Since his return to the city, every night was plagued with relentless insomnia and anxiety. He would lay in bed for hours with the covers drawn up to his neck, watching the shadows on the bedroom walls as they seemed to inch ever closer, threatening to swallow him whole.
Alastor's cathedral radio continued to malfunction, switching on for a few minutes at a time during the dead of night. Often, it would flip on with a screech and a burst of crackling interference before falling silent again. Less often, it simply emitted a low hum of static.
If Vincent listened closely, he swore he could hear a voice murmuring against the frequency. But before he could identify any words, the audio died out again.
Whenever he did manage to drift off to sleep, his dreams were a vivid mix of comfort and torment.
Sometimes, he dreamed that Alastor was still alive and bright, teasing him relentlessly as always. His subconscious fabricated a picture of their long awaited reunion, the two of them tearfully embracing and scolding each other for waiting so long between visits. The rush of elation from this imagined happy ending faded into heartbreak in the morning, when he inevitably awoke alone.
Another dream, however, repeated in his mind more than any other. It always began the same way: he was alone in the bayou, the only sound the rhythmic lapping of the water's edge and the crickets chirping in the reeds. His body was still, watching, waiting. Suddenly, a twig snapped, and he bolted into the brush without a moment's hesitation. He ran until his legs ached, vaulting over old logs and splashing through puddles of stagnant water. Stray bullets whizzed past his ears as he crashed through the swamp, lungs burning from exertion. He only skittered to a stop when he saw a familiar shape propped up against a tree at an odd angle.
As he approached, his heart stuttered in recognition before dropping to the pit of his stomach.
Alastor stared back at him with lifeless eyes, limbs bent unnaturally and blood still trickling from the gunshot wound in his forehead. The deafening scream Vincent emitted was always enough to wake him up into a reality where his sheets were damp with cold sweat and his pillow was soaked with tears.
As the restless nights passed, Vincent came to the conclusion that he was slowly drowning. The world continued to spin, birds continued to sing, and life went on as always-- but Vincent imagined he was sitting at the very bottom of a lonely ocean, lungs screaming for air.
×××
After two weeks, he returned to his normal life. His coworkers treated him like he was made of spun glass, allowing him a wide berth in the hallways while offering sympathetic glances. Their voices murmured in gentle tones, seemingly afraid he would detonate like a bomb at a moment's notice.
On his first day back, they presented him with a condolence card signed by the entire studio, and politely retreated from his office when he choked up with emotion.
When he was alone again, he stared at the swirly font on the front of the card, reading the words: "Our Deepest Sympathies on the Loss of Your Father." Vincent snorted, wiping the tears from his eyes. How ridiculous, he thought.
The night his father died, he remembered gazing up at the stars as he stood over the makeshift grave. Moonlight bathed his blood splattered face as he leaned on his shovel, watching the stars twinkle across the vast stretch of midnight sky. Even in the dead of night, the world seemed so much brighter then. He felt a lightness he had never experienced before-- he was free.
The universe hadn't lost very much with his father gone. But it felt much emptier without Alastor.
Since his return from Louisiana, Vincent noticed the stars didn't seem to shine in the same way. He lay awake for hours, watching out his apartment window as the moon endlessly circled over the night sky, again and again. It seemed the world had dimmed in a way that was impossible to describe, and nobody knew it but him.
The shadows drew closer as his eyes closed, slowly enveloping and embracing him as he sank into restless sleep.
×××
Six months crept by, each day mirroring the last. Vincent felt numb to it, resigned to go through the motions of life while he processed the loss. He had long since torn through his belongings, hoping to find mementos, keepsakes, trinkets-- anything to soothe the ache in his heart. He had the horrifying realization that he didn't even have a photograph, as Alastor was famously camera shy.
All that was left were Alastor's letters, written in the looping cursive that he loved, the kind that Vincent had to squint over his glasses to decipher. He reread each one over and over again, trying to commit the words to memory.
After a time, he accepted that this was all he had, the letters and the faulty cathedral radio. The only tangible evidence that Alastor had ever existed in his life at all.
Until one day, a dented package showed up on his desk. It was wrapped haphazardly in a crumpled mess of of brown paper and packing tape, with a wrinkled letter plastered to the top.
Using his letter opener, Vincent gingerly sliced open the card, revealing a page of flowery script. It read:
Vinnie,
Sorry it took so long... I didn't have your number or your fancy New York address, so I hope this reaches your studio instead.
I know how much he meant to you, and I know he cared for you, too. I went through his apartment, and I think he would've wanted you to have this.
Come look me up if you're ever in Chicago, weatherboy. My door is always open.
xoxo, Mimzy
He carefully peeled back about five layers of brown wrapping paper, bracing himself for the surprise underneath. With Mimzy, it could really be anything, but it ended up being a plain old white shoebox. The cardboard was slightly dented from rough handling, and the sticker label description was for men's dress shoes. Brows now furrowed in confusion, Vincent turned the box this way and that. He shook it gingerly, hearing only the shuffling of papers within.
As he lifted the lid, his mismatched eyes widened and he immediately slammed it shut again, quickly shoving the shoebox under his arm. He dashed out the doors of the studio, spitting out some bullshit about feeling ill to the bewildered production assistant.
In a haze, he trotted down the stairs and out of the building, into the stifling hot air of the city. The cars honked loudly in the afternoon traffic, engines idling as they waited. Vincent waved down a cab, and waited impatiently for the twelve minutes and forty seven seconds it took to reach his apartment building, his fingertips steadily tapping the box on his lap. The box remained closed until his apartment door finally clicked shut behind him, and only then did he allow himself to tear the box and his heart open again.
Sliding to the floor with his back pressed to the door, he found the box was stuffed to the brim with every letter he had ever written to Alastor. Years of communication, spanning from just before his death to a time prior to Vincent's big move to New York city. Notes and memos and telegrams-- all had been meticulously saved and organized by date.
The box even held the little keepsakes that Vincent had never thought to save; ticket stubs from the films they had seen together, pressed flowers from small bouquets Vincent had brought him, matchboxes from the hotels they had stayed at. Declarations of love in every instance but words, kept safely hidden away in this unassuming box.
He felt the tears dripping from his cheeks as he continued shuffling through the papers, each one carrying a mix of joy and anguish. His vision blurred even further as his shaking hand retrieved a single black and white photograph, slightly fuzzy with age and bent at one corner.
It was an image of the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder, grinning at something off-camera. Alastor's handwriting was etched on the back of the photo in feathery script: "1934"
The very year they had met. When Vincent had just graduated from college and moved to Louisiana for his first real job as a production assistant. Two years before they would become anything more than coworkers. He bit his lip so hard he tasted coppery blood on his tongue.
The secretly sentimental bastard.
How could he still be torturing him, even from beyond the grave? It was unfair, it was diabolical, it was... so very, very Alastor. Pressing his palms to his burning eyes, Vincent felt a laugh rip from his throat. Another bubbled out, and another. And before he knew it, he was doubled over in manic laughter, tears streaming down his face.
He laughed and laughed until his stomach hurt and his ribs ached. He only stopped when, for a brief moment, the cathedral radio flipped on in the living room. Vincent paused and listened, eyes wide and tears still shining on his cheeks as audio crackled through the speakers. The sound was soft and distorted, but the music was undeniably jazz.
×××
That night, Vincent found himself wandering through a new dream. Most of the details were abstract, a mess of red and blue, of static and shadow, but the figure before him was clear.
A creature towered far above Vincent like a monolith, his eyes glowing red and yellow teeth bared in an animalistic smile. His form was nothing short of demonic, limbs becoming enlarged and distorted as his joints cracked to accomodate his rapid growth. Heavy antlers expanded above his head, and thick black tendrils protruded from his back to wrap tightly around Vincent's torso, slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs.
The demon was terrifying, resembling an eldritch horror out of one of the films Vincent enjoyed, but something about him was painfully familiar. Something in the expression, or was it the eyes?
As he was raised up to the demon's jaws, hot breath fanning over his face as sharp teeth parted to devour him, snakelike tongue brushing against his shoes-- something finally clicked in Vincent's brain.
"Alastor?"
He jolted awake with a ragged gasp, eyes snapping open. Sitting up in bed, he stared at the wall with a dumbfounded expression as sunlight began to peek through the window.
What the fuck was that?
The images from the dream lingered in his mind as he showered, dressed, and walked to work. They stayed at the forefront of his thoughts as he completed his weather segment, refusing to fade from memory.
In fact, the demon's face was stuck in his head for the next week as he replayed the scene burned into his brain, over and over again. It had to be Alastor, or at least, a different version of him. He had been changed, transformed into something terrifying and unfamiliar... but he was alive.
A new thought began to brew in the back of Vincent's mind. It was insane, he knew that. But he couldn't help but cling to it all the same. He couldn't shake the feeling that Alastor may be dead, but he wasn't gone.
Not entirely.
Vincent spent every night tossing and turning in bed, sleep evading him at every turn. He found himself desperately wanting to see that face again, if only for a moment-- if only to confirm that it was Alastor, still existing in the fibers of a reality apart from his own.
It took another six months before his wish was finally granted.
×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
×××
×××××
×××
YESSS finally picking this one back up again, whew it's been a while! anyway, I like the idea of Alastor not quite 'haunting' Vincent, but his energy is definitely lingering... they're kindred souls after all, and those that love us never really leave us
Over the past sixty years, Vox had fucked up plenty of times. The ugly truth was, conflict was inevitable in any marriage, especially between a hot headed TV demon and a stubborn radio demon.
Sometimes Vox said things he didn't mean. And yes, he was easily distracted and had been known to forget important details. Maybe he acted impulsively once in a while. But over time, he had learned the one secret that had saved his marriage again and again: how to apologize, and mean it.
Some apologies were easy, like the time Shok.wav ended up devouring Alastor's favorite shoes. That was an easy fix, he could just buy him a new pair... hell, he'd buy him 100 pairs of new shoes if he wanted.
Other situations were tougher, like when he forgot to check the oven and Alastor's roast had burned to a blackened crisp, nearly setting their apartment on fire. That mistake earned him a night on the couch. Or, half a night, as he sent a barrage of apologies over their shared frequency until the bedroom door mysteriously unlocked at midnight.
And then there was the infamous dishwasher incident of 2004, which ended in a double apology: "I lied when I said I knew how to fix the dishwasher and now our kitchen is flooded... I'm sorry for both things, and also, could you call our landlord? He's pissed."
In retrospect, these were relatively easy scenarios that were simple to mend before moving on with their life as usual. He apologized, fixed the problem, and they kissed and made up. Time and time again, they found a way to continue on.
Unfortunately for Vox, his current predicament was much trickier. Alastor was known to hold a grudge, and Vox had leaned on gifts and trinkets when his smooth talking wasn't enough. However, there were no Hellmark cards that said, "I'm sorry for cheating on you with my longtime business associate." He would find no flowers that conveyed a sincere apology (although there was a breed that screamed obscenities). Even the finest delicacies of Rosie's Emporium couldn't cover the taste of his betrayal.
In truth, he wasn't even 100% sure of how the entire affair had happened. His memory still had an infuriating gap that completely wiped his recollection of how he got from the bar with Alastor to Valentino's bed at Vee Tower, and everything in between. Worse still, he had quickly discovered he was missing his wedding band, which severed all connection to Alastor except for their shared frequency. Despite many outreach attempts by Vox that morning, the line had remained radio silent.
And to add insult to injury, a quick glance in the mirror to adjust his bow tie revealed another casualty in the form of his left antennae, which was strangely bent and warped. He remembered no incidents last night where his antennae had been damaged, which begged the question... what the hell happened to him?
xxx
After bribing Valentino's furry pink plaything for directions to the hotel, Vox had pocketed the instructions and dialed for personal transport. As soon as his request was secured, he quickly zapped down from the private suites of the tower into the VoxTek lobby in a blur of blue electricity. He bumped into his assistant, Ethan, almost immediately. The poor eel was carrying a large box of bondage gear, complete with leather whips and ball gags. He did a double take at the sight of Vox, mouth dropping open in surprise.
"Oh! Mr. Vox, sir! Good morning! I d-didn't know you were... up and about, yet." He stammered, readjusting his slippery grip on the box.
Vox's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of his assistant, crossing his arms over his chest. Why was Ethan scurrying around in the lobby instead of Vox's office, and why was he standing here without Vox's usual coffee order in hand?!
"I'm taking a personal day, so if you could clear my schedule, that would be great. And if you could explain what you're doing with a box of sex toys instead of my morning coffee, that would be even better." Vox said sharply. Ethan's eyes darted from the box, to Vox, and back again.
"Um, well, Mr. Valentino needs these supplies for a shoot, so..." Ethan's gaze dropped to the tile floor as he shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else but here.
"I don't give a FUCK what he needs, I'm the boss around here! You work for me, Ethan!" Vox spat, electricity crackling between his antennae. Ethan chewed the inside of his cheek as he made a pained expression, struggling to find the right words.
"I mean... I'm not sure that I do, anymore? I... uh, I gotta go. S-sorry!" Ethan squeaked, before skittering away. Vox blinked in confusion, trying to process what just happened. So his assistant had just mutinied. That was an issue that would need to be dealt with at a later time, along with the eventual fallout of missing all the meetings he had scheduled today. He pulled his calendar up on his screen to manually clear them, only to find... nothing. Not a single item on his calendar for today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.
As he flipped through the schedule, VoxTek employees had halted the normal flow of foot traffic, and began to gather in small clusters. The whispering behind their hands seemed to slowly increase in volume as Vox stood in place, scrolling through the seemingly endless list of canceled appointments.
At that moment, a new notification popped up in the corner of his screen.
Daily public approval rating: 5%
That couldn't be right. The system had to be glitched, there was no way that was true...
Vox tapped his notifications closed, suddenly feeling hyper aware of all the staring eyes fixated on him. Of course, he was used to his employees watching him with a mix of fear, admiration, and awe. Now, as his gaze swept across the room, the same faces regarded him with only coldness and apathy. It sent a shiver of pure dread down his spine.
The private car outside honked, and he bolted out the entry doors in a streak of electricity, reforming in the leather backseat of the vehicle.
"Where to, sir?" The driver asked, his voice still scratchy from sleep. He rubbed his eye with a scaly fist and yawned loudly.
Vox leaned back in his seat, squinting at the scrap of paper the spider had given him. The scribbled directions were impossible to read in the chicken scratch handwriting, but were accompanied by... a childlike illustration of a boxy building. Well, that was about fifty bucks wasted.
He shook his square head, then glanced towards the open partition between himself and the driver's seat.
"Toby, have you heard of that hotel run by the princess?" Vox asked, claws tracing over the crude drawing. He vaguely remembered reading about the grand opening a few years back, with the princess gaining some airtime with Katie Killjoy as well... but the project had never seemed to gain any traction.
"Uh, it's Tony. Yeah, I heard about it. The redemption hotel, or whatever. Everyone goes to talk about their feelings and shit." The driver scoffed. His yellow eyes watched Vox in the rearview window.
"Redemption, huh... so they do therapy, right?" Vox's guessed. He and Alastor had never tried therapy before, but this situation was... extreme. Maybe it was a good idea to bring in a professional.
"I guess... it sounds pretty stupid to me, but some people are really getting into it after everything went down last year. So, yeah, we'll be there in about ten minutes or so. Hey, wait, I thought you've already--"
Vox had already pressed the button to roll up the driver's partition, preferring to stew quietly in his thoughts. So Alastor must have an idea that something was amiss... it seemed he had preemptively checked into this hotel for couple's therapy. A surprising move, coming from his old fashioned partner, but that must mean he was serious about fixing this. Or at least, willing to try without murdering him first, which gave him a sliver of hope. After all, they had fixed their problems before, and they could definitely fix this.
xxx
The hotel was, by all accounts, an impressive piece of architecture. Standing proud and tall against the blood red sky, the immense building was decked out in bright shining lights, a golden statue of a dragon, hundreds of pristine stained glass windows and... was that a fucking train? Vox squinted, one hand shielding the upper part of his screen. Yep, that was a train... on the roof. Along with what appeared to be a large ship as part of the overall design.
Okay, so there were some quirks, too. Not everything could be as meticulously designed for modernity and functionality as Vee Tower, of course.
He approached the ornate entrance with a twisting, coiling feeling in his gut, screen glitching from nerves. With a shaky exhale, he raised his fist and knocked firmly on the door.
After a long moment, the door cracked open and Vox gave his most award winning smile, sharp teeth on full display and screen glowing bright.
"Hel--"
The door was promptly slammed in his face. He blinked twice, staring dumbly at the polished mahogany in confusion. A muffled shout came from the other side of the door, followed by a questioning reply.
Slowly, the door creaked open again, and one curious eye peeked through the tiny gap.
"--lo." He finished, before the door was slammed again. Another shout, followed by a shrill reply. The door swung open to reveal the Princess of Hell herself. She stood at her full height, which was still a couple of feet shorter than Vox, and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, where a pinned name tag read "Charlie, head counselor." He wasn't sure exactly what he expected, but he had imagined a therapist would be cheerful and smiling. However, Charlie's expression was nothing short of furious.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, foot tapping impatiently on the ground.
"Okay, well, first of of all, hi--" Vox started, holding out a hand to shake. She exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief.
"After everything you did, you think you can just WALTZ up here and we would just shake hands and let you in like nothing ever happened?! You--you--you're a BAD person!" She exclaimed, jabbing her finger at his chest.
Vox's eyes narrowed, and his hand retreated to rest on his hip. Very professional, his therapist was already choosing sides.
"Listen, princess, I don't know if someone pissed in your Cheerios this morning or what, but I can guarantee you that my morning was worse. You'll be happy to know I don't actually plan to stay at your crappy hotel for too long, I'm just here to check in for therapy with my husband. Once that's over, we're going home."
Charlie's shoulders slumped as her jaw went slack. The anger in her eyes was quickly replaced by confusion as she slowly blinked out of sync.
"Your... huh?" She paused, voice faltering. "Who?"
"Well, you probably saw him check in, he's a redhead, about this tall." He measured with his claws. "Can't miss him, terrible dresser, always smiling, carries a staff with a microphone on the end."
"Are you... are you talking about Alastor?" She asked slowly, eyebrows raising in disbelief.
Vox's screen brightened, and the recorded audio of a game show blared from his speakers. Ding ding ding! We have a winner!
"Oh, so you HAVE seen him! Could you do me a favor, and let him know I'm here? I have... some things to say to him before we start therapy. I need to apologize."
Charlie stared at him for a long moment with a dumbfounded expression, her mouth hanging open in shock. She finally shook her head and cleared her throat, trying to piece together the new information in a way that made sense.
"So... you're married... to Alastor?" She said, her voice now very small.
He heaved a weary sigh, and extended his hand again to shake. "Sure, let's do the whole introduction thing... I'm Vox, the CEO of VoxTek, overlord, husband of the radio demon. YES, you've seen me on TV. NO, I don't do autographs, so don't ask. The TV does not come off my head, and I can eat and drink the same as you. Okay, anything I missed? Can I come in, now?"
He grabbed her limp hand and shook it once, sharp smile straining at the corners of his screen.
"Please." He added.
The princess blinked twice and shook her head again, trying to clear the confusion from her expression. She offered Vox a shaky smile, holding up a single finger.
"Um, one second, please." She said weakly.
She closed the door again, and Vox could hear muffled chattering just beyond the wood. He tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed. As the minutes passed, he started to pace back and forth in the entryway, electricity popping off his antennae in small sparks.
Behind the door, a small group formed around Charlie, voices intermixing as they all talked at once.
"I don't know, he just showed up here!" The princess hissed, tugging at her hair.
"What does that asshole want?!"
"Is he trying to trick us? Is he planning to use Angel against us?"
"Does he want to be redeemed?"
"It's possible, what with all the damage he's caused..."
"Damage?! He only destroyed half the city! He's killed people!"
"He's a bad boy!"
"There's no way he's here to be redeemed, he's happy to be a dick. You know how he treated Angie, he was an absolute shitfuck--"
"You know I can hear you, right? This door is suuuuper thin." Vox's muffled voice interrupted the discussion.
Charlie squeaked, and gestured for everyone to come closer, flapping her arms. Vaggi, Husk, Cherri, Niffty, and Baxter leaned into the huddle.
"So? What's he doing here?" Husk asked gruffly.
"Charlie, did he say what he wanted?" Vaggi whispered, eyebrows creased with worry.
"He said... he's here for Alastor." Charlie admitted.
All six heads snapped towards the radio demon himself, nonchalantly sipping his morning coffee on the sofa. He glanced over at the group with mild interest, his form distorting slightly with static.
"What did he want with Alastor?" Niffty piped up, large eye darting between the door and the radio demon.
"I'm sure I have no idea what he would want from me, my dear. I have nothing for him." Alastor said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other. He took a long sip from his mug, seemingly unperturbed.
"He said you were his husband..." Charlie pressed, brows knitted together in confusion.
Alastor snorted into his coffee, grin stretching even wider than usual.
"Did he? What an absolutely ridiculous thought. But I suppose complete and utter failure really does affect the mind in strange ways... perhaps he finally snapped. Well, it was always inevitable with someone so unstable."
He abruptly stood, leaving his coffee mug sitting just next to the coaster, guaranteeing a brown ring on the table. With a snap of his fingers he summoned his staff, turning sharply on his heel towards the stairs.
"Wait! Aren't you going to at least hear him out? He wanted to talk to you!" Charlie pleaded, gesturing towards the door.
Alastor did not turn to face her again, but she knew his smile remained frozen in place.
"No need! I've heard enough of his idle prattle to last a century. Besides, I doubt he has anything to say worth hearing, and I have no reason to indulge him any further. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He began his ascent up the staircase.
"Well... he seemed upset. I think he wanted to apologize." Charlie said, peeking out the peephole.
"Tch! If he wanted to apologize he should start with all of us, he nearly blew us up!" Cherri snapped. "And let's not forget, he's the whole fuckin' reason Angie won't come back-- he had him spying on the hotel for ages! There's no way you can trust a damn word that comes outta his mouth."
Charlie watched out the window as Vox paced in a relentless circle, wearing an unfamiliar expression on his screen. Desperation. It was the look of someone who was close to losing it all.
She drew back and crossed her arms, frowning deeply. "Alastor... maybe you can help him? It seemed like you two used to be close--"
"Mmm... no." Alastor cut her off.
"Can you get rid of him, at least? He's gonna scare off our guests." Vaggi asked. Alastor paused on the steps, considering for a moment.
"Oh, just once, I'd pay to see him turn that flat screen to Swiss cheese..." Husk chuckled, shaking his head.
"Yeah, come on, kick his ass! Fucker deserves it!" Cherri urged, punching a fist into her palm.
"Yeah, yeah, kick his ass!" Niffty joined in, clapping her hands in excitement.
"Hmm, no, I have much better things to do today than play with a broken picture box." Alastor responded, waving his hand dismissively as he continued to climb.
"Like what? All I see you do around here is a whole lot of nothing." Lucifer piped up, marking his first appearance of the morning. He leaned on the banister in his fluffy robe and duck slippers, a steaming coffee mug held in his hands. He watched Alastor's approach, an unimpressed expression plastered on his face.
A tentacle shot up from the floor and tipped Lucifer's mug forward, spilling hot coffee down the front of his robe as he jumped and yelped in surprise. Alastor cackled and disappeared into an inky shadow, darting the rest of the way up the stairs.
Charlie made an excited noise, gripping Vaggi's shoulder tightly.
"That! Did you see that?!" She demanded, pointing at her distraught father.
Vaggi made a face, watching as Lucifer hopped from one foot to the other in pain. With a frustrated growl, he suddenly disappeared in a burst of flame, no doubt retreating back into the safety of his room.
"That weird dynamic that Alastor has with your dad? The one where they keep antagonizing each other for fun? Yeah, babe, I keep seeing it... we gotta get that figured out before your mom shows up." Vaggi replied, nose scrunched in disgust.
"No no no, I mean how he avoided Vox to mess with my dad instead! Why would he turn down an opportunity to fight?" Charlie asked, letting go of her girlfriend's shoulder to tap her chin thoughtfully.
"Because he isn't worth it?" Vaggi said, crossing her arms and glancing at the door anxiously. An increasingly noisy whine of television feedback was beginning to bleed through the door, no doubt the signal of an impending hissy fit.
"Weeeell, if Alastor hates him nearly as much as he says he does, why wouldn't he just add him to his creepy broadcasts like he has with other overlords?" Charlie pointed out. She began pacing the foyer rapidly, her expression shifting into something manic. Niffty giggled and began mimicking her, tripping over her own feet almost immediately. Luckily, Baxter was there to pick her up again.
"Did he... did he say he hates him?" Vaggi asked hesitantly.
"No, which is exactly the point!" Charlie stopped in her tracks and gasped, eyes lighting up. "It's because... maybe he doesn't hate him at all."
"I dunno, I think we can assume he does..." Husk muttered, retreating to his usual post behind the bar. "He's definitely not fuckin' married to him, I can guarantee you that."
"We don't know that, maybe they've been hiding it!" Charlie said stubbornly. Vaggi blew out a puff of air, her bangs fluttering away from her forehead.
"Why would he hide something like that? Babe, we literally saw Vox holding Alastor hostage last year, and then they almost killed each other, remember?"
"Alastor let himself be held hostage! And the fighting, I don't know, maybe it's a weird foreplay thing they do! We don't know the details of their relationship!" Charlie grimaced, trying not to imagine the "details."
Vaggi simply made a retching noise in response, one hand slapped to her mouth dramatically.
Cherri shrugged, perching on a bar stool across from Husk. "I mean, it's not a totally stupid idea. Pentious and I fought against each other in turf wars for years, but there was always an undertone of something more, ya know? Fighting for us was natural, it was exciting, it was... I dunno, just tons of fucking fun. I liked kicking the shit outta him, and every once in a while, he got me good, too. And now, well..." She trailed off, cheeks blushing pink.
Husk attempted to suppress a knowing grin, sliding a fresh drink her way.
"See? Maybe fighting is their thing." Charlie said, a smug expression on her face. Vaggi rolled her one eye, hands resting on her hips.
"They don't even live together, Charlie." She pointed out.
"Neither do my parents! And they're still married... I think." Charlie shot back.
Vaggi was quiet at this, watching as Charlie's expression darkened for a brief moment before she pressed on.
"Uh... Baxter! Has Vox ever mentioned having a relationship with Alastor before?" Charlie asked.
The anglerfish thought hard for a moment, tapping his chin. He had climbed up onto a barstool as well, legs swinging from the height.
"Hmm, no, but I remember us running surveillance on the radio demon both before and after his seven year disappearance. I'm not sure if there was ever a reason given as to why." He admitted.
"That's just because Vox is a fucking creep, which we already knew." Vaggi scoffed.
"Husk, Niffty, you two know Alastor better than anyone else here. Has he ever mentioned a history with Vox?" Charlie questioned.
"Nope." They answered in unison.
"See? I told you, there's no hidden relationsh--" Vaggi started.
"But I did find a picture." Niffty chimed in, a mischievous smile stretching across her face.
"You what?" Charlie gasped.
Every hotel member stared at Niffty as she rummaged around in her apron pockets. Dried out bug corpses, paperclips, and old, discolored gum pieces fell out as she dug around. Finally, she produced a black and white photo, holding it above her head triumphantly.
Husky hooted in delight, snatching the picture from her tiny hand.
"The fuck?! Niff, where the hell did you find this?" Husk exclaimed, squinting at the image. It was old, and a little grainy, but it was undeniably a picture of Vox.
"I clean all the rooms!" Niffty said proudly. "I get in aaall the little nooks and crannies to dust, because that's where the best bugs hide! Sometimes I find gross things, and sometimes I find shiny things! Alastor's room usually just has gross things, but I found this in a super secret drawer!"
"Well goddamn..." Husk chuckled in disbelief, handing the photo over for Charlie to inspect.
"Niffty, you can't... you know stealing is wrong, right?" Vaggi said slowly.
"Right!" Niffty nodded.
"And you know you can't steal things out of guest's rooms, right?"
"Right!"
"So... why did you steal this from Alastor's room?"
"Oh! Alastor isn't a guest."
Vaggi heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. Charlie stared at the black and white photo of Vox with wide eyes. There was an obvious tear down the middle, but you could still make out a hand resting on the TV demon's shoulder. There had been two sinners in this photo, once.
"Well, that proves it." Charlie said firmly. She carefully pocketed the photo in her jacket.
"Proves what? It's just a photo, we don't even know why he has that!" Vaggi hissed, rapidly hitting her breaking point.
"Why would you keep a photo of an enemy you hate, unless they weren't your enemy at all? Maybe, they're an enemy that you're only pretending is an enemy!" Charlie rambled, waving her arms in excitement.
"I'm... not following, babe." Vaggi sighed, shaking her head. "And I don't think we should let him in. He fucked with us before, this is probably just more of the same. He uses these shitty manipulation tactics, and we fall for it every time. For all we know, he's creating a hit piece about how WE were actually responsible for all the stuff that went down last year. Come on, Charlie, this hotel is finally turning around, do you really want to risk it because of him?"
Charlie hesitated, biting her lip in thought.
"I think... if he's really here to apologize, I don't want to deny him that chance." She said softly. "Yes, he hurt us. Yes, he did horrible things. Maybe he's using the "marriage" angle to try and confuse us, because he knows we're upset with him. But he's here, and he's asking for help. He wants to apologize, so maybe he's ready to change... doesn't that make him the perfect candidate for redemption?" Charlie tilted her head, watching Vaggi struggle to accept her point.
"Ugh, fine, fine... but if he makes one wrong move, he's out of here." Vaggi grumbled.
Charlie wrapped an arm around her girlfriend's waist and squeezed, turning towards the door with a determined look on her face.
"Just... trust me, I think we can fix this!" She said confidently. "Just stall for a bit, and get him settled in the therapy room... I'll handle Alastor."
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xxx
xxxxx
xxx
Charlie is a fixer, and loves to help people. Unfortunately, I think she may be biting off a little more than she can chew...
I know this update took a while, but I do have the next one in progress! I hope to have it finished soon. Thank you all for your patience and thank you for reading!! ❤️🩵
Obviously, Hell was known for being hot. It was kind of a main feature of the location, along with all the fire and brimstone. Luckily, most sinners acclimated to the temperature fairly quickly, and it became just another accepted quirk of their afterlife, along with the unusually high rates of crime and violence.
This particular week had been different, though. A record heat wave had caught Pentagram City in a vice grip, leaving its residents in varying levels of agony. Shoes melted into puddles on the sidewalk, skin began to crackle and sizzle with prolonged sun exposure, and the intense humidity pretty much guaranteed every resident a nasty case of swamp ass. Even Hell's bird population was suffering, with the little abominations living in fear of spontaneously transforming into fried chicken. Overall, it was safer to just stay indoors, preferably parked in front of an A/C unit that was cranked to full blast.
The media overlords had spent the entire day doing just that, locked in their living room in varying states of undress. For hours, they huddled in front of the only A/C unit present in the apartment, hoping the temperature would drop as night approached.
But as dusk crept over the city, the heat only lingered... and intensified. Unwilling to camp out in their living room overnight (the velvet couch was terrible to sleep on), their solution was to have six standing fans plugged into their bedroom outlet, whirring at full speed. Despite the risk of causing a power outage for the entire building, it still wasn't enough.
"This fucking sucks." Vox grumbled, laying flat on the bed with his limbs splayed out like a starfish. The heavy covers had long since been kicked off the mattress, and he wore only a pair of VoxTek brand boxers, complete with a repeating shark fin design.
Alastor returned from the bathroom, his hair and ears wrapped up in a thin towel. His hooves clicked across the floor as he made his way to the bed, wearing a set of pink silk pajamas.
"How was your ice bath?" Vox asked, turning his screen to face his husband.
"The water never turned cold," Alastor griped, settling on his side of the bed. He unwrapped the towel and scrunched the ends of his damp crimson hair. "It stayed hot. The entire time. And someone never returned with the ice!"
At that precise moment, Alastor's shadow did return, carrying a large bag that probably contained ice at one point. However, it was now a bag of hot water. The shadow itself seemed a bit miffed, and upon closer inspection, the edges of the dark figure seemed to be smoking.
Alastor's eyes narrowed as he flicked the towel into a pocket dimension.
"You were gone for nearly an hour, what took so long? And where's the ice?" He said sharply.
The shadow chittered, waving its arms in annoyance.
"Only fifteen stores? Well, that still doesn't explain--"
More rapid squeaking and hand gestures.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. You are a shadow, you physically don't have any limbs to burn!"
The chittering intensified in volume as the shadow grew in height, pointing aggressively. Alastor's posture grew rigid as his eyes turned dark. The lights in the room flickered as his form began to distort with static.
"Don't take that ugly tone with me, you insolent little--"
"Whoa, hey, okay!" Vox sat straight up in bed, raising his hands up like a referee. "I think the heat has everyone a liiiittle on edge. Maybe you two should take a break to cool down, huh?"
Alastor blinked, then glanced over at his husband's concerned expression. His shoulders slumped and his ears fell to the sides.
"Fine. Go on, then." He muttered, crossing his arms.
The shadow dropped the bag of hot water and scampered towards the door, pausing only to grab Vox's shadow by the hand. The two inky shapes then bolted out of sight, leaving Alastor to stare at the steaming bag on the floor.
"My shadow used to be so well behaved... always followed orders, never back talked... this is your fault, you know." Alastor grumbled, snapping his neck towards Vox.
"Wha--me?! How?" Vox sputtered, eyes going wide with surprise.
"Your shadow has been corrupting it for years, I just know it!" Alastor accused, jabbing him in the bare chest with a finger.
Vox rolled his eyes and caught Alastor's hand, bringing it up to his screen for a quick, electric kiss.
"Oh come on, babe... don't be silly. I think it's just grumpy because it got a little singed from the heat. You two will make up tomorrow, don't even worry about it." Vox said soothingly.
Alastor sighed and fell back onto the bed, closing his eyes. The fans continued to circulate air throughout the room, but his forehead remained beaded with sweat.
"That's assuming we don't perish from the heat by then." Alastor said dryly.
"Neither of us are going to die from this, trust me." Vox reclined against the pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. Alastor tilted his head, seemingly unconvinced.
"If you say so, dear. Well, since it's not getting any cooler... I think it's best if we just call it a night, hmm?" Alastor snapped his fingers, and the soft yellow lights in their bedroom shut off one by one. Vox's screen glowed bright blue in the darkness before dimming to night mode.
Alastor turned on his side, squeezing his eyes shut and snuggling into his soft pillow as he attempted to think cold, icy thoughts...
"Al, why are you so far away? Get over here." Vox's voice interrupted his concentration. He cracked one red eye open to find Vox staring expectantly at him.
"No, darling. It's far too hot to cuddle tonight." He said firmly, then closed his eyes again.
"Don't be dramatic, we're in Hell-- it's always hot, and you always let me hold you." Vox pointed out.
"Yes, well, consider this an exception due to... extreme circumstances."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please? Please please please--"
Alastor huffed, opening both eyes to glare at Vox properly.
"You will literally overheat, Vox."
"It's worth it! Come on, I can't sleep if we don't cuddle. Is that what you want?" Vox made a pitiful expression, eyes filled with digital tears.
"That is a terrible lie, and we both know it." Alastor said flatly, smile wearing thin at the edges.
"Well, I sleep better when we do, it's probably a psychological thing. Actually, they've done studies on cuddling, and it's good for you! Mentally, physically... and you like it too, even if you pretend you don't." Vox continued.
Alastor only hummed in response, unwilling to confirm or deny.
"Come on, pleeease--" Vox whined.
"FINE," Alastor snapped. "You are allowed five minutes. No more than that, I mean it..."
Vox immediately reached over and hooked an arm around Alastor's waist, dragging him closer. He pulled the radio demon flush against his body, draping an arm across his hip and resting his claws on the small of his back. Despite himself, Alastor found himself wiggling closer into the embrace, resting his cheek against Vox's chest.
It was unbearably hot, yes, but it was comfortable and soothing at the same time. He could hear the steady rhythm of Vox's heartbeat under his skin, and feel the inhale and exhale of every breath he took. He felt himself relax into his husband's touch as a claw traced up his back, drawing shapes on the silk fabric. Their individual frequencies lowered and then intermixed, woven together in a pattern only the two of them could hear and recognize.
Something about having Vox so close to him, wrapped around his body like a blanket... it did make Alastor feel safe and secure in a way nothing else could. He could feel himself growing warmer, but he was simply too comfortable to care. He allowed himself to melt into Vox, content to become a tangled puddle of limbs for the foreseeable future.
"You know, I think you'd feel a lot cooler if you were naked..." Vox suggested, his tone attempting to mimic innocence and nonchalance.
"...don't push it, Vincent."
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this was just a little warm up so I could get back into writing again (work kicked my fuckin ass this week rip) and I thought this snippet was cute so I wanted to share!! I truly believe in my heart that Vox is desperate for cuddles, no matter the cost. He did overheat after this but it was definitely worth it ❤️🩵
ANYWAY I'm hoping to have another fic update for ya'll tomorrow, just not sure which one yet lol. the way my brain works continues to be a mystery to everyone including myself...
Every summer, like clockwork, Vox took an entire week off from work. It was one of the rare times he was completely unplugged from the world-- unavailable to be reached through phone call, fax, or email.
His VoxTek employees were given strict instructions on how to handle daily operations in his absence, under threat of dismemberment as penalty for any failures. The day before his departure, the entire staff was reminded again via a strongly worded email that any urgent (read: life or death) messages would have to be sent via snail mail or carrier pigeon, because Vox had made himself very, very clear: do not disturb.
This yearly sabbatical was not used as a romantic vacation, or an escape to the boiling sulfur beaches of Hell. In fact, he rarely even left his own little slice of Pentagram City. No, this one week in summer was reserved for one thing, and one thing only.
Shark Week.
xxx
Since 1988, Shark Week had transformed from an exciting TV special into a sacred holiday in the Media overlord's household. For the entire duration of the event, the curtains were drawn, the smell of freshly buttered popcorn wafted through the air, and the TV guide schedule was meticulously circled and highlighted by hand. Vox took most things seriously, but he was especially particular about his own entertainment. And with a shortage of "real" sharks and saltwater oceans in Hell, there was no way he was missing out on a single minute of this hallowed event.
From dawn until dusk, Vox would park his rear end on the living room couch and watch the pirated earth programming with stars in his eyes, captivated by every scene. His husband, the radio demon, was decidedly less enthused... as if it wasn't enough that his cozy little living room was effectively transformed into a home movie theater, but his husband was entirely M.I.A. during his favorite shows. Good luck asking him for help with anything while he was glued to the screen like a zombie.
He imagined this was what some people meant by marriage being a series of compromises. For example, Alastor was allowed to choose the wallpaper he liked for their bedroom, and Vox was allowed to hole up in their living room like a rabid squirrel for a solid week out of the year.
Nevertheless, he was supportive of his husband and his ridiculous quirks... in a resigned and slightly exasperated sort of way. It wouldn't be so bad if Shark Week wasn't so incredibly BORING, save for the occasional seal attack footage. It still wasn't enough to make him sit for hours like Vox did.
So, Alastor would pop in and out of the living room multiple times a day, usually to bring a refill of snacks so Vox wouldn't starve. If he was feeling lonely, he might perch on one end of the couch for a while and offer biting commentary on the current program's host or storyline, waving his staff around to emphasize his points. If he was feeling snarky, he might observe that Vox was wearing a groove into the couch, or that his brain was likely turning to mush from hours of uninterrupted TV rot. None of the comments phased Vox, though, as most interactions quickly descended in a barrage of newly acquired shark facts.
"Hey, did you know that bull sharks can survive in both saltwater and freshwater? Their bodies have adapted to balance and retain salts in their bodies, it's called osmoregulation! So they can be found in the ocean but ALSO rivers and lakes--"
"Guess what, they're doing a study on lemon sharks to try and prove natal philopatry! That's when an animal returns to their birthplace to reproduce again, did you know that? If the theory is proven to be right, that could teach us so much--"
"Al! They finally were able to photograph the Greenland shark, alive, underwater! It was 6 fucking meters long! Those sharks are ancient, they can live to be hundreds of years old. Isn't that insane? And did you know--"
Alastor did know, actually. Because Vox had told him every shark fact he knew, many times.
Of course, he was tolerant of Vox's monologues, mostly because he secretly loved to hear his husband talk. When the picture box was excited, his eyes went comically large and his antennae crackled with electricity. He talked with his hands, making exuberant gestures as he rambled. It was very sweet, and very endearing, and one of the first things that made Alastor first realize that he was falling for him.
But a whole week of uninterrupted shark facts would wear on anyone, and four days into the annual ritual of Shark Week, Alastor was starting to feel a distinct craving for something he usually received in abundance... attention.
After years of playing second fiddle to some silly television program in his own household, Alastor decided enough was enough. It was high time for Vox to take a little break from his favorite program.
The question was, what could possibly distract him?
He wracked his brain for an hour before he found the answer staring back at him in the mirror-- he was Vox's biggest weakness. And luckily, manipulating Vox was an art form in which Alastor was a master. After years of practice, he knew the right buttons to press to get exactly what he wanted.
So, the radio demon started small, passing by the couch nonchalantly with his hair tied back in a small ponytail. Granted, it was a small change, but it usually piqued Vox's interest. Except this time, he noted with disappointment.
Next, he drifted by the couch with his suit jacket removed, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the soft black fur that stretched all the way up to his elbows. Nothing, not even a second glance.
Rapidly approaching a state of frustration, he decided to park himself on the couch next to Vox, legs crossed and bare hooves on full display. He even wiggled them a little, hoping to catch the TV demon's eye. Vox was ALWAYS a sucker for his hooves, always desperate to touch and rub and worship for reasons Alastor couldn't understand. But Vox's gaze remained stuck to the screen as the host droned on about shark migration patterns.
Irritated, Alastor stood up in a huff and stomped towards the kitchen, suddenly feeling the need for a stiff drink. He rummaged through the bottles in the cabinets while his shadow helpfully retrieved a glass and some ice from the refrigerator.
"Hey, Al?" Vox suddenly called from the couch. Alastor quickly poked his head back through the archway, red eyes wide with surprise. His shadow peeked around curiously, too.
"Yes?" He responded, internally cringing at how hopeful his voice sounded.
"Could you make me some pizza rolls while you're in there, please?" Vox asked, eyes never leaving the screen.
Alastor's ears flattened against his head as a low growl rumbled from his throat, teeth bared in an animalistic snarl. The man had ignored him for four days, and now he had the audacity to ask for pizza rolls?! His antlers expanded with a crack, threatening to scrape against the ceiling.
Enough of this! Desperate times had called for desperate measures. He retreated back into the kitchen and downed his drink in one long gulp, savoring the burn that traveled down his throat and into his belly. The time had come. He had no choice but to use his secret weapon.
xxx
Located in the very back of the radio demon's closet, there was an article of clothing that he had purchased years ago in a fit of insecurity. After 20 years of marriage, and the addition of a certain sex obsessed moth to VoxTek's roster of talent, Alastor had been feeling a little... self conscious.
It was silly, he knew, but a tiny nugget of fear had lodged itself in his brain, plaguing him with worrisome thoughts about Vox getting bored of him. He knew the moth was restricted from crossing any lines, physically, but the deal had not restricted Vox in the same way. What if his hypnotic eye started to wander, what if he wanted to seek out something more exciting?
He had stupidly voiced these concerns to Mimzy during happy hour, shortly after he had tried something she recommended called a "strawberry margarita." It was as delicious as it was strong, so of course he enjoyed four of them before promptly spilling his guts out over the table. His oldest friend had immediately called for an emergency shopping spree, ushering the drunken deer into the nearest mall.
Everyday sinners screamed and fled at the sight of the radio demon, although he looked a little more disheveled and a little less scary than usual. Mimzy patted his arm comfortingly as she led him to the escalator, allowing him to lean on her for support. She paid no mind to the sinners that scurried out of their path, shopping bags clutched in hand.
"Sweetie, that loudmouth TV man is crazy about you! But if you're so worried, you just need to give him a little reminder of what he's got waiting at home... and that's nothin' a little retail therapy can't fix!" Mimzy proclaimed, before dragging him by the elbow into a store he would never be caught dead in.
His vision was doubled, but he could still faintly make out the pink striped walls and the shapes of some very busty mannequins in risqué attire. He felt like he had been transported into someone's boudoir, and his initial instinct was to flee the scene immediately. However, Mimzy continued to hold his arm in a vice grip, leading him further into the heavily perfumed cloud of sex and fantasy that lingered over the store.
A very nervous retail associate asked if they needed help, which Mimzy exuberantly accepted, waving at Alastor animatedly as she chatted the poor sinner's ear off. He briefly considered melting into a puddle on the floor to escape, but he doubted his powers would cooperate in his current state. Mimzy set to work immediately, digging through the drawers to find an assortment of skimpy, lacy items that made Alastor's cheeks burn. He wasn't sure who was more embarrassed, himself or the retail associate who kept averting her eyes whenever he looked in her direction.
As he was corralled into the fitting room, he briefly questioned the life choices that had led him to this point, standing in a woman's dressing room with an armful of lingerie. He sighed, deciding to suck it up and trust the process, uncomfortable as it was. Even if Mimzy had questionable decision making skills, he did trust her opinion on what looked nice on him. She had no reason to lie, after all, and his own interest in fashion had waned since the 1930s.
"Aw, dollface, you look absolutely stunnin' in this!" Mimzy squealed a few minutes later, as he awkwardly turned in the mirror. He stumbled only a little bit over his own hooves.
"Are you... quite sure?" He murmured, eyes squinting at his reflection. Even with the haziness of tequila altering his brain, "stunning" was not the word he would have used. Tart, floozy, and streetwalker came to mind.
"Oh yeah, a hundred percent, this one's a show stopper. He's gonna love this on you." She reassured him. Alastor's bleary eyes took one look at Mimzy, face lit up like a Christmas tree, and then drifted back to the mirror. He turned once more with a slight wobble, staring at his unfamilar reflection, and heaved a sigh.
He supposed it was worth a try.
xxx
The item had lived in their closet since that day, carefully hidden away from Vox. The opportunity to wear it never seemed to come around, anyway. His deepest fears were unfounded, as Vox remained as devoted and loving a husband as ever. Valentino seemed to respect his boundaries, mostly, whether out of fear for his own life or respect for their marriage. Alastor was willing to bet it was the former. Even his worries about their romantic life growing stale over time were disproven, as Vox showed no signs of being bored or slowing down-- quite the opposite, really.
But maybe, after years of gathering dust in the closet, he had finally found the right occasion to wear this sinful little item. He removed the slip of clothing from its hanger, running his fingertips along the smooth, silky fabric.
A show stopper, hmm? That was exactly what he needed.
xxx
Minutes later, he sauntered into the living room, a fluffy robe wrapped loosely around his body. His crimson hair was brushed and fluffed around his face, and his monocle had been removed and left on his bedside table. His bare hooves clicked across the floorboards with every step.
The TV was still blaring, as the narrator recounted the events of a diving encounter with a group of hammerhead sharks. Alastor leaned his hip against the entryway, arms crossed as he watched the show scenes reflecting off Vox's screen. How silly, for his picture box to spend the entire day in front of another picture box! He noted with distaste that the TV demon hadn't even gotten fully dressed, choosing instead to stay in the same 'Jaws' t-shirt and flannel pajama pants from the night before. Or had it been the night before that?
The sky beyond the windows had long since transformed from red to purple, and the room was now bathed in darkness, save for the two lit up TV screens. The radio demon snapped his fingers, and a small lamp on the half moon table to his right flickered on, illuminating his form in warm yellow light.
Vox blinked, eyes hazy and strained from overuse, and turned his head towards the light with a squint.
"Oh, hey Al." His voice was raspy from disuse, a rare thing to hear in this household.
"Hello, dear. Having fun with your show?" Alastor asked, his tone soft as velvet.
Vox's screen brightened immediately, the way it always did when he was excited about something, and Alastor felt a rush of pure fondness squeeze his little black heart.
"Yeah! The divers on this one are studying the formation of the hammerhead shark's head and how it navigates the water, and--"
As he spoke, Alastor decided it was time to strike. He fiddled with his robe, untying the sash. It fell open briefly, and he tugged the robe tighter around his middle before retying the knot. It was a sneaky maneuver, but it was enough. The brief glimpse of black silk and lace underneath the robe had Vox's brain stuttering to a complete halt.
Alastor watched, a mischievous grin creeping across his face, as Vox's words stammered into nothing, his mouth choosing to drop open instead. Then his screen glitched, a burst of electricity sparking from his antennae. When his display flickered back to normal, his eyes were wide with wonder, unable to believe what he had just seen.
"Al, baby..." Vox breathed. "W-what are you wearing?"
Alastor lifted his eyes to the ceiling in feigned innocence, one hand lifted to press against his chest.
"Me? Oh, nothing special... it's certainly not as interesting as your silly television program, I'm sure." He drawled, then tilted his head to inspect his nails.
Vox continued to stare, unblinking, his screen now slightly fuzzy with static.
"Anyway, I just wanted to say goodnight, so... goodnight, darling." Alastor blew a kiss in Vox's direction, then turned on his heel to leave, tail swishing behind him.
"Wait, bambi, wait! Don't go, come back here!" Vox pleaded, a hint of desperation in his voice.
Alastor paused for a long moment, then glanced over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips as his ears flicked forward in interest.
He was just too easy.
"No, no, I would hate to interrupt your show..."
Vox shook his head quickly, reaching out his arms in an open invitation.
"It's a commercial, you're not interrupting shit. Just... come here. Please."
Alastor lingered in the doorway for a moment, pretending to consider.
"Well... since you asked so nicely..."
Alastor twisted back towards Vox, relishing the rapt expression on his face. He took a few slow, purposeful steps towards the couch, arms crossed behind his back. Once he stepped close enough, Vox leaned forward and hooked his claws around the loops of the robe, tugging him the last couple of steps forward. Alastor allowed himself to be pulled onto his husband's lap, legs slotting easily on either side of Vox's hips as he sat, resting his hands on his chest. He could feel the rapid thrum of Vox's heartbeat underneath the worn fabric of his 'Jaws' t-shirt.
The radio demon leaned forward, and pressed his lips to the warm glass of Vox's screen, enjoying the prickle that always came with it. His husband responded immediately, groaning into the kiss as he fisted the fabric of Alastor's robe, pulling him closer. The TV demon opened his mouth slightly, poking his tongue against the seam of Alastor's lips. Surprisingly, Alastor accepted and reciprocated, swirling his tongue around Vox's. His body jolted with each tiny zapping sensation that came with the contact. For a few moments, they were lost in each other, the background of the TV drowning out the wet noises and soft moans that came from the couch.
Alastor was the first to pull away, leaving a thin string of saliva between their mouths as he panted in an effort to catch his breath. Vox stared up at him, adoringly, reverently, lovingly. He always looked at him like that-- like he was the most beautiful thing in the universe. It was a look that never failed to make Alastor feel cracked open, exposed, and vulnerable in a way he both feared and enjoyed. It was a look that he knew was only reserved for him.
At that moment, Vox's claws slid up from Alastor's hips, to his ribs, then to the front of his chest. His hands hesitated at the gap in his robe, waiting for permission.
"Can I see?" He asked breathlessly. Alastor mulled it over for a moment, finger tapped to his chin.
"Maybe... just a peek."
Vox's fingers slid under the opening of the robe, gently, as if he was handling something precious and fragile. His hand slowly pushed the fuzzy fabric to the side, exposing Alastor's shoulder, and was immediately met with a glimpse of shiny black silk and lace and--were those fucking ruffles?! Vox's screen glitched again, flipping to gray snow and then a technicolor rainbow. Alastor snickered at the reaction, reaching out a hand to caress his husband's boxy head. It would be a miracle if his casing didn't start smoking soon.
Vox's screen was flushed bright cyan, his expression a delicious mix of excitement and disbelief.
"Al, are you wearing fucking... lingerie?!" He whispered hoarsely, eyes shifting from Alastor's face to the tiny patch of fabric that remained exposed. His hands traveled back down to Alastor's hips, splaying out and kneading at the flesh beneath the robe.
Alastor hummed innocently, squirming in Vox's lap.
"And if I was?"
Vox inhaled sharply, and a burst of steam escaped from his vents. He was practically buzzing with electrical interference now, and the tips of his claws were now digging into the other man's hips. Alastor felt his husband's frequency shift to a lower pitch, desire radiating off him in waves.
"Holy shit, holy shit. Sweetheart, baby, come here--" Vox gasped. He tipped forward and promptly sunk his teeth into Alastor's naked shoulder. The deer yelped in surprise and then shuddered, eyes going half lidded as he felt the familiar sensation of sharp teeth breaking skin. Blood welled around the mark, and Vox's tongue laved over it, soothing the wound before going in for another attack. Alastor was mildly aware of a growing pressure rising beneath him, and he lazily rocked his hips back and forth against it, drinking in the lewd sounds Vox made in response.
For a moment, he considered remaining in this embrace, and letting things unfold from there. After all, he was receiving the attention he had craved in abundance. For now.
However, the infernal noise of TV commercials still continued in the background. It was too loud, and much too distracting. Not romantic at all.
Suddenly, Alastor melted into a shadow, dissolving away from Vox's grasp. The TV demon made an offended noise as he watched his husband reform at the opposite end of the couch, perched on the very edge with his legs crossed. He smoothed out his rumpled robe casually, ignoring the wrecked expression on Vox's screen.
"Hmm, no. This couch is velvet, I won't have you staining another one..." His eyes drifted back over to Vox, meeting his gaze under lowered lashes.
"So, if you want to see the rest, you'll just have to follow me."
He beckoned with a single finger, head jerking towards the bedroom. Vox's eyes darted from his husband, to the TV, and then back again.
"B-but the next special! It's called 'In Search of the Golden Hammerhead,' I can't miss it!"
Alastor blew out a disappointed sigh, crimson bangs fluttering away from his forehead.
"Oh, well, in that case... nevermind, I suppose. Goodnight, dear..."
Vox looked like a kicked puppy as he watched Alastor rise from the couch, sauntering back towards the bedroom. He paused for a long moment in the doorway, and then turned back towards Vox. Their eyes met, and the crackle of static between them increased to a dull roar. The robe (or more likely, Alastor) chose this exact moment for the loosely tied sash to come undone, and finally fell completely open.
xxx
Vox's eyes grew even bigger as they roved over the visual feast that stood before him.
The lingerie was black silk, with delicate lace detailing around the edges. There were ruffled details and red piping decorating the ensemble stretching from the thin straps to the cinched waist, with the addition of tiny red satin roses sprinkled at the shoulders and center of the chest. It was a high cut style, exposing a generous amount of thigh, and the bust area dipped into a deep V, including see through lace that didn't leave much to the imagination.
A broad expanse of Alastor's fur peeked through the lace, and Vox was struck, like always, by its beauty. His fur was dense and soft to the touch, a rich cocoa color complete with white patches on his lower half and spots dotting his thighs and shoulders. His body was decorated with old scars that criss-crossed across his thighs, arms, and chest. The scars were long since healed, some light, some dark, each one a memory of hard fought battles of the past. A visual reminder that despite the soft silk that currently enveloped his body, Alastor was still very much the radio demon of everyone's nightmares. But in this moment, he was soft, vulnerable. A beautiful vision that was only available for Vox to worship and enjoy.
In the last 30 years, his husband had never once shown any interest in lingerie. The fantasy had crossed Vox's mind once or twice, sure, but he had never dreamed Alastor would actually go for it, or that it would be occurring right now in his fucking living room. His eyes traveled back up to meet Alastor's, and the deer had the audacity to wink.
Vox short circuited once again, screen lighting up in a colorful mix of colors and sounds while a thin trail of smoke curled up from inside his bulky casing. The familiar smell of burnt plastic filled the room as Alastor waited, patiently, for his picture box to recover.
At that moment, the opening sequence for the next show began to play, announcing the hunt for the golden hammerhead. Vox groaned, wishing he could pause the TV. Of all the fucking times Alastor could have chosen to wear the sexiest lingerie in Hell, why did it have to be right now?!
Well, he wasn't going to miss Shark Week, and he definitely wasn't going to miss an opportunity to unwrap his husband like a damn Christmas present. This wasn't the 50's anymore, and he had newer technology at his disposal.
With an inhuman growl, Vox lunged towards the TV, falling to his hands and knees. He ripped the doors to the entertainment console open, rummaging inside loudly. He tossed random items over his shoulder as he dug deeper into the cabinet. Alastor watched the scene play out with an expression of mild confusion, head tilted to the side.
After a moment, Vox made a triumphant noise, holding up a black VHS tape in one hand. In one smooth motion, he shoved the tape into the VCR machine and pressed record, staring intensely at the device to make sure the red light was blinking. Once he confirmed it was recording, he slowly turned his head towards Alastor. A devious smile stretched across his screen, showing off every sharp tooth.
"Now, where were we?" Vox asked, his voice low and rough.
xxx
At that exact moment, Alastor felt a sudden shift in the air, an unmistakable change in dynamics. He could feel himself switching from predator to prey, in real time. There was also the dawning realization that he was now swimming with a shark, and he'd just spent the last ten minutes tossing chum into the water. On instinct, his tail shot up, white underside signalling danger.
A millisecond passed, then Alastor made a mad dash for the bedroom, leaving the robe in a crumpled pile on the floor. His hooves scraped the floor and his heart thumped in his chest from pure adrenaline as he darted down the hallway in a blur of black and red. As he crossed the doorway of their bedroom, he was intercepted by a flash of blue electricity that morphed into a solid form, tackling him to the floor.
He rolled onto the rug in the center of the space, a mess of tangled limbs and laughter as Vox pinned him down flat on his back. The TV demon peppered static-y kisses all over his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, and finally, his lips. Alastor's giggles slowly dissolved into a low purr as he melted into the affection.
"Was this what you wanted, sweetheart?" Vox asked, in between kisses. His screen felt pleasantly warm against Alastor's face, not quite to the point of overheating. But there was still time for all that.
"Hmm, maybe," Alastor hummed. "Or perhaps I just wanted you all to myself again. You've been in front of that annoying television set for days."
Vox pulled back with a frown.
"Days? No, you're exaggerating."
"Yes, Vox. Days."
Vox scoffed in disbelief, then his eyes flickered down to his worn t-shirt. The same one he wore the previous night. And possibly the one before that. His screen flushed with the realization that Alastor was right.
"Alright, alright, maybe I went a little overboard. But come on, it's fucking shark week. It's a special occasion, only comes around once a year. Like Christmas! Doesn't that count for something?" Vox pushed out his bottom lip in a ridiculous pout, and Alastor rolled his eyes.
"Not when I have to resort to desperate measures to regain your interest again. It's ridiculous."
Vox raised an eyebrow, his hands still holding Alastor's against the ground. A thin wire extended out from the back of his head, curling around the lacy strap of Alastor's lingerie before giving it a gentle tug. It released to let it snap back in place against his skin, and Alastor shivered in response.
"Oh, is that what this was? You just wanted my attention, is that it?" There was an undertone of giddiness in Vox's voice.
"No, I haven't a clue what you're talking about." Alastor sniffed, averting his eyes to the ceiling.
Now it was Vox's turn to roll his eyes as he huffed out a laugh. He released Alastor's hands and sat back on his heels, palms sliding over the silky plane of Alastor's stomach. His claws scratched against the lace detailing, threatening to snag.
"Well, either way, I wouldn't be complaining if you wanted to wear this again, just for fun... you really are stunning, Al, you know that?" His voice was soft and reverent as he admired the view beneath him, hands continuing to explore the expanse of silk and skin. His claw brushed over a nipple, just barely scraping. Alastor gasped, and his eyes snapped forward to find Vox looking down at him in that same adoring way as before, the same look that always turned his insides to mush. His cheeks flushed a dusky pink as the claw lingered, rubbing slow circles around the bud.
"Be careful not to destroy this when you remove it, and I just might wear it again." Alastor teased, arching his hips up against him. Vox chuckled, leaning forward to capture his husband's lips in a searing kiss, sparks showering down from his antennae over their faces.
"Oh, you've got yourself a deal, baby."
xxx
xxxxx
xxx
YAY it's finally done! This was living in my brain for a while, it turned out a little differently than I'd originally planned but I'm happy with it. I just wanted to write 1. Alastor in lingerie because I think he'd serve and Vox would (rightfully) lose his marbles over it and 2. Vox (an admitted workaholic) being a total lazy couch potato during his favorite holiday: shark week.
Anyways, I love writing the husbands being disgustingly in love, what else is new lol.
Thank you for reading, feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed!!
At least, that's what all of Vox's favorite movies and songs had taught him. The truest, most romantic love forged a bond that lasted forever, overcoming all obstacles. Two souls, intertwined together, hand in hand until their dying day.
He had never thought much about marriage in life, choosing instead to focus on the savage, upward climb of his career. Sure, there had been numerous "distractions" along the way. Pretty little things that boosted his ego and warmed his bed. But nobody of consequence, and certainly no one worthy of the title of Mrs. Whittman. He had long since accepted that his work was destined to be the great love of his life-- until an event that occurred shortly after his death.
In Hell, the unlikeliest of places for a love story, a single fated encounter with the radio demon had tilted Vox's entire world on its axis. An electric meeting of two alike souls, mirrored images of one another. In the strangest way, it was like he had found a piece of himself he didn't even know was missing.
For the first time, the TV demon fell hard, and fast. And before he knew it, his boxy head was swimming with pink hearts and fuzzy static, dreaming of a fall wedding in the future.
And he knew, deep in his bones, that he wanted to marry Alastor more than anything.
xxx
The jazz bar he was sitting in must have been popular, once. He imagined around 40 years ago, it must have been jam packed with sinners eager to do the lindy hop or Charleston. The live music was still stuck in that era, although the crowds had long since disappeared. Only a handful of patrons lingered at the bar now, including himself.
As the stout, blonde singer crooned the final notes from center stage, he ordered two whiskeys from a very sleepy looking bartender. He resembled a sloth, and moved like one too, at a pace slower than molasses. Vox blinked out of sync as he watched the whiskey drip slowly out of the bottle, drop by drop.
The drinks arrived just as the singer descended down the steps and hopped up onto the bar stool next to him, pink feathers bouncing in her hair.
"Heya, Vince," She greeted him with a smirk, reaching for the glass placed before her.
"I go by Vox now, you know that." He responded, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Her red painted lips stuck out in an exaggerated pout, feigning offense.
"Aww, I gotta call you the same thing as everyone else now? You're no fun, TV man."
She sipped the whiskey, making a face as she swallowed.
"Ugh, I'll nevah understand you boys and these drinks, they taste like piss. Hey, barkeep! Gimme the Bee's Knees, and don't skimp on the gin!" She snapped her fingers twice, ignoring the irritated stare of the bartender, then turned her attention back to Vox.
"So, where's your other half, sweetie? You two are usually glued at the hip." She leaned an elbow on the bar, kohl rimmed eyes squinting at him suspiciously.
Vox rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. A pulse of electricity traveled between his antennae.
"That's... actually why I invited you here, I wanted to ask for your help--" he started.
"Uh oh, trouble in paradise?" Mimzy interrupted, eyes widening. "I should warn you, Al and I go waaay back, I ain't gonna side against him. What happened? Didja do something? Didja hurt him? I swear to fuck--" Mimzy's voice began to raise, feathers shaking in anger, and Vox held up his hands in surrender, leaning back in his seat.
"No, no, nothing like that!" He said quickly. "I wanted... I wanted to propose to him. I have a ring and everything! And you're his oldest friend, so, I thought maybe you might... want to help?"
Mimzy blinked twice, lipstick rimmed mouth dropped open in shock. Then she launched herself forward, squealing in excitement as she crushed Vox in a bone splintering hug. The bar stool wobbled and he gasped for air as she squeezed-- how could someone so small be so strong?!
When she finally pulled away she had tears in her eyes, which she wiped away quickly, mascara smudging on her cheeks.
"Oh, I'm so happy for you two!" She gushed, waving her hands up and down. "Lemme see the ring! Where did you want to propose? We need flowers! Maybe some fireworks! Should we hire musicians? Oh, this is so excitin'--"
Vox grinned as they settled into an animated exchange of ideas, quickly blowing his original budget out of the water. For the next two hours, they laid out a meticulous plan for a picture perfect proposal.
×××
One week after his clandestine meeting with Mimzy, Vox was buzzing with excitement. Literally, his boxy TV head was making a sound that could NOT be considered normal. Some sort of internal component was whirring at high speed, keeping pace with the rapid beat of his heart.
He was seated at Dante's, one of the fanciest restaurants in Hell, secluded in an exclusive, private booth with a large bouquet of red roses clutched in his hands. The vibrant blooms were beautiful, pristine, and just so happened to match his beloved's eye color.
He waited for Alastor now, palms sweating in anticipation as he checked the time-- 8:00 on the dot.
The plan was simple: set the tone of romance with ambiance and music, warm up with some drinks and good food, and then... pop the question. The answer to which would change the course of his life forever. No big deal.
Vox was in charge of the proposal, and Mimzy was in charge of the music and decor.
Which is probably why the booth was surrounded by several oversized, ostentious rose bushes, crowded together to give the corner extra privacy while also seeming to double as a mini rose garden. Multiple string lights hung above the booth, and tealight candles littered the table along with scattered rose petals, warming the space with a faint yellow glow. It was a bit over the top, but so was Mimzy. And if Alastor enjoyed her antics, so did Vox.
She had also promised live music, which would serenade the two as they dined. The musicians had not shown up yet, but Vox refused to worry. Everything would be perfect tonight, it had to be.
While he waited, Vox traced the edges of the perfect rose petals with his claw, and tried not to think too hard about the box that sat heavily in his pocket.
The air suddenly shifted, a new frequency prickling his antennae. He glanced up as a shadow darted across the floor, rising up to form the shape of Alastor. A grin split his screen as the radio demon appeared in front of him, looking as lovely (and lethal) as the day they had met. He offered Vox a sharp smile as his ears flicked forward with interest.
"Hello, dear. Have you been waiting long?"
Vox rose to his feet, taking Alastor's hands in his. Electricity prickled between them as he leaned forward, their lips brushing together in a chaste kiss.
"Not at all. Here, these are for you." Vox handed over the bouquet, a light blue flush creeping over his screen. Alastor rewarded him with another light kiss, accepting the bouquet with a delighted grin.
"Oh, for me? How sweet..."
Alastor's shadow pulled his chair back as the deer settled into his seat, inhaling the fragrant flowers with a contented expression on his face. With a wave of his hand, a small pocket dimension opened, and he deposited the bouquet before closing it again.
Alastor whistled as he looked around, taking in the fancy decor, roses, and candles. His gaze finally landed on Vox, who was staring at him with a dopey smile plastered over his screen.
"Well, this is quite the fancy establishment. Are we celebrating something?" Alastor asked, head cocked to the side.
Vox blinked, shaking himself free from his lovestruck expression.
"Yes, actually! We're celebrating the anniversary of our partnership tonight. Three years ago, you agreed--"
He paused as the waiter arrived with a bottle of vintage champagne, the most expensive one on the menu. Vox waited impatiently as the waiter filled their flutes to the brim, then produced a bowl of large, juicy strawberries, half dipped in chocolate. The waiter set the fruit in the center of the table, then recorded their food orders on a small pad of paper with a flourish.
"Thanks," Vox nodded curtly at the waiter, then turned his attention back to his partner, who was curiously swirling the golden liquid in his glass.
"Champagne is supposed to bubble, no?"
"Uhh, maybe? Anyway, I was trying to say, the past three years of partnership with you have been amazing--"
"Mmhm, cheers to that, darling." Alastor tilted his glass forward to knock against Vox's with a clink. Vox sighed, and raised his glass up to his screen. They both sipped the champagne for only a moment before it was promptly ejected from their mouths in a twin spray, directed mostly at the rose bushes.
"What the FUCK," Vox shrieked, staring at his glass in horror. The liquid looked innocent enough, but the taste was beyond offensive.
"Why was it GRAINY?" He continued to splutter, as the sour, gritty taste refused to leave his mouth.
Alastor wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin and squinted at his glass, inspecting the liquid. A closer look revealed tiny particles floating in the glass.
"Hmm... it seems it's gone bad." He observed, his trademark smile teetering dangerously close to a frown.
"You think?!" Vox quipped.
The radio demon gave him a withering look before snapping his fingers, his shadow immediately darting out of sight. It returned a moment later with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, setting everything neatly on the table. Alastor unscrewed the cap and poured two finger's worth for each of them. Vox accepted his glass with a grateful smile, the bad taste of the champagne still lingering on his tongue.
They clinked their glasses together again before they each took a cautious sip. The liquid burned Vox's throat on the way down, warming his stomach in a familiar way. It was almost enough to give him the courage he needed to press onwards. He fumbled with the box in his pocket nervously.
"So, Al, baby, I wanted to talk to you about something," he started again. "Um, I wanted to ask you something, actually."
"Yes? I'm listening," Alastor grinned, leaning forward with his chin propped up on his hands. Vox's screen glitched as he felt a rising heat travel from his chest up to his neck. His heart was pounding, thudding against his ribcage. He tugged his collar nervously, swallowing hard.
"I wanted to ask--"
The waiter appeared once again, plates of food balanced in hand. A medium rare steak with garlic mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus for Vox, and a blue steak for Alastor. Actually, it was beyond blue, considering the way the blood pooled around the cut. Well, at least it was fresh, and Alastor looked extremely pleased. The radio demon immediately picked up his knife to spear the still-twitching meat, slicing off a bloody chunk with practiced precision.
At that moment, the musicians suddenly appeared, seeming to materialize out of thin air. It was a string quartet, made up of four eel-like sinners. The cellist shot Vox a questioning look, and he nodded, waving his hand for them to start. The violinists began to play, delicate notes filling the air, and the cellist and violist soon followed, shifting the melody towards something classic and undeniably romantic. Alastor watched with wide eyes, a bemused smile on his face as he chewed his food. His gaze slid back over to Vox, who was reaching across the table to grasp at his hand.
Blue tipped claws enveloped Alastor's left hand as Vox took a shaky breath, bracing himself.
"So, this is what I've been trying to tell you all night... Al, these past few years with you as my partner have been like something out of a dream. I never expected to be so happy, in fucking HELL of all places. I don't know what I did to deserve it, or to deserve you."
Alastor's eyes went soft as he leaned forward, watching a light blue flush spread across Vox's screen. The TV demon cleared his throat, momentarily overcome with emotion. Digital tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he squeezed Alastor's hand, a lopsided smile filling his screen.
"I want this, you and me, forever. You make me so happy, sweetheart, and I love you so fucking much. And I just wanted to know..."
It was now, or never.
He steeled himself, taking a deep breath as his antennae sparked.
The music swelled, and Vox finally removed the box from his pocket with shaking hands.
"Alastor, will you marry me?"
His claws popped open the ring box, revealing a beautiful gold band inlaid with diamonds, stones shimmering in the candlelight.
Alastor's eyes widened as he looked at the ring, then Vox, then the musicians surrounding them, and then the ring again. His pupils shrank as his face went pale, smile straining at the corners. A buzz of static interference crackled around his form as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, struggling to form words.
Vox stared at him silently, eyes shining and full of hope. Alastor met his gaze, and inhaled a sharp breath of air as his jaw twitched. He opened his mouth, finally, and everyone held their breath, waiting to whoop and cheer.
"Hmm... no."
The quartet quieted, instruments stuttering to a stop. All except for the violist, who accidentally let one loud, discordant note slip through the tense silence.
Mimzy all but fell out of the rose bush she was hiding in, dusting off her dress while angrily waving at the frozen quartet members.
"Alright, alright, get outta here! Nothin' to see, ya looky loos!" She bellowed, shooing and waving away the stunned eels. They began to gather their instruments to leave, murmuring to each other in concerned voices. Mimzy offered Vox a sympathetic look before scurrying off, leaving the two media demons alone.
Alastor had resumed eating, expression neutral and eyes fixed on his plate as if nothing had occurred.
"Why?"
Vox's voice was brittle, hanging on by a thread.
"Oh, it's very simple. I like things the way they are, and I see no reason for our partnership to change." Alastor explained. He inspected a chunk of meat on his fork and then popped it into his mouth, crunching through bone.
"But... don't you love me?" Vox's voice cracked on the word 'love' and he hated it.
Alastor's eyes snapped up at that, brows furrowed in concern.
"You know I do."
Vox huffed, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration.
"Then... why not marry me?! I fucking love you, and I want to be with you, always, for the rest of my afterlife!"
Alastor raised an eyebrow, ears flicking to the side.
"Well, if that's true, then why do you need a silly little piece of paper to prove it?"
A hiss of steam escaped Vox's vents as his eyes narrowed.
"It's symbolic, Al."
Alastor barked out a laugh, rolling his eyes.
"It's ownership, plain and simple. Really, dear, I didn't expect YOU to be so old fashioned. There's no reason we have to change a thing, and as I said, I enjoy our current arrangement. Oh, what's that phrase? I believe it goes, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'."
Vox's screen glitched as he bit back a scream, frustrated beyond belief at his current situation. Electricity prickled all over his body as his voice wavered.
"I don't want to fucking own you, Al, I want to be with you until we're literal dust, I want--"
At that moment the waiter appeared again, balancing a plate of chantilly cream cake with one hand. He briskly set it down in front of the two overlords, igniting the sparkler stuck on top with a lighter, and Vox's shoulders drooped at the sight. Chocolate syrup was drizzled on the plate to spell out, "Congrats on your Engagement!"
Alastor regarded the cake with an amused expression, eyebrows raised to his hairline. His monocle glinted in the candlelight.
"Ah, chantilly cream... so, you had Mimzy help you with everything, then?" He asked.
"I did." Vox responded flatly. His screen was dimmed and his antennae drooped as he stared down at his food miserably.
"That was a sweet notion, but misguided. The roses, the music, the strawberries and champagne... it would seem this whole endeavor was a proposal for Mimzy!" Alastor chortled a laugh at that, returning to his meal.
A thought sparked into Vox's head then, a tiny glimmer of hope. His antennae perked up suddenly. Was that the real reason he said no? Did he not like the proposal? Maybe Alastor didn't need all the roses or romantic atmosphere... maybe he wanted something simpler, more intimate.
Well, if this was a proposal for Mimzy, then he just needed to put together a proposal that was better suited for Alastor! The gears started turning in his boxy head as he picked at his food, deep in thought as he cooked up a new approach, a custom tailored approach.
Next time, it would be perfect. Next time, he would say yes.
Vox just needed to make him an offer he couldn't refuse.
xxx
xxxxx
xxx
Don't worry guys, box Vox won't be down in the dumps for long! He's already planning his next attempt. Although I do wonder what an Alastor focused proposal will entail... anyways, wish him luck!
If you enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment! I always love hearing from ya'll. Thank you for reading 🩵❤️
xxx
taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!): @vitodelaney
Part 1 of the sketches I did for Radiocult. I tried to focus on experimenting with black and white coloring here. Unfortunately I decided to turn the last few sketches into a comic as well so it's going to take a little longer to polish everything. Have this as a treat to hold on until I finish everything
Love had opened the door to emotions Alastor had never known before. Things that had once been locked up in his undead heart, now spilled out for everyone to see. Desire, passion, adoration... and now, a new feeling:
Jealousy.
×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
Patience was one of the very few virtues Alastor still possessed.
In life, he had used it as a tool, a methodical calculation for knowing the perfect moment to strike. It had paid off for most of his plans, in the end.
He was patient in his chosen profession, spending years convincing empty-headed producers to take a chance on him with his very own radio show. He had been patient in his hobbies, performing countless rituals in an effort to contact the spirit world and secure his place in Hell. He had been EXTREMELY patient in his plan to free himself of his deal with Rosie, spending literal years working out a solution to earn back his freedom.
So it wasn't a stretch to say Alastor was a patient man. But even the radio demon had his limits.
That limit was rapidly approaching as the grandfather clock struck 11:00, melodic chimes ringing throughout the apartment.
Alastor, one of the most powerful demons in Hell, stood in his kitchen in his silk pajamas and slippers, his crimson hair tied back in a small ponytail and a full wine glass resting in his palm. Irritated static crackled along his form as he tapped his foot rapidly, waiting for any sign that his husband was coming home tonight.
His shadow was long gone, having been sent away on a covert mission to locate and retrieve the noisy picture box. He REFUSED to used their shared frequency again, after his call earlier had gone ignored. Not unanswered, IGNORED, which meant that Vox was not in danger, he was just an asshole.
An asshole that forgot about their dinner plans, apparently.
A beautiful pot of shrimp Étouffée, which had been ready four hours ago, now sat covered on the stove top, long since cooled and congealed into a sticky, gummy mess.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Alastor swirled the wine once before taking a long sip, deciding to call it a night. If Vox showed up at all, he would find the bedroom door locked and the living room couch prepared with a single sad, flat pillow and the thinnest, rattiest blanket Alastor could find. The thought brought a self satisfied smirk to this face, and he drained the remaining wine from the glass. Turning towards the sink, his ears fell flat as his gaze landed on the pile of dishes in the sink, waiting patiently to be washed.
Yes, of course, it was Vox's turn to do the dishes...
Alastor's smile twitched, the corners of his mouth hovering dangerously close to a frown. The nerve of the man, to first miss out on an award winning dinner, worthy of two Michelin stars, and then shirk his most important chore? Which just so happened to be the one Alastor disliked doing the most?!
He briefly considered leaving the dirty dishes for Vox to deal with later, once the food residue had properly crusted to the texture of dried cement. But something about going to bed with dirty dishes in the sink felt so WRONG, like something that would have deeply offended his mother. And as much as he missed her, he didn't need her descending all the way down from Heaven to tug his ear while giving him a sternly worded reminder that he was "raised better than that."
Well, what was the point of having demonic shadow puppets if you couldn't put them to work?
With a snap of his fingers, his staff materialized in his hands. He swung the microphone towards the floor, easily opening a small, dark circle of shadow magic. Five small, beanbag-bodied puppets crawled out of the hole, sharp rows of teeth bared and eyes glowing red.
With a point of his finger, they immediately scampered towards the sink, looking up at the high countertops in confusion. They softly chittered away to each other before starting to climb and balance on each other's shoulders to reach the top of the counter. Little arms stretched forward and the sink faucet turned on, the basin slowly filling with green, glowing bubbles. The two puppets on top took turns scrubbing and rinsing, then handed the dishes off to the last puppet to dry.
It was a lovely display of teamwork... at first.
Suddenly, puppet #1 wobbled, struggling to maintain balance as he aggressively scrubbed a heavy pot. The one holding him up, puppet #2, made a distressed noise as he bumped into his neighbor. Puppet #4 faltered and nearly dropped puppet #3, who sat atop his shoulders. With a glare, puppets 2 and 4 turned to each other and began angrily pointing tiny fingers. The chittering noises quickly descended into loud bickering, and puppets 1 and 3 abandoned their task and began waving their arms aggressively as they joined in the fray. Puppet #5, the dish drier and apparent peacemaker, stood in between the two opposing sides, arms extended to keep them from coming to blows.
Alastor leaned against the counter and poured himself another glass of wine, content to watch the show.
xxx
After a drama filled round of shadow puppet theater-- complete with arguing, fighting, and then a group hug to make up, Alastor dismissed the funny little creatures. They were less than helpful, only having finished half the dishes and cracking a vintage plate in the process, but at least they provided free entertainment.
A cool breeze flowed in from the kitchen window, left open just a crack, and Alastor's shadow suddenly slipped in like a jet of ink. It darted across the walls and hid in the corner, staring at Alastor warily.
Alastor quirked an eyebrow, eyes scanning the shadow. It quivered at the edges, somehow looking... larger than usual.
"Hmm, that took longer than expected... did you get into trouble? What did you find?" Alastor murmured, inclining his head towards the shadow with curiosity. It stared at him for a long moment, unmoving.
"Come now, don't be shy. What do you have there?" Alastor coaxed, voice shifting into something sweet and cloying. "I just want to see, that's all."
The shadow hesitated, then straightened, revealing Vox's boxy shadow hiding next to it. Despite a lack of detailed expression, the shadow somehow managed to look both terrified and remorseful.
Alastor clucked his tongue, unimpressed by the pitiful display.
"Oh, et tu, brute? You were hiding a fugitive, I see. Poor little thing, are you feeling guilty? There's no need to cower like that, I'm not upset with YOU. Where's your--"
He was cut off by a loud popping noise, and the air suddenly shifted. With Alastor's attention occupied, the shadows took their opportunity to scamper away into the darkness of night, hand in hand.
The room filled with the familiar scent of ozone, static electricity prickling on Alastor's skin. With a flash of light, Vox's form fully manifested in the kitchen.
"Honey, I'm home!" He announced, arms extended and sharp blue teeth bared in a winning smile. A recorded soundbite of audience applause played loudly from his speakers.
Alastor rolled his eyes, turning back to the sink without a word. He pulled on a pair of yellow rubber gloves with a snap, then turned the faucet on full blast. His ears flicked as he heard Vox approaching, footsteps clicking on tile.
"You're home late." Alastor said shortly, scrubbing a metal ladle with a sponge much harder than necessary.
"I know, I know..." Vox's tone shifted into something soft and apologetic. "I'm sorry, it was just an absolute shitshow today. Power outages, plumbing issues, bitchy talent... It's like I have to be in five places at once to keep this whole goddamn ship afloat."
His claws came up to rest on Alastor's shoulders, gingerly rubbing up and down. The deer stiffened and turned his head a full 180 degrees, static radiating off his form as he fixed Vox with an icy stare.
To his credit, the TV demon didn't flinch, instead leaning forward to rest his screen against Alastor's forehead as his tired eyes closed. A tiny zap of electricity crackled between them, and Alastor's expression softened.
"Al, baby... don't be mad at me, okay? It was a rough day." Vox pleaded, arms encircling his husband's waist. Alastor's entire body turned, leaning into the touch despite himself. His infuriating tail even wagged, the traitor.
"You missed dinner." Alastor grumbled, even as he relaxed into the embrace. Stupid, affectionate picture box... he hated how hard it was to stay mad at him. It was one of his most annoying features.
"I'm sorry. I'm sure it was amazing." Vox nuzzled his heated screen against Alastor's nose, antennae sparking.
"Mmhm, it was." Alastor agreed, eyes fluttering closed. He reached up and cupped the bottom corners of Vox's bulky head, pulling him closer. For a long moment, they simply kissed, shared static enveloping the two as they melted into each other.
Alastor pulled back first, pecking the warm screen once more before turning his attention back to the sink.
Vox stepped forward and bumped Alastor's hip with his own, occupying the spot next to him at the sink. He took a soapy dish from his husband's hands, rinsing it and then wiping it dry with a dish cloth. Wordlessly, they settled into a comfortable pattern. Scrub, rinse, dry.
Vox heaved an exaggerated sigh, air whooshing from his vents as his antennae drooped.
"I think I should look into hiring a full time assistant, just to keep everything organized. Janet's been on vacation for two fucking weeks now, and things are starting to slip through the cracks. I missed a meeting today because I didn't even know it had been rescheduled. Those kinds of mistakes add up over time, you know." He dried a spoon, staring at his reflection in the polished silver before setting it down.
Alastor hummed, rinsing the last pot with a flourish.
"I think that's a fine idea, dear. You could do with another pair of helping hands." He agreed.
Vox chuckled nervously, dish towel lingering a little longer than usual on the last dish. He gingerly set it down on the drying rack.
"Heh... funny you should mention that. I'm actually going to have two extra pairs of helping hands from now on."
Alastor's head turned to the side with a crack, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"Pardon?"
"That's why I was late, I was ironing out a business contract with Valentino. He'll be one of our new associates."
It was like a physical blow. Alastor twisted his body and stepped back, the small of his back meeting the kitchen counter. He had met the flashy moth before, at some horrible business convention that Vox had participated in. The gold toothed insect had ogled his husband in a way that made his skin crawl. And worse, he was aware of the kind of 'business' the man conducted out of his seedy studio on the edges of the Entertainment district.
"The pornography peddler?!" He said shrilly, nose scrunched in disgust.
Vox made an offended noise, electrical interference crackling with a loud beep, and crossed his arms defensively.
"Hey! He makes erotic films, actually! And he's been doing really well down here. I've been monitoring his growth, and it's incredible for a new arrival! Sex sells, of course, but he's ready for the next level. He can make us a shit ton of money, and I can help him expand into new territory!"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure he would love to 'expand' himself into 'new territory'." Alastor grumbled under his breath.
"Huh?"
"Nothing, my dear! I'm sure the two of you will get along swimmingly. You'll need to spend a lot of time working closely together, of course."
Alastor's tone had turned into something fake and artificial, and Vox raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I mean, obviously, I have to promote him as a part of our brand..." Vox said slowly.
Alastor nodded, ruby eyes narrowing even as his smile widened impossibly.
"Naturally, you'll have to supervise the set of each film to make sure they're up to par. So I imagine the two of you will be quite inseparable."
Vox heaved a frustrated sigh, shaking his head.
"I mean, not really... I can approve the final cut, but I think he knows what he's doing."
"Does he?" Alastor said sharply. "Your work day ended at 6pm and it's 11pm now. Did it take five whole hours for him to sign the contract? Does he know how to read, or did you have to draw little shapes?"
"Well, you have to fully review it, and then we can make amendments or add clauses." Vox explained patiently.
"After that, the lawyers need to review and approve it, which takes time. And once everything is set is stone, sure, we had one celebratory drink while we discussed the next steps. It's pretty standard in business..."
"If you wanted to make and distribute pornography, why didn't you just kill him and do it yourself?!"
"Because then I'd have to actually do it, and I'd be home late every goddamn day. More so than usual. Al, listen, he knows the business and has a lot of great ideas. I'll pay for supplies and marketing, he'll write, direct, and produce the content, and we'll both make buckets of money. AND I get to come home to my grumpy husband on time."
"Except for tonight. Because you were staying late, drinking with the moth. Why not send me a message to let me know? I wouldn't have wasted an entire dinner waiting for you to not even bother showing up."
Vox groaned, stepping forward to clasp both of Alastor's hands in his. He raised them up to his screen, electricity prickling along Alastor's skin.
"Sweetheart, bambi, love of my afterlife--" he kissed his husband's knuckles with each pet name. "I've apologized like five times already, I said I was sorry! I was sitting with lawyers trying to make a monumental business deal, and I didn't want to get distracted and make a mistake. I was just caught up in the excitement and Val was--"
Alastor yanked his hands away, ears pinning back as his antlers cracked and expanded, glowing green stitches appearing at the corners of his smile.
"Oh, I'm sure you were! It's all very exciting, isn't it, being with someone new! Are you so familiar you can call him Val, now?" He spat.
Vox paused, eyes searching over Alastor's face in confusion. Then, the realization hit him like a truck.
"Are you... are you jealous?" He asked incredulously.
"Of that big purple buffoon? Certainly not." Alastor said quickly, antlers retreating back to normal and stitches disappearing. He avoided Vox's gaze, crossing his arms stubbornly.
Vox blinked, expression slowly morphing from hurt to fascination.
"Oh my god, you are!" Vox was delighted, a dopey grin nearly splitting his screen.
"Is your auditory processor malfunctioning? I just said I wasn't." Alastor hissed.
"Oh, that's so cute..." Vox cooed. Alastor glanced over and found Vox staring at him with an expression of such overwhelming affection, it made the radio demon's teeth hurt.
"You are treading very thin ice, Vox." Alastor's voice was low, but held no malice. Vox sighed, stepping forward to wrap Alastor up in a crushing hug, lifting him a few inches off the floor.
Alastor resisted for only a moment before he relaxed into the embrace, pressing his cheek to Vox's chest. His ears flicked as he listened to the heartbeat within, half biological, half mechanical.
"Al, baby... you know I only have eyes for you." Vox said softly.
"Yes, but what about the rest of you?" Alastor's voice was slightly muffled by the fabric of Vox's suit.
"All yours, forever. Which you knew already. You're my partner, you're my husband. Come on, don't you trust me?" Vox's voice had an undercurrent of hurt, which Alastor hated.
Of course he trusted him, he wouldn't have married him and put his entire soul in his hands if he didn't! There was no one he trusted more. But unfortunately, that also meant there was no one who could hurt him more. And that realization was terrifying in a way he couldn't describe.
"I do... but he's the one I don't trust. I don't like the way he looks at you."
He hated how whiny his voice sounded. He hated that he craved Vox's reassurance. Of all the weaknesses and vulnerabilities that came with love, his own need for comfort was one of the worst.
Suddenly, he felt the sensation of Vox's frequency enveloping his own, attempting to soothe him as they intertwined together in a shared melody.
Vox began rubbing his back in small circles, tips of his claws scratching slightly against his silk pajamas.
"He can look all he wants, I don't care. I'm still not about to risk losing the best thing that's ever happened to me. That's a promise." He said firmly.
"Doesn't he secrete hormonal vapors? You may not have a choice in the matter." Alastor pointed out.
"No nose, remember? The pheromones don't affect me."
Alastor huffed in frustration, refusing to concede. Though he knew he was beaten, and he was sure Vox knew it, too.
"I'm sure he'll think of something else..." he mumbled.
"Sweetheart, you're worrying yourself over nothing." Vox insisted. "Our arrangement is strictly professional, no lines will ever be crossed. And if they are... you can eat him. You'd have my express permission. Deal?"
Alastor's ears perked up.
"Deal." He said immediately, wiggling free from the embrace to offer his hand properly. Vox wore a lopsided smile as he clasped his hand with Alastor's, and a tiny ribbon of green magic enveloped their handshake. It quickly dissipated into a puff of smoke, effectively binding the deal.
Alastor sighed in relief, immediately feeling more at ease. Vox reached up to trace a claw down his husband's cheek affectionately, screen shining bright.
"There, it's official. Now, just relax, no need to get yourself so worked up... that's my job." Vox's voice dropped an octave. Alastor shivered, feeling the static shift around them.
Their frequencies pitched lower, vibrating in the space between their bodies.
"Is that right?" Alastor purred, looping his arms around Vox's neck. His eyes went half lidded, ruby irises observing as a light blue flush crept over Vox's screen. Suddenly, he gasped as the TV demon bent down and scooped him up in one fluid motion, holding him tightly against his body. Alastor's legs wrapped around his torso instinctively as he felt his tail start wagging again.
"Mmhm, it seems like I've been neglecting my duties, though." Vox nuzzled Alastor's nose with his screen, lightly zapping him. "Don't worry, I'll just have to make it up to you."
"Promise?"
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god I love married!radiostatic SO MUCH they are husbands and they LOVE each other 😭😭😭
I don't think Alastor would feel threatened by much, since Vox is so obviously devoted to him, but the thought of someone working closely with his husband day after day (especially someone so bold and flirty), would definitely ring some alarm bells in his mind. He's definitely going to be making more frequent visits to Vee Tower to make sure his presence is known, and to ragebait Val for good measure.
As a side effect of life in the spotlight, Vincent Whittman prided himself on perfecting the art of first impressions. He was always ready to dazzle the public and producers alike at a moment's notice with a gleaming smile, a sturdy handshake, or a well timed joke. In 90 seconds flat, he could have anyone eating out of the palm of his hand.
Luckily, this skill had carried over into his afterlife as well, helping him avoid more than a few scrapes and brushes with double death. It was easy enough-- Vox was charming, entertaining, endearing. Everything a good television icon should be.
Memorably, in his first meeting with the infamous radio demon, he had somehow managed to avoid disembowelment through a combination of sheer wit and personality. Something that no sinner had ever done before. In a matter of minutes, the immediate plans for his death evaporated into thin air, and he had hooked the interest of the most feared overlord in Hell.
Which was a surprising turn of events for the both of them, really.
Anyway, the point was, any idiot could tell you that first impressions mattered. Which is why Vox arrived two hours early to his very first overlord meeting, eager to show his enthusiasm.
This particular meeting would be hosted by weapons dealer Carmilla Carmine, and was located in the heart of the Industrial District. Vox sat in his swivel chair, examining his sharp claws, and tried very hard to appear calm and collected. Inside, though, he was practically vibrating with nerves.
It probably had nothing to do with the coffee Alastor had bought him that morning... the one that was infused with a double shot of espresso... the one that he ended up downing in a single large gulp five seconds after the radio demon disappeared.
Definitely not.
At this point, he had mentally rehearsed his introduction speech about 10 million times. His handshake was specifically calibrated for exact pressure and intensity to match every scenario. A handful of light hearted jokes queued up in his mind, all loaded up for the right moment. With his extra time, he even mapped out the conference room seating arrangements to figure out the most likely spot for each overlord. He calculated his seat on the basis that it was most likely to place him directly across from Alastor. Even if they couldn't sit together like he wanted, as a united front, he desperately wanted to have him nearby.
Just for the extra reassurance, of course.
The minutes ticked by as he rapped his claws on the desk impatiently, turning his boxy head to look out the grimy windows. The conference room overlooked the smog infested streets below, and black clouds slowly drifted across the windows. His eyelids drooped in boredom, blinking out of sync as he daydreamed.
Did everyone show up fashionably late in Hell, or was he just the only one cursed with an internal clock? Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick--
Suddenly, the doors flew open with a bang, jolting him back awake, and Hell's most powerful overlords starting trickling in, one by one.
Vox straightened up and watched intently as the room slowly filled with bodies and became noisy with chatter. Old allies and enemies acknowledged each other, babbling about the latest news and gossip of Pentagram City.
Some of the overlords Vox recognized immediately, while others he could not place. There was the newspaper demon, of course, his direct competition if his network ever got off the ground. A conjoined twin duo that ran the failing vaudeville club on the outskirts of the entertainment district, easy pickings for the future. Zestial, one of the most ancient overlords, lurked in the corner, away from the crowd. There was a flame headed demon that frequented the opera, he might have been Monstro, or was it Maestro? Then a few insectoid demons that controlled a gambling casino, they seemed to be squabbling about a business deal gone wrong.
And Carmilla, the weapons dealer, who was already making her way towards the head of the table with a red binder cradled in her arms. Her pointed feet clinked with every step as she balanced herself perfectly en pointe.
Vox's eyes remained fixed on the door, watching as overlords continued to arrive, holding his breath and waiting, waiting, until... he finally breathed a sigh of relief when Alastor finally appeared in the doorway, his permanent smile bared and ruby eyes shining bright.
The feeling was short lived, however. To Vox's annoyance, the radio demon was accompanied by someone-- a slender lady with jet black eyes and a very large feathered hat. Her arm was looped with his, delicate fingers resting on the fabric of his coat.
Who the hell was that?!
They seemed to be deep in conversation about something, and as Alastor tossed his head back to laugh, Vox felt his screen heat up. Their eyes met for a brief moment, causing Vox's heart to skip a beat, before Alastor's gaze quickly shifted away.
The sound of loud clapping made him tear his eyes away from Alastor, as Carmilla attempted to get everyone's attention.
"Alright, everyone, let's take our seats, please." She called, shuffling the pile of papers in front of her. The chatter in the room slowly died down as upwards of 30 overlords began to settle down around the extra long table.
Vox pretended not to watch as Alastor lingered for an extra moment, then took the last remaining seat next to the woman with the flashy hat... directly across from Vox.
xxx
Carmilla cleared her throat, surveying the room with her calm gaze.
"Good afternoon, fellow overlords. I thank you for coming here today, despite your many obligations and busy schedules. For those of you that are unfamiliar with me, I am Carmilla Carmine, owner of Carmine Industries. I will be filling in as facilitator for this quarterly overlord meeting, as well as the rest of our meetings for the foreseeable future. As you all know, our esteemed colleague Betty is still recovering from an incident earlier this month, in which she was torn apart by a pack of Hell hounds... apparently, they mistook her for a squeaky toy--"
As Carmilla continued to speak, a prickling static sensation began to tickle the very back of Alastor's brain. He continued to sit still as a statue in his chair, eyes glazing over as the feeling intensified. It enveloped him, embraced him, and made him feel strangely tingly. It came in waves, washing over him like the tide. He suddenly realized it wasn't just static, it was a frequency, uniquely attuned to him.
After a moment of hesitation, he gave in to curiosity and tapped into the frequency. It connected with a slight buzz of interference.
"Hey, baby. You come here often?"
Vox's voice rang out in Alastor's head, clear as day. His ears perked up, a confused expression creeping over his features. Ruby eyes widened as his gaze darted over to Vox.
The TV demon sat across from him was wearing the smuggest smile Alastor had ever seen in his life.
"Come on, Al, I know you can hear me..." Vox continued in a sing song voice, but his mouth never moved. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, brows raised, waiting for a response.
Alastor's eyes snapped back to Carmilla, who was still busy reading off the opening remarks.
"Well, well, clever picture box..." Alastor drawled, voice crackling over the line. "It seems you've learned a new trick."
"This one is special, it's just for you and me. We can use this frequency whenever we want, and no one else can hear it."
Vox sounded extremely pleased with himself.
"And what, exactly, would we use it for?" Alastor asked dryly.
"Anything we want! Right now, we can talk about how Grandpa Nightmares over there is about five minutes away from falling asleep face first into his tea. They really shouldn't schedule these overlord meetings during naptime." Vox snickered.
The corners of Alastor's mouth twitched.
"And who's the creepy lady with the big hat? She smiled at me and I think I felt a piece of my soul die."
"Mmm, yes, she has that effect on people."
"Is she a... special friend of yours? Why haven't we met before?"
Vox's tone was nonchalant, but notes of jealousy simmered just underneath the surface. Alastor's brows creased, ears flicking back.
"That's a discussion for a different time, dear. Let's change the subject."
Vox hummed for a moment, eyes raised the the ceiling in thought.
"Oh! I found a new name for you, better buckle up because this one will knock you on your ass! I'm already winning, of course, but this one takes the cake."
Alastor raised his eyebrows in disbelief, monocle glinting in the fluorescent light.
"Excuse me? You have two, I have three. You are not winning."
"Two?! You said you liked 'sugar plum' last night..."
"I most certainly did NOT."
Vox huffed in frustration, making a mental note to review his tapes of the conversation later.
"Well fine, this one is better anyway... manh pateet chew."
"Excuse me?"
"Mah-n pa-teet CHEW. It's French, which means it's very romantic, obviously. I'm calling you a little cabbage... I think."
A moment of stunned silence, with only static crackling on the line.
"...mon petit chou?"
"Isn't that exactly what I said?"
The frequency garbled as Alastor made a deeply offended noise, struggling to maintain his composure.
"NO! It's not even close, if you're going to butcher the French language you may as well--"
Alastor gasped as Rosie jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. His head snapped in her direction, and she shot him a concerned glance, tilting her head towards the table. He looked down, realizing he had dug his nails into the wood. Alastor's smile strained at the corners as he retracted his hands slowly, resting them in his lap under the table instead.
Rosie stared at him for few moments, eyebrows creased with worry. She reached out a hand and patted him on the back, and his spine went rigid at the contact. Her fingers lingered for a moment before receding, and she shook her head, the long feathers in her hat brushing his shoulder as she turned away. The message was clear: behave yourself.
The frequency resumed in Alastor's mind with a slight buzz.
"Mon petit chou. Is that better?"
"Much better. Or mon chou, or just chou. All are acceptable."
"Okay. I'm gonna kill your lady friend, mon chou."
Vox said it so casually, Alastor had to suppress the urge to laugh by biting his lip hard enough to bleed. He may be a fool, but he was endearing.
"You're so entertaining, as usual, but you really should pay attention, darling."
"Why? This whole thing has been boring as fuck so far."
"As I told you it would be."
"Ugh, Al, don't start with 'I told you so,' you know I hate it. I just wish something interesting would happen, that's all."
"Well, you've just been formally introduced, so maybe you could start there."
Alastor raised his eyebrows and inclined his head sharply towards Carmilla, who was staring at Vox expectantly. The TV demon snapped out his reverie with a loud static screech as he realized the entire room of overlords was now staring at him.
His panicked eyes locked onto Alastor's, and the radio demon gave him a devilish wink.
"I'm sorry, what?" He responded lamely, antennae prickling with embarrassment.
"I said, we would all like to congratulate you on your recent elevation to overlord status, Vox." Carmilla repeated, smile wearing thin.
The TV headed demon shook himself off, literally and figuratively, and stood from his chair. His screen glowed, projecting his biggest, most confident smile.
"Oh! Thank you, thank you. And I just want to assure everyone that I fully intend to grow my business and empire without stepping on any toes. You can trust us, with your--"
"I've noticed your business is centered in the entertainment district, which has been largely a part of Alastor's domain for years," Carmilla interrupted, gaze drifting to the radio demon. "I trust the two of you can learn to play nice..."
"No promises." Alastor grinned, sharp teeth on full display.
Rosie's dark eyes flickered between Alastor and Vox, lips curved up in a placid smile. A low murmur spread over the table, overlords shifting in their seats uncomfortably. Was there going to be another turf war? Who would win the territory? Would other overlords and businesses be affected?
"As I was saying," Vox continued loudly, voice taking on an authoritative tone.
"You can trust us with your entertainment! I have big plans for the district, and I've already invested in a cosmetic overhaul that has helped revitalize the community. I'm planning to continue by expanding and improving our infrastructure as well. We're aiming to build a long lasting empire that stimulates economic growth and brings new jobs to the city. My last projections anticipate about 2,000 jobs added within the first ten years, maybe more if I can expand into a bigger building. I already have a television studio that produces ten different shows, and we're hoping to expand into daily broadcasts of Hell's latest news next. And I have blueprints drawn up of a tower, dedicated to--"
"Enough."
Carmilla held up a large hand, halting Vox's train of thought. Her expression was twisted into one of pity and thinly veiled annoyance.
"Most of us just introduce ourselves, Vox. Maybe include a few things we'd like others to know about ourselves." She said slowly. "We don't need to know the full scope of your plans."
Vox blinked twice, caught off guard.
"Oh. Okay, well, I'm Vox... CEO of VoxTek. I have 250 soul contracts with my employees, close to 15 business investors, and roughly 10,000 customers so far. I, uh, also enjoy marine biology..." He trailed off, screen flushing cyan.
The overlords at the table murmured in approval and clapped politely.
"Thank you, Vox. That's all for now." Carmilla said with an air of finality, then cleared her throat and shuffled her papers before returning to the agenda. Vox sank back down into his chair, staring straight ahead with a blank expression.
Alastor's ears flicked, eyes crinkling with amusement. His gaze stayed fixed on Carmilla, but his voice drifted back into Vox's head.
"That was quite an introduction!"
"Shut up, that was humiliating."
Alastor tsked sympathetically.
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, I've seen that exact scenario play out much, much worse. Very soon, they'll be eating out of the palm of your hand."
A puff of air escaped from Vox's vents as he huffed in frustration, and the overlord sat next to him (which vaguely resembled an overgrown sentient rosebush) tried to subtly scoot away.
"Not soon enough. Did you see the way she looked at me? Like I was a bug."
"Don't look so glum! Soon we'll be the ones running this show, and I'll let you have the honor of squishing her under your heel..."
Vox was silent in response, arms crossed and brooding in his thoughts. So much for first impressions, now everyone was going to think he was just some chatterbox who didn't know when to shut up. Just a loud mouthed, noisy picture box.
Alastor watched him from the corner of his eye, lips twisting into a mischievous grin.
"Just have a little patience, mon cher." His voice took on a soft, velvety tone.
Vox's eyes snapped over to Alastor, a bright flush spreading over his screen. They both stared at each other from across the table, unblinking. The drone of Carmilla's words was entirely drowned out by the shared frequency between them.
"Did you just--" Vox sputtered, electricity prickling between his antennae.
"Just what?" Alastor asked innocently.
"You know what you did!"
"Hmm, no. I have no idea what you're talking about, mon trésor..."
"That! Right there! You're cheating."
"Who's cheating, me? I would never do something like that, mon cœur. This is called winning, surely you're familiar with the concept?"
Vox's screen glitched violently.
"You can't fucking do that, you bastard."
"Oh? Why not?"
"Because-- b-because other languages aren't allowed! I can't even understand what you said!"
"You started it, remember?"
"I learned ONE phrase in French, it doesn't count!"
"Well, it's a pity you never learned the whole language... you'd have so much more material at your disposal! What's my number at now, six?"
Vox felt himself overheating, smoke curling up from his casing. Alastor tilted his head, a self satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Vox found himself desperately wishing they were anywhere but at this stupid meeting, so he could kiss that smug expression off Alastor's face.
"You're not playing fair!"
"I never do, cher, you should know that by now..."
"Gentleman, are we interrupting something?" Carmilla's raised voice suddenly broke over the shared frequency, causing the connection to snap.
"NO!" They shouted out loud in unison, heads snapping towards Carmilla. The entire room fell deathly quiet, all eyes shifting from Vox and Alastor to a very frustrated Carmilla.
She tapped her long nails on the table in annoyance, narrowed eyes landing first on Vox, who was visibly sparking as his head smoked, then Alastor, who looked equal parts frozen and mortified. After a tense moment, she finally heaved a sigh, large hands reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose.
"I would remind our attendees," she said stiffly, "that this is a NEUTRAL ground and any disagreements between overlords will need to be settled outside the confines of my territory. I have no desire to clean up the remains of respected colleagues because someone can't control their insatiable hunger for power... do I make myself clear?" She shot a pointed look at the radio demon.
Alastor's eyes narrowed and his ears pinned back against his skull. A low frequency radiated off his form in waves. A surge of protectiveness stabbed at Vox's heart. Who did this uppity bitch think she was, talking about Alastor like that? And why didn't he just end her on the spot?!
Vox desperately wanted to hug him, to reach across the table for his hand, or offer any sort of comfort at all. Even more, he wanted to grind that pointy footed broad into a pulp and add her to a fruit smoothie. Both things would get him neck deep in shit, though.
All he could think to do was reach out with his own frequency, carefully seeking out Alastor's erratic waves. They slowly intertwined until they formed a comfortable blend, bobbing and weaving together in a steady pattern. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the deer's shoulders relax. Vox felt a small sense of relief, and he redirected his attention back towards Carmilla.
xxx
The rest of the meeting was rather uneventful, as different overlords took turns reporting in on their quarterly progress and recent soul acquisitions. Vox felt his eyes unfocus as he listened instead on the subtle music of his frequency and Alastor's. He noted with delight that he was matching his wavelength, as they performed a duet that was perfectly in sync.
Finally, Carmilla wrapped up the last few items on the agenda. She glanced at the attendees, grimacing at the blank expressions staring back at her.
"I think that's quite enough for today. Thank you all for attending." She said shortly, bowing her head as she stood to leave.
A black and green shadow followed behind her clinking steps closely, and the rest of the overlords slowly began to exit the room as well.
Vox stood from his chair, joints cracking as he stretched his arms. His first overlord meeting in the books, and all he felt was an immense sense of relief that it was finally over. Yeah, there was no way he was going to one of these dumb things again. There was no point in rubbing elbows with these losers when he already had access to the most important overlord in the bunch.
He glanced over at Alastor, who lingered in the doorway. The woman with the large hat touched Alastor's arm, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. She patted his cheek and smiled before turning to leave. Vox felt that familiar prickle of jealousy again as he glared at her retreating form.
Alastor turned towards Vox, and a spark of electricity short circuited his brain for a brief moment as their eyes met. The shared frequency crackled between them, connecting their thoughts as easily as breathing.
Vox stared, a dopey expression overtaking his screen. He felt himself going fuzzy at the edges, overwhelmed by affection.
"I'll meet you anytime, anyplace, mon chair."
Alastor snorted, shaking his head as he turned to leave.
"It's cher, you lovable idiot."
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Poor Vox stood no chance once Alastor pulled out the big guns 😔 Deer boy may be in the lead, but Vox hasn't lost the game yet! You just gotta believeee
Thank you for reading 🩵❤️ please feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed, it seriously makes my day!
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Mon petit chou: Literally 'my little cabbage,' but also used affectionately for partners to mean 'my little darling' or 'sweetheart.' Vox found it in an old magazine and promptly butchered the pronunciation.
I know I already have a million projects going on at once right now BUT HEAR ME OUT...
A Murdermedia fic that's basically like Splash (1984) with Merman Vincent.
Like he gives up his powers to become human to be with Alastor, the boy he saved when he fell into the bayou 20 years ago. One day, he hears his voice on the radio and he decides to finally risk it all to become a part of his world.
He uses magic to turn himself human for exactly one week before he must return to the bayou. And Alastor is strangely intrigued by this man who follows him around like a puppy, plays with electricity, and learned to speak from watching TV.
As a rule, the Entertainment District never slept. The neon lights stayed on, the club performances played back to back, and alcoholic drinks flowed endlessly. For centuries, the colorful, winding streets had played host to venues that specialized in fun and debauchery to be enjoyed by sinners at any time. But even pure, unadulterated sin could get a little repetitive.
Souls began to hunger for something fresh, something new.
This call was answered when the entire district underwent an impromptu cosmetic overhaul, courtesy of Hell's newest overlord: Vox.
In a matter of weeks, the vintage facade of the streets and shop fronts began to modernize in a way that sinners had never seen. A new era of electricity began to emerge, sponsored by VoxTek.
Sinners found themselves glued to the glass of the electronics shop windows, transfixed by the glowing box that sat within. For 24 hours straight, it blared VoxTek's newest entertainment programs; a mix of music, talk shows, and films. Crowds of people gathered and watched, unblinking, as fuzzy black and white pictures swirled across the screen. What a strange concept, that they could buy their own box and watch their favorite shows from the comfort of their own homes. Entertainment at the press of a button-- that was progress, that was ingenuity, that was VoxTek!
While the media company itself created plenty of buzz, many sinners found themselves fascinated with the charismatic TV-headed CEO himself.
It was for good reason, because as far as overlords went, Vox was a Cinderella story come true. Five years ago, he was still Vincent Whittman, a new arrival with nothing to his name but an aching, heavy CRT TV head and blood splattered clothing. Many sinners found his story inspiring-- proof that even if you start with nothing, you can work hard and achieve your dreams. Others thought his rapid upward climb was... a little suspicious. How did he get his own entertainment business up and running so fast? How could he afford an entire television studio in the notoriously competitive entertainment district? And how did he manufacture his products so quickly with such a small team working beneath him?
Curious minds wanted to know the answers to all this and more. Indeed, Hell was starting to take notice of Vox... for better or worse.
xxx
Two tattooed reptilian sinners leaned against the brick wall of an abandoned pharmacy, sharing a pack of cigarettes as they watched the sunrise.
"I heard the TV head guy is gonna be the newest overlord." The first one said, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his nostrils. His companion made a face, spitting a gob of saliva onto the sidewalk.
"Man, that guy's an asshole, he electrocuted my buddy last week for no fucking reason. I'm telling you, this whole place is headed for the shitter." He grumbled, shaking his head while fumbling for another cigarette. His head bent low as he flicked the lighter, then took a deep inhale.
"I hope the freaky deer guy takes him out, sooner rather than later." He continued. His friend blinked, cigarette hanging from his lips, then a sly smile spread over his face.
"Well... I heard he's blowing the freaky deer guy... Sherry said he was calling him 'dollface' the other night at Rudy's."
His companion sputtered and coughed, nearly choking on his cigarette.
"Pfft, how could he blow anything, man? His face is a damn TV. Ain't got no mouth to blow!"
They both began to snicker, shaking their heads as twin trails of smoke curled towards the sky.
Unknown to them, a dark silhouette peeled itself away from the alleyway behind the pharmacy. It transformed into an inky stream that quickly darted down the street, sticking only to the shadows. It reformed in a pocket of umbrella shade behind two catlike female sinners, seated in the outdoor patio space of a trendy coffee shop. They were each excitedly sharing the latest gossip over their vanilla lattes, tails swishing behind them.
"I'm serious! My girlfriend works at the tailor shop and she said he was fawning over him the entire time. She was mending his suit and overheard the TV guy call him 'lovebug,' and then they giggled like a couple of teenagers!"
"Ew, that's so gross, they're both like a million years old." Her friend wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Well, I think it's kinda sweet..."
The shadow scurried down the street again. It melted against the brick wall on the side of an electronics store, pressed among brightly colored flyers advertising the latest VoxTek products. The store had just opened, but a line already formed out the door with eager sinners waiting to get their hands on the newest tech.
One goat headed sinner pointed to a lifesize cardboard cut out of Vox, nudging his companion.
"Did you hear that guy is fucking the radio demon?" He asked, brows raised.
"What?! You're out of your goddamn mind." His friend retorted.
"Oh yeah? That's what Little Eddie said, the TV guy called him 'sweetie pie' down at Joe's bar the other night."
The other sinner blew out a puff of air, crossing his arms in disbelief.
"Little Eddie is full of shit and so are you, the scary red guy doesn't fuck overlords, he eats 'em. Ten bucks says the blockhead ends up a pile of guts on the sidewalk by next week."
"You're on!"
As the sinners continued their bickering, the shadow flickered behind them. It seemed to waver, mentally logging what it had witnessed. After a few moments, it dissolved into a black puddle, then shot off down the street again.
xxx
Somewhere in the heart of the Entertainment District, in a high rise apartment far above the clouds, the TV demon lay flat on his back in bed, limbs splayed out like a starfish, with the radio demon curled up at his side. The VoxTek logo bounced from corner to corner of his darkened screen as he snored, vents releasing intermittent puffs of air. The scene was peaceful, intimate, and cozy-- a picture of domestic bliss.
That is, until Vox's internal clock struck 7:00, and immediately broke the spell.
A shrill alarm blared on Vox's screen, switching off the VoxTek logo and waking both demons with a sudden jolt. Alastor made a deeply offended sound, which was something like a deer screech mixed with a distorted burst of static. He immediately detached himself from Vox's torso and rolled over, taking the majority of the blankets with him.
With a flicker of static and color, Vox's face reappeared on his screen, eyes squinting at the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. He blinked twice, realizing what day it was, and his groggy expression morphed into one of elation. He leaned over and nudged Alastor, who was now wrapped tightly in a cocoon of blankets.
"Al, wake up, today's the big day!"
He paused, waiting for a response, and then nudged the pile next to him again.
This time, muffled grumbling noises came from deep within the cocoon. Vox craned his neck, gingerly lifting the edge of the blanket where he thought Alastor's head may be. A pair of glowing red eyes stared back at him.
"Oh, sweetheart... are you still sleepy? I thought you were an early riser?" He teased, a lopsided smile stretched over his screen. Alastor's eyes narrowed to slits as he fixed him with a murderous glare.
"I am, but someone kept me up last night."
Vox gave a little snort and leaned forward, tapping his screen against the tip of Alastor's nose with an affectionate zing of electricity. He pulled away and hopped out of bed, striding towards his deluxe closet. The new VoxTek company checkbook had done some damage at the mall last week, and he needed to find the perfect new suit for the occasion!
With a groan, Alastor shoved away the mound of blankets and sat straight up in bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His red and black hair stuck up in every direction, and there was a dented spot where he had smushed his face against Vox's chest. He turned to glance at the clock on the bedside table, where his monocle lay, then froze with realization. His head audibly snapped in Vox's direction, ears pinned back.
"You are aware this meeting is at 12, correct?" He asked in a sharp tone, static creeping into his voice.
"I didn't want to be late! First impressions, and all that." Vox called back from the closet. There was the distinct sound of hangers squeaking, and then articles of clothing were being tossed from within. Dress shirts, pants, vests, and suit jackets were all landing in a pile on the floor.
Alastor cringed, and summoned his shadow with a snap of the fingers. The mysterious entity slithered up the wall, looking expectantly at its master, who silently pointed at the mess. The shadow obediently scurried towards the pile and starting laying each item out neatly on the bed, smoothing the wrinkles with care.
Alastor nodded, satisfied, then fell back against the pillows again. The sunlight continued to peek through the windows, shining directly into his eyes.
"I think today might be the day I kill you." He grumbled, covering his eyes with his palms.
Vox finally emerged from the closet, holding a pile of ties in his arms.
"Overlord meeting first, then murder! Okay, help me pick out a suit, I went a little overboard when I was out shopping last week." He dumped the pile of ties on the floor, in a tangled mess of fabric. Alastor's shadow looked distressed, and quickly began sorting the ties into categories by color.
Alastor yawned, stretching out his limbs like a lazy cat.
"These quarterly overlord meetings are a waste of time, you know. You don't have to attend to be one, its more of a formality. There's really no shame if we skipped the whole thing."
Vox looked stricken, eyes widening with shock.
"Al, are you kidding me? I've been looking forward to this all week! We HAVE to go, it's my first one, if I don't go then I can't introduce myself to everyone and make the connections I need, and then they'll think I'm weak and we'll never--"
Alastor made a face, raising his hands up in surrender to stop the inevitable spiral.
"Fine, fine... you win this time, picture box. We'll go to the boring overlord meeting and you'll see there's absolutely nothing interesting about them at all. Really, they're a colossal waste of time where everyone pretends to be polite and makes terrible speeches about their business projects and revenue reports and soul acquisitions and--" he paused, watching as Vox's attention slowly flitted back to his clothing.
"Do you think I should go with a classic black suit? Or grey? Navy? Is that too predictable? So many choices..." Vox was muttering, claws brushing over the shiny fabric of each suit. Alastor rolled his eyes fondly, shaking his head.
"Take a shower, pick your favorite, and I'll be right back, dear." Alastor rose from the bed, joints popping, and found his crimson silk robe hanging on the door. He tied it around himself with a flourish and slipped on his house slippers, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.
Yawning yet again, he rummaged around the cabinets and managed to locate a bag of ground coffee beans and two ceramic mugs. He looked around the kitchen for a familiar tool, the percolator, but found nothing resembling it or anything similar.
Instead, Vox's brand new coffee machine, ugly and shiny and chrome, rested on the counter before him. Something about it had a menacing aura that made the deer's hair stand on end.
Alastor glared at Vox's coffee machine, and it seemed to glare back. He attempted to be civil to start, and stiffly loaded the filter with grounds. He checked to make sure the reservoir was filled with water, then pressed a button to brew. His eyebrows raised with interest as it glowed green, signalling... something.
So he waited. And waited. And waited. But nothing happened.
He slammed his fist on the counter and pointed a threatening finger at the machine.
"I'm in no mood for your games today!" Alastor hissed. "Fulfil your purpose, or face the consequences."
The machine just sat there in stubborn silence.
Alastor planted both palms on the counter and leaned in, eyes gone black. The lights in the kitchen flickered as the sound of radio interference intensified.
"This is your last warning, contemptible machine. Coffee or death, your choice."
The coffee machine seemed shocked into stunned silence, and made no sound or indication of life whatsoever.
He snarled, and pressed every button on the panel in rapid succession, then shook the chrome abomination for good measure before giving the top of the casing a firm THUNK with a closed fist. The machine let out a long, shrill beep, inner machinery whirring like a jet engine. He watched intently as the machine gurgled and spluttered and then ultimately... did nothing.
Alastor's grin widened an inhuman amount as he summoned his staff from thin air, irises glowing red and green stitches appearing at the corners of his mouth.
"Very well... you brought this on yourself!"
xxx
Twenty minutes later, Alastor re-entered the bedroom fully dressed with two coffees in hand from the cafe down the street. He found Vox freshly showered and fretting in front of the full length mirror. The TV demon turned from side to side, clearly stressed about his fashion choices. As he heard Alastor return, his boxy head turned 180 degrees to face him, exhaling a shaky breath.
"Well, how do I look?" He asked, turning the rest of his body around with arms held out for judgement. Alastor tilted his head, appraising him silently. Vox was dressed in a smart looking double breasted suit in the deepest navy blue, with shiny black buttons and a crisp white pocket square resting in a two point fold. The style was sleek and modern, and perfectly tailored to Vox's body.
"Very handsome." Alastor said, nodding in approval.
Vox threw his hands up in frustration, sparks flying off his antennae.
"I'm not supposed to look handsome, I'm supposed to look powerful! Intimidating! Like... like an overlord."
Alastor only hummed in response, stepping forward to hand him his coffee. Vox did a double take, glancing down at the cup with his eyebrows knitted together.
"Thanks, babe, but... you know I have a coffee maker in the kitchen, right?"
"Correction, it's a coffee machine, and I'm afraid it's quite broken." Alastor said nonchalantly, taking a long sip from his own cup before turning away.
"That's impossible, I just bought it last week!"
Alastor shrugged, perching on the edge of the bed and swinging his hooves innocently.
"Well, these new machines are built poorly, you know. They break so easily under a little pressure."
"Uh huh... is that right?"
"Mmhm."
"Alastor... did you destroy my new coffee machine?"
"...no."
Vox stared at the other demon, one eyebrow arched in accusation. The static in the air intensified. Alastor's cheeks flushed a light pink color, embarrassed to be caught, and he quickly averted his gaze.
"That machine was useless, I'll get you a percolator instead, it's the way respectable people brew their coffee..."
Vox sighed, deciding to drop the issue, and set his cup down on the bedside table. He turned back towards the full length mirror, eyes studying his appearance. His screen glitched as his expression became unreadable, mouth set in a straight line. Head buzzing with unspoken thoughts, he fidgeted with his pocket square, then turned to the side, examining his profile again. Alastor watched him in the mirror, ruby eyes tracking his nervous movements.
"What are you thinking, darling?" He asked quietly, after several minutes of observation.
Vox sighed, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. "Al, be honest. If you were an overlord sitting in that meeting..."
"Which I will be."
"Like if you didn't know me, what would you think of me? What would be your first impression?"
Alastor blinked, then set his coffee down on the bedside table. He pushed himself off the bed and slowly walked towards the mirror, coming to a halt directly behind Vox. The deer's arms snaked around his partner's waist as he rested his chin on Vox's shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
"Oh, I don't know... probably something like... what a strange and unusual picture box. So big, so loud, so annoying..." he teased, swaying their bodies back and forth.
"Alastor--" Vox growled, though his screen blushed cyan. An arc of electricity traveled from one antennae to another.
"So sparky, so bright, so very entertaining..." Alastor continued, squeezing around Vox's middle as the other sinner rolled his eyes.
"And scary, don't forget scary." Vox insisted.
Alastor considered this for a long moment, ears flicking to the side. He had never been scared of Vox, not even once.
"Hmm, maybe a little." He conceded, deciding to spare Vox's ego for once. Just as a treat.
"Fuck yeah, I'm the TV demon, don't fuck with me! I'm a goddamn overlord!" Vox grinned, sharklike teeth on full display as his screen glowed even brighter.
"That's right-- a powerful, intimidating, handsome overlord." Alastor added, then nuzzled his pointed nose into Vox's neck, tickling him. The TV demon laughed, wriggling in Alastor's grasp, and a little of his anxiety melted away. Twisting around fully, his arms enveloped Alastor in a tight, wordless hug. The static surrounding them swelled for a moment, then relaxed back into a comfortable duet of frequencies.
Alastor pulled back first, hands resting lightly on Vox's shoulders. A strange expression crossed his face, ghosting over his features like a shadow. His mouth opened, words sitting behind sharp teeth on the tip of his tongue, but quickly snapped shut again. Red eyes drifted downwards, drawn to an empty spot around Vox's neck.
"You're missing something... your tie." He murmured. With a quick snap of his fingers, his shadow reappeared and brought two of the nicest options forward.
"Right, yeah, okay, red or blue?" Vox's eyes darted between the colors as if it was the most important decision in the world.
"Red, obviously." Alastor scoffed.
"Of course, red, it screams classy and powerful." Vox agreed, nodding his boxy head rapidly.
He reached for the tie but the shadow shook its head silently, placing it in Alastor's upturned hand instead.
"Here, allow me." He offered, then looped the tie around Vox's collar and expertly threaded it around itself to create the perfect knot. The radio demon rarely reached for a tie nowadays, but his fingers still remembered the repetitive motions. With a tug, he tightened the knot and smoothed the silky fabric, hand lingering on Vox's chest before pulling away. Alastor's shadow stretched upwards and neatly placed a new, stylish hat on top of Vox's boxy head, completing the full ensemble.
With a little spin, the TV demon admired his reflection in the mirror, and a pre-recorded track of audience applause played from his speakers.
"They're going to be so impressed! I can't wait to see the look on their faces when we walk through the door--"
"No, no, my dear." Alastor interrupted. "We're arriving separately."
Vox's display glitched technicolor as his face fell, confusion blooming across his screen. His antennae fell limp.
"Huh? Are you serious? You don't want to ride along with me, at least?" He asked in a small voice, looking very much like a kicked puppy. Alastor wavered for only a split second before shaking his head decisively.
"No, it's too suspicious. We can't risk sitting together during the meeting either."
Vox made a pained, static-y noise, but restrained himself. He fought not to let his disappointment show on his face, but he was failing terribly. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his tie with trembling fingers.
"But... that's part of the fun, isn't it? We can whisper and poke fun at the others with their stupid speeches."
Alastor's eyes narrowed, frequency pitching low.
"Vox, you need to take this seriously. No one must know about this. About us." He used his hand to motion between the two of them, emphasizing his point. "Not yet. Not until we're ready."
Vox sighed, shoulders drooped in resignation. He understood the danger, he did. But the thought of arriving alone, and worse, having to ignore Alastor for the entire meeting? It was almost too much to bear.
But it seemed he didn't have a choice.
"Okay, fine, I guess... so, I'll see you there?" He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
Alastor offered him a small smile, reaching out to cup the bottom of Vox's screen in his hands. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the warm glass. Electricity prickled between them for a moment, and the ends of Alastor's hair floated upwards.
"Yes, you will." Alastor promised, and then pressed his lips to Vox's screen. Vox immediately melted into the kiss, arms instinctively reaching to wrap him up in an embrace, but Alastor had already dissolved into the shadows.
"Fuck."
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They're so fun to write in this dating phase I love them sm 😭
The idea of Alastor throwing hands with Vox's new technology always sends me idk why
So guess what!! This chapter got TOO LONG, so the next one should be out soon, just need to wrap everything up with a pretty little bow first! Everyone get your cameras ready, its Vox's first overlord meeting!
It was an unusually warm night in Pentagram City. The TV and radio demon's shared apartment was stuffy, but not unbearable. Alastor lounged on one end of the large burgundy couch with his legs tucked underneath him, absently flipping the yellowed pages of a book.
His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his crimson hair was tied back in a small ponytail, allowing the fan perched in the window to cool the back of his neck.
Alastor was only half paying attention to the words in the book, eyes instead glancing up to watch the TV at the opposite end of the room.
It was currently playing a pre-recorded segment of the evening news, which often featured a short appearance from Vox himself. Though he had long since moved on from being a news anchor, he couldn't resist reprising his role in a special segment to cover any unique or breaking stories.
Alastor never missed it. Of course, he would never openly admit to watching TV, but he couldn't help feeling drawn in by Vox's voice and charisma. Even if they were married for 100 years, Vox would charm him again and again. His heart skipped a beat as he watched Vox wink at him from the fuzzy screen.
Alastor's ears flicked at the sound of keys jangling at the front door, which broke him out of his reverie. He scrambled to grab the remote from the coffee table to switch the TV off, before darting back to perch on the couch again.
The door clicked open just as he settled back in his original spot, looking very nonchalant as he flipped the pages of his book.
"Over here, darling." He responded, closing the book and setting it on the armrest of the couch.
Heavy footsteps approached, and Vox's figure appeared in the doorway, head obscured by a giant bouquet of roses stuffed in an ornate vase.
"I have a surprise for youuu..." Vox sang, taking a wobbly step into the room.
Alastor's brows furrowed in confusion as he tilted his head to the side.
"Blood red roses? On a day that isn't an anniversary or a birthday? That's... mildly surprising." His eyes scanned the bouquet suspiciously, and he craned his neck to try to peer around the side of the flowers.
"Well, that's not the whole surprise." Vox huffed, struggling to balance the large mass of flowers as he took a few steps to the side. He turned to rest the bouquet on the credenza, then quickly spun to face Alastor, arms held out dramatically like a showman.
"Ta-dah! So, what do you think?" He announced, gesturing excitedly to his head.
The large, boxy TV set was gone, replaced by a sleek, grey flat screen. It was still square in shape, but much less bulky than before. Tiny buttons and ports lined the bottom of his plastic casing and vents decorated the back.
Alastor immediately recoiled from his spot on the couch, hissing like an angry housecat.
"What the HELL have you done to your head?!" He shrieked.
"It's called a flatscreen, baby! Top of the line." Vox bragged, rotating his head a full 360 degrees. He started listing off the features like a car salesman.
"Check out this picture, crystal clear! No fuzziness or dead pixels, high definition, vibrant color saturation. And just listen to the audio! I've never sounded better! Look, I have all the best channels!"
He flipped through multiple programs on his screen, eager to demonstrate every new trick.
Alastor's eyes narrowed as the screen switched back to Vox's pleased expression.
"It's very... modern." He said flatly. With that, the radio demon settled back into the couch cushions, patted the throw pillows, and reopened his book with a flourish.
Vox visibly deflated, shoulders slumping just a bit.
"Don't be like that, Al. You'll get used to it. Just give it a chance!" He insisted.
"Hmm, no." Alastor said primly, turning a page.
Vox paused, an idea forming in his mind. A sly smile crept over his face.
"Actually, I think in time you'll start to prefer my new style... here, why don't you take a closer look?" Vox leaned forward and wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously.
Alastor glared at him from the top of his book.
"What? I just think you need to get up close and personal to appreciate the whole thing." Vox winked at him and took one step forward.
Alastor slammed his book closed, eyes now fully black with glowing red pupils. "You stay BACK. You can't use affection to change my mind." He hissed.
Vox took one step forward, staring straight at Alastor in silent challenge. Neither of them blinked, the audible static intensifying between them. Then he took another step.
Alastor snarled as his antlers expanded, black tentacles springing from his back in defense. Vox didn't even flinch, knowing it was an empty threat.
He advanced forward slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal, hands held up in surrender.
"Don't be so dramatic--"
A tentacle flung a TV remote, which he quickly dodged as it missed the top of his screen.
"--it's not even a big deal--"
His body twisted sideways to avoid the two throw pillows launched in his direction.
'--babe, you are being RIDICULOUS right now--"
He was cut off as Alastor's house slipper hit him square in the face. He rubbed the scuff mark in the middle of his screen, instantly flushing a bright cyan color.
"Hey, quit it! You're overreacting, it's the same as a fucking haircut!" He shouted, glaring at the deer.
Alastor snickered and rolled his eyes, antlers shrinking and tentacles retracting back into his body. His eyes faded back to normal as he regarded the TV demon with an unimpressed look.
"Oh? How is it even remotely the same? Hair grows BACK, idiot." Alastor retorted.
Vox blinked twice, thoughts visibly computing on his screen. He shook his head and took a final step forward, kneeling in front of Alastor.
"You're completely missing the point, sweetheart. This is an upgrade!" He stressed, reaching out to clasp Alastor's hands in his own. The radio demon raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"And what was wrong with your old head?" He asked, eyes noting each difference in the new one. His nose wrinkled-- it even smelled different.
"It was old, Al. Outdated. I gotta keep up with the times if I want to keep the people's interest." Vox explained, stroking his thumb in soothing circles over the top of Alastor's hand.
In truth, Vox had waited a long time to switch. The box TVs had gone out of style years ago, and it was getting harder and harder to find replacement parts when he needed them.
"Such a shame... I had grown quite attached to it." Alastor sighed, eyes going glassy as he stared down at their hands.
"I know, and you don't like change." Vox nodded, a lopsided smile spreading over his screen.
Alastor's eyebrows creased as he shook his head, a frustrated noise escaping his throat.
"It's not a small change, Vox. It's almost like you're another version of yourself. Upgraded, brand new, different." Alastor said quietly.
Vox studied his husband's face, trying to process his concerns. After a moment, he squeezed Alastor's hands gently, then raised them up to his new screen.
Slowly, he pressed a kiss against every individual knuckle, lips causing tiny zaps with each brush of contact. Alastor shuddered, eyes going half lidded as he watched the electricity prickle across his hands.
"That feels the same as before, right?" Vox asked.
Alastor only nodded, words stuck in his throat. Vox released Alastor's hands and leaned forward, cupping the deer's cheeks with his palms. Alastor's nose bumped against the glass of Vox's screen before their lips met, static intensifying as they shared a long, smoldering kiss.
Vox pulled back slightly, meeting Alastor's ruby gaze again. "That feels the same too, right?"
Alastor nodded breathlessly.
"So, if it all feels the same, it must still be me, right?" Vox continued. "The outside may look different, but I'm still me on the inside. The same person I always was, the one that loves you. That won't change, trust me."
Alastor sighed, reaching his hands up to caress the unfamiliar casing of Vox's new head. The ridges and bumps were different than what his fingers remembered, but it could all be re-mapped in time. And his funny antennae were still the same. He bopped one of them with a finger, watching a heart shaped burst of electricity spark off the end.
"Oh, fine... I suppose I'll get used to it. Eventually." He conceded, shaking his head. Vox grinned, climbing up onto the couch and pulling his husband onto his lap in one fluid movement. Alastor yelped in surprise before dissolving into laughter, nuzzling his face with Vox's screen as they kissed.
He wrapped his arms around Vox's neck as his husband held him tightly, pressing their bodies flush together. One kiss turned into two, then three, then five. They finally broke apart, both of them gasping for breath.
Vox chuckled, his vents releasing a puff of steam.
"I should tell you, my body didn't change. Just in case you were worried about missing any other parts of me..." Vox teased, resting his hands on Alastor's waist as he ground his hips upwards.
"Really, it's amazing to me how you can still fit all your depraved thoughts in a smaller amount of space." Alastor observed, eyes crinkling in amusement.
"Actually, I upgraded my memory drives too, so now I have plenty of room to log every dirty fantasy that crosses my mind! In fact, I have a few I wanted to share right now..." Vox gave him a wicked grin before standing up suddenly, Alastor still held in his arms.
"Let's go test the settings on this thing."
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Domestic, fluffy, silly Married!Radiostatic, my beloved 🩷
I wasn't kidding when I said this is my favorite thing to write, they are in LOVE your honor!
"Oh, Vincent..." He breathed, enthralled at the crime scene laid before him.
Vincent clutched the dripping butcher's knife in his hand, blood running down his fingers. At the sound of Alastor's voice, he tore his eyes away from the body and met the other man's gaze. Still breathing heavily, he offered him a crooked grin.
Alastor rolled up his sleeves and bent down over the body, inspecting the stab wounds and ensuring the target was sufficiently dead.
As Vincent tried to catch his breath, the significance of what they had just done hit him suddenly. This wasn't his kill or Alastor's kill, it was theirs. They did this, together.
And it felt so, so good.
Vincent felt alive, like every cell of his body was vibrating with excitement. He was a god, untouchable, all powerful. He imagined, stupidly, that this was what being high must feel like. He barked a laugh at that, his knife clattering to the ground as he wrapped his arms around his sides. He swayed on his feet and shook with manic laughter as he felt equal parts sick, elated, nauseous, and euphoric.
He jumped as he felt a sudden touch on his arm. He turned to find Alastor standing right in front of him, and the remaining laughter died in his throat.
He had expected a morbid joke, a sarcastic quip, or something. But Alastor was unusually silent, simply staring up at him with large, dark eyes. He could only watch, frozen, as Alastor reached up towards him, removed his blood splattered glasses, and... held his face in his hands.
It was a gentle pressure, but it set his skin on fire. He was suddenly hyper aware of everything, from the proximity of their bodies, to the smell of Alastor's cologne, to the stickiness of the blood streaked on his cheeks.
Alastor studied him for a long moment.
"Look at you... so worked up. So excited. Such a natural. I never thought..." He stopped himself and hummed thoughtfully.
Vincent waited, holding his breath. He trembled slightly as Alastor's thumb brushed his bottom lip, smearing a drop of blood.
"What is it that you want, Vincent?" He asked softly. Alastor was so close now that his breath fanned over his face, making him dizzy.
"You." Vincent said immediately.
Fuck!
He felt like clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, heat creeping up his neck.
But then Alastor did something strange. He made a low noise in his throat, then began stroking Vincent's cheek with one hand, using the back of his knuckles. He closed his eyes, deciding to commit the touch to memory.
"Be specific, dear." Alastor said, tilting his head to the side, his glasses glinting. He cupped Vincent's jaw with his other hand, holding him steady.
Vincent took a shaky breath.
"I want you and me, like this, all the time. I want to spend every day and every night together." He said in a rush.
"I want us to continue this," he gestured to the mess of blood and gore behind them. He opened his eyes, staring directly at Alastor. "And I want to be your partner, your equal. But above anything else, I just... I just want you." He placed his hands over Alastor's, removing them from his face. He held their hands to his chest, and squeezed once before letting go.
Alastor raised an eyebrow.
"Hmm... and you'll do anything to get what you want, yes?" He asked.
Vincent stared at him, unblinking.
"Anything." He nodded.
"What if I ask for everything in return? All of you. Mine, forever." Alastor pressed.
A beat of silence.
"I'm yours." Vincent promised.
Alastor blinked, silent for a moment as he processed his response.
Then he started to snicker, shoulders shaking. One hand suddenly gripped the front of Vincent's shirt, and the other reached around to cradle the back of his neck. He leaned in so close their noses brushed together.
Vincent's eyes widened in surprise, and he swore he felt his heart stop.
"It's a deal." Alastor purred, then crashed their lips together.
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murdermedia nation come get ya'lls juice!!! its actually my favorite genre of radiostatic and I would love to write more for it, buuuut I'm usually obsessed with reading it instead lol. but I felt like doing this deranged little marriage proposal scene so here you go! 🩷
"Really." Vincent deadpanned. "This is what does it for you?"
Alastor glared at him, crossing his arms defensively. In the shadows of the alley, an unfamiliar emotion flickered across his face. Shame?
Vincent immediately backpedaled. "Not that I'm judging, of course! I'm just... surprised. That's all."
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I thought you didn't--"
"I don't," Alastor interrupted. His eyes darted away, focusing on the corpse in front of them. "Not usually."
They were both silent for a moment, unsure of what to say.
Then, Vincent crouched down beside the body. He stretched out his arm, dipping three fingers into the pool of blood. Alastor's eyes followed the fingers as they slowly approached Vincent's face. He stared, entranced, as the other man slowly brushed a streak of dark red down his cheek, across his nose, and over his lips. Alastor watched as blood dripped down his chin, drops landing on his chest, ruining his white button up shirt. And then Vincent grinned.
The effect was instantaneous.
Alastor lunged towards him, shoving him against the alley wall and fisting the ruined shirt in his hands. Vincent barely had time to react before he found himself being violently kissed. It wasn't like the movies, slow and soft and perfect. It was raw, messy, and animalistic -- just the way Vincent had dreamed of.
Their teeth clanked as their tongues fought for dominance, and Vincent barely suppressed a moan when the other man bit down hard on his lower lip.
When Alastor finally broke the kiss to lick a stripe of blood off his cheek, Vincent whined at the loss of contact. He recaptured Alastor's lips desperately, cradling the back of his head. 'I don't need to breathe,' he thought, 'I don't need to eat. If we could keep doing this forever, I would be happy.'
His dreams were dashed as Alastor pulled away again. He stared at him through half lidded eyes, lips puffy.
"More." Alastor rasped, cheeks flushed.
"M-more?" Vincent stuttered. Alastor pointed at the body on the ground, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Vincent blinked as the haze started to clear. He grinned, a wicked thought forming in his mind. "Oh, I can give you more..."
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help I just want to keep writing about them kissing like freaks!!! no plot just kissing!!!
tw: themes of death, angst, and suicidal ideation.
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"Grief is just love with nowhere to go."
***
It happened on an ordinary Wednesday morning.
Vincent had been lounging in a chair near the open window of his apartment, daydreaming as he drank coffee from a chipped ceramic mug. He wasn't due at dress rehearsal until the late afternoon, so he took advantage of the rare opportunity for a relaxing, slow start to his day. A gentle breeze drifted in as he watched the birds perched on the clothesline, strung taut from his building to the next. They flitted from one spot to the next, chirping to their neighbors. Their cheerful sounds mixed with the noisy traffic below, as cars honked intermittently in the mid-morning traffic.
He was only half paying attention to the chatter of the radio that was sitting on the kitchen counter. The device was an older, outdated model by his standards, but it still worked just fine. And even if it did break, he was prepared to spend ridiculous amounts of money to fix it. After all, it had been a gift.
A jaunty toothpaste commercial faded back into the daily news, and his ears perked up at the mention of breaking news out of Louisiana.
Strange... news that far south rarely traveled his way. Feeling a small rush of excitement and curiosity, he rose to his feet and padded over to the kitchen counter, mug still in hand. He stretched out a hand and turned up the volume dial just in time to hear the scratchy voice of the announcer say that the charismatic voice of New Orleans, Alastor Moreau, had died.
The ceramic cup slipped from his hand and promptly shattered on the floor.
"The radio host was shot dead in a freak hunting accident last week," the announcer continued, in a tone of voice that was much too calm to be delivering the worst news of Vincent's life.
"How unlucky, indeed. Such a young man... Well, I'm sure he will be missed by all his fans down in New Orleans. In other news--"
And that was it. Less than a minute spent on Alastor, and the world had moved on. The birds continued chirping and the sun continued its ascent into the sky. But in the blink of an eye, Vincent's world had come to a screeching halt.
Within five minutes, he was dressed, his bags were packed, and he was on the telephone with his boss, making up a bullshit lie that his father had passed away. It seemed the best way to excuse himself for the rest of the week, at least.
Of course, his father had died many years ago, by Vincent's own hands. But there was only one other person in the world who knew that.
He drove in a haze, foot never leaving the gas pedal, radio deliberately switched off. With every hour that ticked by, his heart squeezed tighter and tighter.
It couldn't be true. It had to be a mistake, or a hoax. He would arrive in New Orleans and Alastor would laugh, admonishing him for dropping everything and scurrying off to Louisiana over a silly rumor.
Day turned into night, and back into day again. He kept driving, eyes unblinking, hands rigidly fixed on the wheel.
Vincent constructed fantasy after fantasy in his head, every instance ending with Alastor alive and teasing him relentlessly about how stupid he was. He created new theories with every mile marker that passed. Maybe his 'extracurricular activities' had caught up to him, and he faked his death to escape from the police. Maybe Mimzy got him caught up in another scuffle with the mob, and he had gone into hiding. Maybe the government was finally pursuing him over years of unpaid taxes, and he had fled to avoid imprisonment.
He imagined anything and everything, no matter how ridiculous. Anything to try and explain away the story his ears had heard.
It was dusk again as he stopped at a gas station in Biloxi. Despite himself, his exhausted eyes darted towards the newspapers sitting on the stand. His stomach churned, but he couldn't stop himself from grabbing a copy. He flipped through the pages with shaking hands, stopping in the entertainment section.
His breath caught in his throat.
There it was, printed in black and white. Alastor's life summed up in a dedicated article that was too short, with a picture that was too blurry.
His hands shook as he shoved the newspaper into the inner lining of his jacket, then returned to the car.
***
The cabin stood the same as it ever did, floorboards creaking as he walked across the porch. What had once been Alastor's childhood home had become a refuge when modern life got a little too hectic. On occasion, it had served as a retreat for Vincent, too. He brushed his fingers against the wooden door, head spinning with memories. When he twisted the handle, he was surprised to find the door was left unlocked.
As he stepped into the entryway, Vincent was instantly struck by the smell of death and rot. Covering his nose with his shirt sleeve, he pushed forward and came across a gruesome scene in the living room. Blood was splattered across the floor, bones were strewn about, and mutilated body parts were stuffed into barrels. A human skull rested on the table, stripped of all its flesh.
It seemed like Alastor's "hobby" had intensified as of late. He kicked a slumped over corpse onto its back with his shoe, noting the excessive number of stab wounds. A lesser man may have been daunted by the scene, but not Vincent. After all, he was a crime scene veteran.
If he was in his right mind, he would have been impressed at the amount of carnage Alastor had caused. But at present, all he could think of was the horrible idea of leaving the cabin in this state, rotting all alone in the bayou. It didn't deserve that fate.
Nobody did.
He felt a sob creeping up from his chest but he suppressed it, clearing his throat instead.
With a sudden burst of energy, he started the arduous task of cleaning up the mutilated remains. Alastor had taught him long ago that the bayou was a wonderful tool for their purposes, as there was no shortage of hungry predators ready to feast. So Vincent dumped an armful of body parts unceremoniously into the murky waters of the swamp before dusting his hands off, returning to the cabin for another round. Following body part disposal, a bucket and brush were located from underneath the kitchen sink. He filled the bucket with soapy water and began the task of scrubbing the bloodied floorboards.
There was an unnatural stillness in the cabin as he pushed the brush back and forth, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain. The silence was broken only by his small grunts of exertion as he worked relentlessly.
All his previous visits had never been so quiet. He glanced up at the cathedral radio that sat quietly on the credenza, surrounded by unlit candles.
In the past, there was music, always music, overflowing and filling the space. Whether it was the fuzzy tune of the radio or Alastor's own voice, singing aloud or humming to himself.
Now, there was only silence.
Vincent felt his chest ache, the pain slowly blooming underneath his ribs. He was meant to come back next summer, to stay a full two weeks this time. He promised, he promised, he promised.
How could he have been so stupid?
Alastor was a meticulous planner, always thinking a step ahead, always calculating his next move. To be shot in a freak accident in the same bayou he knew like the back of his hand... it was ridiculous.
Vincent gritted his teeth, head starting to pound.
It was impossible to grasp, the idea that Alastor was gone from this world. How could he leave so suddenly, with so much unfinished business? With so many things left unsaid...
Vincent's hand stilled, and he rested his weight on the scrub brush as he watched the suds bubble and pop on the floor. He stared at the blood stain, eyes unfocusing.
Had he really left him without even saying goodbye?
Another ugly sob crawled up from his chest to his throat, and he choked back the noise as tears burned his eyes.
Stubbornly, he forced the feeling back down where it belonged. He returned to his task, furiously scrubbing in erratic circles. He wasn't going to fucking cry. To cry would acknowledge the loss, which would make it real.
And any minute, Alastor could walk through the door, covered in mud and blood and complaining of the endless mosquitos. Any minute, he would saunter into the room, light up a cigarette, and perch on his favorite armchair near the fireplace, switching on the radio. Any minute, he would appear over Vincent's shoulder, face lit up with a mischievous smile, and use his powers of persuasion to convince Vincent to make them both a drink.
Any minute, now.
***
When Vincent awoke the next day, he couldn't help wishing he didn't. The reality of the situation sat inside his chest like a boulder, pressing his body down into the thin cushions of the living room couch.
He considered his own death, briefly.
How easy it would be to slip quietly away from this world, the same as Alastor did. How long would it take people to notice he was gone? Would he have his own announcement on the radio, or a newspaper article detailing his demise? How long would it take Bob to replace him at work? The thoughts raced in his head, making his stomach churn.
No.
He had been through too much shit and worked too hard to be snuffed out in an instant. He still had so much left to do.
As did Alastor.
He ran his hands down his face, palms scraping his stubble. How many times had he offered Alastor a job at his studio? How many times had he tried to convince him to leave this bayou? And now it was too late.
He turned onto his side, desperately hugging a small throw pillow to his chest. His heart started aching with the realization that they would never meet again, at least, not in this lifetime.
He didn't know if he believed in a world beyond death, truly, but it was near impossible to cope with the idea that this was the end. That this was the grand finale of their shared performance together.
He couldn't accept it, but it seemed he had no choice. His joints cracked in protest as he finally rose from the couch, the boulder weighing down his every move.
"I'm leaving, Alastor." His voice croaked from days of silence. He cleared it, then tried again. "I just wanted to say goodbye."
The cabin only creaked in response, wind rustling the trees outside.
Every movement was agonizing as Vincent packed up his belongings. His neck was sore, his back was killing him, and his eyes were suspiciously bloodshot and swollen. He stood in the center of the room, feeling emptier than ever before, and surveyed his surroundings.
His eyes fell once again on the cathedral radio, sitting quiet and pristine on the far side of the room. The wood was beautifully polished and the inner workings had been lovingly maintained by hand.
He thought back to all the nights where music had drifted from the box while he and Alastor had endlessly chatted, shared a bottle of wine, or slow danced. He realized that this was all he had now, the memories. His chest seized with sudden terror at the thought of leaving something so precious behind, destined to collect dust and never play music again.
To Vincent, the radio felt like a piece of their shared history, like it was still a part of Alastor, somehow. He needed to preserve it. Slowly, carefully, he removed the radio from its usual spot on the table, and cradled it in his arms.
The cabin door swung shut behind him as he navigated the old steps. He set the radio down in the backseat, carefully arranging his bags around it for extra protection and security.
Then, something truly strange happened.
It may have been Vincent's imagination, but he swore the radio crackled on for just a moment, static emitting from the speakers.
Then, a sound, fuzzy and distorted. His eyes widened as he recognized the unmistakable sound of Alastor's laughter.
And then, it was silent again.
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Whew that was a long one! I know this took a bit of a turn from the original snippet but I wanted to rewind the story a little bit so we can get a peek into Vincent's mind before getting into the human/demon shenanigans. He's sad but also unhinged, so we gotta see how far he's willing to go to get Alastor back.
It had been exactly one year since Vincent last saw Alastor in person. They've stayed in touch through letters and phone calls, but nothing beats the real deal.
Vincent plans to show Alastor how much he was missed, while Alastor plans on reminding Vincent who's still in charge.
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This had to be a dream.
It was the only way that Vincent could explain his current situation, with his longtime friend/not friend pinned underneath him as they sloppily made out in the back of his rental car.
How long he had waited for this moment? How many lonely nights had passed as he lay awake, replaying the memories in his head like an old movie? He reread the letters over and over again and waited by the phone for hours, wishing it would ring.
But nothing, nothing, could replace the feeling of being here, with Alastor, in person.
Vincent knew he was an absolute mess-- his tie was undone and his dress shirt was half unbuttoned, showcasing the trail of bite marks and hickeys that traveled down from his neck to his collarbone. They were trophies that would last days after this encounter was over, the location of each mark burned into his memory.
Alastor was less messy, the asshole, with only his carefully styled curls mussed out of place and his glasses knocked askew.
Vincent had to fix that. He wanted to unravel him so much that they mirrored each other, twin images of depravity and desperation.
The air in the enclosed space had quickly become unbearably hot, and Vincent shrugged off his jacket awkwardly in between kisses, suddenly hyperaware of the sweat sticking to his back. Inwardly, he cursed the humidity of Louisiana, something his body had still refused to adapt to.
He had no time to stew in his dislike for the southern climate, though, because at that very moment Alastor bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing a bead of blood, and Vincent shuddered as a new wave of desire washed over him.
It was painful, he realized, this sense of longing. To wish for something that he knew he could only have for a fraction of time. In the back of his mind, he knew there was always going to be another goodbye. There was always a plane, train, or bus that was waiting to shuttle him back to his normal life in New York. And it was a good life, chock full of bright lights and excitement and opportunities.
But it lacked a certain something that could only be found in New Orleans.
A low whine filled the air as he attacked Alastor with a new sense of urgency, threading his fingers through his soft curls. The sound continued, and he realized in dawning horror that it was emanating from his own chest. Breaking away from the kiss, he cleared his throat in embarrassment, cheeks burning pink.
Alastor only smirked at him, eyes crinkling in amusement as he leaned back on his elbows. Vincent tried to regain some dignity by promptly sinking his teeth into the column of the other man's neck and savoring the sharp gasp that followed. His tongue laved over the mark, tasting the salty sweat and unique bitterness that must have been his cologne.
Despite the bitter taste, the underlying flavor was wholly Alastor, and he didn't realize how much he had craved it until now. He sucked a bruise into the tender skin as his hands travelled up Alastor's thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he ground forward, seeking friction. His weight shifted, pinning Alastor fully against the seat cushions. Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice how Alastor writhed underneath him uncomfortably, pushing at his shoulders.
"Stop, Vincent. I said, STOP." Alastor said sharply.
Vincent was suddenly shaken from his reverie, blinking in confusion as the haze cleared from his mind. Alastor gave his chest a little shove and Vincent instantly complied, retreating back into his seat. He leaned into the leather upholstery, chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Alastor gave him an unimpressed look as he smoothed his hair back into place.
"Sorry, got a little carried away." Vincent said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It would seem that absence has not only made the heart grow fonder... it's made you go feral, as well." Alastor observed dryly.
"Wha--that's not-- I'm not feral," Vincent sputtered in indignation. "I just..."
I missed you so much it hurts, is what he thought.
Instead, he said, "It's been a long time, Al."
Alastor rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat as he crossed his legs.
"That may be, but its no excuse for acting like a rabid dog."
They both sat in silence for a moment as their breathing evened out again.
"Look, I said I was sorry," Vincent said finally. "What can I do to fix it?"
Alastor hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin.
"Hmm... I suppose you'll just have to earn my trust. Prove to me that given the chance, you won't devour me like some starving animal."
Vincent barked out a short laugh.
"No promises."
Alastor fixed him with an icy stare, and Vincent felt his stomach drop to his ass.
"Pity. Then the game is over, before it's even begun."
Vincent panicked, waving his hands rapidly as if to wipe away his last statement.
"Wait, no! Fuck, okay. Sorry, sorry. We'll play by your rules. What, uh, are those, again?"
Alastor clucked his tongue, head tilting to the side.
"Well... have you ever heard of the game 'Red Light, Green Light'?"
Vincent huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms.
"Come on, Al, we're not six years old..."
Alastor raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Really? Well, one of us seems to have the impulse control of a child, so if the shoe fits..."
Vincent only glared in response, and Alastor gave a light chuckle. He leaned towards him again and reached out a hand, mussing Vincent's greying hair playfully. Despite himself, Vincent leaned into the touch, mourning the loss when Alastor finally drew his hand away again.
"Come now, this is only a simple game of obedience. Surely you can manage that, Vincent? For me?" Alastor asked persuasively, in a voice dipped with honey. He batted his lashes for good measure.
"...fine." Vincent grumbled.
A wicked smile stretched over Alastor's features.
"Very well. For clarity, red light means stop, green light means go. Listen carefully, now."
He paused, dark gaze sweeping over Vincent's rapt expression as he relished in the attention, drawing out the building anticipation.
Vincent stared back unblinkingly, his breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled as he felt every muscle in his body tighten like a coiled spring. He waited, and he wanted, more than anything, ever, in his life.
"Green light."
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Don't worry guys I'm planning on continuing this but it'll probably just be 100% straight up smut so lmk if you're down to clown :)
Anyways I love Murdermedia SO MUCHHH and I hope you enjoyed 🩷
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