@tickletails - Tumblr Blog

Dec 21, 2025

A Lesson in Stamina

Definitely took a look at this lovely art and had to write a little something inspired by these fucking losers that I love so very much.

pairing: radiostatic (sort of, vincent is certainly thinking about it) lee!vox, ler!alastor word count: 4,726 no real warnings, just a normal amount of hazbin cursing and alastor’s stupid tentacles if those make you uncomfortable

Vox is tired, so very tired. Being an Overlord in Hell is tiring. Being in Hell at all is tiring.

Of course, there’s a certain ‘new smell’ to the whole thing, but even a promotion as it stands can’t shake away the days that he just feels like shit. This place is not for the faint of heart, and all he has is his nose-to-the-grindstone mentality to make it all worse.

There are some comforts, though, and one of those is the rather charming demon in red that he met in the bar the day he arrived in the Pride ring. An Overlord that had set up shop a few decades ago and was, as Vox understood it, one of the more dangerous of the lot he had met so far.

The pinging desire to dethrone had been immediate but only until he met Alastor. Then…

…the closet door had opened, and he was as unsteady as a baby deer chasing after the man as often as he could.

One of the easiest places to do that? Said bar.

The Radio Demon was already there, nursing his whiskey, as Vox walked in. His acknowledgement was the same as it always was, a small nod and a whiff of static casted the flathead’s way. It’s pleasant, and certainly appreciated, especially after a day such as this one.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to show up late.”

“Mm, your punctuality certainly is legendary.”

Alastor never probes. Vox appreciates it and reciprocates as often as he can—there is something to be said that his curiosity can sometimes get him in trouble. However, today, it certainly would have been easier if the Radio Demon bothered to notice that his drinking partner was looking a little worse for wear.

Emotionally, that is.

“Yeah, well…I didn’t really think that one Overlord would actually try and step foot in my little corner so soon, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised down here anymore,” he huffs, making a motion to the bartender. She knows his order.

“Agrat?”

“No Calliope.”

The Radio Demon hums to show he heard. And then, in a rare moment of physical contact, he swipes his thumb under Vox’s picturebox head, drawing a startled little motion from the demon and an incredulous look in his direction. “It looks like she put you through the wringer.” It’s said with a teasing tone that the television demon is used to now as he gives said thumb a lick.

Was that Vox’s blood or the other Overlord’s?

It didn’t really matter.

“Yeah, she did. I’m…exhausted, honestly.” Now that he’s been given quiet permission, his shoulders drop and he gives a small sigh.

Alastor’s eyes remain on his drinking partner, almost far-away as if he’s thinking of something else entirely, before a soft chuckle rumbles through the crackle of his filter. “But you’re sitting here, and she is not. Congratulations, pal, you survived another Overlord attempting to usurp your tiny amount of power—how many has it been now?”

Vox’s is now face-first in the wood of the bar. He holds up three fingers to answer the Radio Demon.

And said demon’s smile widens. “Only three? Oh, dear Vincent, I don’t believe you’ve earned the right to complain.”

The television demon turns his head to look at Alastor, squinting. “Yeah, that's easy for you to say, everyone’s scared of you.”

Everyone but him.

“A fear that was well-earned through hard work and perseverance," he hums, craning his neck so he could meet the television's eye properly. An almost playful move. “Just like you're doing right now.”

Vox feels as though he’s making fun of him and turns his head away with a little huff. “Doesn't really seem that way, but I’ll take your word for it.” There is a light vulnerable answer there that can’t help but sigh through, eyes casted down against the grain. He’s gaining small bits of power, sure, but nothing compared to the Radio Demon. He’ll have to realize that soon, right? And then what?

He doesn't really want to think about that, about how this all changes once his companion believes he’s just a fleeting trend.

Alastor is tilting his head as he regards Vox. He’s thinking, watching, articulating his next move as he watches the little pouting demon practically begging for some sympathy that the demon is not wired to give. However…

“Well then, perhaps it’s time for another lesson on my part, my little protege.”

Vox groans. “Don’t call me that again...”

“I’m serious,” he chuckles, “especially if you feel as though your stamina is lacking in…efficiency. After all the help you’ve shown me running pesky little sinners off of my territory, I have no issue offering my own help in exchange.”

He’s almost surprised he didn’t ask for a deal to be struck. “Fine, what did you have in—”

There was no finishing that statement.

There’s a small tingle that hit his side, right below his ribcage. It’s enough to make him jump a little but when he snaps his head to the side to inquire what it was that his compatriot had done, he sees what looks like one of Alastor’s tentacle things having slid up from the shadows under their feet to wiggle almost playfully at his side.

Wait. What now? There’s not even any time for Vox to react before another one shoots under his shirt and starts teasing his other side. He shivers, nearly collapsing over the bar as he captures his lower lip between his teeth. “Ah-hah-lastor…?” But as he risks a peek beside him, the Radio Demon’s expression isn't instilling any confidence that it was an accident.

There’s a finger resting on his lips, that perpetual smile slightly sharper than he’s used to: it lacks malice but is filled with a toxic mischief instead.

Somehow, that makes Vox even more worried.

If it’s any consultation, Alastor doesn't seem to be interested in overwhelming him with this. Why would he, that would surely ruin the game he’s playing. Eldritch tendrils that he’s seen rip people limb from limb are nuzzling against his skin curiously, the static that draws between them pleasant for a moment until they brush against a sensitive spot and he can’t help but cover his mouth to avoid yelping.

The bartender’s attention is drawn. “Everything alright?”

“Oh yeah—yeah! Sorry…” He’s not sure why he apologized. “Just…didn’t expect it to be so strong.” Did the guy look a little offended at that? He honestly couldn’t care less.

“Careful now, Vincent,” he spares a half-glare at the Radio Demon, “I’m having fun right now. You don’t want to interrupt me, do you?” He spots a flicker of those dials as his grin stretches with lidded eyes, and it makes him want to sink into the floor. Oh, not like he doesn’t want the attention (that is what he wanted, right?), but the optics of this are…

…

…yeah, he’s not sure how long he’s going to be able to play along without passing away.

“N-no…” he manages, a light blue flush on his screen as he sits up rather sharply, expression turning determined. It’s fine, it was just another way to prove himself to Alastor, he could endure it for that possible elation of said praise alone.

And the other demon’s expression turns just a hint more sinister. “Good boy.” He makes a circle motion with his finger, and any hope that Vox had that his companion was taking it easy on him is immediately thrown out the window. Because, here’s the thing, in all the distraction, he really hadn’t noticed that the two wiggling masses under his shirt hadn’t exactly stopped their exploration. They were being merciful, passing by spots that he knew would incite a different reaction, and instead making themselves entirely comfortable against him.

He was an idiot: they had been searching…

So, on Alastor’s cue, they tuck up under his arms and he nearly jolts again. The wriggling is exactly as he expected it to feel, but even that knowledge doesn’t help him from coughing away the beginnings of a snicker. Nonono—nope, he’s not going to break on the first tug. Instead, in an effort to retain some control over the situation, he reaches for his drink and takes a sip.

Only barely shaking.

And Alastor rewards him with a hum of approval and a wink. “Promising. Let’s see how long you can hold out when I get to those nastier little spots.”

“Ho-how could you possibly…?”

“Finding weaknesses is one of my greatest skills, Vincent. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

No, of course he hasn’t.

“To prove my point,” Vox didn’t really need him to do that, “I know that these,” and the tips of his little tools drift down to circle around the gills on either side of the media demon’s ribcage—not touching the delicate flaps, but even a flick considerably close makes him seize up violently, “ah yes, are probably the worst of it for you, am I right?”

Vox is having a hard time here because on one hand, this is humiliating. He’s a goddamn Overlord, and this is ranging on becoming unearned disrespect, especially considering how much admiration he gives the Radio Demon in return.

And yet, there’s something in Alastor’s tone that’s making an entirely different tingle run up his spine.

He’s going to ignore that one as best he can.

“I-isn’t this a-a…little c-childish?”

The Radio Demon manages a short laugh, low and cool. “I am shocked at you, Vox. You should know better than to just make an assumption like that.” What the hell was he talking about? “I am certainly not going to be picky about my methods if the results are met.”

Great.

The tentacles are starting to expand out around his torso now, dipping playfully into his navel and swiping slowly against the sensitive skin of his waistline, an action that makes him nearly break the glass in the palm of his hand as he takes a sharp breath in.

“Now, as a reminder, we’re going to use this as an opportunity for you to improve upon your stamina, my dear. No laughing, no whimpering, and certainly no crying.” The Radio Demon’s voice is overlayed with static as he croons out the next part, “Think you can manage?”

No, he’s not sure.

But he's going to do his best anyways, isn't he? Alastor is dangling that carrot over his head, practically teasing him with the idea of his approval.

Shit.

As he sits up, those stupid tentacles have clearly taken that as his consent on the matter and as happy to explore as desired by their owner as he sits and watches Vox squirm for a moment, a delightfully smug smirk on his face that the television head might find nice to look at. You know, if he wasn't the subject of it.

But they’re quick and they’re deadly accurate, already finding a few spots that make him jolt once again—unfortunately, it's the wiggling in his navel that is close to making him whine out, the sweeping motion almost a little too skilled for someone he’s pretty sure never engages in this kind of play often.

Or maybe he wasn't lying before about his methods—tickling was a form of torture, was it not? In some places?

That thought alone made him almost kick his leg against the side of the bar.

Surprisingly, though, Vox is holding out stronger than even he anticipated. The tendrils seem to be throwing everything they can at him—light brushing, wiggling, digging and swirling, even vibrating in some areas. And yeah, it's difficult for him to keep a straight face, but he sure is doing it. He has to, Alastor is assessing him here, and he’s not going to disappoint—

Oh shit, not the hips.

The second two of those wiggling masses slip under his pants and start playing around with the crevice on either side of his waist, he starts to get a little worried. He doesn't make a sound, no, but he can feel his spine curving and his legs pressing up to try and stop their movement, eyes squeezing shut for the first time since this fucking “lesson” started.

A new, third black tendril is suddenly fluttering against the small of his back, an action that makes the media demon straighten up with a sharp intake. “Ah, ah, ah, can’t have you ruining your posture~”

How painfully unfair.

Vox isn't sure how much more of this he can realistically take, especially when he’s not granted the simplest mercy of being able to curl up like a bug being toyed with under a microscope—that’s essentially what was happening here, right? Those tentacles aren’t leaving him any quarter here, digging into his hips with quick precision.

“M-mmghh…!”

The Radio Demon doesn't respond back, taking a sip of his drink before sparing a moment to enjoy the color of it, rocking the glass back and forth with one finger. His ability to multi-task is almost terrifying, Vox can’t help but wonder how many of the torture sessions-turned-brutal murders were done while he was busy dusting his console or tending to his equipment.

“...A-al…”

“Shh, you can do it, my little picturebox. You don’t want to disappoint me when you’ve been doing such an incredible job so far, do you?”

No, he doesn’t.

The tendrils that are drilling into the hollows of his hips are perhaps the worst offenders of all, the actions making him jittery and snorty as he is forced to sit up. Maybe Alastor did that on purpose, maybe he didn't, but keeping his spine straight was just an invitation for them to dig in deeper. A devious little move on his part.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Oh, this is starting to border on too much to handle. He's pretty sure that line was crossed when this started, but the longer it continues, the more Vox realizes that his inhibitions concerning how embarrassing this was are starting to soften.

Alastor is showing him attention—the Radio Demon is playing around with him with that mischievous little look in his face and he has to fight every fiber of his being that's attempting to blush as his mouth squiggles on his bright face.

He…

…

Maybe he was enjoying it, just a little. Not that he’d let Alastor know that. Not in a million fucking years.

But knowing how scary intuitive the man was, he probably already knew.

Fuck.

“Time to open your eyes, Vincent.”

He hasn’t noticed the lack of the bar’s usual ambiance—how could he, seeing as he was so preoccupied? But as he spares a glance up with eyes practically glitching off his screen, he notices that it’s just the two of them. Not even the bartender can be found amongst the empty spaces. At first, a sudden hint of fear hits his chest that perhaps this had been a long con for Alastor to finally consume him like he does with all his other guests on his radio broadcasts.

Tenderizing his meal before eating it.

However, the tendrils mercifully stop their assault on his body, and give him a chance to release the tension being held in his shoulders as he blurts out a sharp gasp and collapses on the bar, panting. Phantom tingles are hitting every inch that was being touched, which is already making it difficult for him and this new dizzying headache he’s got, but he manages to look back over at Alastor with one eye closed regardless.

Fucking hell…

The Radio Demon is taking the last swig of his drink with a little hum in the back of his throat, standing up slowly with his staff in hand. “Well now, that was very entertaining, pal! I must say, I was quite impressed with your stamina; I never expected you would hold out the entire time!” And he gives a light, almost soft prod to the side of his screen. “Good job.”

“Y-you…why the hell…” Vox is still panting, trying to sit up straight and failing every time with how much his body feels like jello. As the other demon moves behind him, he feels a small pang of something hit his chest and turns his massive head to the side. Was he really just leaving after that? He’s learned pretty quickly that vulnerability is currency down here to the powerful (Alastor included in that category) so he tries to just collect himself as best he can and completely forget what happened to avoid the ache.

He’s not sure he can stop his heart fluttering so fast, so needily…

But then something happens that catches him equally as off-guard as when this entire little test started: Alastor’s devilish tendrils immediately grab his wrists and spin him around until his back is against the bar, tugging his arms up and over his head until they are locked in place.

Ow, his fucking head…

At this point, exasperation can’t help but leak from his mouth as he growls a little bit with squinting eyes, squirming in place. “What the hell are you doing…?” Humiliation? He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to fight against something like that in this state.

But Alastor’s expression is, surprisingly, not daunting. It’s relaxed and, dare he say, comfortable as he regards Vox’s new position, twirling his staff before it carefully drums on the floor and he leans against it. “Oh dear, you didn’t think I was finished with you, did you?”

His static heart stops. “I…what?” He regains a little bit of his usual composure, once again squirming to try and free himself with little-to-no change in the matter. “Al, just…lemme go, alright?”

He’s embarrassed. And this is the last person he’d want to show that in front of, no matter how much closer they had become.

“Oh, but that isn’t what you want, now is it?”

Vox bristles a little. “I-I don’t—ahem, I don’t know what you mean...” Oh fuck, oh fuck.

Alastor tuts before a razor-sharp smile returns to his face as he uses his microphone to tilt the media demon’s ridiculously boxy head up. “No need to be so embarrassed, Vincent, it’s only natural for someone like you.” The hell does that mean…?! “You could have gotten up at any moment and left, I wasn’t keeping you here. You endured such a marathon because you wanted my attention, you wanted to be the center of it.”

He opens his mouth to protest but nothing comes out. Not even a hope and a prayer that he could make up any kind of excuse.

And so, the Radio Demon continues. “And I’m flattered, truly!” He leans a little closer, voice buzzing with static. “I would be lying if I said that despite all of your weaknesses and folly, there isn’t a part of me that finds you utterly fascinating.”

Vox’s screen instantly glitches again, light blue dusting underneath his eyes as he blinks rapidly. “You…?” Can Alastor feel the elation running up and down his spine? There’s no way he can, right? The first part of the sentence was utterly flushed from the media demon’s brain as he swallows and tries to focus on something else entirely in the room, lest he say something to ruin this entire encounter.

Fortunately (or maybe not) for him, Alastor’s not done. “With all that in mind, I think you deserve a reward for putting on such a good show for me, my dearest Vincent. After all, I’m sure keeping all of those guffaws locked away didn’t leave you feeling satisfied, did it?”

Once again, Vox opens his mouth, actually able to formulate a sentence this time. “S-satisfied?!” He squeaks out as the flush returns. “I really d-don’t think…!” How the hell has this man turned him into this pathetic mess?

The Radio Demon is strolling over to the other side of the bar now, gracefully hopping up and crossing his legs before he reaches down to almost affectionately give one stroke of the screen, right under his chin. “That’s true, pal, this isn’t entirely selfless. I want to hear exactly what you were doing such an excellent job of hiding from me.”

There are more of those stupid, black tentacles now, slithering underneath his button up and immediately going to work on some of the softer areas they had been tormenting a few moments ago. Vox immediately tightens, trying to tug his arms down to no avail with a sharp intake of breath. His immediate reaction is to hold it hold it just based on pure instinct alone. However, a small cough of a laugh exits his throat and Alastor’s smile sharpens.

“Oh my, don’t hold back on my account, good man! It’s not like anyone can hear you.” “E-exce—heh! Except…you…!”

“But that’s the fun part for you, now isn’t it?” Vox barely manages to shoot him a glare as it’s interrupted by a sudden swipe against his stomach and he yelps.

Alastor gives a small hum that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. “Ah yes! I completely forgot that I was saving something very specific for last…~” The tips of the tentacles drift upwards to those light blue gills and Vox has a moment of utter panic enter his system like a rush of freezing chill from his cooling fans.

Nononono—

“Ah-hah! Alastor…nnnhehe…!” He can’t even protest without ruining the small bit of control he has over the sounds coming out of his mouth. “Okayokay, listen…!

“I’m certainly listening.”

“You can…do whatever the fuck you’re g-gonna do…just not–” He lets out a sudden shriek that he’s sure is going to be mocked relentlessly as those tentacles start digging to that tender skin, legs kicking up until they are-too restrained against the floor. “N-no–FUCK! Hah-Alas–!! Nnnhehehe…!”

“Oh dear, did you think that meant I wouldn't continue?”

“NotthereNOTTHERE–!!”

Those red eyes light up. Not in a kind way—no no—he was enjoying the torment of it all. “Not there, hm? Oh, you should know better than that, Vincent”

Well he’s certainly laughing now, isn't he? He hates how unrestrained it is, how the sound is ripped from his guts and splayed out on his chest for the Radio Demon to hear. His picture box head is starting to glitch and overheat as he feels the tips of those tendrils brush feather-light back and forth across the gills mercilessly, torturously, and almost perfectly to draw out the noises Alastor clearly wants to hear.

“A-Ahahaha-LASTOR!”

“Hmm, I wonder if it’s possible for someone to die from laughing too much. I will admit, it’s not something I’ve seen before! What do you think, shall we test that theory tonight?”

Oh shit, he’s not stopping.

Fuck, he actually might kill him with this…!

“Unless, of course, you'd like to make a deal~”

And there it is. Vox can barely make out the words that the Radio Demon is cooing in his direction, his chortling is a few octaves higher. But he can feel the heat from his companion’s excitement around him, around the static that wafts so naturally for the little television demon.

He once again tries to pull his arms down, a mechanical whine coming from his lips. “N-no–!! No-hahaHAHA! Not…reallySHIT!!”

“Too bad, then. I suppose I’ll have to entertain myself another way until you have a change of heart.”

Red claws are reaching up to take a singular antenna between them, a motion that nearly makes Vox shriek with panic. But it ends in horrific elation as the pads of them draw up and down the thin wire, rolling it slightly back and forth as electricity dances between the two rabbit ears.

The result is instantaneous.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK–!!” If his laughter had been unrestrained before, this was digging from deep inside and throwing it at the wall. Like laughter he had been holding onto for decades, before he had even died, was being forced to the surface. Face flushed and expression of forced delight open and unfiltered for anyone to see.

And if it didn't make the Radio Demon smirk with some pride. In himself, of course. “Ooh, that certainly sounds like it’s too much to take—is this spot lethal? I must admit, I wasn't expecting you to impress me with your stamina any further, but willingly putting yourself through this just for my attention? Perhaps you are more masochistic than I was giving you credit for.”

The picture box is barely able to wheeze through his intermittent silent laughter and Alastor gives a light chuckle that sends shivers down his spine as he watches, those dial eyes glowing slightly. “Do you even know where you are right now?”

“PLEHEHEHEASE…!!”

Red ears twitch. “Trying to beg me? Oh, that’s quite the clever trick. However, in the spirit of good competition, I think I made my demands very clear. If you truly want me to show mercy, let's make a deal.”

Vox can’t take it anymore. He truly can't imagine this going on any longer and not losing his mind in the process.

“OKAYOKAY–PFFHAHAHA! JUSTSTAHAHAHAP!”

And the Radio Demon does immediately stop. The result leaves the television head gasping for breath with residual laughing that ranges from loud guffaws to annoyingly sick little giggles. His entire body feels as though it’s been rubbed raw with sandpaper, little sparks of electricity that mirror that burn he wasn’t used to yet when he first realized he could shock people, and himself. Especially himself.

“S-shit…” Alastor is still holding him strong, and he can only assume it’s to keep him in place until the details are accounted for. Fucking sadist. “S-so…what do you want…”

“Oh? Already ready to speak? Very well: a favor, from you, at any moment of my choosing.” He’s crossing his other leg over now, those lidded eyes locked onto him.

Oh, that was way too open for his taste. But as he opened his mouth to protest, the tendrils returned to his body, setting up next to his gills—yes—but also around his hipbones and stomach, fluttering lightly, threatening.

“Stipulations are off the table this time, I’m afraid. To the winner go the spoils and you are in far too vulnerable of a position to be making any demands right now, Vincent.” He adjusts his monocle before his hand is hovering over the antenna again, wiggling claws menacingly close.

Vox will file this away for later. Because there is no way he can let the Radio Demon get away with this.

“F-fine…!” And he gives a squirm. “F-fucking fine, just let me go…”

“Good man!” The darkness lets him go all at once, drawing a gasp from the picture box as he slinks down to his knees, his legs failing him. There is a brief moment of loss that he feels from the touch alone, but never would he admit such a thing out loud. He instead pulls himself up by the barstool, scrambling for a second on shaking legs before plopping himself on the cushioned seat.

Just in time to see Alastor watching him with a hand over his mouth, hiding that permanent smile that is looking slightly more impish than it was a few minutes ago.

“Oh s-shut up…” How embarrassing. No, truly, he can’t even imagine anything worse than what the Radio Demon just put him through. “D-did you plan all of this to…”

“To achieve a deal made with you? No, I could have done that by ripping each of those little wires from your back one-by-one.” Incredibly specific. “It was just an entertaining way to pass the time and give you a clearly much-needed lesson in improving your stamina!” He leans in close to him. “Gaining a favor from you was just a bonus.”

“P-perfect…” He’s trying to adjust his sweater vest, rubbing the back of his head with a small wince. Why didn't he carry painkillers with him…

“Although,” fuck, what the hell? Vox jumps a little when Alastor’s voice tickles the side of his head, making him whip around to blink at him. “I will say that your laughter was quite the enticing sound. Considering how loud you can be, I was surprised how much I personally enjoyed it.”

“T-thank you…?”

“Mm, I wouldn't be opposed to hearing it again. Next time.” And he bops his microphone against Vox’s screen gently before making his way towards the door of the empty bar.

Next time.

…

Next time?!

#read this last night and started rolling around kicking my paws and giggling #this is reallyyyyyyreally good. especially love the dialogue it feels so i/c #really like the detail of alastor wiping blood off vox's face and licking it. like. that is exactly the type of freak shit he is on #peak characterisation #fic #fave #ALSO SO HAPPY MY ART INSPIRED THIS BEAUTIFUL FIC AWAAWAAWA WHAT 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

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