Shiba

All I think about is Hazbin Hotel and tickles. RadioStatic brain rot. SFW

[shibabea]

✨ Welcome to my crazy corner ✨

Shiba / She/They / 31 / Artist / Writer

Okay with asks / fic requests

I write about tickling a lot

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NSFW tickles

Reblog spamming

Self shipping

#shibabarks - the tag I use to yap

[the-giggle-collector]

Anonymous commission! :DDD

Al and Vox wrecking each other :333

[shibabea]

my brain is constantly creating new creative ideas and that's cool and all

but i am so genuinely not exaggerating when i say i have over 100 ideas written down, probably closer to 200. i'm too lazy to actually count them out but they are all written down

90% of them involve Alastor in some way as well lol

i think it's awesome i have so much to write about! but i also have an extremely hard time focusing on one thing at a time when i am surrounded by shiny ideas

trying sooo hard to focus on a singular thing but my brain says no

every season of hazbin will continue to make this problem worse too lol

[shibabea]

Off the Air (RadioStatic fic)

Chapter 3

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<< First chapter >>

Content: Slow burn, pining, angst, eventual fluff, eventual tickles, forced proximity, plot

Chapter summary: Vox and Alastor are both finding their minds drifting to the pasts a little too often.

Ler Vox / Lee Alastor

Notes: A little bit of angst this chapter but also a few tickles this chapter too!! I might jump around a little with the next few fics I post cuz I want to hop on AlVox week even tho I'm a little late but I have a few ideas

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5,309 words

S̴a̷t̴u̶r̵d̸a̵y̶ ̴E̷v̶e̸n̶i̶n̸g̶?̷

They’ve had way too much to drink again.

It’s been like this for months. Every weekend, Vincent and Alastor would go to one of the best rated bars in town, have way too much to drink, and stumble home once the bartender kicked them out. It’s almost become tradition at this point.

The bar is comfortably warm, the sound of 1950s music playing behind the voices and laughter of the other patrons. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air around them, two whiskey glasses desperately needing a refill resting on the wood in front of the two overlords.

Vincent rests his elbows on the bar top, nearly doubled over in giddy laughter. The mixture of alcohol and pure glee running through his system has brought that cyan blush up to his face, something that was becoming more and more common around Alastor.

He had met the other overlord a few years back, and they hit it off immediately. Alastor has made a name for himself within Hell quickly, getting acquainted with the other overlords that didn’t interrupt his own plans. Whatever those were.

Vincent is one of those overlords, and with how much the two had in common? It was no surprise that they spent nearly every weekend together.

Alastor sits beside Vincent, his ears comfortably tilted back against his skull. His muscles are loose and the corners of his vision are hazy with liquor in a way few overlords in Hell ever get to see. “No, no, my dear Vincent, you’re remembering that little detail incorrectly! You haven’t won one of our little card games in nearly a month.”

Vincent scoffs playfully and clumsily waves one of his hands in the air. “That’s only because you’re a cheat. So technically, I did win. Because I played by the rules.”

“Ah, but you can’t prove that, now can you?” Alastor has a lazily curled smirk playing across his lips, his chin resting in his hand. 

One of his ears gives a small flick as the music playing in the bar changes tune, some fresh rock song that’s been popular among the sinners lately. He gives an exasperated sigh as he pushes himself up from the stool, wobbling slightly. “Now that just won’t do. Let me pick something far more fitting for the evening.”

Vincent watches the other man stumble over to the jukebox, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. Something about watching Alastor nearly trip over his own shoes is absolutely adorable.

He’s been feeling it more and more often lately, that little flutter in his chest.

It only ever happens around Alastor.

Vincent has never been interested in men. At least, he thought he wasn’t. But most nights that he spends with Alastor, he has a hard time taking his eyes off of him.

Truthfully, even when they aren’t together, he can’t get Alastor off his mind.

It’s just because he’s conventionally attractive, he reasons, there’s something appealing about the animalistic features, the sharpness of his claws, the curl of his smile…

But it’s definitely not because he’s a homosexual. He’s just… aware of when another man looks good. Nothing weird about that.

The music hovering through the bar is switched to something slower, some jazzy song that sounds like it came right out of the 1930s. Typical Alastor choice.

Alastor stumbles his way back over to the bar top, his hands falling on Vincent’s shoulders with a chuckle. “Come, Vincent, we shouldn’t waste the opportunity! Dance with me.~”

The blush on Vincent’s screen flares brighter as he looks up at Alastor, the smile on his lips pulling even higher. “Dance? Come on, Al, you know I’m no good-”

“Nonsense! There’s hardly any other sinners here, regardless.” Alastor gives a determined, drunken tug to one of Vincent’s arms, dragging him from the chair.

“Alright, alright!” Vincent laughs, wobbling as he stands and following Alastor’s lead. He places his hands on the other man’s shoulders, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel awkward. “You’re gonna have to show me how to do this. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Alastor lets out an amused chuckle, his ears giving one of those little flicks they always do when he’s drunk. “Don’t overthink it. Just follow my lead.”

The two are hardly professionals, especially when they’re half a dozen glasses down. The men snicker with each drunken stumble, chests pressing together as they attempt to move to the beat of the music.

The feeling of Alastor’s chest pressing against his fills Vincent’s veins with pure heat. He can feel his heart beating faster as he looks up at Alastor’s smile, the way his eyes are glazed over and looking down at him with something that almost looks like fondness.

It’s… perfect.

He wants to stay like this for the rest of the night, for the rest of his time in Hell-

But the moment hardly lasts.

The music that had so calmly been filling the air suddenly scratches to a halt, the lights in the bar cracking and fizzling into darkness. The air chills within seconds, all of the warmth and affection that had been swelling Vox’s chest draining into dread.

Something is wrong.

The door to the bar slams open, the other two Vees storming inside.

“Val? Velvette?” Vox’s eyes snap to the two as they approach, though they don’t say a word. Their faces are fuzzy, almost wrong, as their hands land on his shoulders and yank him right out of Alastor’s grip.

When Vox’s eyes flick back over to Alastor, all of the warmth has been drained from his eyes as if it were never there in the first place, pupils pointed into radio dials and his antlers twisting into gnarled curves.

“Al…?” Vox shrinks back into the too-tight hold of his partners, the flutter in his heart racing into something fearful and wrong. 

This isn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Oh, Vox, you always were so naive.” Alastor’s voice has chilled into something icy and cruel, staff appearing in one of his hands with a flicker of neon green. “You really thought you were my equal. When all you’ve ever done is hide in my shadow.”

There’s that feeling again. The feeling of a knife twisting into Vox's chest as his screen starts to flicker with pained static. 

All he wanted was to rule Hell together. They would’ve been so perfect together, wouldn’t they? The two most powerful overlords, working together as a team, as partners-

That’s how it should have been.

-------------

Saturday morning

Vox’s eyes snap open, feeling his heart pounding out of his chest. He stares up at the ceiling in silence, claws digging into the sheets and tearing the linens.

A dream. It was a dream.

Fuck. 

He hasn’t dreamed about the past like that in years. Normally, he never even remembered his dreams. But this… this was vivid. This was exactly like that night…

God, he feels like shit.

Vox sits up with a frustrated sigh, still feeling that twist in his chest. Feelings he didn’t want to think about are starting to get dragged to the surface, and he fucking hates it.

Fucking stupid. He needs to stop thinking about Alastor so much. It’s getting him all twisted up inside again.

…Where is the prick at, anyway?

Vox’s head turns as he looks side to side. Not in the bed. He starts to scan the room, spotting the other man still asleep on the armchair, still in his suit with a blanket draped over him.

Seriously? He couldn’t get over his pride long enough to even sleep in the bed? Fucking typical. This is exactly why he can’t stand him. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone else.

Vox rolls his eyes and lets out a scoff as he shifts to start getting up. His eyes linger on Alastor for just a beat too long, examining the way his chest rises and falls and the way his ears give a little flick in his sleep.

Man, he does look cute.

Ugh, there’s that stupid word again. 

This is exactly why he had that stupid dream. He needs to get up, get cleaned up, and get some coffee. There’s shit to do today, can’t spend it all in bed thinking about… him.

With another sigh, he stands up and quietly makes his way into the bathroom. No use in waking Alastor up. He’d probably just get an attitude. And listening to Alastor’s whining first thing in the morning is the last thing he wants to deal with.

Vox learned when he first arrived in Hell that showers were no longer on his agenda. With literal electronics on his body, it’s just a hazard. It’s faster anyway, he figures, to just wipe his body and screen down to make himself look presentable without getting water in his screen.

After cleaning up, Vox heads downstairs to the kitchen, remembering halfway down the steps that there’s absolutely nothing of interest in the cupboards.

Shit. Right. 

With how ordering Chinese takeout went last night, he has a feeling Alastor will be an ass about it if they have to order out for breakfast. Surely there’s something in here that he can work with until he can get some actual groceries delivered up here.

He yanks open the fridge and the cupboards, spotting the leftover sweet and sour chicken that Alastor never ate in the fridge. That’s an option, he supposes, but he has a feeling that Alastor will definitely complain about leftovers for breakfast.

So he checks the cupboards next.

There’s very little to work from that would actually be edible, though after rummaging around and digging to the very back of the cupboard, he finds something palatable.

A box of oatmeal. And it isn’t expired yet.

Surely Alastor won’t complain too much about that. It’s breakfast food, a classic staple, and it’s edible.

Vox rummages around for a pot and dumps a generous amount of the dry oats in. He doesn’t exactly have a ton of experience in the kitchen, he normally pays someone to do that for him, but he can manage a box of oatmeal. 

Probably.

--------------

M̵o̷n̴d̵a̷y̷ ̶e̴v̸e̷n̴i̷n̴g̵?̸

“You’ve seriously never heard of this before?” Vincent sits next to Alastor, both overlords sitting on a park bench. It’s late in the evening, the dusk of Hell covering them with a reddish purple hue. 

Alastor rolls his eyes good naturedly, flicking the cigarette in his hand as he leans back against the bench. “Please, Vincent, superstitions typically have some form of merit. Flipping a cigarette upside down for ‘luck’ hardly has any basis.” 

The two have been spending more time like this together, lately. Alastor typically found it difficult to get along with most of the other overlords, but for some reason, Vincent was different. Vincent doesn’t endlessly irritate him.

Usually.

He can tolerate the occasional Vincent induced headache.

Vincent scoffs at Alastor’s refusal, crossing one of his legs over the other casually. “It’s just for fun, Al. Besides, who would say no to getting lucky? Who knows, it could be exactly what you need. Might help you take down the next overlord that pisses you off.”

Alastor lets out a thoughtful hum and glances over at the man beside him, seeing that puppy-like eagerness in Vincent’s eyes. 

It was always flattering when he looked at him like that. 

Even though the obvious need for his approval should be disconcerting, it’s never felt that way with Vincent.

It’s strange, how even things that would normally itch under Alastor’s skin don’t quite bother him when it’s coming from the man next to him. Even with Alastor despising most forms of physical contact, he finds himself not minding Vincent’s habits of touching his shoulders or sitting slightly too close together. 

If Alastor were really pressed to admit it, he might even say that it’s… pleasant. In a way.

There are even strange, likely delusional and alcohol induced moments where Alastor finds himself wanting to reciprocate. 

Just to see Vincent’s eyes light up, the way his screen turns a bright shade of blue. Alastor has noticed that when he’s really flustered, his antenna will even spark with static.

Alastor finds it particularly amusing when they do that.

Lifting a hand, he playfully flicks one of Vincent’s antennae with one of his fingers. “I suppose I can give it a shot. If only to make you stop pestering me about it.” 

Vincent lets out a shy laugh and brings a hand up to the back of his head, that cyan blush starting to crawl up onto his cheeks, and…

Ah, there it is.

That spark.

Adorable.

---------------

Saturday morning

Alastor’s eyes slowly flutter open, cracking open to gaze at the ceiling. The pull of drowsiness lingers at the corners of his vision, a heavy and uncomfortable weight that he hasn’t felt in a century.

This is exactly why he hasn’t tried to force himself to sleep for 100 years. The ache of trying to wake up. And, dear lord, the dreams. 

Was he really dreaming about Vincent?

And about that night with the lucky cigarettes, no less?

Clearly, he should’ve torn that photograph to shreds last night. It’s getting into his head. Stirring up sentimental nonsense that he thought he buried decades ago.

Vox is getting far too deep into his thoughts. He needs to get this absolute nuisance off of his mind before he does something entirely ridiculous.

With a frustrated sigh, Alastor brings a hand up to wipe his eyes of lingering sleep. He then glances around the room for any sign of Vox, but finds the room completely empty.

He must already be downstairs and preparing for whatever ludicrous idea he’s going to force upon Alastor today.

Alastor pushes himself up from the armchair with a crack of his joints, dusting off the wrinkles in his suit. There’s the scent of something lingering in the air, though it doesn’t smell promising. It smells more like smoke and burnt food than anything edible.

Of course. Vox still hasn’t learned his way around a kitchen after all these years.

His ears flick back with distaste before he pushes out the door of the bedroom and starts to make his way down the stairs. He spots Vox hunched over the stove, fanning away the smoke from leftover crumbs buried in one of the stove eyes.

Vox doesn’t even notice Alastor approach the kitchen, too busy trying to make sure the fire alarm doesn’t go off.

Alastor leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, a hint of amusement coming to his lips. “Ah, I see you’re trying to burn down the place already! While I appreciate the sentiment, you could at least wake me before you set your lovely little home ablaze. I would be quite interested in watching.”

Vox jumps at the sound of Alastor’s voice, hands flying up and his gaze snapping over to him. 

Shit. Now he’s never going to hear the end of this.

He scoffs and turns his attention back to the stove. “Actually, I’m trying to make us something to eat. Which is more than you’ve done since we got here.” He picks up the pot of oatmeal he’s managed to throw together, though he probably left it over the heat for a bit too long. “Here. Breakfast.”

Alastor leans forward and peers into the pot of oatmeal, giving a scolding click of his tongue. “You dug this out from the skeleton of the cupboards, I’m assuming? I’m not particularly interested in eating expired oats first thing in the morning.”

“God, you are so fucking impossible.” Vox scowls, pulling out a bowl for himself. “Only other option is the leftovers in the fridge. Either that or starve, see if I care.” 

Alastor taps his fingers against his biceps, not exactly eager to indulge in either option. But, he hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. He needs something for the time being.

He decides then that he’s in charge of the cooking from now on. Vincent will not be stepping foot in the kitchen again.

With a sigh, Alastor walks over to the fridge and pulls it open. “I suppose the takeout will have to do. For all I know, you’re trying to poison me with your homemade breakfast.” There’s a hint of playfulness in his voice, but the point remains. He has a feeling Vox likely didn’t cook it correctly.

Vox watches quietly as Alastor pulls the takeout container out of the fridge. So he’s finally giving in. And he’s eating something Vox picked out specifically for him. Even if he doesn’t know it.

A grin pulls onto Vox’s face as he sets his own food on the countertop, leaning in a little closer to watch Alastor picking at the leftover chicken. “See? It’s not that bad. I have good taste.”

Alastor rolls his eyes with a scoff, though he is eating it without complaining too much. It’s not the worst thing he could’ve chosen from that restaurant, but Alastor isn’t going to admit that to the man either. “The only thing you have good taste in is liquor. The rest of your choices are questionable.” 

Alastor’s ears flick as he lets his gaze trail over to Vox, really looking at him for the first time this morning. He’s still wearing that ridiculous t-shirt and that infuriating grin is sliding back onto his screen. 

He looks… domestic.

Alastor hates that there’s some ridiculous part of his brain finding it appealing when Vox looks like this. 

…It is a far better look on him.

An annoyed grumble rumbles from Alastor’s throat. There are those sentimental thoughts again. 

It’s just because he’s being forced to spend so much time with him alone, he reasons. Without anyone or anything else to distract him. As soon as this weekend is over, things will simply go back to normal, and they can return to being at each other’s throats as per usual.

Alastor finishes off a final bite of the cold takeout before taking a step back, putting distance between himself and the other overlord. “Well, I believe I’ll go get cleaned up before you decide there’s something I’m required to attend to.” 

Vox stays comfortably leaning over the countertop with a grin on his lips. Alastor hasn’t even insulted him yet this morning, not genuinely. “Sure thing. I’ve got plenty for us to do today, don’t you worry.” 

“Of course.” Alastor rolls his eyes before turning and heading up the stairs, getting some much needed distance from all of this… domesticity.

-----------------

The hot water against Alastor’s skin is a welcome relief. 

Alastor stands under the spray, letting the water wash off the grime of the previous day. But his mind won’t quiet down. The dream is still replaying in his head, memories gnawing at his chest like they haven’t in years.

He leans up against the tile with a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes and trying to will the thoughts spinning through his mind away like has a million times before.

But this time, for some ungodly reason, it’s not working.

Vincent was one of the few people he had ever trusted during his time in Hell, no matter how brief. They had spent so many hours together, giving Alastor so many opportunities to stop being an overlord and just be Alastor.

But that was quickly ripped away when Vincent had tried to talk him into a partnership.

It just proved he’s exactly the same as everyone else that’s tried to get close to Alastor. In the end, they only ever want something from him. They only ever want to use his power to their advantage. 

So when Vincent had proven himself exactly the same as everyone else, Alastor had to sever the tie. It wasn’t worth being taken advantage of by someone he considered a friend, no matter how much comfort they offered.

Alastor had suppressed all those feelings and all those memories for a reason, and now they’re being dredged back up entirely against his will.

It needs to be locked back up immediately.

Alastor reaches out to shut the water off, unsure of how long he’s been standing there. He quickly dries himself off, mind set to put all of these ridiculous thoughts behind him where they belong.

As he steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist with black boxers beneath, he’s greeted by Vox leaning against the doorframe and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

At least he had waited for Alastor to be decent enough before entering, he supposes. Even though he’s not entirely comfortable with being shirtless in front of Vox.

Vox takes a step forward, crossing his arms with a grin. “Here’s the deal. You’re not wearing the suit today. We’re on vacation, not going to a meeting. So you’re putting vacation clothes on.”

“Absolutely not.” Alastor snaps back, picking up his folded suit from where had laid it on the dresser. “I will not be wearing any of your belongings that you’ve brought along on this little trip. I am perfectly fine with my usual attire.”

“I’m not asking.” Before Alastor even has the chance to protest, Vox’s cables shoot out from his sleeves and snatch Alastor’s wrists, tugging them together and holding his arms in place above his head.

With the angelic steel bracelets still locked on his wrists, he’s without his powers, leaving him entirely unable to do anything to stop this. He lets out a low growl, eyes snapping up to Vox. “Oh, lovely. You’ve decided to force me into your clothing? And here I thought you had some semblance of decorum.”

Vox steps forward with a smug grin, leaning down to start digging through his suitcase on the floor. He pulls out an oversized t-shirt to match his own, a pair of gray sweatpants, and a pair of fluffy slippers. “This is your own fault for being a brat. I would’ve let you do it yourself, but you just had to make it difficult.”

Vox just knows Alastor is going to look adorable in these. He needs to see it.

Alastor’s ears pin flat against his head, arms forced above his head and leaving him fully exposed to Vox’s view. He hates this. The way his arms are being held are also tugging slightly on the stitching crossing the wound on his chest, only giving away the discomfort with a quiet grunt.

Vox’s eyes snap down to Alastor’s body, spotting the lingering scar on his chest. Right. He had forgotten about that.

He had ripped the damn thing open a few weeks ago. During their battle. 

“Sheesh. Still looks pretty bad.” Vox comments, looking over the shoddy stitch work Alastor must have done himself. Still has a ring of red irritation around the wound, too. The cables deliberately loosen around Alastor’s wrists to give him a bit more breathing room, though still hold him firmly in place.

“I would much prefer it if you didn’t stare. It’s rather impolite.” Alastor sneers, his smile tightened. He’s already unhappy about being yanked around while he’s half undressed, and being ogled by Vox isn’t helping.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Vox rolls his eyes and snatches up the black t-shirt, shoving it over Alastor’s head and tugging it onto his body.

As Vox pulls the fabric down, the tips of his claws graze against the sensitive skin right along the edge of Alastor’s armpit. Not intentional, just a byproduct of wiggling the shirt onto him.

Alastor’s muscles tighten at that little brush of his claws, and a noise that sounds like the squeak of a small deer escapes his throat. Undignified.

Oh, that’s a sound Vox has never heard before. That gets his attention instantly, quickly pulling the shirt fully down over Alastor so he can see his face.

Holy shit, Alastor looks completely stiff. He’s that sensitive? Vox needs to take advantage of this.

“Oh? What was that noise for?” His fingers shift to hover over the hollows of his pits again. Maybe he can make Alastor make that noise again. “Don’t tell me you’re ticklish. Is that why you got so weird last night when I said that word?”

Alastor attempts to flinch backwards to dodge the encroaching fingers, but the cables around his wrists hold him firmly in place. “V-Vox, I strongly suggest you don’t continue with this line of thought-”

“Pfft, yeah right. As if I’m gonna pass up the opportunity to hear you make those little noises.” Vox doesn’t hesitate, fingers scribbling against the skin of his armpits. Scritch scritch scritch. “What’s the matter? Too ticklish?”

Yes, Alastor is entirely too ticklish to be entirely exposed like this! It’s a stupid little weakness that he’s never disclosed to anyone. Not in life, and not in Hell.

Vox absolutely cannot, under any circumstance, find out what this is doing to him.

Alastor tries to hold the laughter back, he really does. He even bites down on his lip, but even the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into his skin doesn't stop the way his lips start to quiver with barely restrained laughter.

Worse is the fact that he can feel that heat starting to curl in his stomach again. Something warm and fluttery that he believes other people refer to as butterflies.

He hates it. He hates that Vox is the one causing it.

Vox’s grin only stretches wider as he sees a red blush starting to crawl onto Alastor’s face. Oh, this is too good. He gets all blushy when he’s tickled? Vox is definitely going to remember this.

“Alright, alright, I guess I won’t torture you too much first thing in the morning.” Vox chuckles, pulling his hands back. He has no intention of sticking to his words.

Alastor lets out a breath as soon as Vox’s hands are away from his ticklish areas, barely having scraped by without bursting into laughter. Thank goodness, Vox had gotten bored.

“Are you quite finished?” Alastor tilts his head, attempting to tug his hands back down to his sides. He’s wearing a shirt now, at least, but his bottom half is still lacking anything aside from boxers.

“Nope. We still gotta get these on.” Vox snatches up the sweatpants next, the cables around Alastor’s arms giving him a sharp tug to pull him down onto the bed. Much easier this way.

Alastor’s smile tightens as he’s jerked onto the bed, glaring at the man approaching with the pants. He attempts to squirm and struggle, unwilling to sit and take the forced change of clothing without resistance.

“Hold still,” Vox tries to still Alastor’s squirming legs, but the bastard is clearly determined to make this as difficult as possible and keeps kicking his legs out. He can never make anything easy.

With a sharp tug on his arms, Alastor even manages to slip one of his hands free of the cables around his wrists, hand landing on Vox’s shoulder and giving him a forceful shove backwards.

Vox’s eyes widen with surprise at the shove before narrowing. “Oh, no you don’t.” He doesn’t even bother using his cables this time, snatching Alastor’s wrists and pinning the both of them down to the bed with one hand.

Alastor growls as the other man climbs on top of him, leaving him in a vulnerable position on the bottom. “Get off of me.” He struggles against Vox’s grip, but Vox is holding him down tightly.

Alastor, physically, always was slightly more scrawny than Vox. When he had access to his shadows, physicality hardly mattered. But now it’s putting him on the losing side.

“You wish.” Vox chuckles at the squirming, finding it endearing that Alastor can’t push him off. Plus, now he has the perfect opportunity to go back on his word. His free hand darts back up to Alastor’s underarm, slipping just one claw beneath the sleeve and returning to tickle the bare skin of his armpit.

“V-Vox!” Alastor chokes out, dissolving into laughter the second that sharp point lands back on his skin.

“There we go! You’re so ticklish, Al, it’s hilarious.” Vox’s laugh joins Alastor’s, wiggling the tip of that single claw into the hollow of his armpit. The squirming and bucking of the man beneath him is exciting.

This is… fun.

The blush is rising up onto Alastor’s cheeks again as he struggles against Vox’s grasp, kicking his legs out and trying to twist his torso this way and that. “Y-you wihihill- regret this, Vohohox!” 

Vox scoffs playfully, even letting go of Alastor’s wrists entirely and releasing him. His knees straddle his hips, both hands coming down to torment both of his armpits at once. “Go on, then. Try to stop me.” His claws poke poke poke at the very top of his ribs.

Alastor’s hands fly down to Vox’s wrists, trying to shove them away. Giggles keep bubbling from his throat as he squirms on the bed, feeling the heat of the blush spreading all across his cheeks.

Vox’s arms only allow the shove to take the opportunity to land on his stomach instead. “Oh, you want me to tickle you here instead? Got it!” His fingers dip under the hem of his shirt and start skittering the tips along his lower belly.

“Y-yohohou absolute nuisance!” Alastor growls out between laughter, continuing to shove and push at Vox’s wrists to no avail.

As much as he hates to admit it… it’s not the worst thing Vox has done this whole weekend.

It’s slightly entertaining.

Vox’s fingers don’t let up, exploring the spot just below his ribs. “Quit being such a brat and wear the clothes I picked. Then I’ll stop.” Poke poke poke. “Or I can tickle you for the rest of the day. Your choice.”

Even though there is a tiny, unreasonable part of Alastor enjoying the torment, he isn't willing to let Vox find out about that little tidbit. Better to cut it short.

“F-fihihine! I will wear them!” Alastor finally gives in with a final, forceful push against Vox’s wrists. Thank goodness.

Vox allows his hands to fall away, watching Alastor’s chest heave for air beneath him. His face has that dusting of pink and his ears are twitching.

Holy shit, he looks amazing like this. 

Vox wouldn’t mind seeing him look like this every day.

Vox’s claws twitch with the thought, reaching down and snagging the gray sweatpants once again. “I knew you’d come around.” Without struggle from the other man this time, Vox yanks the sweatpants up onto Alastor’s waist, following with sliding his hooves into the pair of fuzzy slippers.

Seeing Alastor in clothing so painfully casual and meant for lounging is something Vox has never seen before, and it’s even more endearing than he could’ve imagined. 

Alastor lets himself be dressed like a child with a roll of his eyes, but accepts his fate this time. He glances up at Vox hovering over him, spotting that silly cyan color flooding onto his screen.

Alastor’s eyes narrow playfully and his static rises in pitch, giving a small struggle beneath the other man’s legs. “You are still on top of me, Vincent.”

Vox is snapped out of his longing thoughts at Alastor’s voice, scrambling off to sit on the side of the bed instead. “Oh, right, yeah.” He clears his throat, steadying his own thoughts again.

Right, there’s still plans for the rest of the day. And now Alastor all cozied up and ready for the first thing on today’s list.

“Alright. Come on, then, I’ve got just the thing.” Vox nearly reaches his hand out to grab Alastor’s, but stops himself at the last second and simply pushes himself up to stand instead. He has the perfect idea.

[mischieflily]

RADIOSTATIC ♥️🩵

Peep under the cut for some close ups and a timelapse of the drawing (in which Vox’s face goes through about 5 transformations lol)

This was a labor of love, these two are my absolute favorites from Hazbin Hotel and their toxic-ass relationship is delightful lol. I’m still not over the bar flashback scene and I never will be! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Box Vox my baby my love. <3

Also this is for alvoxweek2026! This was the “past” prompt 😌 Made in Procreate start to finish.

[shibabea]

the boyyy is here i love him he's so pretty

Link to the shop, they still have a few if you want one 🩷

[shibabea]

i have the next chapter of one of my fics done but when i start getting subscribers on one of my fics my anxiety starts shooting up and then i paralyze myself lmao 😭

i just need to EDIT IT and then i will post it hopefully tonight

[shibabea]

I have yet to find an Alastor plushie I actually like despite the fact I check for them pretty often

I unfortunately do not like the youtooz one. He's just a difficult character to translate to plushie I think

I have the Vox youtooz plushie but I need My Boy

One of these days I'll find one 💔

[shibabea]

I actually do have ONE but he's very large and the seller doesn't seem to make these anymore for me to snag a smaller one 😭

He is cute tho he is just LARGE

[shibabea]

I have yet to find an Alastor plushie I actually like despite the fact I check for them pretty often

I unfortunately do not like the youtooz one. He's just a difficult character to translate to plushie I think

I have the Vox youtooz plushie but I need My Boy

One of these days I'll find one 💔

[shibabea]

I can handle angst of pretty much any character Except for Alastor.

I cannot stand to see that man hurt and it genuinely makes me really upset lol

In tears because I accidentally ran into some and I just cannot

Sniffles and pulls up fluff

[shibabea]

Off the Air (RadioStatic fic)

Chapter 2

< Last chapter | Next chapter >

Content: Slow burn, pining, angst, eventual fluff, eventual tickles, forced proximity, plot

Chapter Summary: Vox and Alastor work through the first night of being stuck together. They're trying not to think about the past too much.

Notes: This chapter is LONG but lots of good stuff in it I think :3 super happy with this one hehe. if you read this one i'll love you forever

AO3 Link

Fic Master List

6,449 words

Friday Night

The door shuts the two overlords inside of one of Vox’s pristine limos, both of them settling in for the ride to the outskirts of Pentagram City.

Alastor is still in his bindings for the moment, wiggling against the seat in an attempt to get as comfortable as possible. But there’s only so much that can be done when he’s tied up and trying to adjust to a car seat.

Vox kicks back comfortably, crossing one foot over the other and sitting across from his prisoner. The car is already starting to move, leaving the sight of the tower in the rear view mirror. “So.” he starts, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you gonna be a brat all weekend, or are you actually gonna make this tolerable?”

Alastor lets out a faux chuckle and rolls his eyes, shifting against the seat once more. “Oh, I assure you, I plan to be as insufferable as possible. Can’t have you getting too relaxed!” 

Vox scoffs and turns his attention away to look out the window instead. He already knows that Alastor will spend most of the time trying to find ways to piss him off. But at least he won’t have to worry about the rest of the tower being up his ass, too.

The two fall into silence as the limo begins to make its way through Pentagram City, both watching the various buildings pass by, the sinners wandering the streets. A few stop and glance curiously at the limo, likely spotting the VoxTek logo plastered on the side.

Vox hasn’t been to the mansion in a few months, not since the last time he was trying to convince another overlord to sponsor VoxTek products. Vox has never actually gotten to use the mansion as a vacation home, despite how expensive and luxurious it is. It’ll be nice to use the place for pleasure rather than posturing.

It’s right outside of the city, too, so it’s unlikely that any random solicitors would walk up to the door. They’ll be truly, fully alone. That hasn’t been the case in… decades.

There’s still a part of Vox’s mind itching for this to be the thing that can alter his relationship with Alastor. To make it how it used to be. Before all the fighting, the posturing, the animosity. Hopefully there’s still a chance that it can all be smoothed over.

Surely a weekend entirely to themselves will be just the thing they need. To lay the groundwork, at least. 

Alastor’s own mind is spinning with thoughts, but he’s certainly not thinking about the possibility of repairing their relationship. Not in the slightest.

He has his own business to attend to, the deal with Rosie that needs to be broken. This is all just part of the long game. He’s been stuck in that blasted deal since he arrived in Hell, and he has the perfect plan to finally free himself.

The weekend locked behind closed doors with Vox is simply another hurdle to cross before the finish line.

As much as Alastor hates to admit it, there is the slightest hint of nerves settling into his stomach. There’s no buffer of the others to prevent Vox from getting too handsy. That dreadful little habit of his. 

On the other hand, he’s fairly certain Vox would never truly cross the line of Alastor’s tolerance. The shoulder touching is annoying, yes, but Vox isn’t a complete brute. If Alastor shows clear disinterest, Vox wouldn’t push past that line.

He hopes.

The limo crossing from smooth, paved roads onto a dirt trail snaps the both out of them out of their inner musings, the gravel giving a slight shake to their drive forward.

Pentagram City is starting to fade into view behind them, the way ahead winding into a path full of trees and desolate land. The familiarity of civilization is quickly disappearing into the rear view mirror, leading them straight into Vox’s isolated property.

Alastor is the one to break the silence with a thoughtful hum. “I do hope if you’re planning to bring me into isolation to murder me, you’ve brought a shovel. You wouldn’t want to leave a mess behind, now would you?” 

Vox’s antenna perk up at the comment. It’s not a barb. It’s a joke. It’s a nice change of pace from the constant needling he’s put up with for the past few weeks.

His chest puffs out with a hint of playfulness as he taps his claws against the back of the car seat. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ve scouted the area. It’s totally clear, mess or no mess.”

“Perhaps that little head of yours isn’t entirely useless.” Alastor keeps his gaze on the path outside, the limo tilting at an angle to climb up a gravely hill.

It doesn’t take long before the car is stopping, arriving in the paved driveway of the mansion. It’s a massive home surrounded by trees and greenery at the front, and what appears to be an endless field in the back. There’s no sign of any other living person in sight, no neighbors on either side of the house.

Vox pushes himself up from the chair, reaching over to the door handle. “Home sweet home.” He pushes it open and steps out with a stretch, throwing his hands up over his head.

Alastor’s muscles tighten when an additional pair of Vox’s cables wrap around his waist and tug, yanking him into a standing position and out of the door of the car. His ears pin flat against his head in annoyance at being jerked around.

“I do hope you don’t intend to keep me tied up the entire time we’re here.” Alastor comments, trying to shift his arms to loosen some of the cables. They’re starting to dig into his skin and become uncomfortable. “That would be rather poor manners on your part.”

Vox puts his hands down and looks over at the other man, a grin sliding onto his screen. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, Alastor.” He takes a step closer, reaching into his back pocket.

Vox pulls out the pair of angelic steel bracelets, immediately stepping behind Alastor and starting to fasten them onto his wrists. “I have just the thing to keep you comfortable.” 

Alastor’s static rises in his chest as he feels the click of the bracelets locking around his wrists, uncomfortable with the proximity.

Even worse is the sensation that leaves him as soon as that jewelry is snapped around his wrists.

It feels like all of the connections to every soul contract he’s ever made have been severed entirely. The strength of his shadows, the abilities that have kept him safe and on top since the day he arrived in Hell, completely vanish from his body without a trace.

It brings a strange, uncomfortable sensation of lightness to his body. He feels entirely powerless, just like he did back on earth as nothing more than a human man.

The cables around his waist slither off of him and retract back into Vox’s sleeves, Vox taking a step back and admiring his handy work. “There. Now you can’t destroy the place.”

Alastor lets out a breath and brings his hands around to the front, looking down at the cuffs around his wrists. They’re nothing more than plain, heavy silver, but clearly made from angelic steel. His eyes narrow in pure frustration at being cut off from his powers. “How thrilling.” 

He isn’t sure what’s worse. He may have preferred the restraints at this point.

Vox looks entirely too pleased with himself. He takes a step towards the mansion, placing a hand between Alastor’s shoulder blades and shoving him forward. “Come on, let’s get settled in.” 

The pure excitement is really starting to set in now. Alastor is completely contained and under control, and Vox is fully in charge. This is going to be great.

Alastor stumbles with the shove, his ears flat against his skull. He straightens himself up and dusts himself off before glancing back at the limo. “Aren’t you forgetting something? You did pack bags, did you not?”

Oh, shit, right. Vox had gotten too excited and almost forgot.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Vox turns on his heel to retrieve the suitcases from the trunk with a grunt. Now their weekend can get started. “Now get inside before I drag you in there myself.” He’s already moving towards the door, ready to fully settle in.

Alastor follows behind him with a sigh, glancing around and tucking his hands behind his back. “Coming.” 

Vox pushes the door open to the mansion, revealing the inside. The inside is packed with tech lining the walls, various televisions, robotic assistants, even a full line of various Roombas are lining one corner. The place is absolutely stocked to the brim with every piece of technology imaginable. 

There’s a grand staircase spiraling up onto the second floor and multiple paths to various hallways. There’s a kitchen to the right, a living room to the left, and multiple doors lining the hallway directly in front. The place is absolutely massive.

The house looks exactly like Alastor expected. Therefore, exactly everything he despises.

“How charming.” He mutters to himself, bringing a hand up to idly rub at his wrist where the angelic steel sits. This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? “Is all this truly necessary?”

Vox happily walks in, the suitcases rolling behind him. “Uh, yeah, of course it is. I’ve got literally everything I could ever need. Cleaning, researching, surveillance. All of it’s right at my fingertips.” 

He starts striding towards the grand staircase, glancing back to see Alastor picking at the bracelets. His grin widens with pure, cruel glee. “Nice craftsmanship, huh? Got ‘em straight from Carmilla.” 

“Oh, of course, they’re just lovely.” Alastor comments sarcastically, following the other man up the spiraling steps. The feeling of being completely separated from his powers is still itching uncomfortably under his skin, especially knowing that Vox is still in full control of his own. He hates the idea of Vox being above him in any manner.

Vox lets out a chuckle as he pushes the door open to the bedroom, holding it open for the other man with faux chivalry. “And this is where we’ll be staying.” 

Alastor steps inside, glancing around the room with pure disdain at the sight that assaults his eyes.

The room is massive. The bed is massive. The television is massive.

Everything in the room feels like Vox picked the absolute largest option simply because he could.

In the center of the room lies a massive bed with two nightstands on either side. The walls are painted a dark blue, lined with more of Vox’s pointless technology and various tacky furniture.

Wait. Did Vox say where they’ll be staying? There’s only one bed.

Alastor halts his slow inspection of the room, static rising in his chest. “You don’t mean to tell me that we’ll both be sharing the bedroom?” He glances over at the other man with narrowed eyes.

“Duh. Where else would you stay?” Vox drops off the suitcases by the bed, planting his hands on his hips proudly. “And don’t even start complaining about it. I’m not taking my eyes off of you when half of the shit in this place is worth more than you are.”

Oh, Vox will be lucky if Alastor decides not to slit his throat open by the end of the weekend. How absolutely distasteful, to be forced into constant proximity with the man.

“I do hope you’ve stopped your terrible habit of snoring. I might not be so accommodating if I’m forced to listen to you wheezing like a broken motor all night.” Alastor stands beside the other side of the bed, fingers twitching in pure annoyance.

Maybe he should just strangle him now. That would be a quick way to wrap up the weekend. 

A cyan blush crawls up onto Vox’s face. “Hey! I do not snore! You made that up, and you know it!” He becomes defensive much too quickly. He knows he snores. Valentino complains about it on a weekly basis.

Back when Alastor and Vox were still amicable, there had been a handful of times where Vox had passed out after drinking too much. Alastor knows just as much as Valentino does how loudly Vox snores.

Alastor complained about it then. So he’s definitely going to complain about it now.

Vox’s defensive retorts are cut off as he feels his stomach starting to grumble. It is starting to get close to dinner time.

“I’m starving, anyway. We’ll deal with it later.” Vox waves a hand dismissively and pushes his way back out into the hallway, starting to head back down the stairs and towards the main area of the mansion.

Alastor lets out a frustrated sigh and follows behind him. He is rather eager to get out of the bedroom they’ll apparently be forced into all evening. Something to eat is at least a distraction.

The two men make their way back down the stairs before separating. Alastor walks into the living room area, inspecting the couch with narrowed eyes. At least it’s clean, he supposes. He turns and sits down properly, crossing his hands into his lap. “And what do you propose we sustain ourselves with for the evening? I do hope you’re not going to serve me a microwaved meal and call it a day.”

Vox steps into the kitchen with a scoff, pulling open the cupboards. “You’re going to eat what I give you without bitching about it.” 

However, the cupboards have absolutely nothing exciting whatsoever.

Right. It has been a few months since he was here last.

There’s still some whiskey bottles inside, some spices, and a minimal amount of cooking ingredients. But even inside the fridge, there’s no meat, no ingredients for an actual meal, absolutely nothing.

Well, that’s not going to work.

Vox sighs and pulls out his phone, slamming the cupboards behind him and starting to walk towards the couch. “Been a few months since I’ve been here. We’re just gonna have to order out for the night.”

Alastor raises an eyebrow, looking down at the device in Vox’s hand. “Order out? You realize half of the options in Pentagram City are overrun with rats.” He taps his claws against his thighs uncomfortably. “Surely there’s something in the kitchen you can work with?”

“There’s not.” Vox barks back, scrolling through a delivery app on his phone. Cooking isn’t exactly his strong point, and he doesn’t feel like digging through the cupboards in hopes of finding something that can reasonably be thrown together without seeming like a complete mess.

Vox taps his phone as he finds something palatable. “Here. Some Chinese takeout. Easy.” He starts forming an order without Alastor’s input. It’s not his decision what they’re going to have for dinner anyway.

Alastor scoffs and rolls his eyes. Takeout. What a mess. “I think I’ll manage until morning. I’m hardly interested in anything from a rundown establishment.” 

“Suit yourself.” Vox has no issue in ordering food just for himself, though… he does add an extra side of sweet and sour chicken. Just in case Alastor changes his mind. But he won’t bring that up unless Alastor starts complaining about being hungry. Otherwise, more for him.

As soon as the delivery order is set and paid for, Vox plops down on the other end of the couch with a sigh, his eyes trailing over to Alastor. 

This feels surreal. Vox and Alastor. Sitting on a couch. Having just ordered shitty Chinese food to be delivered within the next hour. And they’re not completely at each other’s throats.

This feels more like one of Vox’s fever dreams rather than reality. But Alastor is really just… sitting. Right there. On the couch.

Alastor speaking snaps him out of his thoughts. “And what exactly will we be doing for the evening? Sitting here and staring at one another?” He quirks his head, eyes trailing over the lazy slouch Vox is in. “You do know my preferences about staring at screens for hours on end. And yours is no exception.” 

Vox scoffs and rolls his eyes, though he’s not truly offended by the barb. His fingers tap against the cushion of the couch, considering what they can actually do that won’t feel… odd.

His eyes trail over the various pieces of technology in the room. He knows Alastor will hate all of it. And as much as he enjoys getting under Alastor’s skin, there is still that part of him that wants to take this opportunity to get on some kind of better footing with the other man. 

Maybe there’s a way he can compromise.

“I dunno… How about a movie? I’m tired from all that driving, anyway. Don’t need to do anything crazy.” Vox shrugs and picks up the television remote from the nightstand, flipping on the large flatscreen sitting on the wall across from the couch.

Alastor’s eyes follow Vox’s over to the large screen, watching as the various titles start flashing in front of his face. All new age, loud, absolutely no class whatsoever. He sighs and comments, “Oh, how lovely. What type of picture show will I be subjected to for the evening?”

Vox’s finger taps against the remote as he scrolls through the options. He knows, from past discussions, how much Alastor hates all the new age movies. 

His finger continues tapping through the options, even as an incredibly foreign feeling starts to bubble up in his chest. 

Vox’s mind starts running through what this must feel like from Alastor’s perspective. He’s trapped in a house with his worst enemy with no way to leave, forced into choosing between not eating or eating food that he hates, forced into a singular bed with a man he hates, and now he’s… being forced to watch movies that he hates…

Is Vox feeling sympathy right now? Is that what this is? What the fuck?

Vox shakes his head, banishing that line of thought. Fucking stupid. 

With a sneer, he starts flipping faster through the options until he finds something he figures can be a good enough compromise.

He finds a channel streaming old movies from earth, old, black and white, silent, perfectly fitting Alastor’s era. He doesn’t even look at the title before pressing the select button on one of them - “The General”, from Buster Keaton. “There. Now quit your whining and watch the damn movie.”

Alastor’s ears perk straight up as the familiar sight of Buster Keaton appears on the screen, the jaunty piano music he recognizes from his time on earth. Keaton is one of his favorites from the era, something he’s rarely talked about with anyone else.

A pleased hum escapes from him, settling back into the cushions as some of the tension starts to melt from his muscles. “Ah, Buster Keaton! A man who understood the finer points of comedy.”

Vox’s eyes flick over when he hears that pleased note in Alastor’s voice. So he did make a good choice. Perfect. “You would like old shit like this.” He tosses the remote on the couch between them, letting himself settle back more comfortably now. 

It feels… kinda nice. Knowing that he picked something that Alastor actually likes.

Alastor spares a glance over at Vox before his attention is drawn back to the screen, his smile curling into something more genuine. It’s a nice nostalgia trip, to see the picture show as he remembers it. “He did all of his own stunts, you know. Rather dangerous back then.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s just inefficient. Having the main lead put themselves at risk of getting killed? That’s how you lose your best actor.” Vox retorts, crossing one leg over the other. His own eyes have settled onto the screen. It’s not exactly his speed, but as long as it keeps Alastor appeased.

“Ah, but it only adds to their desirability! Keaton’s name has gone down as something to be remembered because of it! Not only are his films a masterclass in comedy, the man risked his life nearly every day on that set!” Alastor sounds genuinely excited talking about this, like this is something he actually cares about. “Not to mention, the climax features a genuine train plunging off of a burning bridge! That cost thousands of dollars, you know. None of that CGI nonsense.” 

Vox listens to Alastor hype up the movie, his eyes trailing over the other man and the way his hands move animatedly. Alastor’s eyes are lit up, his smile looks genuine, and even his ears are perked up in attention.

He looks… cute.

A breath catches in Vox’s throat at that thought, and his eyes immediately dart back over to the screen. Fuck. That warm feeling he remembers from 70 years ago is starting to settle into his chest again. He needs to stop thinking about shit like that.

Thankfully, Vox doesn’t need to try to find a way to change the subject. 

The doorbell rings.

“Oh, thank god, food’s here.” Vox pushes himself up from the couch and hurriedly walks over to the door to retrieve the food. Good. Something else to focus on. Definitely not thinking about how cute Alastor looks when his ears are all perky.

Nope.

Not thinking about that.

Vox snatches the food from outside the door before walking back over to the couch, bag in hand. He sits back down and glances over at Alastor again before tearing it open. “You sure you don’t want anything?” He asks softly, refusing to make eye contact again.

Alastor watches him tear open the bag, static rising before softening once more. “I’m quite sure. I’ll manage just fine.” His eyes shift back to the screen, seemingly perfectly happy to just indulge in watching a movie without consuming food he sees as beneath him.

Vox pulls out his box of food and begins to eat, glancing back up at the screen. He’s still thinking about the absolute rant about movies Alastor went on. He wants to see Alastor do more stuff like that, to completely let down the mask of overlord and just… be Alastor.

He pulls out the additional order of sweet and sour chicken he ordered, placing it in the middle of the couch. Like trying to lure a stray cat. Just in case he wants it.

Vox lets the moment sit in silence, his eyes glued to the screen as he spears a piece of his own food. After a few silent minutes, he speaks up again. “So this stuff really tickles your brain, huh? Never knew you were such a movie nerd.”

Alastor’s ears flick and pin back, expression tightening just slightly. 

Ah, that little word. The one that always flusters him, no matter how many times he’s tried to convince himself how silly it is.

Tickling. What an absolutely juvenile concept for Alastor to get so worked up over. And Vox is the absolute last person he wants knowing about that little tidbit.

So he brushes it off just as quickly. “Yes, well, I don’t believe you’ve ever brought up the subject of picture shows before.”

Vox notices that little reaction, the fork holding his next bite pausing halfway to his mouth. What was all that about? Did he say something weird? 

Vox sets his fork back into the plastic box, scoffing with amused confusion. “What’s all that about? You’re acting all weird now.”

Alastor shifts with slight discomfort, eager to turn the subject away from himself. There’s an unsettling warmth starting to curl in his stomach, and he hates it with every fiber of his being. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Alastor’s eyes drift down to the couch, where the television remote is still sitting between them. Ah. The perfect distraction. And likely to be hilarious, at that.

Alastor’s hand snatches up the television remote, but instead of pointing it at the screen showing the movie, he points it at Vox instead. He flicks the “mute” button.

Vox’s eyes widen as the remote works just as intended, silencing him entirely. He mouths the words “You fucking prick!” and starts scrambling for the remote, nearly knocking over the takeout box in his lap.

Alastor finds this absolutely hilarious. “Now that’s entertaining! Much better than your incessant whining.” He only holds the remote out of reach for a moment before dropping it once more, allowing Vox to scramble and pick it up.

Once Vox has successfully unmuted himself, he aggressively slams the remote back on his side of the couch. Away from Alastor. “I hate you so much.”

“Likewise.” Alastor’s smile is wide and comfortable, turning his attention right back to the screen. At least the way he had started to get flustered is no longer the point of conversation, and he can return to enjoying the nostalgia of one of his favorite movies.

The two settle into a comfortable silence, both allowing their attention to naturally drift back to the movie as it plays out. Vox continues to eat his takeout and watch the surprisingly enjoyable 100 year old movie, while Alastor sits in genuine comfort.

Vox doesn’t let his gaze slide over to Alastor again. It’s actually kind of nice. Doing this. Just quietly enjoying a movie together. Maybe this is going better than he thought it was.

As long as he keeps the remote out of Alastor’s hands.

Alastor looks equally as comfortable for the time being. His hands are comfortably folded on his lap, and his gaze is almost starting to slip into something lazy. At least Vox isn’t forcing him into watching some loud, CGI action nonsense. He can enjoy the familiarity of something that he actually enjoys without having to put up a front.

And being able to have a moment of peace without the bickering is pleasant, in its own way. Though he knows it’s only a matter of time before the two of them return to being at one another’s throats.

The movie finally begins to wrap up, the music fading into silence before a commercial starts playing across the screen. It’s drifting into the late evening, and Vox is starting to feel the exhaustion of the day set in.

Vox is the first one to stand, pushing himself up from the couch and stretching his arms above his head. Though, there is one thing that’s starting to slip into his mind now that his stomach is full and it’s nearly time to go to sleep.

He glances at the screen door a few feet behind the couch before glancing at Alastor. “You still smoke?” he asks casually, taking a step towards the glass door. 

Alastor’s ears flick in interest at the question, and he doesn’t hesitate in joining to stand and head towards the door. “I do indulge on occasion, yes. I suppose one wouldn’t hurt.” 

The two men make their way out onto the back porch, where darkness has started to fall over the Pentagram. The red light still lingers in the sky, though at night, it starts to fade into a gradient of reddish purple.

The porch extends out into a massive field, two outdoor chairs overlooking the expanse of the hill dropping off into Pentagram City. It’s quiet. Even the stench of the city doesn’t reach up here.

Vox plops down on one of the chairs with a sigh, reaching into his pocket and fumbling around for the cigarette case he keeps in there. He glances up at Alastor before casually asking, “You got a brand preference these days? I can conjure up some.”

Alastor hums and sits in the chair beside Vox, settling his hands in his lap once more. “Not in particular. Though I would prefer menthol if you have it.”

Vox flicks his fingers before a brand new package of cigarettes appears in his hand with a flash of blue light. He slides the pack across the glass table between them before focusing on his own.

Alastor picks up the package and inspects it with a hum, giving it two tap taps against the armrest of the chair in a lazy display of packing.

Vox glances over to watch him unwrap it and, interestingly, watches Alastor flip one of the cigarettes upside down. The very top left. 

A grin slides onto Vox’s face. “You still do that?”

It’s something Vox had always done. But Alastor hadn’t started doing it until Vox came around.

The habit of flipping a lucky cigarette has stuck around since Vox's human days. It got popular back in the 1940’s, and as silly a tradition as it may be, it’s something Vox has never broken the habit of doing.

And back those 70 years ago, Alastor had spotted him doing it.

Ever since that night that they first discussed the concept of “lucky cigarettes”, Alastor had started flipping one of his own with each new pack he opened.

It seems that, even now, that habit has stuck with him.

Alastor tenses when he’s called out for the habit. It’s so ingrained in him at this point, he hadn’t even thought about it, let alone the fact that Vox is the one who taught him to do it.

Vox had rubbed off on him more than he would like.

He attempts to brush it off as he lifts another cigarette out of the pack, leaving the lucky in there for another time. “Yes, well, you know what they say about habits. Terrible to break and all that.” It’s hardly a good excuse, and both of them know it.

“Tell me about it.” Vox grins to himself, feeling a flutter in his chest. Alastor had really remembered. Alastor had continued doing something because of him. Despite how much he tries to deny it, their relationship all those years ago had left a mark on Alastor just as much as it had left a mark on Vox, whether or not either one of them would admit it.

The two fall into a comfortable silence, just enjoying the night air as they smoke through their respective cigarettes.

Vox stares out into the field as the warmth of knowing he had gotten under Alastor’s skin settles in his chest. It feels nice. This feels nice. At the beginning of the day, he had felt ready to tear out Alastor’s throat with his bare hands, but now this just feels… like it used to.

And that’s what he’s been wanting, isn’t it?

For things to stop feeling like they’re two rivals who want each other dead. And to feel like it used to, all those years ago. Back when things were good. Back when they were good.

That was the happiest Vincent had been during his entire time in Hell.

Sure, being with the Vees was great. But half the time that he was with the Vees, he’s being bitched at, belittled, or just struggling to keep his own power above them.

But back then? It was never like that.

Back then, Vox felt like he was on equal footing with Alastor. Or, at least, he felt comfortable in Alastor’s shadow. Things were easier back then.

He would do anything to get that back. And maybe this is just what they needed.

Alastor is lost in his own train of thought, taking another drag from the cigarette as he stares off into the dark field. 

As annoyed as he is about the loss of his powers, about being forced into this situation just so he can break out of his deal with Rosie, he supposes this… this moment… isn’t the worst it could be.

He’s getting the nicotine buzz that he desperately needed after a long day of listening to Vox. He had gotten to watch one of his favorite movies from his time alive. And despite the fact he didn’t get to enjoy dinner, he doesn’t really feel hungry at the moment, anyway.

He just feels… content. That’s the word. That’s what he feels.

At least it’s quiet. At least Vox isn’t getting far too handsy. If things remain as they feel in this moment, perhaps this weekend won’t be completely insufferable.

Alastor takes a glance over at Vox, who’s lost in his own train of thought and staring off into the darkness. 

He hardly looks like Vox, the leader of VoxTek, in this moment.

He has that silly little smile on his face that he used to get back then.

...He looks like Vincent.

Alastor’s ears flick with discomfort, not allowing his own train of thought delve too deep into the past. It’s best to keep the past where it belongs, and that is not the present.

Alastor is the one to finish his cigarette first, twisting it into the ash tray as he stands up. “It is a bit chilly this evening, isn’t it? Perhaps we should settle in for the night.” He doesn’t even bother looking down at Vox, keeping his gaze firmly out into the field.

Vox blinks out of his own thoughts at the sound of his voice, and he follows by putting out his own cigarette. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess.” He doesn’t feel particularly cold, but he can tell Alastor is getting antsy. Might as well get comfortable for the night. There’s plenty to do tomorrow, anyway.

The two men slide open the door and step back inside, making their way up to the bedroom without sharing another word. Both feel a hint of discomfort twisting in their stomachs, though for entirely different reasons.

Vox is starting to analyze too deeply the fact that he still likes Alastor, and those feelings have never really gone away, no matter how much he's tried to convince himself otherwise.

Alastor is starting to realize that he almost feels… drowsy. Something that hasn’t happened to him since his time on earth as a human man. He doesn’t like it.

The door to the bedroom opens and the two step inside, Vox walking over to the suitcase and beginning to open his. He spares a glance up to Alastor before asking, “So, you gonna sleep in that? No way sleeping in a suit is comfortable.”

Alastor follows inside, letting out a scoff and standing beside the opposite side of the bed. “Firstly, I won’t be sleeping. And secondly, I will not be changing into any of the attire you’ve decided to bring.” He takes a peek inside the suitcase, seeing absolutely nothing he would be willing to wear. “Your clothing choices are far from my taste.”

Vox rolls his eyes as he pulls out his own pair of comfortable clothing, navy blue pajama pants and a plain black t-shirt. Once they’re in his hands, he uses his powers to zap them onto his body without the awkwardness of changing. “Yeah, whatever. You’ll get tired of that thing eventually.”

Vox doesn’t mention his plans to get Alastor out of those clothes tomorrow and into a t-shirt, whether or not it’s the last thing he does.

He crawls into bed, pulling the blankets up over himself as the exhaustion begins to set in. “Just don’t touch any of my shit.” He mumbles under his breath, already feeling the pull of sleep at the corners of his vision.

Alastor’s eyes narrow as he watches the other man begin to fall asleep almost immediately. “I wouldn’t dream of touching your dreadful little devices, I assure you.” He remains standing by the bed, sparing a glance around the room.

There’s exhaustion settling into his own muscles, and he despises it. It must be these dreadful angelic steel bracelets, seeping up all of his power. His power is what’s kept him from needing sleep for so long, and now that it’s being actively drained into the jewelry, there’s nothing keeping him awake.

The sound of Vox’s loud, rattling snore startles him, his ears pinning back and his gaze falling back to the man on the bed. He had fallen asleep nearly instantly. 

With a sigh, Alastor steps away from the bed to try to separate himself from the assault on his ears. The sight of the suitcase lingering on the floor does draw his attention. What all had Vox packed away in there, anyway?

He approaches slowly before bending over and starting to rifle through the pockets. Clothing. Clothing. A charger of some sort. Toiletries.

As he unzips one of the smaller pockets, his eyes widen at what he spots inside.

There’s a photo. One he recognizes.

His red claws carefully pinch the photo as he lifts it out, finding the very first photo Vincent had ever convinced him to take.

Alastor’s ears pin flat against his head, seeing the younger version of himself staring back at him. In the photo, Alastor and Vincent are standing close together, Vincent’s hand on his shoulder. That little habit of his.

But in the picture… Alastor doesn’t look uncomfortable. His smile is loose and comfortable, his ears perked up in the way they always do when he’s in a good mood.

The two don’t look like rivals in this picture. 

They look like friends.

A low growl rumbles from Alastor’s throat and he quickly slides the photo back into the suitcase. Sentimental nonsense. Why had Vox even brought this in the first place? 

Because the man is obsessed with him. He knows that.

Alastor zips the suitcase back up and steps away from it, his own fingers twitching. He should’ve ripped the thing up. He should’ve trashed it so neither one of them could ever look at it again. But something stops him from going back for the photo. Something he isn’t interested in examining.

Instead, he lets his mind pivot to the other problem. He’s still tired.

Maybe he could sleep…

Alastor looks up at the bed where Vox has now sprawled out the entirety of his body, taking up a majority of the too-large bed. And he’s still snoring like an engine.

There’s absolutely no way, under any circumstance, Alastor will be attempting to share a bed with this man.

With a flick of his ear, he steps forward and snatches a spare pillow and blanket from the bed. He will make do elsewhere.

After separating himself to the other side of the room entirely, he finds an armchair and sits down onto it, tucking the pillow behind his neck. He drapes the blanket across his lap with a sigh, settling himself into the chair. 

Well. This will be the first time he’s slept in almost 100 years.

And who knows what sort of nonsense Vox has planned for tomorrow.

---------

Secret bottom note if you're here: I actually have gone back to watch some of the older movies Alastor might like! That's why I included it here.

The General is one of them I watched and actually did enjoy quite a bit, it's pretty fun and entertaining for being 100 years old and very different than what I'm used to.

It's free on YouTube if you're curious :3

My hyperfixation on the deer man is never ending and has gotten me to learn about a lot of interesting things

[shibabea]

Hear me out!!! Alastor comes to Rosie's emporium all grumpy and stuff for whatever reason, and Rosie is like "omg Alastor cheer up you're always so serious!" And since she owns his soul (I don't really know how the whole soul owning thing, or the limitations of it) but she makes him hold his arms above his head magically or whatever, and you can take a very wild guess about where it goes from there

OOHH YESSS i love this idea!! in the show she does puppet him around and yank his arms around during don't you forget so 👀👀 WRITING THIS DOWN

[shibabea]

Don't know if I've ever explicitly said this but if y'all ever have any requests for fics feel free to drop them in my asks!

I have a list of ideas and I'm happy to add more to the list if I like em :3

Or you can send me literally anything ever if you have questions etc. Asks are fun

[shibabea]

Off the Air (RadioStatic fic)

Chapter 1

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Content: Slow burn, pining, angst, eventual fluff, eventual tickles, forced proximity, plot

Summary: There won't be anyone else to keep up appearances in front of. No Vees. No VoxTek. No reporters. No war against heaven. Just Vox and Alastor. | After Alastor's antics grind VoxTek's production to a halt, Vox is forced to remove him from the premises for the weekend, leaving the two stuck with each other until further notice.

Notes: This is my slow burn story I'm very proud of!! And I've been having a ton of fun writing it so far hehe ❤️ slower to update but I hope y'all enjoy this one too

AO3 Link

Fic Master List

2,459 words

Friday Morning

Great. There he goes again. 

The absolute fucking nuisance is, once again, making it impossible to get anything done. This was supposed to be his moment, his time to shine in front of all of Hell, but why would anything ever go right? Alastor is here, as always, to fuck everything up. 

It's not just Vox's time he's impeding on, either. The brat has been finding every way possible to disturb the entirety of the tower. Alastor has figured out how to broadcast his voice over the loud speakers, and his newest hobby is jump scaring any employee he can find with shrill crackles of feedback, ominous screams, or just pure, unhinged laughter. 

It’s been grating on Vox’s last nerve, especially when he’s in the middle of trying to rally support for the war against Heaven. He’s considered just throwing him out, of course, but that would be admitting defeat over something as trivial as getting annoyed. And Vox will absolutely not be stooping to that level, even if he’s incapable of focusing his attention anywhere else.

Alastor, on the other hand, is having more fun than he’s had in decades. Not only does he have the opportunity to get under his rival’s skin and watch the fallout, but the entirety of VoxTek gossiping about him? Now that's entertainment. He gets Vox’s full, undivided, furious attention, and he gets to watch the company itself slowing down to a halt all because of his antics.

Today is exactly the same as it's been every day for weeks. Vox tries to get his work done, Alastor baits him into providing attention, Vox gives in, and the cycle repeats. Nothing has been getting done in that office.

Even tied up and bound to a chair, Alastor looks like he's exactly where he wants to be. Needling Vox. “You are looking rather stressed, old pal! Perhaps you should take the rest of the day off, hm? You're going to melt a hole into that little device at this rate.”

Vox sits hunched at his desk, claws scraping against the plastic of his phone case he has a death grip on. He manages to keep his tone calm with just the right amount of snark. He’s still technically the winner in this scenario. “You know, it's impressive how much you love the sound of your own voice. Maybe I should push your chair out the window. That sounds like it could be fun.”

Alastor lets out a laugh, entirely unbothered by the threat. Because he knows Vox won’t do it. “Ah, a one way trip down to the street? How delightful! I'm sure the company would be far more hospitable than the riff raff up here.” He crosses one leg over the other, treating this as nothing more than a vacation to him.

Just as Vox starts to consider shocking his prisoner into silence, the office door aggressively swings open and clatters against the wall, demanding both of their immediate attention.

Oh, fantastic.

The other Vees, Valentino and Velvette, both storm into the office, entirely ignoring Alastor and heading straight for Vox. 

Valentino is the first to speak, his tone clipped and tight. “That is it! I've had enough of this! Half of my employees didn't show up because your fucking prisoner here scared them into calling out! You know he almost set a fire in the studio the other day? The nerve!”

Velvette immediately chimes in with her own complaint. “And all of the advertisements that were supposed to go out today have the videos corrupted! He's completely ruined hours of filming! He needs to go. Now.”

Vox's attention is snapped away from Alastor, forced onto his two partners glaring at him like this is his fault. They had been pretty snippy with him lately. And now they're getting an attitude again. 

“How is that my fault?! You should encrypt our shit better if he's getting into it when he's tied up!” Vox's eyes narrow between the two of them. “And half of your employees should be fired anyway, Val. It's probably for the best they didn't show up. Just hire new ones, there’s plenty of desperate whores looking for a quick buck.”

Valentino sneers and puts his hands on Vox's desk. “No. I am not doing this. He needs to go. He's been fucking up my shoots for weeks.” 

Alastor tilts his head at the breakdown happening right in front of him. Ah, this is equally as entertaining as pestering Vox himself. Now even his little partners are barking at him! “I can hear you, you know. It's rather impolite to discuss me as if I'm not here!” 

Velvette turns her head to snap at Alastor. “Shut it.” Then her attention is right back onto Vox. “You're getting rid of him. I'm giving you ‘till the end of the day, or I swear to fuck, Vox, I'll kill the fucker myself.”

“You're giving me a countdown?” Vox scoffs and rolls his eyes, though under the performance, he is distantly aware of the trouble Alastor has been causing around here lately. Even his own responsibilities were falling behind because of it. He's barely even managed to draft an email.

Valentino’s antenna flick with irritation as he straightens himself up. “If it were me, I wouldn't even give you that long. Just get the pendejo out of the tower before I do it for you.” He turns and starts walking out the office door, mumbling something like Por qué carajos estoy aguantando esto otra vez? under his breath. 

Vox opens his mouth to protest, but Velvette cuts him off. “End. Of. The. Day. I have to spend all weekend cleaning up these fuck ups.” She turns and follows the other Vee in leaving the office, door slamming shut behind them. 

Vox glares at the door as if it specifically had caused all of this. The absolute fucking nerve of those two. First they try to take credit for his plan, and now they're trying to order him around? 

Alastor’s ears are pricked forward in interest, waiting for the fallout he knows is coming. And how will Vox handle this new predicament, he wonders? “Well! That was invigorating. Sounds like you'll have to find a way to get rid of me!”

“Shut your mouth.” Vox snaps, looking over at the prisoner across from him. His mind starts working overtime to think of how to handle this situation. Just locking Alastor in a room isn't going to work, and Vox isn't exactly willing to leave him unsupervised, anyway.

Although...

There is one other option…

The perfect way to get Alastor out of the tower, just for the weekend, just long enough for Valentino and Velvette to catch up on their work so they drop the attitude. And Vox can keep an eye on him the entire time. 

Fuck it. At least it'll give them plenty of time to get things running around here again, and he won't have to listen to his partners whining the whole time.

A self satisfied smirk comes onto Vox's face, pushing himself up from the desk and approaching Alastor's chair. “Oh, don't worry. I've got just the plan.”

Friday afternoon

Vox has had Alastor in his personal room multiple times over the last few weeks. Usually, it's been to humiliate him, to show him everything he could've had, to assert his superiority. 

But this feels… different. 

Vox is kneeled on the floor, shoving a fresh change of clothes into a suitcase. And not even his typical, pressed suit. Just his comfortable, casual clothes, a long sleeve turtle neck and elastic lounging pants. There's no way he's confining himself in a stuffy suit all weekend if he doesn't need to, even if it feels slightly too vulnerable for his liking.

He has one of his assistants on the phone, choosing not to use a hologram like he usually might. No need for Alastor to be interfering with his conversation, lord knows that’s exactly what the bastard would do. But Vox needs to make sure that this, their whole little trip, doesn't get leaked to the public in case they start asking too many questions. 

It could easily spark into ‘Vox eloping with the Radio Demon’ if he’s not careful. Who knows what kind of bullshit headlines Katie might come up with if word gets out that Vox and Alastor are leaving together for the weekend.

“No, don't put it on the calendar.” Vox quietly snaps, shoving a pair of slippers he would never admit to owning into the suitcase. “I don't need it on paper. I've got it handled. Just keep it quiet and simple.” He ends the call without further question.

It feels way too casual for the 70 year rivalry between them, when Vox really stops to think about it. He's packing. A suitcase. For him and Alastor. What would Alastor even need over the weekend? Why does he care about the prick’s comfort anyway? 

Well… Maybe that’s not the question he should be asking himself. Just focus on the suitcase. Focus on the plan.

Vox has various buildings throughout Pentagram City, many of them used strictly for advertising, to dominate the market, to make sure that his brand and his face are burned into the minds of every brain dead sinner that passes by. 

But with all of his power and influence, he has other, private buildings. Usually, he uses them for meetings with other overlords, to show off and make it abundantly clear how much better than them Vox is. 

And this mansion that they’re going to? It's one of his absolute favorites. 

But now, instead of using it for power and status, he's using it as a… vacation home. With Alastor. For the weekend. 

Maybe he should stop thinking about it so much. The more he thinks about it, the more a strange mix of dread and excitement twists in his stomach. 

Alastor, still bound in the chair, watches the other man aggressively shoving casual clothes into the suitcase with a flick of his ear. So they truly are leaving the tower, are they? How interesting.

“So, Vox,” he starts with a curious tilt of his head, “Where, exactly, are you taking me? I do hope it's less of an eyesore than this establishment.”

Vox lets out an annoyed sigh, responding without even looking behind him. “One of my private resorts. I can keep an eye on you, and it keeps you from stirring up more bullshit around here.” He shuts the suitcase lid and zips it up, sitting back on his knees. 

This is all so… strange. To be going on a vacation with someone he's supposed to hate. And yet, there's a part of him that won't stop replaying the same idea over and over. 

What if this is a chance to reconnect with Alastor again?

There won't be anyone else to keep up appearances in front of. No Vees. No VoxTek. No reporters. No war against heaven. 

Just Vox and Alastor. 

Vox stands to his feet and walks over to his nightstand, yanking a drawer open with more force than necessary. “Besides, I could use the getaway. Getting tired of everyone's whining around here.”

The static in Alastor's chest rises in pitch as the idea truly sets in, the idea of being stuck with Vox all weekend, and in a resort, no less. After being in captivity for a few weeks, he's gotten accustomed to dealing with Vox's grating, but here, there was the buffer of other employees, the Vees, and Vox being distracted by work. 

Going on a private escapade strips away every single one of those buffers. 

It is certainly less than ideal. It feels far too intimate for the situation. The most they’ll be able to separate themselves from each other is by a simple few rooms.

As a masterclass in hiding his discomfort, Alastor lets out a faux exasperated sigh. “Oh, how delightful. A little trip for just the two of us! I must say, the amount of planning you're putting into this is flattering in its own way! You truly can't get me off of your mind.”

Vox scoffs, grabbing something out of the nightstand and skillfully hiding it behind his hip. “Oh, sure, it'll be just peachy. Can't wait to put up with your bullshit all weekend.”

He steps back over to the suitcase and unzips it once more, sliding the item into one of the front pockets without letting Alastor see what it is. Some stupid thing he’s held onto way longer than he should have.

One of the first pictures Vox and Alastor ever took together.

It's an old thing, black and white, back when Vox was still sporting the CRT look. Back when things were good. Back when Alastor was the epitome of everything Vox wanted to be. And everything he wanted to have.

A reminder of what some deeply sentimental, and completely fucking stupid, part of Vox would kill to get back. 

“And what is it you have there?” Alastor catches the way Vox tries to hide something, tilting his head to try to spot it. But Vox hides it just a little too well. Suspicious.

Vox feels a cyan blush immediately rush onto his face, and he refuses to turn around to meet Alastor's gaze. “How about you worry about yourself? Or should I ask Velvette to get me a dress to shove you in?”

Alastor's eyes narrow, ears pinning back against his head. “Point taken.”

Vox stands up once more, fully prepared to head off for the weekend. He's even got the final, perfect addition in place, something he had commissioned from Carmilla just last week, a last resort if things with Alastor truly got out of hand.

A pair of angelic steel bracelets. 

It's the perfect way to completely disable Alastor's powers, while also allowing him the freedom to roam around the mansion. He has those safely tucked into one of his pockets for the second they arrive. 

“Alright, lets get a move on, the limo is probably waiting outside.” Vox grabs his suitcase and steps behind Alastor's chair, giving it a rough shove forward. 

“Oh, but of course. I would hate to be late to your well thought out kidnapping.” Alastor glances around the hallway as the two men step out and start making their way down to the ground floor of the tower. 

Vox can feel the pure fucking dread and adrenaline shooting through his veins. Maybe this will be the thing that finally fixes everything that's gone wrong over the past 70 years. Or maybe this will be the thing that finally leads to someone getting their throat slit.

It's going to be a long weekend.

[giulia-lo-art]

Staring

[shibabea]

i'm working on a slow burn story and it is my actual pride and joy i am SOOO proud of it

the chapter i'm working on will be A BIG ONE and i am very excited to share hehe... will take a while but it'll be so worth it (and we will get to PLENTY of tickles later i will always have tickles in my writing)

[shibabea]

me: experiencing a multi day long intense anxiety spiral

also me: mmm buying hazbin hotel merch will make me feel better