Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Ever since Rosie had become friends with Alastor, her life had been exceedingly more interesting. Not just because the Radio Demon was quite the character himself, but also because of the… interesting circumstances that always seemed to follow after him. 

Now, Rosie didn’t mind a little blood and gore, of course! That was one of the foundations of their friendship, after all! No, she had no problem with those sorts of circumstances. However, there was a different sort of problem that always seemed to trail after Alastor, no matter which sector of Hell he happened to visit. 

She started noticing this peculiar happenstance a year or so into knowing him. They had been strolling arm in arm through Cannibal Town, where she had been steadily growing more and more influence and connections. She’d always liked little towns like this, and her people seemed to like the order she was bringing them, too. Everyone seemed so much happier without having to resort to killing each other at the slightest inconvenience! And it didn’t hurt that Rosie loved to give advice to people; it was one of her many talents. 

“You know, darling, things are really shaping up around here,” Alastor commented cheerfully as he looked around. “Why, the bakery is more of a bakery than a butcher shop now, haha!” A silly little laugh track played to accompany his words. 

“Oh, you charmer!” Rosie said, delighted. 

“It’s simply the charm of the truth, my dear! I daresay you’re the thread holding this town together!” Alastor’s grin was even more genuine than before. Rosie loved seeing him smile naturally, rather than forcing it. It softened up his whole face, and made him rather handsome, at that! 

Rosie sighed contently. “I do enjoy seeing people in a happier state. Really, just because we eat people, doesn’t mean we should treat each other horribly. We’re in this together, after all.” 

“Quite right, darling, quite right!” Alastor chirped, swinging his microphone happily in his right hand. 

Rosie gasped suddenly with excitement as a lovely thought crossed her mind. “My deer, I just had an amazing idea!” 

Alastor giggled at her pun. “Do go on.”

“We’ve just cleared up the bar after the last fight, as you know, but I went ahead and asked some people to help fix it up a little nicer! Do come see it with me, they’ve just finished the last of the paint job,” Rosie implored, gently touching his arm with her other hand. 

“How could I refuse such an offer!” Alastor exclaimed with that never-ending energy that Rosie was beginning to adore very much. “Especially from a lady such as yourself!” 

And so they went, falling easily into step with each other once again. They got a few looks, but that was a normal occurrence. Rosie had always chalked it up to Alastor’s reputation as an Overlord — after all, he had certainly proven that he deserved respect. Rosie herself didn’t have quite as terrifying of a presence, despite being a cannibal, but she didn’t mind that! She’d much rather cultivate a community around herself. It made it all the easier for people to trust her. 

“Here we are!” Rosie sang as they stopped outside a cute little bar, which was tucked in between a restaurant (specialising in finger foods!) and a coffee shop. The newly painted sign shone in the late afternoon sun with the red words: ‘The Bloody Punch’. 

“How delightful! After you,” Alastor said, releasing her arm in order to open the door for her.

“Ever the gentleman,” Rosie chuckled as she passed him to go inside. He bowed jokingly and followed her in. 

Their presence was immediately noted by the guests already inside. Rosie was greeted with several ‘hello’s from some of her regular clients, but people didn’t seem to know how to act around Alastor. Fortunately, he just glanced around and didn’t seem to care about their wariness.

“My my, Rosie, you even managed to remove the bloodstains!” he said. “Get this lady a top hat and a rabbit! I think we have a magician on our hands!” 

Rosie teasingly smacked his arm with a toothy smile. “Oh, hush! Now, is your drink of choice still a rye whiskey?”

“You know me too well! But Rosie, dear, I couldn’t ask you to pay for the drinks yourself,” Alastor said earnestly, putting his hands behind his back. 

“Nope! Don’t even try, Alastor!” she scolded lightly, pointing her finger at him. He looked at it, cross-eyed. “You’re my guest, and I’ll treat you as such. Now you run along and secure a table, darling, I’ll be right with you!” 

Alastor laughed. “What a woman! I suppose I can’t disobey such direct orders!” he teasingly saluted, and a short march tune played in the background. “Don’t be long!” he said as he spun on his heel, venturing deeper into the bar on light feet. 

Really, Rosie wasn’t sure what she had expected to happen when she left Alastor alone with the populace of Cannibal Town. Now that she thought about it, she’d never really left him alone for any time while he was visiting her before this point; they’d always gone everywhere together, right from the start. But now that she’d set him loose… well, she would see the consequences that would follow soon enough. 

“Here you are, sugar!” Rosie said cheerfully as she finally approached him, drinks in hand. He’d managed to find a booth, she noticed, but apparently not an empty one. A tall woman was sitting across from her friend with half-lidded black eyes, her head resting on her hands. Why, she was looking at Alastor like she wanted to devour him, and not in the cannibalistic sense! 

“Rosie!” Alastor said loudly with a crack of static following his voice. He whipped his body towards her like he was mightily relieved to see her, and his smile was a lot more strained than it was a few minutes ago. “There you are! I was beginning to fear the bartender had simply swallowed you!” 

“Silly man,” she clucked, scooting into the booth as he shuffled over to accommodate her. “It takes a second to mix drinks, you know!”

“Ah, yes, I recall you love the blood cocktails!” Alastor said hurriedly with a laugh. Rosie tilted her head a little at this, curious at his behaviour. 

“You do remember correctly, sweetheart,” she said lightly, eyeing the other girl out of the corner of her eye. “Now, who’s your new friend?” she asked with a careful smile. 

Alastor stilled like a deer in headlights, his smile simply frozen on his face. Then he reanimated like nothing had happened. “Haha, this is Vivian! She was just telling me a…” he paused, eyes darting around suspiciously. “A fascinating story!” he settled for.

“Really?” Rosie smirked. “What story, dear Vivian?”

“Forgive me, I do hope I’m not intruding on an intimate evening, Rosie,” the woman called Vivian purred, leaning over the table towards Alastor a little bit more. Alastor slowly grabbed his whiskey and took a sip, his ear twitching as he watched her without blinking. His smile never faltered and neither did his straight posture, but there was a telling crease forming between his brows. “This one just caught my eye,” she continued, biting her bottom lip as she looked Alastor up and down. 

Oh, that was interesting indeed.

“Just a friendly outing, not to worry,” Rosie corrected cheerfully. “Tell me, what about my lovely friend caught your eye?”

Alastor shot her an alarmed look, then went back to hiding his face in his whiskey. Rosie wasn’t sure what to make of this — could it be that he was interested in this girl, but didn’t know how to pursue her? She’d just have to wait and see for more information. 

“Oh, forgive my bluntness,” Vivian sighed dreamily, “but he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve seen in ages! And the most charming, at that! Oh, those eyes, that smile, that voice! My heart nearly stopped a second time! Oh, and that hair— are those ears? Hm, I’d love to see what would happen if I, hm,” she giggled behind her hand, “pulled on it a little. Do you think you could spare him for the night, dear Rosie?” she simpered, as if Rosie had any power over Alastor’s romantic endeavours. 

At this invitation, Alastor’s grip on his microphone tightened and he scooted back a little. His smile was more of a snarl now.

“Hilarious!” Alastor cried with that sharp grin, something dark passing over his face. “I’d only wish your heart did stop a second time!” 

Ah, no, he wasn’t interested. Seeing that her friend was a lot more uncomfortable by this than she’d anticipated, Rosie quickly intervened before things could get ugly. 

“Well, you’re certainly bold, my friend!” she laughed, trying to do damage control. She put a careful hand on Alastor’s shoulder, and thankfully, he wasn’t so upset that he threw her off. “Unfortunately, though, my friend and I have plans, so I’m afraid I can’t spare him!”

“What a pity,” Vivian pouted. “Well, I’ll say I tried! If you ever want to meet up alone, here’s my number, lovely,” she winked, sliding over a slip of paper with a telephone number printed on it before elegantly slipping out of the booth with a smug wave. 

Rosie laughed a little into her hand once she’d gone out of earshot. “I’ve never seen that before! Why, Alastor, I think you might be a hot item on the market!”

When her friend didn’t laugh along with her, she turned to him curiously. After a moment, Alastor cleared his throat stiffly, his smile actually trembling a little, and— Rosie had never been more alarmed. “I suppose it should be nice to be desired,” he said with an off-voice, taking another sip of his whiskey. He was staring coldly at the slip of paper left behind. 

He slipped his fingers over the table to grab the paper. 

Rosie frowned. “Alastor?”

“Hmm?” he said, turning it over in his claws before he lit it on fire with a kind of creepy glee. It glowed hot and green, reflecting off of their drinks and Alastor’s monocle. 

“Oh, darling, is everything alright? I’m sorry, I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” she said, unfazed by his dramatics. 

Alastor tensed a little. “Haha, of course I’m alright!” he said exuberantly, but his voice was just— wrong in a way that Rosie couldn’t explain. It was like every word was cracking. “How flattering, the attentions of a lady, I must say! I don’t think I’ll ever be fully prepared for such a… spontaneous encounter!” He tilted his head in thought, flicking the ashes of the paper off his fingers. “Especially from one so persistent!” Her friend turned and gave her a terrifying look. “However, my dear, I must ask you to never encourage that again. I have a reputation, you know! What would the papers say?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rosie said, her voice softening. He never was all that frightening to her, not when she knew just how sweet he could be, and she certainly knew him better than he seemed to realise. That was one of her specialties, after all. “It’s alright to not want the ‘attentions of a lady,’ you know?”

Alastor just took another sip of his whiskey and avoided any eye contact with her. 

She contemplated the idea of trying to reassure him. After all, if he really did ‘swing’ the other direction, that was perfectly fine. She’d actually wondered about it before this, but that was just because he was perfectly comfortable with not appearing as a super ‘masculine’ man, despite being from a time period where that was the standard. 

Hm… she wondered briefly if she should tell him that she sometimes appreciated the company of other women, too, but decided not to. She hadn’t really been open about that before, and their friendship was still new. There would be time for that later. 

So, she simply sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to listen to any comforting words regardless, and just patted him on the shoulder gently. “My apologies, honey. Now, let’s put that aside! How is your radio show coming along?” 

Alastor immediately brightened at the question, and Rosie spent the next thirty minutes fondly watching her friend gesticulate animatedly about all the workings of his new and improved studio.

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One of the first things that Alastor noticed when he arrived in Hell was the gnawing, insatiable hunger that was clawing at his stomach. As a result, he’d gone after the first sinner he’d seen and ate them raw, hoping to get rid of the itching emptiness— but it didn’t work. It didn’t work the second time, either, or the third, but after a few hours of tasting the strong, bitter iron of blood and flesh, it was more manageable. 

It wasn’t hard to tell that he was in some sort of alternative dimension, of sorts. After all, he remembered his death very clearly — too clearly — so he knew that he must have died and got thrown somewhere else. It also wasn’t very hard to tell that he was in some version of Hell. After all, within the first few minutes, he stumbled across more bloodshed, gang violence, and public sex than he’d ever seen in one place in his entire life. (For the last thing, he’d mostly just rolled his eyes and moved on when he saw it. He’d thought that such a thing would be reserved for private spaces, but clearly not. Then again, there was no such thing as modesty in Hell.) 

His first walk through the streets revealed one thing he quite enjoyed: the screaming. It was, for lack of a better word, entertaining. Some were high pitched, warbling, and begging, others were rough and declarations of war. There was nothing dull about Hell, nothing at all!

However, one thing he didn’t quite enjoy was the evident disrespect these sinners had for him. To them, he was someone easily dismissible, the ‘newbie’ just starting out. It had infuriated him at first, and he’d enjoyed making them scream for mercy, and laughed at the looks in their eyes as they died. He found it was easier to smile in Hell. Regardless of what these sinners thought, he was in control. 

In some way, Alastor knew that he was still on a rampage — still riding the high of his own death. That moment, that terrible, ugly, disgusting moment, replayed in his mind for days without stopping. He’d never been so helpless, so lacking control over his own life. It was revolting, curling nausea in his chest like nothing else. But here — oh, here, things were so different! So easy! It was so simple to gain power in this little underworld of his! He’d thought people surely might’ve cracked the code before him, but apparently the path was straight and clear to his eyes alone. 

Soon after that, he found out about the current ruling Overlords, and began to crave a new type of flesh. Hm, power was a powerful drug, wasn’t it? Haha! 

Overlords went missing overnight — that’s what everyone whispered to each other in the night. It was true. He’d thought they would be more powerful, more of a challenge, but most of them were just pathetic. It was honestly high time that they’d been shown their place. So, he got rid of the ones that he deemed sufficiently useless and annoying, and changed the rankings in Hell faster than anyone else ever had. He gained the respect, admiration, and fear he deserved in a blink of an eye with thousands of desperate, ugly souls attached to him through deals of his own making. Oh, it was just so easy. 

If living in Hell was a game, Alastor was winning. 

Of course, he did keep some of the current Overlords around — that had been when he first met Rosie of Cannibal Town. There was just something about her that Alastor liked. She was delicate and proper, and yet neither of those things at the same time. She was pretty, poised, the perfect picture — but he’d seen her lips stained with blood more times than he could count, seen the red dripping from her sharp teeth, and he’d been enraptured by her complexities. 

She was fascinating. Her hands were dainty and she had a gentle touch, but her nails could rip people apart with ease. She loved to gossip about harmless little things, but he knew she kept secrets in her mind in multitudes, waiting for the right moments to exploit them. She could read people better than anyone he knew, analyse their subconscious body language like they were an open book. It was inspiring. Rosie was beautifully dressed at all times, too, and quite fashionable. Alastor liked her style. It reminded him of something like home. 

No, there was no reason for him to dispose of her, not when she always made their conversations fun and worthwhile. He found that he respected her — Rosie, out of all the wayward souls in Hell, was one of a kind. And that was quite special. 

So maybe that was why he started hanging around her so much. On his new throne of power, he had time to spare and connections to make, and she was just lovely. She was genuine, confident, caring for her people, and he loved to look at her constant smile. It was Alastor’s philosophy that every smile held strength, and hers was an obvious example of such strength. After all, being able to smile even in the darkest of moments was a testament of character, and Hell was certainly dark. Haha, even half of the lights were broken!

“Darling,” Rosie said to him one day, taking a sip of her blood tea. “Vivian has been asking me quite insistently after you. She seems to be under the impression that you’d formed a connection the other day. What would you like me to tell her?” 

“Who?” Alastor asked, smiling as he looked out of the window. He took a sip of tea. (He wasn’t very fond of tea, but he found that he liked this, ahem, fresh variety. It helped quell the bloodthirst in his chest, just a little.) 

Rosie laughed behind her hand. “The woman in the bar. The one who was trying to seduce you into her bed?” 

Alastor tilted his head, running through his memory for such a thing. “Really?” 

She grinned at him fondly, waving her hand to dispel the thought. “Oh, you! It’s alright. I’ll just tell her that you’re not interested.” 

“Quite,” he said. 

“You know, there’s quite a few bachelors seeking companionship,” she suggested. “I could set you up.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I’m quite busy, dear. No time for dilly dallying like that!” he dismissed. He knew he wasn’t all that interested in men, anyway. They were quite lacking in personality most of the time. 

“Okay, just let me know, then. I’m quite adept at matchmaking,” she said teasingly. 

“Oh, I’m sure you are, my dear,” he said with some faint amusement. 

Really, there was one thing that he didn’t quite understand about Rosie. She fell in and out of love with people seamlessly, and first got married when she was foolishly young. (She told him the story of her first husband with admirable gusto. Rosie was rather easy to overlook because she didn’t tend to make herself appear frightening, but ha! Well— there was certainly a reason why turf wars steered clear of Cannibal Town!) 

She had been married to her second husband before he first met her, but then he had been killed in a recent Extermination, unfortunately. She had been rather torn up over it, but she smiled through it and told Alastor not to worry, so he supposed that she had moved on. Finally, there was her third husband and— hm… Alastor had had particular joy in helping her get rid of that one. They both agreed that he’d been sufficiently annoying to warrant that particular brand of death. 

Regardless, he didn’t understand it. In his mind, what was the point of falling in love with someone if you were just going to move on to someone else? He thought that was rather useless. If he were to fall in love, he was going to have to go all the way in — he didn’t do anything in halves, and he never did anything he didn’t mean. Of course, he’d never had the motivation to fully test out this… theory, but that was how he imagined such a scenario to play out… It was fine. Settling down never struck a chord with him, anyway. Still, he did assume that he’d find the desire one day, as was natural and traditional… 

No, it just wasn’t the right time. Besides, he still had work to do. While Rosie stuck to her little town and aimed to create a better community there, Alastor’s vision was bigger. He wanted his voice to be heard all throughout Hell, and he wanted everyone to know his name — or, at least, know him as the Radio Demon. 

So, he’d just have to wait for another day to find love. Rosie would just have to employ her matchmaking abilities elsewhere. 

After bidding her adieu, thanking her for the tea and conversation, Alastor went to his next scheduled meeting. This one was of a different variety, but enjoyable nonetheless. Who said that business couldn’t be fun? 

“If I win, you know what the stakes are this time, my friend,” he sang, playing with the edges of his cards. His smile was sharp and dangerous, a bright green glow emanating from his shadows, and that should have been Husker’s first warning. 

Husker, unfortunately, had no such common sense, being a lonely, drunk gambler. He was thrumming with the adrenaline of needing to win, the high of the danger he was toeing the edge of, and Alastor was going to take full advantage of it. He’d gain Husker’s soul in contract and be in time to visit his dear friend Rosie again before supper. It was practically child’s play!

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Very quickly into knowing Alastor, Rosie had learnt about his very strict boundaries on touch. Rosie was naturally a tactile person, but after their first meeting when he hurriedly pushed her hand off his shoulder, she’d been a little more careful about telegraphing her movements clearly to him. 

Whenever she went to link their arms together, she made sure to look him in the eyes to see if he was okay with it first, and whenever she leaned in to give him a greeting kiss on the cheek, she made sure to move slowly and deliberately so he had time to move away if he wasn’t feeling particularly touchy. Sometimes she even asked him directly to save time.

It was good. She liked to think that they had a wonderful system going. After all, Alastor was a mysterious man, certainly, but she personally didn’t think he was all that hard to figure out. So what if he didn’t like being touched by people he wasn’t comfortable with? She was never offended by it. Clearly, there was a simple solution: she would just have to build his trust in her over time, and Rosie was nothing if not patient. Why, look at her ex-husband (the first)! She’d played the long game in his demise, so what was a little time and effort for a friendship? Especially for someone as darling as Alastor? It was definitely worth it in her eyes. 

Still, though, other people always seemed to be confused by his avoidance of touch, and would often try to take it too far… That never ended well. 

Take this day for example:

The next time she witnessed Alastor in a similarly uncomfortable situation as the first one was when they had, somehow, ended up at a party outside of Cannibal Town. She honestly wasn’t entirely sure how they had ended up there — at first, they had been intending to go to the park together to walk around the lake, but then there was such a huge commotion around this one building that they’d accidentally gotten swept up into the crowd. 

Her own reputation as an Overlord was a quieter one, so she wasn’t as surprised when people passed over her. It was good to be underestimated sometimes. However, Alastor was newer in Hell, and he didn’t especially like being ignored. (You see, Alastor was always one to love the centre of attention. He liked the performance of the spotlight, and he revelled in the whispered rumours about him. Why, take her third ex-husband! He’d helped dispose of him in the most delightfully public way… It had been beyond flattering, truly.)

However, they got separated for a brief moment, shoved apart by all the convalescing bodies. She looked around for him, but some taller sinners were blocking her view.  

“Rosie, where are you?” she finally heard her friend shout, his radio voice rising distinctly over the mass of bodies. 

“Over here, darling!” she said, pushing through until she found his distinct red figure. “Satan, I feel too much like a fish swimming upstream!” 

In order not to lose her friend, she’d grabbed onto his hand and hoped he’d understand the motive behind it. Thankfully, he gratefully clutched her hand back as they were pushed into the building. His eyes were wide as he looked around, and he didn’t seem to quite understand how they’d ended up here, either.

“It’s awfully loud in here!” Rosie called over the beating music. 

“I do believe this is the worst music I’ve ever heard!” Alastor called back, looking incredulously at all of the swaying women and half-naked men. “What on earth is this?” 

His eyes were squinting in the blaring, neon lights, and the music was thundering so loud that Rosie could practically feel the vibrations in her bones. She guessed that such an atmosphere was probably a little overwhelming for Alastor’s sensitive ears, but he didn’t give any outward indications of this. 

“Hey, pretty boy, wanna dance?” someone drawled suddenly, sliding up to her friend. Rosie was fairly certain it was a young man with feathers — it was hard to tell with all the colour changing lights — and even she cringed at the sultry look in his eyes. It was quite an unpleasant look to be given, and for a moment, she somewhat pitied her friend for being attracted to men. 

However, Alastor immediately stiffened as the man drew closer to his body, and a dangerous look flashed in his eyes. 

“Haha! No.” His words were firm. That surprised her a little — perhaps she had been wrong about him being homosexual? However, her friend always had really peculiar tastes, so she wasn’t entirely shocked. Maybe he just had a rare type. 

She squeezed his hand gently, and was happy when he squeezed back. He was fine. She hoped he wouldn’t get uncomfortable like last time when that girl Vivian had been so forward with him, but… 

“Come on, just one dance,” the man pleaded drunkenly, his hot breath fanning over her and Alastor’s faces. Alastor bristled when the air of it brushed through the fur on his ears, and Rosie made a face. His breath did not smell very nice. (Of course, Alastor’s didn’t smell much better sometimes, but he had the decency to pop a mint around her.) 

Then the real disaster happened: the man made the fatal mistake of reaching for Alastor, dragging his fingers over his chest and grasping his slim waist in his hand. “Baby, come on, I’ll show you a good time. I bet I can make you cry with pleasure if you give me a shot. Come on, sugar pie, let loose with me, we have all night,” he cooed, leaning far too close to Alastor’s face. 

Rosie saw Alastor’s smile sharpen as his eyes narrowed. Oh, boy. 

“People really are far too comfortable these days!” he said with a low laugh, plucking the man’s hands off his body. “I didn’t know it was commonplace to promise to make someone cry when they first met. Hm… maybe I will give it a shot!” His smile turned wickedly mischievous as his eyes turned to radio dials and his antlers began to expand. Chuckling to himself, he put on his thickest radio voice as he said, “Good evening, folks, my name is Alastor, and I sincerely promise that you’ll be weeping before the night is over!”  

That was the last thing Rosie heard him say before he snapped his fingers and black, shadowy tentacles began to rise from the ground and impale several of the party-goers around them, splattering blood all over the floor. After that, she watched him gap open his jaw and take sinister delight in swallowing the offending man whole.

“Oh, shit, it’s the Radio Demon!” someone screamed, and then the chaos erupted.

Hm, well. Maybe this incident wasn’t as uncomfortable as the last… After all, Alastor had just presented her with several satisfying meals!

Afterwards, when the party had been cleared and Rosie was shooing the last of her cannibals out of the building (as they’d naturally sensed the nearby violence and wanted to participate), she sighed with contentment. 

“That was a lot more fun than I anticipated!” Alastor said, twirling his cane. His clothes were blood splattered, and his face was smeared in red. She probably didn’t look much better, to be honest. “I haven’t let off steam in a while!” 

He was back to his happy, silly self, but only been a few minutes ago he’d been slaughtering people with a crazed glint in his eyes. It was rather endearing, if Rosie said so herself. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what that poor man was expecting,” Rosie tutted, her hands on her hips. “You hate being touched by strangers. You’d think people would understand that, but oh well!”

“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” Alastor asked cheerfully. 

“It’s just another one of your quirks, love,” she said dismissively. “You always get tetchy when people touch you. I do quite love that about you, actually — it’s rather sweet.” 

Alastor tilted his head with a sharp crack. “Hm, I’m afraid I’m not following.”

“Oh, you know — I’m rather honoured you let me touch you so much, given your dislike of it,” she said with a smile. “I like to think of it as a testament of our close friendship, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ah! I understand now. Yes, indeed, dear, I don’t like when the scum of Hell get close to me. Leaves behind a rather unpleasant feeling.” Alastor casually tossed his cane from one hand to the other. “After all, you never know what other people expect from you when they do such things! But I know what to expect when you touch me, so that’s why I don’t mind it all so much.”

“‘What other people expect from you’?” Rosie repeated cautiously. “Sweetheart, please elaborate on that for me. You’re being a little too cryptic this time.” 

“Why, darling, it’s simple!” he cried like it was a grand announcement. “During my time alive and in death, I’ve come to an understanding that most people touch things they want. Think of a necklace, or a nice coat.” He twirled in place to show off his own beloved coat with a flourish. He’d just got a new one, and she knew he really liked it. He’d have to take it to be dry cleaned now, though. “However, it doesn’t matter if you want them back! It’s some sort of nonverbal communication method to say, ‘I want you, I need you, and I endeavour to show you that’. Take that slimy gentleman a few minutes ago: he wanted me, he touched me, even though I didn’t want him a bit! It’s quite brutish, if I say so myself. But so is humanity!” he spread out his hands dramatically as if to encompass the world in his arms. 

“Oh, Alastor,” Rosie said, eyes widening when she finally realised the answer to the whole mystery itself. “I hope you know that I’d never ask you to do anything you were uncomfortable with, especially something like that,” she assured.

Alastor skipped over to brush shoulders with her, leaning comfortably into her space with a wide, genuine smile. “And that’s why I like you, my good friend! No unspoken messages with you, no ma’am! You say what you mean and what you want without fear! I find it’s quite easy to respect such a woman as yourself.”

“Aww, Al, my deer, you’ll make a woman blush,” Rosie cooed, taking his face into her hands carefully. They met eyes and descended into giggles at the pun. Now, that was never going to get old!

───── ⋆⋅🎙️⋅⋆ ─────

On one particularly cold night in Hell some years later, when Alastor finally arrived in Cannibal Town, he found himself out of breath for once. The lights of the streets were spinning a little, and he cursed himself for letting it affect him like this. He’d gotten a little too excited when the promise of a sector of new deals became known to him, and he’d been making work of it all month. A nudge here, a threat there, a murder elsewhere — he’d been running around nonstop, never even stopping for a drink or a meal at a place he could sit down for a while. How could he stop? He needed to maximise the profits before other Overlords found out about it, too. 

Regardless, he’d finished the last deal for now, and he’d promised himself that he would go visit Rosie before heading off to the next. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he needed a break, but apparently even he had the capacity of overworking himself while spreading misery and anguish!

That last deal had just been so boring, too, quite honestly. The man had been dragging it on for hours, and usually Alastor wouldn’t have been bothered to spend that much effort on someone, but this one was the key to unlock the rest, so he had to push through with it. 

Ugh, he definitely could use something more entertaining now, though. All his energy had been sapped. He hoped spending time with Rosie would rectify that. 

He knocked on her door with his microphone in two sharp raps, then patiently waited with his hands behind his back. Soon enough, the lady in question opened the door for him and gasped in delight. Her lovely hat had been discarded this evening, and she was wearing a pretty apron, tied just at the waist, that had some artfully placed blood splatters staining the front. 

“Alastor! Oh, what a lovely surprise!” She clasped her hands together. “You’ve come at an excellent time, I was just finishing up my cooking! Come in, please, get yourself comfortable, I’ll get you a plate when it’s ready.”

“Lovely!” Alastor said as he stepped into the house, voice peppy like nothing was amiss. Rosie rushed to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. “What a gift, truly, to enjoy your cooking on such short notice! Thank you for squeezing me in, dear.” 

“Of course!” Rosie called from the kitchen. “Satan, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Al! What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, the old devilish misdeeds as usual,” Alastor said vaguely as he pondered whether he should set his microphone down or not. He usually didn’t like to let go of it in the presence of other people, but Rosie was becoming an exception. “But I just thought I’d drop by for a while to see you, since I had a gap in my schedule!” 

“I’m honoured!” she said. “Oh!” There was the distinct click of a stove being shut off. “Can you set the table for me, sugar? Bowls, not plates!”

“Delighted to!” he called back, and snapped his fingers. 

The dining table was instantly decorated with two neat table settings, the cutlery glittering finely in the low light of Rosie’s warm lamps, scattered about the room. He liked that it was a little darker in her house all the time. The darkness was always comforting to him on some level. 

Rosie entered the room again, holding a pot with some oven mitts. “There we are!” she said as she set the pot down in the centre of the table, then opened the lid for him to peek at the hearty stew inside. (Hearty, indeed! Ha!)

“Darling, you must be an angel because this smells heavenly,” Alastor joked, just to be ironic. 

She smacked him gently with a mitt and shushed him with a laugh. “Go ahead and start eating, I’m just going to freshen up. Don’t wait for me!” 

Rosie left again, untying her apron as she went. Alastor obligingly grabbed a large spoon and served the both of them while he waited for her to return, regardless of what she said. The food was still piping hot, steaming in the air even as he spooned it out. 

He sat himself down and waited, listening to Rosie’s old clock tick with the passing seconds. It was… peculiar. Now struck by the sudden silence after days of screaming and sobbing and begging, he realised that there was… something about this whole evening that was digging itself into his chest. Oh, he hadn’t realised how just relaxed Rosie made him feel — until now, when he could physically feel himself beginning to drop his guard. 

The thought occurred to him so suddenly that it alarmed him at once, and he couldn’t stop the record scratch noise that scraped itself out from his microphone. 

He looked down at the spoon, the two bowls of the stew that Rosie had slaved over, the stew that she was sharing with him. He had spent so long being around people who constantly tried to make power grabs now, and he was beginning to realise that his relationship with Rosie was, indeed, peculiar for Hell.

How did he get here? This could be a trap of some sort. No one could truly be as good as Rosie, not in Hell. How had he let himself be dragged in like this? This had to be a plot years in the making, surely. And yet…

He wondered when was the last time he’d had a home cooked meal like this. Something warm, something made with care, something… well, something like this.

Okay, he didn’t have to think hard, since he already knew the answer. And that was the whole crux of the problem, really. 

He didn’t let himself think about his mother very often. After all, he was here, and she was there, and she likely didn’t think of him, either. She probably didn’t worry over him anymore, since worry wasn’t included in the package of heavenly bliss. She probably had other people to cook meals for, now. 

Could Rosie have guessed of this particular weakness of his? No, no, that couldn’t be right. Rosie couldn’t be manipulating him, he was smarter than that. After all, he had known her for quite some years now, and he would certainly be able to tell if she was plotting to overpower him. He prided himself on being able to read her quite well, now. No, there was absolutely no way she was doing that — Alastor couldn’t even imagine her thinking of it. But that had to mean she was doing all of this because she wanted to, and that was… an entirely different problem.

“Alastor, I said you shouldn’t wait!” Rosie scolded playfully once she glided back into the room, her hands on her hips.

Alastor looked up at her and smiled, letting his shoulders relax finally as he gazed upon the only soul he’d been able to trust in years. He had a hard time putting words to his own feelings most of the time, but he knew for certain that this was a friendship he was going to treasure.

It was hard to find people like Rosie in Hell. 

So, Alastor put his microphone down, leaning it against the table, and popped out of his seat to pull out her chair for her. 

“Here, you are, my dear!” he said, conjuring a rose for her. “To show my gratitude.”

“You’re so sweet!” Rosie exclaimed, receiving the rose with great care. “Come now, sit down and eat something! You look worn out, darling, do tell me what you’ve been doing these past few weeks!” 

“I’d be delighted,” Alastor said, and he meant it.

───── ⋆⋅🥀⋅⋆ ─────

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Alastor said casually to Rosie one day, once again covered in red, dripping demon blood. He nonchalantly levelled another attack of shadow tentacles at the incoming foolish demons who had dared to challenge Rosie for her territory. 

An Extermination had just ended, which had put a significant dent in her people’s population. More so than usual, in fact. Word seemed to get around about this, somehow, and now she was having to get rid of pests at the borders of her town more often than not. It was quite bothersome. (Rosie was going to have to find out who had spread such a silly idea about her being too weak to protect her people. Some pig-headed man, she had no doubt about that, but which one? Hell was full of them.)

Graciously, Alastor had deigned to offer her assistance this time around. She didn’t need it necessarily, but it did help push back the attacks quicker than she would have done on her own. Her friend didn’t normally participate in turf wars, either, so she was touched that he had decided she was worth the trouble. (At this moment, there were less ‘attacks’ happening and more sinners running for their lives, screaming in fear. She preferred it like this.)

“Oh? A beau, you mean?” Rosie asked as she finished tearing off some poor soul’s limb, blinking in surprise. They’d known each other for nearly twenty years now, and she’d never seen Alastor interested in anyone like that before, but there was a first time for everything, right? 

Alastor clucked his tongue at her in disappointment. “No, dear, not that. I’ve acquired a new pity project, of sorts.” 

“Oh, do tell!” she said happily, her confusion dissipating. “Some soul actually captured your interest? Professionally, of course,” she teased. 

“His name is Vox!” Alastor announced, turning toward her as he dusted off his hands. “I think you’ll like him. He has a wonderfully pitiful air about him, but he’s rather charming sometimes, and he has a lovely voice.”

“Oh, just how I like them,” Rosie joked. “Time and place, then? I can host the meeting at my house, if you’d like.”

“No, no, don’t bother with that, I’ll handle it all! Let’s just say, the cafe at eleven tomorrow for brunch or coffee, and you bring your lovely self along,” he suggested. 

“Sounds excellent to me,” she agreed. 

“Splendid!” he cried, then turned around and slashed some soul’s throat. 

After a while, when the woods were piled with bodies and her accompanying cannibals began their feast, Rosie turned to Alastor and brought out her handkerchief to clean the blood from his smiling cheeks. 

“Thank you, sweetheart, I do appreciate you coming out to help,” she said. “Please, take whatever parts you like.” 

“Of course! How could I leave you to deal with such things on your own? What kind of friend would that make me?” Alastor said. Rosie gave him a fond smile and patted his cheek gently. 

“A deer one,” Rosie said with a sly smile. 

Alastor burst out into rapturous laughter. “Oh, I adore you, dearest! You always know exactly what to say!” 

She laughed with him, putting her hands on his shoulder and absentmindedly brushing the imaginary dust away. “And you are quite special to me, too, darling, as you know.” That stopped Alastor’s laughter abruptly, and he stared at her with wide eyes, like she’d said something unheard of. 

Rosie just shook her hand in amusement. Oh, this man, allergic as he was to spoken affection, was special to her regardless! Still, sensing he was struggling to come up with a response, she switched the topic of conversation. “Oh, about your pity project — I must admit, I am curious about him. What about him actually caught your interest?”

Alastor shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably and she obediently removed her hands. “I passed over him at first, honestly! But then I learned he has some sort of hypnosis power, and I thought that was rather intriguing,” he said, motioning primly with his hand as he spoke. “But more about that later! We still have food to preserve for your people, do we not?” 

As he said this, he snatched her handkerchief from her hands and kindly returned the favour of wiping the blood from her face. 

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Rosie cooed, flattered, and kissed his forehead. He jolted in surprise at first, but grew comfortable with it after a moment and just smiled at her as she pulled away.

She laughed. “Oops, you have lipstick on you now, I’m sorry! Give that back,” she said, and wiped it off of him, giggling to herself as Alastor attempted to look up at his own forehead, cross-eyed. 

That was all she heard about this Vox character until the following day. Admittedly, Rosie was eagerly awaiting their meeting for the hours approaching the set time — after all, Alastor had never asked her to meet someone before! It was exciting!

So, at eleven in the morning, Rosie popped over to the little cafe near the park — called, lovingly, Cadaver Cafe — with her umbrella spread open over her head to prevent the light rain from dripping onto her hat and dress. 

Alastor and his ‘pity project’ were already there, waiting for her arrival at one of the little tables near the large windows. Oh, now that was interesting — Vox’s face was one of those bulky television screens that were starting to gain popularity through Hell. The weight of it seemed to be heavy for him, since he was constantly bobbing his head back and forth like he was having trouble balancing his head. Alastor was right — there was something sort of pitiful about him. 

Her friend was conversing smugly to Vox, a biting smirk on his face. Vox was bantering back and forth with him with quite some ease, and Alastor seemed to be enjoying the game of it. 

“Rosie, dear! Let me get that for you,” Alastor exclaimed happily when he saw her, his entire expression changing. He jumped out of his seat to grab her umbrella, shaking the water off of it for her. 

“What a gentleman!” Rosie teased, then turned to Vox with a sharp smile. “So, you’re the special guy, huh?” she said, putting her hands on her hips. 

“Sp–shz–special?” Vox glitched in surprise. His screen was a dim, calm blue, and he had a nervous smile stretching over half of it. He looked like he was constantly worried about something. 

“Well, you must have been special to catch Alastor’s eye,” she said, primly sitting down on the chair across from Vox. She leaned toward him, penetrating his personal space, and he froze up, already intimidated. “Aren’t you?” 

“Rosie’s joking,” Alastor interrupted as he sat back down. 

“Oh, you ruin a woman’s fun, darling,” she said, chuckling to herself. She gave Vox some room, and he finally relaxed a little. 

Alastor waved his hand in dismissal. “Vox, this is my good friend Rosie! She’s the Overlord of Cannibal Town. And Rosie, this is Vox. He’s currently my radio co-host.” 

“Lovely to meet you, Vox,” she said, extending her hand. Vox looked at it and nervously shook it, looking like he was afraid she might eat his hand if he got too close. It was funny how scared he was of her already, actually. 

“Likewise,” Vox said. She watched him shoot an unsure look at Alastor, who just smiled mockingly at him. “So, um—” he seemed to struggle for a conversation topic. “You’re from Cannibal Town, does that mean you…”

“Eat people?” Rosie asked teasingly. 

Vox swallowed visibly. “Well—”

“Of course we do!” Rosie laughed. “What would be the point of calling it ‘Cannibal Town’ if you’re not a cannibal? You know, Alastor is quite familiar with cannibalism himself, or has he not told you?” she said slyly. 

Vox’s eyes widened and he turned to his co-host in alarm, a dawning realisation filling his eyes. Alastor just leaned his head on his hands with an innocently sinister smile. 

“You know, Alastor, you were right about his voice. It is quite nice to listen to,” she continued. 

“Isn’t it, though?” Alastor agreed, tilting his head a little. 

Rosie watched with some amusement as Vox struggled with all this new information, his screen turning static-y as he tried to buffer. Then, his face returned and his cheeks seemed to be glowing with a red hue. Interesting…

“Thank you,” he said sheepishly, looking straight at Alastor with a soft expression. He reached over and grabbed Alastor’s hand. “Your voice is nice, too.” 

Alastor looked back blankly, raising his eyebrow, then turned back to Rosie as he shook Vox’s hand off. 

“Of course it is. Anyway, now that introductions are over with, you should show Rosie your little trick, Vox,” he said with eager delight. 

Vox jolted in confusion. “Right— now?” 

“Yes! No time like the present!” Alastor insisted theatrically. He clapped his hands. “Chop chop, now!” 

“Oh, uh— okay?” Vox looked around for a target. 

Alastor called over a waitress, and Rosie watched him hypnotise her into making a chicken’s squawking sound. Everyone looked over in confusion, and the girl blushed bright red and apologised before running to the back. 

Alastor leaned toward Rosie as Vox began to frantically apologise and whispered, “Fascinating, isn’t it?” 

“Hm, I wonder if he tastes good,” she mused. She’d been thinking about it for some minutes — what would his blood taste like, if he was part electronic? 

Alastor grinned sharply and said behind his hand, “Unfortunately, he tastes terrible, darling.” 

“Oh?” Rosie looked at him, intrigued. “When did that happen?” 

“That’s how we met. I was going to eat him, but then he begged for his life in such a way that I thought it was amusing. He tastes like battery acid, though, so I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

“Noted.” 

“So, um, what do you think?” Vox interrupted when he turned his attention back to them. He looked back and forth at them, suspicious about their whispering. 

“That was quite the show!” Rosie said cheerfully. “Have you employed it in greater practice, yet?” 

“What?” Vox said.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve read my mind,” Alastor said with delight. Vox blinked, but looked at Alastor with such complete, wondrous trust that Rosie was a little surprised. 

Oh, Alastor. He had absolutely no idea that he had Vox wrapped around his little finger. 

After their little brunch had come to a close, with Alastor gnawing at a pinky finger and Vox staring at it like he sort of wanted to become that finger, Rosie clasped her hands together and said, “Well, it’s been lovely getting to know you, Vox. Unfortunately, I do have a business to return to, so I’m afraid I have to get going.”

“Of course!” Alastor said. “We must be going as well. We have business to attend to, as well!”

“We— do?” Vox asked.

“Yes, dear! I have a job for you!” he chirped. 

Vox’s screen brightened in excitement for a moment before he caught himself. Rosie wondered if it was because of the job, or because of the pet name. She decided it was the latter.

Rosie gave Alastor a goodbye pat on the cheek, then left the cafe after promising to see each other soon. A minute after she’d gone, she heard a static sound emanate from the cafe, and she peered over at the front of it curiously. She caught sight of Vox intertwining his fingers with Alastor’s, who looked down at it with an uncomfortable grimace. 

“I don’t know why you’re so touchy today, but do try to contain yourself. This isn’t the time or place for such nonsense!” Alastor quipped, peeling his hand out of Vox’s grasp. 

Vox didn’t seem discouraged by this, but he didn’t try to hold Alastor’s hand again, either. He just followed after Alastor like a puppy on a leash. 

As she walked away, Rosie wondered if Alastor would ever know about Vox’s little crush. 

───── ⋆⋅🎙️⋅⋆ ─────

It had seemed like a good idea at the time to get involved with Vox. He’d just been a little nobody desperate for power like any other pitiful waste this side of the Pentagram, but he could sense that Vox had potential. 

Alastor had been running around terrifying the denizens of Hell for well over twenty years at this point, and he was desiring something new. His radio broadcasts were becoming repetitive, and he needed something fresh to liven things up. What better way than to introduce a new host?

After all, one of the things that had drawn Alastor to Vox in the first place had been that lovely voice of his. It was just perfect for broadcasting! Why, if Alastor hadn’t known better, he’d think Vox had been practising to make his voice sound so perfectly charismatic, ready to entertain. 

He had just been a little thing back then, his screen bulky and his demeanour wonderfully pathetic. He listened to everything Alastor said with rapture, like he was a god he wanted to worship, and Alastor hadn’t anticipated how powerful it made him feel. 

But… well, something began to change. Vox began to upgrade himself with the times, his screen becoming flatter and more streamlined as the years went by. He stopped having to lean his head on everything to get the weight off his shoulders. He even began to insist that Alastor should keep up with the times as well — he was of the opinion that innovation and progress were where they would secure greater success. 

Alastor didn’t like this. At all, in fact. He hated the way Vox began to look different, the way his voice began to become more pushy, bossy, and hot-tempered. Not as charming as before, and it certainly rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t like the way he was constantly changing himself. It felt like there was nothing original about him anymore — nothing truly, substantially him.  

But Alastor… had, unfortunately, grown rather comfortable in his company. It was nothing like spending time with Rosie, admittedly — but he liked their banter, and the way he could feel Vox’s own unique frequencies, like special coded messages sent solely to him. He’d felt like he could easily understand him. That they easily understood each other, to some extent. He’d thought… No, it had been stupid to think so. Alastor needed to remember that no one could be trusted. He needed to remember that. 

He had clearly gotten too comfortable after getting to know Rosie. They had always been on the same page from the moment they’d met, and Alastor had… naively assumed that Vox could be the same. That they could be… acquaintances. Something akin to that, at the very least. 

He’d never been so wrong about someone before. 

“Alastor, I’ve been thinking,” Vox started one day after they’d finished another radio broadcast. Alastor was humming cheerfully to himself, noting possible ideas into his notebook for future broadcasts. He always had the most ideas after closing a successful show. 

“What is it, my dear?” he asked lightly, flipping through his pages of notes. 

“Um, so,” Vox hesitated, visibly trying to gather the correct words together. “I met some people and we started talking. Television is starting to get really popular now, and — I just, I think we’re really onto something here, Alastor. We’ve been thinking about starting a— a sort of media organisation, combining all our unique talents. And I think that you should join us. We could do a TV show together! Or—”

“Vox, I have no fondness for television,” Alastor reminded him, narrowing his eyes. 

“I— I know, but,” Vox shifted his seat towards him, getting a little bit too close to his personal space, “Alastor, this is big. You have to give it a chance—”

Alastor huffed. “You forget, I don’t have any obligation to do that. I’m not giving up radio.”

Vox’s fans began to whir in frustration, but he quickly pasted a charming smile on his face. “Okay, alright. Of course, you can keep radio, I’m not asking you to give it up, but— Alastor, television is a really important part of my life, and… you’re important to me. I just— I’d love it if we could come to an agreement with this?” 

Alastor stayed silent, clicking his pen dismissively. (He would immediately regret this.)

His partner seemed to take this as an invitation to put his hands on him. Alastor stiffened so quickly that it hurt his muscles a little. They’d never done this before. This had never happened before. Sometimes Vox would touch his shoulder, or his hand, and he wouldn’t think much of it after brushing him off, but— that wasn’t what this was. No, the touches weren’t exactly gentle — in fact, Vox curled his fingers around Alastor’s mid thigh rather firmly, and grasped his jaw in his fingers in a— controlling grip. 

He was forced to look Vox in the eye. There was something off. Something was off. His pupils were too large. 

“Sweetheart, please, just give it a shot? I need you with me on this,” Vox said, his voice low and sickeningly soft. 

Alastor was absolutely frozen. Never, in a million years, had he expected anything like this from Vox. 

“What are you doing, Vox?” he asked flatly, his smile widening. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest, and it was now that Alastor was reminded of his terribly prey-like form. Something like— like fight or flight was rushing through his mind in waves, and he’d never been in this type of… situation… before. He should never have been in this situation. 

Alastor clenched his claw into a fist, drawing up his shadows around him. Bounces of adrenaline and bloodthirst dinged around his mind, and he was getting ready to teach Vox his place, but—

He couldn’t— he couldn’t kill Vox, he was trying to be friends with Vox. 

No, Alastor thought with horror. 

No. No, no, no.

He liked doing broadcasts with Vox, he liked the way Vox was so stupidly dependent on him. He liked… spending time with him, talking to him. 

But— this left him with no other options to choose from. 

Vox continued rather obliviously, rubbing his thumb over the inner seam of Alastor’s trousers, moving up… up… Alastor hated the way his ears fell flat to his head. There was a certain nausea building in his stomach as Vox got closer and closer to the place he had never wanted him to touch. 

“It would be a lot of work, but if we get started right away, we’ll have a total monopoly over the entire entertainment industry. We’d have power over millions of souls, anyone with access to a screen. Darling,” Vox crooned, tilting Alastor’s face towards his. “If we play this right, we’d have all the time in the world for each other. I know you’ve been… apprehensive about our relationship, but with this organisation, we’d have all the time in the world to explore.” 

No. He couldn’t possibly think— Hah! He… he thought—? No, no, no, wait—

Vox slid his hand up further, fitting the curve of his hand over the crease of his thigh and his hip. He wanted to scream at Vox and tell him to stop, but he found his voice locked in his throat. Vox was— just on the edge of— 

Alastor’s smile was pressed to a tremulous line, his brows furrowed together in conflict. This was— possibly the most betrayal he’d ever felt in his life. 

With a shaking hand, Alastor grasped Vox’s wrist and shoved it away from him, quickly twisting his head out of his other hand. 

He scrambled out of his chair and snatched his microphone from the aether, holding it close to his chest. A growing static was building in the air, and Alastor still couldn’t find his voice. It was horrifying. 

A laugh track erupted from his microphone. It felt mocking. To whom, he wasn’t sure. 

“What’s wrong?” Vox said quickly, jumping from his chair and his hands up to try and do damage control. “I’m sorry, Alastor, was I going too fast? Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry— Come back over here, it’s fine, okay? We’ll take it slow—”

“Vox.” The sound of his name wrenched from Alastor’s chest in a cloud of static. He widened his smile, a hysterical laughter bubbling out of his chest. “Oh, Vox. We’re done.” 

“What?!” Vox exclaimed, his screen glitching in panic. “No! You can’t do that! I’m sorry—” Alastor moved for the door and his co-host blue screened— “Shit, shit, Alastor, wait!” Vox dropped to his knees in front of him, clasping his hands together as he begged desperately. “Please, Al? Al? Come on, work with me here, come on. We’re good together, you know that, you can’t cut me out, you need me, you need me, come on—”

“Vox!” Alastor interrupted sharply, taking a step back. “Stop that! This is beneath you.”

Alastor so wanted to believe that at that moment. That this emotional display was beneath the both of them. But it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true, was it? He should have seen it from the beginning. He should’ve seen—

Vox crawled toward him like a degenerate, reaching for his legs. “Don’t say that, darling! Please, baby, babe, sweetheart, please, please, just listen! Ow!” he shouted when Alastor smacked him away with his microphone. 

“You— You repulse me. Get out. I never want to see you again.” Alastor was shaking, trying to keep everything together, trying to keep his composure, but it wasn’t working. “Go before I kill you myself.” 

“Alastor,” Vox cried, reaching for the edge of his pants relentlessly as Alastor side stepped him once again, knocking over a lamp on his desk. It fell to the ground with a crash. “Please, I’m so sorry, I won’t ask you about the television stuff anymore, I swear! Alastor!” Vox lunged for him and Alastor used his shadows to move to the other side of the room. Vox fell to the ground with a pitiful groan.

That was enough. That was enough. One of them needed to leave — they couldn’t both stay here, in the end, and Alastor wasn’t going to be forced out of his own studio. There was only one thing that needed to happen.

“I’m giving you one last chance to leave,” Alastor said, panting with adrenaline. 

Vox made a truly sorry picture on the ground, grovelling for him. “You must know, Al, right? You must know how I feel, don’t you?” he said pathetically. 

“Don’t.”

“Alastor, please, I—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Alastor tried to threaten, but it came out like begging and that was the worst stab of humiliation he’d felt in decades. 

“I love you!” his co-host screamed at him. Alastor took a step back in shock, and in that moment of weakness, Vox scrambled to his feet, rushing towards him. 

Alastor glared at him. “Stop—”  

“No!” Vox seethed. “I’m going to tell you, and you’re going to fucking listen!” Alastor flinched as Vox grabbed his arms and held him in place. “Alastor, I love you, I love you more than anything, you need to know! You have to know! Sweetheart, please, please! No one will love you more than I will, I promise!” Vox’s claws dug into his flesh, blood beginning to drip from his upper arms to the floor. “Don’t go, you can’t, you can’t leave, Alastor, you need me, you need me—” 

Alastor tackled him. 

For a moment, they rolled around on the floor, trying to get the upper hand, but his attack seemed to register as something else to Vox at first because he’d let his guard down significantly. 

Once he’d pinned Vox to the ground, Alastor punched his screen and took satisfaction when it shattered under his fist and when Vox screamed. “Someone needs to practise their listening skills!” he sang breathlessly, shaking his hand off as his blood dripped down his knuckles.  “For the benefit of your slower processing, I’ll repeat myself once more: We’re done! I don’t love you! I never needed you! I’ve never cared about you!” He punched the screen again and again to punctuate each statement, hearing his bones breaking but not caring.

“What the fuck! Fuck! Alastor, stop! Stop it!” Vox shouted, trying to shield his face in his hands. His sadness immediately morphed to anger. “Alastor, you fucking asshole, you can’t just end everything just because of a miscommunication!” 

“Yes, I can,” Alastor spat, clenching his hands into fists despite the pain. He put his bloodied hands around Vox’s throat, squeezing. “You’re lucky. You’re so lucky,” he laughed louder as Vox scrambled for air. “You should be dead. I should kill you. But no— go to whatever corner of the Pentagram that’s farthest away from me. I never want to talk to you again. Do you understand me now? Have I finally gotten through to you?” 

Vox’s cracked face fell, glitching black momentarily as his eyes welled with hurt. Alastor laughed again — at least Vox was now feeling a fraction of the pain he felt in that moment. 

“Okay!” Vox wheezed, slapping Alastor’s hands desperately. “Okay! Let go!”

Alastor took a deep breath, staring into his flickering eyes. He tilted his head to the side in detached fascination, and melted into the shadows. 

Alastor watched from the corner as Vox clutched his face in his hands with a loud sob as he regained his breathing. He didn’t seem to stop for a long time, practically screaming to the ceiling in a mixture of agony and fury. Alastor watched as Vox’s chest heaved for air, hating the fact that he was still breathing, and hated it more when Vox finally got the energy to zap into the radio and finally, finally disappear from his life forever. 

Once his ex-partner was gone, Alastor rematerialised and immediately went over to the nearest trash can to throw up into it, tearing at his clothes and his hair to try and get rid of the feeling of those fingers touching him. It felt like he was touching him all over, everywhere, and Alastor hated it so much— he hadn’t ever thought he’d feel so terrible in his own skin, but there were bugs crawling all over him with just the thought of what those hands might’ve done if he hadn’t stopped them, those hands dragging over his spine, touching his ribs, his waist, his hips—

He found himself curled up underneath the soundboard of his radio control room, gripping his coat tightly against his body as he shook with anger and a growing hatred, beginning in his gut and spreading like mould to his heart. 

Had he been nothing but some sort of crazed, sexual fantasy to Vox? Was that it? Alastor didn’t understand. He’d thought there was more to their relationship than that. There had been many times where Alastor had let Vox touch him, just for a brief, indulgent moment, because he thought that Vox just liked to be close to him in the way Rosie did, but— No, no, no, he was so wrong, so wrong— He had thought he was in control of everything in their relationship, but he never was in control, was he? Was he? 

No, he couldn’t trust anyone like that again. How dare Vox do this, how dare he— How could he disrespect him like this, even after letting him into his radio show, letting him into his space. 

Alastor couldn’t afford to trust anyone like that again. He’d let his guard down, and he’d been taught not to do it again. He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t do it. 

Later, when he uncurled himself from his position on the floor, he shakily ripped out the pages in his notebook that had anything to do with Vox, and burned them, relishing in the green light and Vox’s blood on his hands. 

───── ⋆⋅🥀⋅⋆ ─────

Something had changed. Now, Rosie never did quite understand Alastor’s relationship with Vox in the first place — Vox, whose new title was the ‘TV overlord’ or whatchamacallit, rather than just ‘Alastor’s co-host’. 

Her friend had been quite friendly with him at first, but some decades later, something had happened between them that quickly resorted to a falling out. Whenever she brought up the topic, Alastor just smiled tightly and touched her shoulder, urging her not to worry another second about that ‘lame excuse for modern entertainment’. 

Around the same time, however, Alastor became a lot more distant with her, too. She wasn’t sure if it was connected to Vox somehow, but he always seemed to keep at least five feet between them at all times, hesitant to let her step closer to him. He even flinched whenever she moved towards him too quickly. 

She wondered if she had done something wrong, at first, but Alastor came to visit Cannibal Town more often than he had in months, so she decided it wasn’t something she’d done. This was comforting to know, but it was still a little disturbing to see him so jumpy and distrusting, so she wasn’t entirely sure if this was an accurate deduction. 

“Honey, please, whatever’s bothering you, I want to help,” Rosie said finally when they were having tea. 

Alastor took a slow sip of tea, not meeting her eyes. He placed the cup down. “Nothing’s wrong, my friend, nothing at all! Just… a lot of thoughts running around the mind, that’s all,” he responded evasively. 

“Well, maybe if you air out your mind a little, you’ll feel better,” she suggested gently. “It’s not good to keep all these feelings inside, you know. It’s bad for your health. At least tell me if I’ve done something wrong. You keep moving away from me whenever I come close to you.”

Alastor sighed heavily. “I see. No, it’s not your fault at all, my dear. I just haven’t been in an especially… touchy mood lately. But, of course… that has nothing to do with you,” he said, as if he was telling this to himself as well. 

“Alright. So would you prefer it if I kept my distance for a while?” Rosie asked. 

Alastor glanced at her in surprise, his ears twitching. His smile softened a little, and his posture grew a little less defensive. “You’d do that?” he asked, somewhat cautiously. 

“Of course, darling!” Rosie waved her hand like just the idea of anything otherwise was preposterous. “I understand some things are out of my control, after all! If space is what you need, then I’m absolutely delighted to give it to you.”

Alastor’s smile brightened a little and he hummed. “You know, you really are quite a remarkable woman, my dear Rosie,” he mused. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t even worry, sweetheart, just remember: I’m still here if you need it, alright?”

His shoulders dropped, finally releasing their tenseness, and Rosie beamed at the improvement. She did hate to see him so unrelaxed. “Alright,” he said.

“Excellent! Now, do tell me: what are the latest developments on Susan?” 

“Ah, Susan,” Alastor groaned theatrically. “Now that is an addition to Hell that I don’t enjoy.” Rosie giggled. 

Long story short, she let it be, and didn’t try to pry for more details than he was comfortable giving. Thankfully, Alastor gradually became more comfortable with touch, and Rosie celebrated every moment of it. It started with a brief touch to her arm as he led her to a new restaurant he wanted to show her. Then it grew to linking arms with her for minutes at a time, like he was testing something. Soon after, he would excitedly grab her hand, pulling her along to present to her the fresh meat he’d put in her fridge, or to urge her to dance with him. 

Once it got to that point, Rosie felt comfortable asking him again if he was okay with her touching him again, and he seemed confident in his affirmative answer. So, now she was free to fondly pat his cheeks or touch his shoulders when she wanted. 

Somehow, it even seemed like he was more comfortable with her touching him than before. She no longer had to pause before each touch as he welcomed nearly every single one with open arms. Even more surprising was that he even began talking to her more, if that was possible to believe! He sent her the occasional letter now, spoke directly to her through her radio, and often appeared on the doorstep of her house with a bright grin and sometimes a gift. 

It was all rather sweet, and she was incredibly glad that he was happy again, even if it had taken quite a long time. However, she didn’t learn anything more about the situation with Vox until the next Overlord meeting. 

There were some changes since the last time she’d attended one, so it was all the more interesting. Alastor had gained an enormous amount of respect from Zestial over the past couple of months, which was quite the accomplishment in her eyes. It took a lot to impress Zestial. Additionally, Vox had recently joined forces with some new Overlord named Valentino, and they were steadily creating more and more of a platform for themselves. Interesting…

Before the meeting officially started, Rosie noticed that Vox repeatedly tried to bait Alastor into an argument with a couple of spurred comments. However, Alastor relentlessly dismissed Vox no matter how many times he tried to engage him. It was rather curious to witness. Alastor loved attention and drama, so brushing it aside was clearly out of character. 

As the meeting began, they were all finally sitting in their usual seats, with Alastor by her side as always. She listened politely with half an ear as Carmilla Carmine rattled out the newest figures of the last Extermination with the help of her daughters. Meanwhile, she was also subtly watching Vox out of the corner of her eye. (Her pitch black eyes were quite beneficial sometimes. After all, no one could tell which direction she was looking if she was careful enough.)

The man was radiating a sort of fury that was rather amusing, she would admit. It made her wonder what had happened to make Alastor avoid him so much. Just the presence of the man seemed to be making her friend tense and uncomfortable. Sort of like when—

Oh.

Well, now that was interesting. 

Had she deduced correctly? If she had, that put things into a new perspective. 

Alastor never seemed to realise that people had a romantic interest in him until they said it out loud. That was one reason why physical touch seemed to make him so uncomfortable; to her understanding, usually it was accompanied by some unasked-for declaration of love or desire from someone he didn’t see that way. 

Would this explain Vox’s sudden animosity, perhaps? Rosie thought he was acting like someone whose love was rejected in the harshest way possible. Oh, Alastor— he never seemed to know how to handle situations like this other than by brutally murdering people. He must have been a little fond of Vox if he was still alive. Pity. 

Rosie’s smile grew as a mischievous thought came to her. She had no proof of these thoughts — they were simply guesses, after all — but maybe she could… push, just a little. Alastor wouldn’t even notice, most likely.

Her mind made up, turned to her friend with a pointy, giddy smile, and calculated her next move carefully. Alastor was leaning his elbows on the table, his head in his hands as he leaned forward far enough so that his feet could kick idly back and forth under the table. Oh, he was such a sweetheart! But that was a topic for another time — to begin her experiment, Rosie reached her hand over to slide her fingers over Alastor’s forearm, peering at Vox in her peripheral vision. 

The TV Overlord was staring directly at them. Rosie’s signature grin only grew, but she made sure not to look at him directly so he didn’t catch on.

At her touch, Alastor peeked at her curiously with a carefree smile, then reached down and casually linked their hands together with a certain happy delight that always made her want to squeeze him in a hug. Rosie looked over at Vox again and to her amusement, his hands were clenched into fists and his shoulders were shaking. 

Would a jealous person act any differently? Rosie didn’t think so. She did her best not to laugh. Oh, and Alastor remained quite oblivious to it all, which was the funniest part! Anyway, Vox probably deserved the discomfort, if she understood anything about the situation.

Once the meeting was concluded, Rosie and Alastor rose as a unit, never breaking contact with each other for a moment. Alastor seemed to be in a touchier mood today, for he seemed happier than usual to share a space with her. 

“Alastor!” Vox shouted at last, stomping over to them like a man on fire. 

Alastor’s smile froze on his face, and Rosie watched his eyes dart around like he wasn’t exactly sure where to look. 

“Rosie, dear, how do you feel about lunch?” he asked quickly. “I hope you don’t have any plans—”

“Don’t ignore me, you asshole!” Vox raged, but Valentino nudged him warningly, so he took a deep breath before he continued. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Alastor, we— we need to talk.”

“Whatever you want to say to me, you’re free to say it right here,” Alastor said tightly, his voice filled with false cheeriness. He tilted his head in mock contemplation, his eyes squinting. “Though I do recall telling you to never speak to me again.” 

Vox glanced over at Rosie, who smiled innocently at him. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just— you’ve been avoiding me for months now,” Vox said reluctantly, his voice volume toned down a few levels. “And I’ve given you space, but— just say something? Please?”

“Haha! Whatever about, my friend?” Alastor asked with faux cluelessness, tightening his grip on Rosie for what she assumed was subconscious emotional support. “Surely not about the video versus radio debate, again! I’ve told you a thousand times— radio will always be better!” 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Alastor, come on, don’t play dumb. Can we please work this out?” Vox asked. “It was my mistake, I know that, but we had something really good and I know you don’t want to lose that. We still want you to be a part of our group. Think of the benefits!” 

“Hm, remind me of the terms again?” her friend asked, probably for Rosie’s benefit so he didn’t have to explain it to her later. 

Vox sighed, long and slightly exasperated. “You join the Vees, have a share in the empire we’re creating, provided that you add your radio broadcasts to our brand. And— we could even host a TV show together, just the two of us, what do you think?” 

“Hm, that’s interesting, I seem to recall another part in there somewhere,” Alastor hummed mockingly. “Rosie, darling, please tell me, has my memory gotten worse in the past couple months?”

“I haven’t observed such a thing, no,” she said. 

“Then why do I seem to remember some… unwarranted advances?” Alastor gasped in cruel mockery at the very thought. 

“Alastor—” Vox stammered, his screen glitching a little in panic as he looked around the room. “I’ve told you, just forget about it, it’s not the right time for—”

“No, no, my friend, that’s not something one forgets easily, I’m afraid!” Alastor laughed hollowly. “You wanted to explore, didn’t you? This is me exploring the idea, pal. So you wanted… hm, entanglements of a sexual nature, didn’t you?” 

“Alastor, no.” Vox glitched in fury for a moment, looking at Carmilla, who was still packing up the meeting nearby. “Not here.”

“No, my good fellow, I must admit that I’m quite insulted!” Alastor’s expression twisted into a smiley-frown. “Is that all I am to you? Some filthy fantasy?” he hissed through his teeth.

“No, shut up! That’s not it at all! I just misread the signs, okay?! I’m sorry! I thought you were into me!” Vox protested. 

“Well, I’m most certainly not!” Alastor sing-songed. “You can put that in your news broadcasts on your blasted television sets for all I care. Now, I think it best we part ways for good, hm? Good bye forever, Vox!” He didn’t wait for a response before he was pulling Rosie out of the room, leaving Vox to steam himself into a humiliated shutdown under Carmilla’s eyebrow raise.

“Al, what was all that about?” Rosie asked once he’d teleported them out of the building. 

Alastor’s smile tightened again, but as he began walking with her along the street, he actually looked rather angry. “My mistake, trying to be amicable, I suppose. Why do people always end up wanting the same thing, Rosie?” He rolled his eyes. “It’s on the verge of boring predictability!” 

“I’m assuming Vox attempted to change your friendship into one with more sexual benefits?” Rosie clarified calmly. 

Alastor’s ears twitched as he looked away. “How disappointing, is it not?” He tried to make his smile wider, but it felt fake. “One endeavours to find a simple work partnership, but nine times out of ten, he’s slapped across the face! What a dreadful business!” A background track full of ‘boo-ing’ filled the air around Alastor for a moment. 

“I’m so sorry, darling. It really is a pity.” Rosie stopped him for a moment, giving him a reassuring smile. “But, on the bright side, it’s good that you’re setting your boundaries like that, you know?” 

“Haha! I’d never agree to such…” he waved his hand like he couldn’t find the correct terminology, then settled for, “such relations. I’m not attracted to men, after all!” 

“Or women,” Rosie added slowly, but he was too lost in thought to hear her. 

“Hmm.” He didn’t appear to be listening entirely, having already lost most of his interest in the conversation. “My mother always said I’d find someone someday. Not sure I quite agree, but what do the stories say? Time is no match for true love!” He seemed to say this with a sort of theatrical detachment of a man who’d repeated the same phrase to themselves until they believed it to be so. 

Rosie gazed at her friend with a knowing smile. A long time ago, she used to wonder if her affection for Alastor would ever grow to be romantically inclined, but the idea was rather distasteful. She would much rather be his friend. She liked the comfortable way they were already, and had no desire for ‘more’. Alastor, on the other hand, was quite in denial about himself, it seemed. He appeared to believe that he just had to find the right girl, and then all his socially abnormal ‘feelings’ about romance and sex would fix themselves. 

The problem with that, of course, was that he had a girl right here that he was perfectly comfortable with, that had all the same interests and tastes as him, and yet she knew he had absolutely no intention of falling in love with her. 

“Darling, you don’t have to romance anyone at all! Who cares what other people think, anyway?” she said, trying to steer him in the right direction of thought. He really was so oblivious about it all, it was kind of silly. 

“Ha! I suppose you’re right. Who needs it?” He shrugged. “I’d much rather spend time with you, my dear. Your company is far more riveting than anyone else’s I’ve encountered so far! Besides, there are more entertaining things to think about, don’t you agree?” 

“Of course,” Rosie agreed easily, patting his arm indulgently. “Now, why don’t we get that lunch you mentioned?”

───── ⋆⋅🎙️⋅⋆ ─────

A few years passed, and they were all filled to the brim with Vox’s attempts at reconciliation. Alastor would be bewildered if it wasn’t so funny, to say the least. First it started with jewellery, from necklaces and bracelets to cufflinks and tie pins. He had no use for jewellery, so he sold them and used the money for other things. (He had a fun time bargaining with the pawn shop owner, haha!) 

Then… there were the letters. Those were boring, and he only read the first few. The first one went as follows: 

Dear Alastor, 

I’d like to start this letter out with an apology. Please, believe how sorry I am. It was my mistake and misunderstanding, nothing was your fault whatsoever. I misinterpreted our relationship and made you uncomfortable. 

I want to start over. Our friendship means a lot to me, and I never wanted to ruin it like this. You mean a lot to me, I swear! I could go on for hours about how much I adore you. Seriously, Val has told me it’s embarrassing, but it’s true, and I really want to go back to how we were before this whole mess. 

You’re so charismatic and charming. The moment I met you, you dazzled me with your bright personality and your perfect smile, all amidst this hellscape. I admired you so much, and I looked up to you. You treated me so kindly, and I loved our little fights, your words were always witty and cut straight to the point. I liked when we would spar, too. I know you don’t like calling it sparring because it was more like you were just beating me up every so often because I was so bad at it, but I learned so much from you, and I loved to see your bloodthirsty smile every time you cracked my screen or took a chunk out of me. 

That’s only the start. I could go on for pages about you, but I’ll spare you for now. Please, reconsider our separation. I want to continue this afterlife with you by my side.

Also, please don’t burn this letter. I’ll send more until you respond to me. So please, respond. 

Love, Vox. 

The second was similarly disgusting and apologetic. It was quite pathetic, honestly! Having Vox grovel for him was normally very entertaining, but now it was just… distasteful. 

Then again, the third letter was a little more amusing. This one went as follows:

Alastor, 

I can’t believe you’re ignoring me. After everything we’ve been through? Fuck, the only reason I’m sending LETTERS of all things is because I know you’d never answer a fucking phone call!!! Why can’t we just talk in person?! Stop avoiding me!!

Seriously, though? You’re being so fucking petty. You can’t just THROW AWAY everything we worked for! You need me, Alastor, just admit it already!! You’re just a fucking pathetic, old-timey loser without me. You’ll never catch up to me at this rate! You’re falling behind, old man! 

At VoxTek, people are going to listen to US. They’re going to listen to MY VOICE. No one cares for dumb fucking radio broadcasts anymore. They’re out of season for good! People want new things, they like innovation!!! WHY THE FUCK CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?! I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU!! Your stupid voice is going to be extinguished in the next year, and no one will ever ‘tune in’ to hear you anymore. No one will care. Don’t you want to stay relevant? You fucking need me. You NEED me, Alastor. 

I’m giving you one last chance. Respond now and I’ll consider everything forgiven. 

Join our team, Al. I want you with me, but if you don’t agree, I’ll CRUSH you. No one will even remember who the Radio Demon was by the time we’re done. Can’t you see? I’M WINNING.

VOX

CEO VoxTek Enterprises

He liked the little ‘CEO’ imprint at the bottom. Vox was desperately trying to give himself an air of importance, trying to lure Alastor in with his growing power, or something to that effect. Still, though, Alastor thought it was rather predictable that Vox could only stand up to him through letters. As much as he insisted on wanting to see each other in person, Alastor knew that Vox would crumble at the mere sight of him. Ha! Wouldn’t that be funny — imagine the day he said some of these things to his face! Now, wouldn’t that be exciting?

However, when the letters clearly weren’t working, Vox decided to pair them with… gifts, of a sort. 

“Rosie, what on earth am I supposed to do with these?” Alastor complained as he put down the last box of roses. Vox was clearly getting very desperate. There had to be at least… twenty boxes of them. They completely filled the back room of (Frank and) Rosie’s Emporium. (The Frank part was temporary, despite what Rosie was pushing him to believe.)

It didn’t help that every bouquet came with some sort of letter. Alastor hadn’t bothered reading them, now, but he had burned some of them with no small amount of delight. 

“Honestly…” Rosie frowned, tapping her black lip with her nail in thought. “I have no idea. Maybe I can use them to decorate the Emporium? Oh! You know, Valentines’ Day is coming up soon, that would be perfect, actually!”

“Excellent idea! Do take them out of my hands, please!” Alastor agreed eagerly, not wanting to spend another second in their presence. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was allergic to them. 

“Happy to help, darling!” she chirped, brushing off his shoulders of imaginary dust fondly. “Now, I got a new box of pinky fingers, I was hoping we would be able to enjoy them together—”

“ROSIE!” a rough voice shouted from the front. “Come here!” 

Rosie pursed her lips and glared at the direction of the voice. “I’m busy, dear! Whatever you have can wait!” 

“WHAT? Don’t tell me you’re with that guy again!” Frank stomped into the backroom, anger wafting off of him in waves when he spotted Alastor. “I swear to Satan, Rosie, you’re asking for it!” 

“Alastor is my dearest friend, don’t you dare talk about him like that!” Rosie shot back heatedly. 

“And how dare you talk to a fine lady like this, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Alastor added snidely as he glanced over his nails, giving the man a sharp smile. 

Frank grit his teeth, glancing around at the flowers around the room with a pissy expression, then left them, clearly not having enough guts to talk to Alastor like that to his face. No one ever did. It was funny. 

“Rosie, I insist on helping you get rid of him,” he said once the Pest had gone back to help customers. 

She sighed. “He’s alright. He’s just in a mood today. Don’t worry about it, Al.”

Alastor hummed, contemplating this. He had always thought Rosie’s romantic endeavours to be rather… well, tasteless. In fact, he was thoroughly certain that she just had bad taste in men. Two out of three of her previous husbands had been utterly deplorable in character after they’d gotten past the so-called ‘honeymoon phase,’ and Alastor wasn’t surprised that this fourth one was just a carbon copy. 

That was what made it so frustrating — he really could not understand why Rosie subjected herself to such relationships. If the majority of them didn’t turn out well, what was the point? But he knew that he had no expertise in the matter, given that he’d barely flung himself into the ‘dating world’. As he’d said, it wasn’t particularly interesting to him. 

But— well, maybe this was a good thing. Rosie’s hurt feelings weren’t ideal, of course, and being legally attached to a man that disrespected her was also not ideal, but… Alastor didn’t want to contemplate what would happen if she married someone good. Someone that was actually worth the effort. Someone that she could actually love, fully and unconditionally and all that nonsense. If that happened, then he knew that he would inevitably be brushed aside. 

Alastor had had… friends other than Rosie, of course. When he was alive, at least. Quite close friends sometimes. But, alas, they were all the same. When they all got married, and he didn’t, suddenly there was no time for him in their lives anymore. He knew that this was just the normal thing to happen — after all, with marriage, you had to have children, too, and they were obviously a handful — but… Well, it was a cycle that he didn’t want to repeat with Rosie. So he hoped that Frank was just temporary, that Rosie would move on from him and not fall in love anymore, because otherwise— There was always going to be the choice of him and her future husband, and he already knew that there was no competition. 

It was just what happened, and he should get used to it… However, idiotically, he was stubborn and didn’t want to settle for that. 

“He doesn’t like me,” he finally reminded her. Alastor had been a long time friend to her, so having her current husband despise him so much would probably create turmoil for her… Regardless, maybe this way, she wouldn’t leave him behind. He had to make himself so important to her that she couldn’t even think of leaving, right? 

“I know,” Rosie responded sadly, slumping a little, but she perked up again rather quickly. “So, pinky fingers, then?” she suggested with a bright smile. 

Alastor put his hands behind his back, leaning toward her indulgently. “Of course, sweetheart!”

Anyway, back to the problem at hand: Alastor thought the roses would be the last of the gifts. Of course, he’d entirely forgotten that Valentines’ Day had existed. It wasn’t like he celebrated it, heavens no! But most of the populace of Hell usually took the opportunity to fornicate out on the streets and slobber all over each other, which was quite disgusting. 

Still, regardless of whether he remembered the holiday or not, Alastor was greeted that Valentines’ Day by a mountain of packages sitting outside his radio station, and he contemplated how hard it would be to sneak into the Vee’s tower and kill Vox himself, once and for all. 

He put his hands behind his back and surveyed the boxes with exasperation. The man had even stacked them right in front of the door, so he couldn’t walk around them. That was rude, wasn’t it? Of course, Alastor could go through the shadows, but it was the principle of it!

Hm… he supposed the whole spectacle did have some benefits, though. Alastor had never felt more in control of their relationship before this point. Vox was purely at his mercy, and he had no say in anything at all. His happiness was on a leash, and the leash was in Alastor’s hands!

It actually gave him a little more confidence now, and inspired an idea in him. See, he’d always enjoyed toying with Vox… 

Alastor looked at the camera floating near the stack of boxes, watching him expectantly. Did he really think that Alastor couldn’t see him? Was he that much of an idiot? Fine! If Vox was waiting for a show, he would be happy to supply! 

With that, Alastor snapped his fingers and opened the nearest box to see what was inside. 

Aha! It was a television. He glanced at the camera with a teasing smile. Really, could Vox get less predictable at this point? He tutted, shaking his head in a show of disappointment, and leaned over to open the next box.

Now this— he wasn’t sure, but it appeared to be some sort of television game set. Goodness, did Vox really get him modern electronic devices? He really hadn’t known Alastor that well at all! This was just hilarious! Well, now he felt obliged to spread the joy…

Alastor laughed to himself all the way back into his studio, then laughed on his way out with a sledgehammer in hand. This was going to be fun! He hadn’t smashed anything like this before!

He spent the morning delightfully scattering explosions of springs and metal parts into the air, all under the watchful gaze of Vox’s very unsubtle camera.