating.
He was lucky Rosie hadn’t called on him since the extermination. She surely would notice that something was wrong with the contract if she did.
But still, this changed nothing.
Whatever strange interaction existed between the mating bond and Rosie’s contract could be studied individually. There was no reason to involve Vox.
The sensible solution was patience.
Observe.
Gather information.
Avoid the television.
His chest cramped again.
It wasn’t particularly painful, but it felt… empty. A peculiar sort of absence, as though something deep inside him was trying to remind him something important was missing.
He ignored it.
Five minutes later, it was back.
“I refuse.”
The room, predictably, failed to acknowledge his declaration.
He began pacing.
This was psychological. Perfectly understandable, really.
He and Vox had spent nearly four days in constant proximity while trapped in the most hormonally compromised state imaginable.
His body had simply developed an unfortunate expectation.
It would pass.
Eventually.
...Probably.
Almost unconsciously, his fingers drifted toward the bite on his neck once more.
Warmth bloomed beneath his fingertips.
Not enough to soothe.
Just enough to remind him what actual relief felt like.
His eyes squeezed shut.
“Oh, do stop encouraging this nonsense.”
The warmth disappeared as he lowered his hand.
The ache behind his ribs returned almost immediately.
His eye twitched. “...I despise biology.”
Twenty minutes later, he was still pacing.
Thirty.
His gaze drifted toward the window.
Vee Tower stood against Hell's skyline, visible even from here.
Far enough away to be inconvenient.
Close enough to mock him.
“...Very well.”
If the bond truly was responsible for both his illness and the contract's deterioration, then confirming the hypothesis was simply prudent.
Nothing more.
He would speak to Vox, determine the extent of the damage, and then leave.
Simple.
“...This is ridiculous.” He muttered as his shadows encased him and brought him to Vee Tower.
He arrived in the lobby of Vee Tower moments later and watched the receptionists freeze at the sight of him.
One of the employees started quietly whispering into the microphone on his collar. Alastor didn’t catch many of the words, but he heard “Radio Demon” and “ma’am” several times.
A minute later, the elevator doors slid open and Velvette stormed out.
She didn’t look surprised. If anything, she looked furious. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face around here.” She snapped, accent thick and heavy with anger.
“People have said many things about me over the years, but ‘nerve’ has never ranked particularly high amongst them.” Alastor replied, smiling pleasantly.
She ignored the joke. “The hell are you doin’ ‘ere? Answer me honestly, or we’re taking this outside.”
“I came to speak with Vox.”
“No.”
“I wasn’t requesting permission. He’s an adult who can make his own decisions.”
“He doesn’t want to see you. Not after the shit you pulled.”
“My dear, he is just as responsible for this mess as I am.”
“I’m not talking about the bloody bond, asshole.”
“Then what are you referring to?”
“The accusation, idiot. You just stood there.”
“I-”
“No, I’m not fucking finished. You stood there while they called him a fucking rapist-” Everyone else in the room suddenly found the floor or walls incredibly interesting. “-and you did nothing.”
“...Yes.”
“He kept trying to explain.”
“I know.”
“And you said nothing.”
He felt his ears lower. “I know.”
“You do know, and yet you didn’t do shit.”
“I was processing.”
“So was he. You think it was any easier for him?”
“I… I simply… I had only just awakened. My mind was… clouded. I discovered the truth, and then I couldn’t seem to think beyond that.”
Velvette’s expression didn’t soften.
“I have had three days to consider my conduct, and I now know it was… unacceptable.”
Velvette blinked. Not quite in shock, but something close to it.
Before either of them could speak again, someone called out from the balcony. “Vette.”
They both looked up.
Vox stood there, one clawed hand gripping the railing. He looked perfectly composed. Most people would have missed the exhaustion entirely.
Alastor didn't.
Whether it was the bond or simple observation, he couldn't tell.
And despite the distance, the moment they locked eyes, Vox's shoulders eased by the smallest fraction.
Alastor hated that his own chest loosened at precisely the same moment.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
“Vette.” Vox repeated. “Thanks. But I can take it from here.”
Velvette scowled. “After what he did, I just-”
“I know what he did.” He interrupted. “You don’t need to say it for the whole world to hear. Now, Alastor, I believe we have some unfinished business. Come to my office, won’t you?”
Velvette tensed.
“You can come with us if that’ll put your mind at ease, Vette.” He added.
Vox zapped himself straight to the elevator doors and watched as Velvette and Alastor crossed the lobby. The employees and a few people in the seats along the wall stared at their phones, and no one dared to make eye contact with any of the trio.
The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime the moment Alastor and Velvette arrived at the doors.
Vox stepped inside first. Velvette followed immediately, positioning herself between the two of them with such practiced ease that it almost didn’t look intentional. Almost.
Alastor entered last and the doors slid shut behind him.
For several seconds, the only sound was the gentle hum of the elevator climbing through the tower.
Velvette folded her arms, glaring at both of them intermittently. “If either of you start doing some stupid ass shit in this elevator, I’m pushing the emergency stop and kicking both of your asses.”
“I admire your confidence, my dear.” Alastor shot back.
“I wasn’t joking.”
“I gathered as much.”
The elevator went silent again as it climbed, the number above the doors ticking upwards.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
As the time passed, Alastor became increasingly aware of something profoundly irritating.
The higher the elevator climbed the easier it became to breathe. The constant tightness beneath his ribs had eased into little more than a faint pressure.
Across from him, Vox subtly rolled one shoulder, as though working stiffness from muscles that had finally relaxed.
Neither of them commented on it.
Neither of them wanted to acknowledge that simply standing within a few feet of one another had already done more than three days of stubbornness ever had.
“...You’re looking well.” Alastor said awkwardly.
“I appreciate the lie.” Vox didn’t even look at him.
“It wasn’t entirely one.”
“No?”
“No, you’ve always been remarkably talented at pretending everything is fine.”
That earned him a sideways glance. “Coming from you.”
“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite.”
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open onto Vox's floor. Vox stepped out first. “This way.” His voice was calm, professional- as though they were about to negotiate a business merger instead of attempting to untangle one of the biggest messes either of them had ever created.
Vox’s office was pretty much what Alastor had expected.
There was a main desk at the end of the room with several monitors on it, but in front of it lay three leather love seats in a cold navy colour, arranged in a ‘u’ shape.
Velvette sat on the couch between the other two, glaring at Alastor like he was going to attack Vox, leaving them to sit across from each other.
“So.” Vox sat and folded his hands together. “You came all this way; I assume you didn’t simply wish to admire my interior decorating.”
“It certainly wasn’t that.”
“I’ll try not to take offense.”
“You’ve survived my opinions for decades.”
“I have.”
A pause.
Vox regarded him for a long moment before speaking again while Velvette glared daggers at Alastor, her arms crossed.
“You can speak plainly here. Velvette knows everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“So she knows I’m…?”
“Yes, she knows we’re both omegas.” Vox kept speaking before Alastor could process that. “What is it you want, Alastor?”
The question was simple.
Direct.
Exactly the sort of thing Alastor usually appreciated.
Instead, he found himself hesitating.
His rehearsed explanation about the contract suddenly sounded absurd.
‘Good afternoon. I've come because our accidental mating appears to be weakening an ancient soul contract.’
No.
That wasn't where this conversation should begin.
He looked down at his clawed hands. “...Before anything else…” The words came slowly. “There is something I owe you.”
Vox’s expression became unreadable. Velvette’s eyes narrowed.
Alastor continued before courage- or whatever unpleasant substitute currently occupied him- could abandon him. “At the hotel…”
He froze for a moment.
He’d replayed that morning over and over in his head. Not always because he knew he owed Vox an apology, but because it was proof of just how badly he’d fucked up.
But he’d imagined this conversation a few times, and somehow- now that it mattered- none of those carefully constructed speeches felt right.
“I failed you.” The room went completely still. “I should have spoken. I should have corrected them immediately. I did neither.”
He swallowed.
“I allowed you to stand there alone while everyone reached the worst possible conclusion. I cannot undo that, but… I can admit that you deserved considerably better from me than what I gave you.”
It was silent for long enough that Alastow wondered whether he had somehow made everything worse.
Finally, Vox spoke. “...Do you know what bothered me the most?” His voice was unusually quiet.
Alastor said nothing.
“I wasn’t really angry that they believed I’d forced you. I was angry because…”
Vox laughed once. It wasn’t a happy sound.
“...Because, for a few minutes, I thought you believed it too.”
“What?”
“When you looked at me… you looked horrified.”
“I was.”
“I know.”
“No.” Alastor shook his head. “I was horrified because I realized that you were an omega too. It wasn’t you, or even the bite, it was because I understood what it meant.”
Vox stared at him.
The anger on his face cracked a little.
Not gone, just… uncertain.
“Hm.” Vox huffed. “And what does it mean?”
“I think we both know.”
“No, I mean what does it mean to you?”
Alastor paused.
He could give some bullshit answer here, or brush off the question, but doing either felt wrong.
“It meant that I had completely misjudged you. I avoided you because I thought you were an alpha, and as an omega… An alpha soulmate would’ve meant the loss of my freedom.”
Vox remained silent.
“But then I learned that you were an omega instead.” He shook his head slightly, trying to ignore the fact that he now felt perfectly fine. “And suddenly nothing I thought I knew about you lined up.”
“So... you looked at me and saw a cage?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
Alastor opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
His ears twitched in quiet frustration.
“I… I don’t know.”
random bullshit go!
i like to think i'm funny.
Forgor to post this here
Chapter 13 of You've Forgotten Who We Are is up now!
This is posted on both Tumblr (here) and ao3, under the same username.
Trigger Warnings:
Suicidal Ideation, Suicide (Sort of. Kinda. It's complicated.)
Fic summary:
"After Vox’s head gets reattached, he deletes his memories of the last fifty years, to right before the moment Alastor had rejected him. Now Vox from the 70s is fifty years in the future, roommates with people he doesn’t remember, a body that is different than it was before, and an enemy who, last time he’d checked, was his friend.
Basically, Vox dies and is replaced by a version of himself from 50 years ago."
Chapter under cut! (2.3k words)
The hotel was quieter in the mornings.
Never silent- Charlie was incapable of allowing silence to exist for long- but quieter.
In the kitchen, dishes clanked together.
Niffty was humming as she scrubbed something that almost surely didn’t need scrubbing.
Charlie was trying to organize a new therapy session with everyone around the lobby. Though most people were ignoring her, it didn’t seem to dampen her spirits.
Baxter was trailing Charlie and seeing how she went about trying to redeem people.
Vaggi was interviewing a new hire; someone to run the front desk while she was busy.
Even Angel had returned from Vee Tower now that his contract had been terminated. He could hear the trio of Husk, Cherri and Angel laughing at some joke he wasn’t privy to.
It was pleasant.
Predictable, though it had been louder since Angel’s return.
Normally, he enjoyed the quiet chaos.
Today, instead of listening in to conversations, he found himself listening to something else.
The radio on his desk crackled softly with nothing more than a distant static.
He glanced at it.
Nothing.
Ridiculous.
Vincent had spoken to him only the evening before. There was no reason to expect another conversation so soon.
And yet he kept glancing at the radio like it might light up at any moment.
His fingers tapped idly against the arm of his chair.
Last night, Vincent had sounded…
No, not frightened.
He had been remarkably composed, all things considered.
But there had been something beneath that composure.
Something strained.
Stressed.
Alastor reached for the morning paper, intending to distract himself.
Several minutes later, he realized that he’d read the first paragraph seven times and still couldn’t say what it was about if asked.
He set it back down.
His mind wandered back to the night prior whether he wished it to or not. They had spent two evenings discussing sharks, radios, modern music, and books.
Yet somehow the only things Alastor could remember word for word were the questions Vincent hadn't wanted answered.
“Do you think I’m a different person?”
Such an odd question.
Still, Alastor had answered truthfully.
“Of course you are.”
It struck him how readily he’d separated the two.
Vincent had asked whether or not he was a different person than Vox.
Alastor had answered ‘yes’ without a moment of hesitation. The answer had come as naturally as breathing.
Of course Vincent wasn’t Vox.
Vincent was the man he’d hurt all those years ago, and that hurt had turned him into Vox.
But this Vincent had never felt that hurt, and Alastor intended to keep it that way, because Vox wasn’t someone he would choose as a friend. Vincent was.
It wasn’t that he regretted the hurt he’d caused.
No, Alastor didn’t feel regret. Regret had nothing to do with it.
But he’d still take the moment back if he could.
So now that he had Vincent back and the moment had been taken back, he didn’t intend to lose Vincent like he had the first time around.
There had been more questions after that.
“If someone forgets everything they've ever done… If they become someone else… Does the old person still exist?”
Alastor leaned back in his chair.
Those questions hadn’t been the questions of a man seeking comfort.
They’d been… specific.
As if Vincent had been trying to see whether Alastor would reach the same conclusion to those questions that he already had.
And then there was that strange sentence he’d said.
“If the world lets me.”
At the time, Alastor had taken it for melodrama. Hell was full of dramatic people. But now the words sat strangely in his memory.
‘If the world lets me.’
Not ‘If I survive’.
Not ‘If the Vees don’t kill me’.
‘If the world lets me.’
As though it was entirely outside of his own control.
“What aren’t you telling me, Vincent?” Alastor muttered to himself.
The radio didn’t respond with anything but a small hiss of static.
He felt his smile tighten.
Vincent had insisted several times now that he couldn’t leave Vee Tower. That he wouldn’t.
Even when Alastor had offered. His rejection was especially strong whenever Alastor offered.
Which all made precious little sense.
Vincent had admitted he feared the Vees bringing Vox back.
Yet fleeing the tower wasn't a solution in his mind.
Which meant...
Whatever frightened him wasn't the Vees themselves.
They were merely part of the problem.
And yet, every offer of escape had been refused immediately.
Not because Vincent disliked him.
Not even because Vincent didn’t trust him, though that would be a fair stance.
Because…
His brow furrowed.
Because leaving wouldn’t solve whatever he thought the problem actually was.
So there was a problem.
It just wasn’t one that Vincent wanted to share with Alastor.
No; he had tried to share it by asking all those questions. He’d danced around it for every single one of their conversations without ever saying it outright.
Alastor sighed. “Well done, Vincent.”
He’d spent decades priding himself on hearing what people didn’t say, yet somehow he’d listened to an entire conversation and missed the most important part.
The radio crackled.
His eyes snapped toward it.
Static.
Only static.
He looked away again with an annoyed click of his tongue.
“I am not worried.” He told the radio. “...at all.”
The radio didn’t answer.
Somewhere downstairs, Charlie shouted for something to stop.
Niffty shrieked happily about something. It was likely the same thing Charlie was upset about.
Husk scoffed.
Cherri and Angel laughed.
Life continued.
Normal.
Routine.
Yet, the quiet in his room had begun to feel wrong.
As though he was waiting for something.
Someone.
The radio burst to life.
“Alastor?”
Vincent’s voice was small.
Thin with exhaustion.
And, worst of all, unmistakably afraid.
Alastor was already reaching for the microphone before he finished the word.
“I’m here.” Alastor confirmed.
For several seconds, Vincent didn’t speak. When he finally did, his voice was shaking. “...They found it.”
“The back-up?”
“Yeah.”
“I see.” Alastor went quiet for a moment before he continued. “They know what it does to you?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“They’re thinking.”
“...Thinking?”
“They haven’t decided…” Alastor’s fingers tightened around the microphone. “Whether I get to live.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
Vincent took a slow, shaky breath. “They found the backup in one of the medical computers.”
“I see.”
“It was made before... before I erased the memories, but a few months back. When they reattached my head.” Alastor remained silent. “They wanted to restore it. They thought…” Vincent laughed weakly. “They thought they'd fixed everything.”
“And then?”
“I told them they hadn't.”
“...Go on.”
“I tried to explain that Vox isn't me.”
“With the same questions you've been asking me?”
“...Yeah. I asked whether they'd still be alive if someone made a perfect copy of them.” Vincent's voice grew quieter. “Whether the copy would really be them.”
Alastor closed his eyes. “And?”
"Velvette understood.”
“...Immediately?”
“Almost immediately.”
Alastor felt something unpleasant settle in his stomach.
"She realized what the restoration actually does.”
Silence stretched between them.
"It overwrites me.”
Another pause.
“It doesn't merge us.”
“...No.”
"It doesn't give me back my memories.”
“...No.”
“It… it replaces me.”
The static hissed softly between them.
“So they know.” Alastor said at last.
“...Yeah.”
“They know restoring Vox kills you.”
“...Yeah."
“And you've known this since before they found the backup.”
Vincent didn't answer immediately. “...Yeah.”
Alastor let out a slow breath.
“So that's why.”
“...Why what?”
“Those questions.”
Silence.
“‘Am I a different person?’”
Vincent said nothing.
“‘Does the old person still exist?’”
Nothing.
“‘If the world lets me.’”
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was guilty.
Alastor finally understood.
“...Vincent.”
“...Yes?”
“Is this what you've been trying to ask me all along?”
A long pause.
“...What do you mean?”
“Not whether you're different from Vox.”
Another pause.
“...Whether anyone would think you died if he came back.”
The radio crackled softly.
For several seconds, Vincent didn't speak.
When he finally did, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“...Would they?”
“They might not.” Alastor admitted. “But Vincent, if they do restore Vox… I would mourn you. Even if no one else understands it.”
That seemed to crack Vincent’s facade. He heard a sniffle from the other end of the line.
“I… I thought I might just be being dramatic…” Vincent fought for each hushed word through quiet tears.
“You’re not.”
“...Or selfish.”
“No.”
“...Or maybe that I didn’t really count.”
“You do.”
Vincent was an innocent soul. Well, as innocent as a sinner could possibly be.
But in this case specifically, he was innocent.
Not figuratively- literally.
He was a man who had committed no crime beyond existing in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they intended to erase him for it.
Not out of cruelty.
Not even intentionally.
Simply because they believed they could bring back their friend by killing him.
His smile tightened.
Then his thoughts drifted, as they inevitably did, back to Vox.
Not with hatred. No… that ship had sailed. He didn’t hate Vox.
But there was still a bitterness that he now carried towards the man his Vincent had turned into.
Vox was a selfish fool who couldn’t even kill himself properly.
Whatever despair that had driven Vox to erase himself no longer mattered, because he’d left behind something infinitely worse than a corpse.
A choice.
Alastor let the silence settle.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was almost conversational.
“...Vincent.”
“...Yes?”
“Have you asked them not to do it?”
There was a long pause.
“...Yeah.”
“And?”
“They said they were thinking.”
“I see."
Another pause.
“They haven't decided yet.”
“No.”
“So they're trying to make the correct choice.”
“...I suppose.”
Alastor's smile slowly returned.
Only this time, there was nothing warm about it.
“They cannot.”
Alastor couldn’t see it, but he could almost feel Vincent blink.
“...What?”
“They're attempting to make an informed decision.”
“...Yes?”
“They lack the information necessary to do so.”
“...I don't understand.”
“They believe they're choosing between restoring Vox and leaving him dead.” The static hissed softly. “They are not.”
Another pause.
“They're choosing which innocent man dies.” Vincent said nothing. “They simply haven't realized it yet.”
“...Alastor…”
“They deserve the opportunity to make that choice with all of the relevant facts before them.”
Vincent's voice grew tight. “You can't be thinking about coming here.”
“I am.”
“They'll attack you.”
“They usually do.”
“You could die.”
“I could.”
“You shouldn't do this because of me.”
Alastor chuckled quietly.
“My dear Vincent…” His voice softened just enough to lose its edge. “You asked a question yesterday.” Silence. “‘Are you a different person?’”
“...Yeah?”
“I answered yes.” The smile in his voice returned. “I have no intention of standing by while someone I consider alive is erased.”
The other end of the radio fell completely silent.
When Vincent finally spoke, he sounded smaller than before. “...Thank you.” Alastor leaned back in his chair. “But no.”
His smile faltered slightly. “No?”
“I can’t leave.”
“You most certainly can.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Those are two entirely different statements.”
“I know.” Vincent let out a tired breath. “But if I leave now… If you come here… They'll think you're trying to steal Vox.”
Alastor said nothing.
“They've already lost him once. If you attack them now…” He swallowed audibly. “...they'll lose him twice.”
Alastor stayed silent.
“And then they never have to choose.”
Alastor said nothing.
“They’ll tell themselves they would’ve picked me. Every time I see them, they’ll say they would’ve picked me.” Vincent continued quietly. “Maybe they even would have.”
A pause.
“But they’ll never know, and they’ll think they lost Vox for a second time.”
Alastor closed his eyes. “Vincent.”
Vincent didn’t acknowledge that Alastor had spoken. “If I run away, then I make the choice for them.”
“You’re placing an extraordinary amount of faith in people who have given you very little reason to deserve it.”
“I know.”
“They have threatened you.”
“I know.”
“They have confined you.”
“I know.”
“They are currently debating whether or not to kill you.”
“I know.” Every answer came just as softly as the last. “And despite all that… I still want to give them the chance to do the right thing.”
Alastor was quiet for a while.
“You truly are nothing like Vox.”
Vincent gave a weak, watery laugh. “...I hope not.”
“No, he never would’ve entrusted his life to anyone else’s conscience.”
Another quiet laugh. “I don’t know if it’s trust.”
“No?”
“No, I think…” Vincent searched for the words. “I think everyone deserves a chance to choose who they want to be.”
Because that was exactly what Vincent had been denied.
Everyone around him had been asking whether Vox deserved another chance.
No one had asked what Vincent deserved before asking about Vox.
“...Very well.” Alastor finally said.
“You’re not going to argue with me?” Vincent sounded surprised.
“Oh, I assure you, I still think you're making a spectacularly reckless decision.” That earned another tiny laugh. “But it’s yours.”
Not Vox’s… Vincent’s.
It wasn’t quiet at all- the sounds of the hotel and the sounds of Velvette and Valentino arguing could be heard in the background- but they fell quiet together in a world that was loud.
“If they choose you…” Alastor said after minutes of not-quiet silence. “Then I shall be delighted to be proven wrong.”
“And if they don’t?”
“...Then they will make that choice while knowing that at least one soul in hell understands exactly what they’re doing.”
Vincent didn’t answer instantly, and when he finally did, his voice was almost inaudible. “I think… I think that’s all I really wanted.”
Even though Vincent couldn’t see it, Alastor smiled softly. “For someone who isn’t Vox, you’ve inherited an infuriating talent for making impossible decisions."
Chapter 3 of Not Everything is Spelled in Ink is out now!
Summary:
At one point in his life, Alastor had been the person Vox looked up to most- and he still was, to a certain extent. Radio was where modern entertainment got its start, television and social media wouldn’t exist without it. Vox and Velvette both owed their brands to radio and, inadvertently, to Alastor. Radio may have become less popular over the years, but it would always have its place in history, and in Vox’s heart.
Vox and Alastor were meant to be in that way- the future and the past of entertainment were soulmates, it just made sense! That’s what Vox had said when he found out they were meant for each other.
Alastor, however, did not feel the same way. The moment they had met and they felt their bond click into place in their chests, Alastor had decided that he wanted nothing to do with Vox, and he never explained why.
Vox didn’t know what he had done wrong. They were supposed to be made for each other, two halves of the same whole, alpha and omega, all that cheesy stuff- so why did Alastor hate him? No, Alastor didn’t even hate Vox. He just… didn’t care.
Chapter under cut! (3k words)
Soulmates were a rule of the universe.
Every alpha and every omega had a soulmate; an equal and opposite force to balance each other out. One a courageous, protective alpha to defend their omega, and the other a nurturing, soft omega to care for everyone else.
According to that theory, betas didn't have soulmates. They were already whole, level-headed people and therefore didn't need someone to balance themselves against. Because they didn't need to find a soulmate, they were unaffected by pheromones. With how rare it was to even find one's soulmate, it hadn't been understood that betas lacked them entirely until relatively recently.
That was what the well accepted, modern explanation as to why soulmates existed was.
In Alastor’s ‘humble’ opinion, that was complete and total bullshit that supported heteronormative relationships and beta superiority.
The theory fell apart the moment same-secondary soulmates were documented; two alphas or two omegas could be soulmates with each other- though it was rare- and that was enough to throw that entire theory out of whack.
As for beta superiority… Well, it’s not like he could argue against it. Every omega- even most alphas- had wished to be a beta at least once in their life. Pheromones sucked to deal with, and mating cycles were even worse. Most people would choose not to have their mating cycles over getting ill and horny for a week.
And that was just why alphas wanted to be betas. But omegas had plenty more reasons than that. Sexism was a big one. Alphas and betas were mostly the same level, social hierarchy wise. Alphas were physically stronger, but betas were preferred by employers because they didn’t need a scheduled week off every four months.
But if alphas envied betas for their stability, then omegas had that plus an entire society to contend with. Most places didn’t even hire omegas, especially if they were women, (because sexism) until after World War I.
Soulmates were simply a poorly written rule of the universe, and one that should have been discarded a long time ago.
As an omega- even as a man- his soulmate almost surely would outrank him. He would be forced into the role of a house wife, which did not appeal to him in the slightest. Sure, his getting married would mean he’d get to have kids, but it also meant his independence and freedom would be entirely lost. Kids weren’t worth spending the rest of his life miserable, even when he did want them.
In life, people often called him weak or didn’t care about his achievements. If they acknowledged his work at all, then they assumed he slept his way to his own radio show. Either way, no one ever thought he’d actually worked for what he had.
One day, he killed an alpha who had tried to spike his drink and threw the man’s body to the crocodiles.
He justified it in his head by saying that the alpha was a bad man. That he deserved it. That Alastor had saved other omegas that might have fallen for his tricks by not allowing the man to ever try that shit again.
But then he found that he liked the thrill. Maybe it was that he liked feeling powerful for once. Maybe he felt good about ridding the world of those who hurt others. Eventually, he discovered that he wanted to do it again. He wanted to kill more people.
So he did.
There were plenty of men, both alphas and betas, who were well known abusers in New Orleans. They were easy targets. No one missed them when they didn’t come home one day. A couple of them were never even reported missing, because no one cared about them. Even though no one would dare to say it out loud, he knew that many of those people were glad their abusers were gone.
He lost count of how many he had killed. He didn’t even remember most of their names. But he knew they deserved it, and that was enough for him.
He knew there was much more abuse going on than he was stopping, but most abusers and victims hid it well enough that the public didn’t know. And he couldn’t get close enough to the families to find out, because then his cover would be blown and he would be stopped.
Once those easy victims grew scarce, he turned his sights to the city’s openly racist alpha and beta men. They were easy to justify, and they were even more satisfying to kill.
Because racists often had allies and families in a way proud abusers didn’t, those murders were a little harder to cover up- but it wasn’t like the police would ever even consider Alastor as a suspect.
Who would ever think a mixed-race omega would be smart and strong enough to cover up this many murders for so long? Even though he was a man, they would underestimate his intelligence and strength at every turn due to his mixed parentage and secondary gender; all of which would be exactly the thing to guarantee his continued freedom.
Even without the worry of being caught, he began to think about his mortality. He had watched the life drain from dozens of pairs of eyes at this point. He knew exactly how fragile the human body could be when in experienced hands.
Death was always an active concern in every life but Alastor began thinking of it as an ever present thing. Something that was always there, around the corner and just barely out of sight.
One victim with minor self-defence knowledge would be all it took for him to die. And he knew full well that he wasn’t going to heaven when he kicked the bucket. He had killed too many people for that. It was highly doubtful that his victims being bad people mattered to whoever judged him at the end of the road. And even if it did matter, the fact that he took pleasure in his victim’s suffering was plenty enough to get him sent to hell.
It took him dozens of tries to find the right ritual. Just a few weeks before he died, he successfully summoned a demon and asked for power.
He did not want to be like every other sinner. He wanted to be powerful in a way that life, as an omega, did not allow him to be.
Power that no one could question.
Power that was a fact, not an opinion.
Power that allowed him to be in control of himself.
He wanted to be more than just another womb. He wanted to be respected- respected for more than what the alphas and betas he killed were respected for. He didn’t want to be treated like an alpha or beta- that wasn’t true respect. He wanted to be respected for who he was, not what he was.
But he knew he wouldn’t be respected if he was known to be an omega, so he hid it.
He hid it flawlessly for decades; not one person besides Rosie and Mimzy knew his secret, and they only knew because they’d known him before he could hide it.
And then Charlie found out.
His ridiculous, stupid heat had come on earlier than it usually did. For his last heat, he’d simply asked Rosie to house him instead of staying at the hotel. It was easy enough to pass it off as ‘he didn’t want to hurt anyone while he was territorial’ back then, but this time he hadn’t had the time to plan ahead thanks to his heat arriving early.
It was stronger too, and he was already weakened by the angelic wound, so he couldn’t just teleport to Rosie.
His iditotic instincts chose to nest in his radio tower because it was where he spent most of his time, despite the fact that it wasn’t scent proof. Which all meant that the moment he went into proper, full-on heat, everyone in the hotel could smell it.
He’d already been sick from his wound- which was probably infected- but combined with his heat, he was practically unable to get out of bed.
The hotel residents took care of him, but he only got worse as the days passed. Charlie researched it, and the internet told her that soulmate pheromones could stabilise a dangerous heat. He refused to tell her who his soulmate was, but it was public knowledge so it was only a matter of time before she figured out who it was.
He explicitly told her not to contact his soulmate, and then he blacked out and woke up next to Vox, his heat having just ended.
Then Vox pointed out the marks on their necks and Alastor’s stomach flipped inwards on itself.
Mating marks.
Alastor had never wanted to get mated.
Not in life, and not in death.
Mating meant giving up independence for love; and- while most people wanted it- it did not sound appealing to Alastor.
His independence was the most important thing to him, and now it was at risk because of Vox and a mating bond he hadn’t wanted. Vox now knew he was an omega. Even if the alpha had saved Alastor’s life, that didn’t mean he cared about what Alastor wanted.
He’d been debating how viable it would be to kill Vox (He’d be strong enough to do it, even in his weakened state, but how messy would it get? Would the other Vees come after him for killing their leader?) when Vox said something that fully shattered his understanding of the situation.
Vox was also an omega.
That ruined his plans for murder quite instantly.
He'd always preferred killing men.
The reasons were obvious enough. Men committed more violent crimes. Men abused their families more often. Men were more likely to believe themselves untouchable.
It had nothing to do with their gender.
…Probably.
But he had never killed another omega man. Statistically speaking, that was hardly surprising. There simply weren't many of them.
Still… The idea of doing so sat wrong with him. Annoyingly wrong.
He always trusted his gut, so if his gut said no murder, then no murder it was. Which was rather unfortunate. Murder would’ve simplified matters significantly.
But if he wasn’t going to kill his soulmate, then that meant he had to figure out some way to deal with the bond.
Also known as dealing with Vox.
Vox was many things, and those things almost always lined up with him being an alpha. Him being an omega felt… different.
Not completely different, but it did change things.
Before, he would’ve said that Vox was a stereotypical alpha male.
He was loud, ambitious, independent, and powerful; all the things that were handed to an alpha but omegas had to fight for.
But Vox had earned them anyway.
Just like Alastor had.
And Vox had hidden it all along.
Just like Alastor had.
The thought sat heavily in his stomach.
“You're like me.” He muttered.
Hidden.
Ambitious.
Powerful despite everything stacked against him.
For one horrible moment, the bond felt less random than it had before.
As though the universe had looked at the two of them and decided they belonged together.
The idea was infinitely more horrifying than discovering Vox was an omega in the first place.
No.
Absolutely not.
That changed things.
And not in a good way.
No, this made everything so much more complicated for Alastor.
Before, he could dismiss any thought of Vox being anything but a threat because being with his soulmate meant the loss of his freedom.
But now, Vox wasn’t the same sort of threat.
He was still a threat; he could still tell everyone that Alastor was an omega- but Alastor had the same ammunition to fire right back… it wouldn’t be smart for either of them to reveal the other, because then the stalemate would be broken.
But he wasn’t the same kind of threat he was before. Before, being with his soulmate meant loss of freedom.
But now? Well, he’d never really considered what would happen if he and his soulmate were equals…
If they had both been dealt the same hand by fate.
If they had both fought against it.
If they had both won anyway. Won, but not just against fate- in spite of it.
They really were meant to be.
The conclusion arrived uninvited; the very thought was disgusting.
He yelled at Vox to leave, because how dare he. How dare he come here, how dare he invade Alastor’s nest, and how dare he make Alastor reconsider everything.
The realization that they’d had sex came moments later, and Alastor was only further disgusted by the concept.
After getting dressed, Alastor followed Vox out of the tower.
Not because he cared where the television demon went, and certainly not because he was worried about him.
No, he simply needed to make sure the idiot actually left.
The alternative was remaining alone with his thoughts. That was a considerably less appealing prospect.
The smell of a fresh claim still permeated the tower, clinging to every surface of the nest and every article of clothing they hadn’t worn. It followed him into the hallway.
He arrived at the top of the staircase just in time to hear Vaggi shout: “You corporate leech! I knew we shouldn't have let you up there!”
“Excuse me?” Vox’s voice replied. “I did exactly what your precious princess asked me to do. I stabilized him. He’s alive. You’re welcome.”
“You didn't just stabilize him!” Vaggi shouted back. “Look at you! You’re half-dressed, covered in his scent, and you reek of a forced claim! He was bedridden, sick, and couldn't fight back, and you went up into his tower and forced a bond on him?!”
The accusation was realistic. With what they were seeing, it was entirely too realistic.
An alpha- did they know Vox was an omega? They must not, right?- who claimed their omega soulmate while said soulmate was practically bedridden and could not consent… It certainly didn’t look good for Vox.
“What?!” Vox screeched.
Vox’s reaction was also justified.
It wasn’t like Vox had been any more conscious for the bite than Alastor was. If he could even remember it, he certainly didn’t show it.
"Vox..." Charlie spoke up next, and her voice cracked a little with each word. "How could you? We trusted you to save him, not to... to take advantage of him while he was vulnerable!"
"Are you fucking blind?! He bit me. We bit each other. If anyone’s a victim here, it’s my own fucking sanity.”
“Oh, please.” Angel muttered. “He’s the Radio Demon. That man wouldn’t touch a TV set with a ten foot pole, let alone claim one. What’d you do to him? Hypnotize him?”
That was also a fair point. What if Vox had hypnotized him? That would explain why he can’t remember the bite, but Vox was also in heat and likely didn’t have the mental capacity to do such a thing. Not while in heat at least, though Alastor wouldn’t be surprised if Vox was just stupid in general.
“I didn’t do anything.” Vox shouted back. He glanced up the stairs, to where Alastor stood silently. The angle made it so only Vox could see him, the rest of the hotel crew couldn’t.
He clearly wanted Alastor to say something.
Unfortunately, explaining the situation would require Alastor to understand it first.
So he stayed quiet.
“Fine.” Vox hissed, clearly angry Alastor wasn’t defending him. “Think whatever the fuck you want.”
With that, Vox disappeared in a flash of blue light.
After that, Alastor simply turned and left.
He didn’t return to the tower.
No, that place still smelled of things he didn’t want to be reminded of.
Instead, he went to his room.
No one but Vox had seen him, so no one came after him. He was sure that they- especially Charlie- would bother him later, but for now, he would be alone with his thoughts.
But no matter how much he didn’t want them to, his thoughts came with him. They never did know when to leave well enough alone.
His room was blessedly free of televisions.
Also free of soulmate discussions.
And, perhaps most importantly, free of Charlie.
Alastor shut the door behind him and sank into his armchair with a long sigh.
Silence.
Finally.
Or at least, silence on the outside.
Unfortunately, his mind remained as loud as ever.
Vox was an omega.
The thought returned immediately.
Alastor grimaced.
No.
He was not doing this.
Not today.
He'd already had enough revelations to last the next several decades.
The soulmate bond was one problem.
The mating was another.
Vox himself was an entirely separate disaster.
And Alastor was tired.
Exhausted, really.
The sort of exhaustion that settled into the soul itself.
Fortunately, there were still a few things in existence that made sense.
Contracts, for example.
Contracts had rules.
Contracts were predictable.
Contracts didn't suddenly decide to reveal that your greatest rival was secretly your equal.
With a quiet huff, Alastor reached inward toward the familiar shape of Rosie's claim against his soul.
It was little more than habit.
A quick reassurance.
A reminder that some things remained constant.
The contract should have felt exactly as it always did.
Instead, it shifted beneath his awareness.
Alastor froze.
Slowly, he reached for it again.
The sensation returned.
Wrong.
Not broken.
Not damaged.
Wrong.
His smile slipped. Not fully, but more than he ever would let it in public.
That wasn't possible.
Rosie's claim had remained unchanged for decades.
Even after exterminations.
Even after battles.
Even after injuries far worse than the angelic wound.
Contracts did not simply change.
Not without reason.
A cold feeling settled in his stomach.
The claim felt thinner.
Not broken.
Not damaged.
Weaker.
Alastor stared into the middle distance.
That wasn't possible.
Soulmate bonds didn't alter contracts.
Contracts didn't alter themselves.
And Rosie certainly hadn't modified it without telling him.
Yet the evidence sat there all the same.
A tiny flaw.
A barely visible crack.
The first change in decades.
Slowly, dread curled in his stomach.
Contracts did not weaken without a reason.
And for the first time in decades, Alastor had no idea what that reason was.
Chapter 12 of You've Forgotten Who We Are is up now!
This is posted on both Tumblr (here) and ao3, under the same username.
Trigger Warnings:
Suicidal Ideation, Suicide (Sort of. Kinda. It's complicated.)
Fic summary:
"After Vox’s head gets reattached, he deletes his memories of the last fifty years, to right before the moment Alastor had rejected him. Now Vox from the 70s is fifty years in the future, roommates with people he doesn’t remember, a body that is different than it was before, and an enemy who, last time he’d checked, was his friend.
Basically, Vox dies and is replaced by a version of himself from 50 years ago."
Chapter under cut! (2.1k words)
It had been three days since he’d woken up in 2025, and two days since he’d spoken to Alastor on the radio for the first time.
They’d spoken more since then, but not about anything important.
Just small things; catching up. Talking.
It was… nice. Yeah, that was a good word for it. It was nice.
Alastor was the only familiar thing in this new, modern world Vincent had been thrust into, so his very presence was comforting.
Of course, Velvette and Valentino didn’t know that they were talking to each other. Vincent didn’t think they even realized that the radio could be manipulated from the outside; if they had, then they would’ve taken it away from Vox just like everything else.
Although, he didn’t know why Vox hadn’t told them about the radio. With how Alastor talked about Vox and how the Vees talked about Alastor, he would’ve thought that Vox would’ve wanted to get rid of every reminder of Alastor.
And yet, he had kept that radio.
Not only for fifty years- although that was a long time- but also when everything else was taken from him.
Velvette and Valentino took every other method of communication with the outside world, but they didn’t take the radio. Even if that was because they didn’t know it could be used that way, what was Vox thinking? Everything else was gone, but he chose not to tell them that Alastor could still reach him.
Maybe Vox secretly wanted Alastor to reach out.
Even though Vox and Vincent weren’t the same, Vincent was still Vox’s past. Maybe Vox missed the days when he was Vincent and when he was friends with Alastor.
That was a nice thought. That maybe the future version of himself wasn’t so different.
Even so, Alastor never did reach out.
Not until ‘Vox’ was out in the open and able to be attacked.
Alastor saw Vox and Vincent as totally different people- that was why he wasn’t comfortable hurting Vincent- but Velvette and Valentino didn’t seem to see him as different. At least, not completely.
As for Vincent, he wasn’t sure where he stood on the issue.
Vox was what he would become if nothing was changed about his 1974 life. But Vox wasn’t what he was now, and the trajectory of his life had changed.
Maybe he never would become like Vox now that things had changed, and he certainly didn’t want to.
Vox had done things that Vincent would never do.
No, that wasn’t true; Vincent had done them, just in a time and state of mind he couldn’t remember.
He was responsible for those actions because- even if he wasn’t the man who committed them- he was going to be the one who committed them if nothing had changed.
But now that things had changed, he wasn’t going to be Vox; he was going to be Vincent.
If the world allowed him to, that is. And by the looks of things, it wasn’t going to.
He was going to die.
Vincent was going to die.
And he didn’t want that.
Vox wanted to die, but Vincent didn’t.
Vox may have had nothing to live for, but Vincent did.
He could so easily call Alastor and have the Radio Demon take him away from the Vees and to safety.
But every single time Alastor offered to do so, he declined.
Vox may have chosen to leave the Vees, but Vincent wasn’t going to.
They were his friends. Or they would be, if they had enough time to get to know each other.
Someday, they would be his friends. He just had to figure out how to avoid them accidentally killing him first.
Which was a struggle.
He didn’t want to just straight up tell them that a back-up would kill him. Either they wouldn’t believe him, or they wouldn’t care.
But either way, it was not good. He had to make them care about him- not Vox, but Vincent- and then make them realize that they’d be killing Vincent by bringing back Vox.
Again, that was difficult to do.
They’d known Vox for years, how could he manage to get them to care more about him than Vox? Not easily, and he’d already screwed up by freeing Angel. While he didn’t regret that course of action, it did mean that they saw his very existence as a risk to their company.
He needed to prove that he wasn’t a liability, while making himself a distinct individual, while also making them care about that distinct individual.
All of which was nearly impossible to do in the little time he had before they found a back-up.
Assuming that there was a back-up, that is. But that was simply the safest course of action- he couldn’t assume that there wasn’t one, as that put himself at risk of being blindsided if one was found. So, even though he doubted there was a back-up in the first place, he had to act as if there was one and it was moments from being found.
Which there probably wasn’t. Velvette had been searching every file under Vox’s name for over a day now, and she still hadn’t found anything- but that was far from a guarantee; he wouldn’t dare to bet his life on it.
And that was just the problem; his life was on the line of a bet that he was likely to lose.
He wasn’t even the one who had chosen to make that bet; Vox was. And Vox probably hadn’t even thought this far ahead before he killed himself.
Just as he was reading some random marine biology book he’d found on the shelf, the door swung open and Valentino burst in.
“Hey, babe!” Val nearly shouted, stepping forward with something silver in one of his four hands. “Good news; we found it!”
“I found it, you mean?” Velvette snapped back, though she was smiling.
“Yeah, yeah, Vette found it, whatever. But it’s been found!”
“What exactly has been found?” He asked, though he was ninety percent sure he knew the answer.
“The back-up! The real you.” Val said, putting emphasis on ‘real’, which stung. “We can finally fix this whole mess!”
Shit.
That wasn’t good.
They’d already found it, and he had not convinced them that he was different from Vox or that he deserved to live.
Instead of panicking, he deflected. “Where’d you find it?”
“The medical lab.” Velvette replied. “System back-up from when they re-attached your head. They hadn’t wiped it yet, but it was in the bin.”
So it would be missing the last few months, but it was still Vox. Not Vincent.
He nodded. “Okay.”
Val stepped closer to the bed. “So we just plug it in, and boom, you’re all better!”
“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.” Vette added. “But it’ll fix you, yeah.”
“No.” He said quietly. “No, it won’t.”
Val blinked. “What?”
Vincent took a slow breath. “It won't fix me.”
“Yes, it will.” Valentino laughed nervously. “That's literally what it's for.”
“No.”
The smile slowly disappeared from Valentino's face.
Velvette frowned. “What do you mean, no?”
Vincent looked between them.
Neither of them looked angry.
Neither of them looked cruel.
Why did that make this so much harder?
“You keep saying it'll fix me.” Vincent said carefully. “But I'm not broken.”
Val stared at him.
“Okay, but-”
“And I'm not Vox.”
The room went silent.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then Valentino barked out a short laugh. “Oh, for fuck's sake. Vincent-”
“I’m not joking. I am not Vox. If things hadn’t changed, then I would’ve become him, but things did change and I can’t ignore that and act like I’m him. I’m sorry, but he isn’t me and I can’t be him.”
“I never said you were joking, but you are Vox. Or you will be.” Val insisted.
“I would’ve been. But ‘would’ve’, ‘will’ and ‘are’ are not the same thing.”
Velvette stared at him, evaluating. Unlike Val, she didn’t seem confused by his explanation. She looked like she understood what he was saying and hated him for it. “And what do you mean by that?” She finally asked after a moment of heavy silence.
He glanced at the silver drive in Val’s hand again. Instead of answering, he responded with a question.
“Did Vox die by erasing his memories?” Both of their brows furrowed, and neither of them answered. “Because he wanted to die and I don’t. I don’t have his memories. I don’t know the things he knew. I am not him. He is not with me in my mind right now. He might be in that drive, but I am not. He died when he erased his memories.”
“But you’re still here.” Val muttered.
He nodded. “And I’m not Vox.”
Velvette’s eye twitched. “What are you trying to say?”
Again, he didn’t answer her directly.
“If someone made a clone of you with all of your memories and then killed the original, would you still be alive?” He paused, but didn’t let them answer before he kept talking. “Because I don’t think you would. You’d still be around- nobody would know the difference- but that you wouldn’t be… you. So if that clone didn’t have all the same memories, then it definitely wouldn’t be you, would it?”
He watched Velvette struggle for words and Valentino tilt his head in confusion.
“Okay.” Velvette finally settled on. “You’re not Vox. But what does that matter? He’s not dead. We have a back-up right here.”
“He may not be truly dead, but he did die, didn’t he? If he didn’t, then you wouldn’t be trying to restore him.”
“Okay, fine, he died. But we can bring him back, so why does it matter?”
“It matters because I’m not him.” He allowed that to sit in the air for a moment. “If he died and I took his place, then I have to die for him to take mine.”
The room was silent for far too long after he said that.
“You’re saying uploading the back-up would kill you.” Velvette said, far too calmly.
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“Yes. I will die if you upload that file.”
Valentino stared at Vincent like he was a puzzle with a missing piece. Really, that’s exactly what he was. Only he didn’t want the missing piece back. “What?”
“Uploading that file is going to kill me.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” Valentino repeated. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Velvette hadn’t moved. She was still staring at him.
Not shocked.
Not horrified.
Just… thinking.
That was somehow significantly worse.
“Shut up, Val.” Velvette said, her voice dropping its usual sharp, fast-paced rhythm, replaced by something dangerously flat.
Valentino blinked at her, insulted. “What? Vette, he's talking crazy, he’s just-”
“I said shut up.” She snapped, crossing her arms tighter against her chest as she took a slow step toward the bed. She kept her gaze fixed entirely on Vincent. “He’s right.”
Val’s jaw dropped. “He's what?”
“He’s right.” Velvette repeated. She gestured sharply toward the silver drive in Val’s leather grip. “It’s a total system overwrite. The drive holds a completely separate snapshot of his consciousness from months ago. It doesn't partition data. It doesn't save a backup of the current runtime environment. If we plug that in... it flushes the active cache. Everything he’s thought, felt, or done since gets completely wiped.”
She stopped a few feet from Vincent, staring down at him.
“So yeah, it's an execution.” She said quietly. “You die, and Vox takes the hardware back.”
The room fell silent.
Valentino looked horrified.
Velvette looked furious.
Not at him.
At the situation.
At Vox.
At herself.
At all of it.
“You knew.”
Vincent froze.
“You figured this out before we found the file.”
He didn't answer.
“You knew exactly what would happen.”
Still nothing.
Velvette laughed once; a sharp, humorless sound.
“That's why you kept asking whether you were a different person. That's why you kept asking all those stupid philosophical questions.” Her hands clenched into fists. “You knew we'd have to choose.”
He looked at the floor. “Yeah. I knew. And I know what I’m asking you to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m asking you to choose who between me and Vox gets to live. And I know that can’t be easy.”
For the first time in the whole conversation, Velvette looked shocked.
Because he wasn't arguing that he deserved to live.
He wasn't pretending the choice was fair.
He was asking them to make it anyway.
“What?”
“I said-”
“No, I know what you said. I just… Fuck.” She laughed again. “You couldn’t just make this easy, could you?” Her laughing turned almost hysterical. “Vox really did leave us with the world’s shittiest problem, didn’t he?”
“I don’t think he meant to.” Vincent said, trying to comfort her.
“That’s worse.”
What if Vox and Lucifer became a couple during Alastor's absence, giving them more years to settle down. How would Alastor react upon his return, and what do you think about such a scenario?
Ooooh, I love this! I actually have thought about a scenario where they get together during that time, and then during episode 5, Lucifer brings his boyfriend with him when he comes to the hotel so that he can introduce him to Charlie. Alastor was already pissy about Lucifer coming over, and then can you imagine his reaction when Vox shows up on his arm?! He would lose it. Then Hell's Greatest Dad turns into all three of them singing with it being Alastor vs Lucifer and Vox.
Alastor would hate Lucifer 10x more than he already does, and instead of the Stayed Gone reunion where Vox loses his shit, we'd get Alastor losing his shit. And of course, Alastor wouldn't even be able to identify why he's so upset because he doesn't understand what he feels for Vox.
#I'm so tempted to write a fic about this...
Do it!
I will add it to my growing list of fics that I'm writing... I think it's up to like seven that I'm actively working on.
Chapter 11 of You've Forgotten Who We Are is up now!
This is posted on both Tumblr (here) and ao3, under the same username.
Trigger Warnings:
Suicidal Ideation, Suicide (Sort of. Kinda. It's complicated.)
Fic summary:
"After Vox’s head gets reattached, he deletes his memories of the last fifty years, to right before the moment Alastor had rejected him. Now Vox from the 70s is fifty years in the future, roommates with people he doesn’t remember, a body that is different than it was before, and an enemy who, last time he’d checked, was his friend.
Basically, Vox dies and is replaced by a version of himself from 50 years ago."
Chapter under cut! (1.7k words)
Velvette didn’t do ‘impossible’. It simply wasn’t her.
If a dress didn’t look good, she restarted it.
If a supplier didn’t want to cooperate, she replaced them.
If someone wouldn’t listen, she forced them to.
She didn’t care if it was ‘impossible’; no matter how many tries or how long it took, she would do it. If she wanted something, she would get it. End of story.
That was why she was so sure that she’d find a back-up for Vox. Not because she knew where it was, but because there had to be one.
It was unlikely that there was one, but that wouldn’t stop her.
She would search every file Vox had ever touched by hand if it meant she got her- whatever Vox was to her, business partner, father, best friend, loudmouthed asshole who mattered to her more than she could ever bring herself to admit- back.
Velvette almost didn’t sleep that night, but she knew she was more likely to miss a file if she was sleep deprived, so she forced herself to rest for a few fitful hours.
But the moment she woke up, she was back to searching every single computer in the building that Vox might’ve touched.
And she came up with nothing.
She had searched every computer Vox regularly used, and there was nothing.
She’d checked every file Vox had ever created. She’d seen things that made her wish she could delete her memories too.
And there was nothing she could use.
No memory files.
Nothing.
She wanted to scream.
It had been over a day since she’d started looking- longer since the false fire alarm- and she still hadn’t found a single thing.
She was so, so done with this.
Vox had been so paranoid that he’d safe-guarded every file individually. Once she broke into the computer itself, she still had so much work to do. By now she’d spent the whole day breaking into and looking through them, and she still hadn’t found a single memory file.
Would Vox have even left a memory file?
No.
He wouldn’t have.
He wouldn’t have deleted his memories unless he was sure that there was no back-up.
Which meant Vox had never created one.
But that couldn’t be right.
There had to be a back-up.
There just had to be.
There was no way Vox could be dead, because he wasn’t dead.
He was still sitting in his bedroom, reading books about sharks. She knew; she checked on Vincent every few hours.
But Vincent wasn’t Vox.
Every time she walked past his room, it felt like a sick joke. The screen was the same, the clothes were the same, but the man inside them was entirely wrong.
Vox didn't slouch.
Vox didn't speak in that soft, hesitant whisper that made her want to shake him until he was dizzy.
And Vox certainly didn’t look at her with that wide, lost expression like a stray dog waiting to be kicked.
It made her stomach turn. It made her furious. She hated seeing him like this; vulnerable, broken, a walking target for every bottom-feeding demon in Pentagram city.
Yesterday he’d let Angel Dust go- a massive, catastrophic liability, and he had said it was the ‘right thing to do’.
Like it was simple. To him, maybe it was.
Like he’d suddenly grown a conscience. Or maybe he just hadn’t lost it yet.
But regardless, if she didn't find a way to drag the real Vox back to the surface soon, someone was going to notice the media empire was being run by an amnesiac glitch. And then they would all be dead.
So she kept looking, even as she began to lose hope. She was truly beginning to think that there was no back-up when a thought hit her.
If Vox had never made a back-up, then maybe someone else had.
Someone else…
Like someone who had access to his files while he was unable to argue…
Someone like a doctor.
Every update to his hardware or software they made, the doctors would always create a short-term back-up to ensure that if the procedure went wrong they could reverse it.
The back-ups they made were like life-support during a risky procedure, and they took up a lot of space on their files so they likely got rid of them shortly after, but surely they had made a back-up before they had re-attached his head, right?
Maybe that most recent back-up hadn’t been deleted yet.
Maybe was carrying so much weight in that sentence, and she could only hope that it could eventually be removed.
Sure enough, only hours later, she was staring at a file in the trash bin of a computer in the medical lab. It had only a few days until it would be permanently deleted, but she quickly extracted it.
It was a complete consciousness. A full snapshot of Vox.
It was missing the last few months as it was taken just before his head was stitched back on, but it was a Vox she knew.
Not awake. Just… resting.
Waiting.
Waiting to be woken up.
She could feel tears of relief prick at the sides of her eyes.
He could come back.
She could see him again.
It wasn’t too late.
She transferred the file onto a secure external drive, the heavy silver casing feeling cold and unnervingly solid in her hand. This wasn't something she could just inject over the network; a remote upload risked a network drop or a firewall corruption that could fry his core processors. If she was going to restore his consciousness, it had to be a direct, hardwired injection into his primary data port.
But she didn't care about the extra work. She had the key. She could feel tears of genuine relief prick at the corners of her eyes, a massive weight lifting off her chest.
He could come back.
Velvette threw open the doors to Valentino’s lounge, her boots clicking sharply against the floorboards. Valentino was slouched on a leather sofa, surrounded by a heavy, miserable haze of pink smoke from his cigar, looking thoroughly defeated.
“Velvette, do not start with me.” He snapped, throwing a drink in her general direction. It missed horribly; she didn’t even have to dodge. “I am not in the mood for your tantrums. If it’s about the studio schedules, figure it out yourself.”
Ignoring the casual act of violence, she slammed the silver drive down onto the glass table right in front of him. “Forget the schedules. Get up." Velvette said, a breathless, triumphant laugh catching in her throat. “We're fixin’ him, Val. I found it.”
“You found it?!” He asked, staring at the little drive, then up at her face.
“I fuckin’ found it!” She said, smiling wider and more genuinely than she had in a while.
“But you said that it was looking like there wasn’t a back-up, didn’t you? That Vox had never saved himself before?”
“He never did. The file wasn’t his. The doctors make a back-up every time they change his hardware or update his software. This is the most recent one from when they stitched his head back on. It had a deletion timer on it, if I hadn’t gotten there today it would’ve been gone.”
“But he’s in that file? The real him?”
“The one and only.” She beamed, crossing her arms. For the first time since she’d left Vox alone for the night, the anxiety in her stomach was lighter. Not completely gone, but lighter. “The file’s missin’ the past few months, but it’s the Vox we know. We can end this nightmare now.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” Val softly laughed in relief. He stood up, holding the drive like it was a winning lottery ticket; like it was precious. Because it was. It was Vox’s life and existence. “He’s gonna be ecstatic. Let’s go tell him.”
They walked down the hallway together, their shared energy lighter and more hopeful than it had been since the fire alarm. They weren't sneaking around or hiding the drive; Valentino was practically bouncing on his heels, and Velvette had a genuine smile on her face.
As they approached the bedroom, she could see him through the doorway, looking small as he read some random marine biology book he’d found on the shelf. The quiet atmosphere didn't last long; Valentino swung the door open and burst right in, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Hey, babe!” Val nearly shouted, stepping forward with the silver flash drive gleaming in one of his four hands. “Good news; we found it!”
“I found it, you mean?” Velvette snapped back, though she couldn’t hide her triumphant smile.
“Yeah, yeah, Vette found it, whatever. But it’s been found!” Val dismissed with a wave of his other hand.
Vincent looked up from the pages, his expression tightening. “What exactly has been found?” he asked. He looked guarded, like he was ninety percent sure he already knew the answer.
“The back-up! The real you.” Val said, putting heavy emphasis on ‘real’ as he flaunted the drive. “We can finally fix this whole mess!”
Velvette watched Vincent closely, expecting a wave of relief to wash over him. Instead, he just froze. He didn't panic, but she could see the immediate deflection in his eyes when he spoke again.
“Where’d you find it?”
“The medical lab,” Velvette replied, proud of her own digital tracking skills. “System back-up from when they re-attached your head. They hadn’t wiped it yet, but it was in the bin.”
She figured he was doing the mental math- knowing it would be missing the last few months of data, but it was still Vox. Not whatever glitchy, passive version of him was sitting on the mattress right now.
He gave a slow nod. “Okay.”
Val stepped closer to the bed, holding out the key to getting their business partner back. “So we just plug it in, and boom, you’re all better!”
“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” Velvette added, wanting to manage expectations regarding the system overwrite. “But it’ll fix you, yeah.”
She waited for him to reach out for the drive, to thank them, to show some semblance of the arrogant Overlord they desperately needed. Instead, Vincent just stared at them, the silence suddenly turning heavy.
“No.” He said quietly, his voice entirely devoid of the excitement they’d brought into the room. “No, that won’t fix me."
What if Vox and Lucifer became a couple during Alastor's absence, giving them more years to settle down. How would Alastor react upon his return, and what do you think about such a scenario?
Ooooh, I love this! I actually have thought about a scenario where they get together during that time, and then during episode 5, Lucifer brings his boyfriend with him when he comes to the hotel so that he can introduce him to Charlie. Alastor was already pissy about Lucifer coming over, and then can you imagine his reaction when Vox shows up on his arm?! He would lose it. Then Hell's Greatest Dad turns into all three of them singing with it being Alastor vs Lucifer and Vox.
Alastor would hate Lucifer 10x more than he already does, and instead of the Stayed Gone reunion where Vox loses his shit, we'd get Alastor losing his shit. And of course, Alastor wouldn't even be able to identify why he's so upset because he doesn't understand what he feels for Vox.
