radio-writes - Tumblr blog

[radio-writes]

Hiii just wanted to let you know I really loooove the way you write Alastor, it's so on point and really close to canon Alastor's personality!

Do you write for other characters as well? Because I'd love to read your take on them😍

Such high praise! You flatter me!

Currently, this blog's just for Alastor, but I have had my eye on another Hazbin character for quite some time now. Just haven't really gotten my brain around their character yet, so I'm not confident with writing for them for now.

[radio-writes]

Hi Vien! Do you have any long/multi-chapter fics planned for Al? Your one shots are so good I'm craving for more!

I have a few ideas rattling about in this little head of mine, but with the pace I write at, it's just not in the cards for me.

[radio-writes]

How in god's wretched Hell am I surviving in this 41°C (105°F) heat.

[radio-writes]

Every time you post I feel my brain drop to its baser instincts and I just want to run at it on all fours going FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD

I am very normal about your works

Ah yes, I do tend to have that effect on people.

[radio-writes]

I cannot even begin to say how much this made me smile. Please you're far too kind to little ol me.

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

[radio-writes]

I'll go with:

"You win"

"Why should I stay?"

"And what will you do? Run from me?"

It Seems the Devil and I Walked Hand in Hand

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Forced cannibalism, gore, murder, stockholm syndrome

Tags: Alastor x reader, GN reader, yandare, reader goes insane, dead dove do not eat

MDNI

A humid breeze blew through your hair, the putrid stench of Hell carried with it. Somewhere in the distance, something—whatever it may be this time—exploded, prompting usual screams of terror.

But your heart fluttered, eyes fixated on your friend next to you. You sat side by side with them, on a random hilltop the two of you stumbled upon. It was quiet, but barely out of the chaos of the main pentagram. 

"What? What is it?" They laughed as they finally called you out on your staring.

You almost swooned as their warm brown eyes met yours. "You just have the prettiest set of eyes in all of Hell, that's all."

You had been so proud of that. So happy about how smooth you were at the delivery. Giddy about the blush that crept onto your friend's face.

The same warm brown eyes—Hell's prettiest, as Alastor so kindly reminded you—stared back at you now. 

Unseeing.

Without its owner's head anywhere near.

On a plate placed before you.

Your blood felt like ice as you hung your head low. Unable to think. Unable to feel. Unable to breathe, maybe, you weren't really sure anymore.

"Afraid I might have gotten carried away, dear. I was absolutely starving since you stood me up on our lunch meeting." Alastor's tone was as bright and cheerful as it always was—you could almost argue that it was even happier now. "Of course, I did save you their eyes. I knew how much you just loved them."

He continued on, sighing and swooning about this and that. How it had been a while since he had such a satisfying meal. How it was all thanks to you for leading him to it. How he can't wait to meet more of your friends—if you ever managed to make any after the show he put on for you.

But you sat still, mind unable to comprehend what actually sat in front of you. Alastor might as well have been talking from three rooms away for all you heard from him. His voice almost sounding like it came from underwater, barely able to pierce through the fog in your head.

It was only when the demon who sat across from you stabbed a fork through an eyeball on your plate, did your senses come back. Like a flipped switch, you could hear well again, in time to hear the disgusting squish of the organ, blood and fluids spilling as it was stabbed.

"Don't let it go cold now, my dear. I went through so much trouble to get them intact and still warm for you." Alastor smiled as he sat across you.

One of his elbows rested on the table, hand cradling his cheek as you met his gaze. The gleeful, cold red eyes sickened you much more than the gore he held up. He raised the fork to you. Your friend's eye at the end of it. "Say Aaah~"

You pressed your lips together. Whether to resist the cruel torture, or to keep the bile from coming out, you were unsure. 

Like a stubborn child, you shook your head, arms pushing against the table to get up from your seat. Alastor was behind you in seconds, dissolving and rematerializing through shadows faster than you could blink.

"Nuh uh, dearest. We don't waste good food in this Hotel. What would the papers say if they find out we throw away such scarce resource?" He pressed his body against the back of your chair, securing you back at the table with an easy push.

He leaned over your shoulder, long arms reached around you. You stared as his clawed hands planted themselves on the table in front of you, caging you in, framing that horrid plate.

You felt his breath by your ear, that horribly familiar static prickled your skin, before you heard him speak. "You know, I'm starting to think you like how your friends taste."

You swallowed against your dry throat, eyes wide. Every breath you took was shallow as you tried to shake your head only to be met with a mocking laugh.

"No? Come now, why lie, my dear? It's only us here." Alastor leaned closer over you. The heat of his body inescapable. "This is the third friend this month. Even a child would have learned by now." 

"I'm all you need, darling. Everyone else is just cattle." His voice distorted as he spoke, a threat, a promise, you knew from experience that he'd deliver on.

Faintly you could feel the weight of metal around your neck. It wasn't physically there, no. After all, it's been a while since you've given him a reason to summon that chain. But it never really ever felt absent, specially at times like this.

You sighed in resignation, and braced yourself for that familiar horrible taste. Your hands clenched into fists on your lap—a sight that delighted the demon behind you.

"You win." You said softly. Numbly, you parted your lips, mind wandering away as you let Alastor slide the fork into your slack mouth. You ignored what it was you were chewing, letting your body function through the motions as you fought to keep your thoughts else were. 

You felt a large hand pat your head, bringing you back to the present in time to hear Alastor's praise. "What a good pet you make, my dear."

The plate before you was empty now, Alastor's looming figure having retreated away from your shaking one, back in his seat in front of you.

The horrible rotten taste still lingered in your mouth, but you didn't bother to ask for something to wash it away. You simply stood up, ready to run to your room and force yourself to throw up—again.

"Hm? Running from me now, are we?" Alastor's brows raised as he watched you. "Not that you can, I own you, after all." 

You suspected his words were less of a reminder for you, and more on just him loving to say them.

"And why should I stay?" Your words seemed argumentative, but your tone and the hunch of your shoulders were anything but. "I've already finished my punishment."

"I would say it was more of a treat, really. You have no idea how much I wanted to eat those." He laughed, not really minding that you just stared back blankly at him.

"Besides, you've yet to pay me back for leaving me waiting at Rosie's. So come, sit." An invitation to most, an order to you.

So sat you did. You ignored the smudges of blood on the plate still in front of you. You ignored the bitter taste the that lingered in your mouth. You ignored the growing numbness spreading from your chest to the rest of your limbs.

You ignored yourself.

Mindlessly, you nodded along to whatever gossip Alastor had, almost immediately, began sharing with you.

Alastor's hold on you had tightened in the past few months. Not only had he pulled you away from the people at the hotel—you were apparently terribly ill, contagious, but fine under his care—but he had also confiscated your phone and TV.

The window in your room was also simply magicked away. He didn't want you getting any funny ideas of leaving him again, after all.

At first you were fine with it. You had a few books in your room, anyway. But after the first two weeks, you've already finished most of them.

Still, they kept you entertained for a little longer after that; you didn't really mind rereading them—for the fourth time, you think.

But then you had that fight with Alastor. You had asked for your phone back, desperate to know what was going on outside your room. Desperate to listen to your music. Desperate to hear another voice aside from your own.

Alastor merely waved off your concern. He let you keep his radio after all. You could simply listen to him. He talked about current events, and played music, and broadcasted all sorts of screams voices. You didn't need anything else.

He didn't quite take it nicely when you had spat that it wasn't enough.

In the fray that followed, your books were lost. Torn to shreds in seconds.

But no matter, you had thought. You still had some paper, a pencil, some paint. While you weren't the best artist around, you doodled the hours away, anyway. Coloring, sketching, filling out every plain, empty gap on the papers you had.

You were quickly running out of material, though. You'd repeatedly ask Alastor to get you more paper, another pencil, even an eraser, every time he came by. But all he kept saying was that he forgot to fetch some, and that he will surely do so next time.

You were always disappointed, but knew better than to start another fight. You didn't want to risk destroying what little paint you had left, after all.

You had began to doodle on your walls. Counting the little details on the wallpaper, even each and crack along your way. You had drawn everything you ever knew existed; from characters you used to liked when you were alive to a freaking sock on the floor. 

The friends he made you eat.

Hastily covered with a drawing of a deer.

By his next visit, Alastor was appalled by the state of your room. He didn't quite appreciate your vandalism. He promptly snapped his fingers and the walls were replaced. Your drawings gone, the wallpaper gone, even the cracks were gone. It was now just a smooth red surface. 

He had taken away the paint, not that there was much left at that point. You thought it was fair anyway, considering you did draw on the walls like an irresponsible child.

You tried cleaning too, just to keep your mind going, your body moving. But no, no, no. Alastor couldn't have his dear friend, and a valued hotel guest, doing such menial labor. 

He easily cleaned the room for you, not a speck of dust left. Barely any furniture left too—he had found them tacky, apparently.

At that point all you had to look forward to were Alastor's visits. Constant, they were. He insisted he brought you your food personally, of course.

You had been suspicious about what he was feeding you, even once outright questioning what you were eating.

He had laughed. "Unless you made any new friends from this room, I can assure you, you aren't eating any sinners, my dear."

You weren't sure how much his assurance was worth, but food was one of the only two things you actually had here. You didn't feel like giving that up, too.

You hated him. Hated him for keeping you here. Hated him for ignoring all your pleas to be let out.

You hated him, but still found yourself jumping from your bed as soon as you heard the door handle rattle. 

You hated him, but him coming to visit meant you had something to do.

The radio by your bed, and Alastor's frequent visits were all you had left.

The isolation was driving you insane, broken only whenever Alastor wanted to.

Alastor was driving you insane, but without him you were completely isolated.

Your sanity felt like a candle burning at both ends, melting far too fast for you to keep it together. You didn't know anymore which torture you preferred. Alastor's presence or absence?

At least, that was a few weeks back.

Because it wasn't like you needed to choose now.

Your food had been appearing on your side table every meal time, instead of coming in carried by the familiar demon.

The radio beside you had been silent for a long while now. Not one terrified scream, not one jazzy tune, not even empty static. 

And of course, Alastor himself hadn't come in to see you in weeks.

You think it's been weeks, at least. He took the clock with him last time he cleaned.

No, there was no need to pick your poison anymore. Alastor had chosen for you.

At first, you had been bitter. How dare he ignore you—or did he forget about you? God, no, he wouldn't. Right? —how dare he not even check in to see if you were even still alive.

How dare he not visit.

And then, you were worried. It was one thing for him not to pop in on you, another thing entirely to miss his shows. He'd never miss an opportunity to broadcast fear over Pride Ring, but your radio had been quiet this whole time. What was keeping him, then? Was he hurt? Was he okay?

Then, and you think it was the worst of them all, you started to miss him. From the moment you woke from restless slumber, your eyes fixated on the door handle, begging it to turn. Your chest ached, praying to hear his silly staticy voice again, even if it was just senseless gossip.

You felt like screaming, begging, pounding on the door for him to visit you. But you knew he wouldn't like that. No, if the others in the hotel found out, Alastor would likely never visit you ever again. 

So you kept to your bed. Your days spent glaring down at the door in desperation, switching only to the radio to do the same, for hours on end. Every little shift you made, the sheets moving under you, felt so deafeningly loud in the empty room.

It was almost maddening.

"My dear, I have a task for you." Alastor's cheery voice spoke up by your ear.

Your eyes snapped open, greeted by the sight of the demon leaning over your head.

"Nothing too difficult, just a little grocery shopping." He continued on as if he hadn't left you to rot.

You didn't care, nor did you register what his words meant. No, the first thing your body jumped to, your mind went to, was that Alastor was here.

"Al!" The glee in your voice unrestricted as you pushed your sheets away and threw your arms around him. The relief, the absolute refreshment, of feeling another warm body against you again was almost heavenly.

A soft hand patted at your shoulder as he awkwardly stayed there. "Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart." He laughed.

You sat up, eyes wide as you leaned away and took him in. Unmistakably, a very welcomed sight.

He told you about the chore he needed done, truly very simple. Just a literal grocery list. But you held onto every word, every charming staticy syllable falling from his lips as if he was preaching your religion. 

You were determined to memorize it all, not just to complete the task but to simply engrave his voice in your head.

You were so thankful to finally hear something other than your creaky bed. To finally be having a conversation again. To feel human.

It hadn't even click for you that you will finally be heading out.

You were quick in getting the task done, determined to get back to Alastor as fast as you could.

You hadn't notice how your skin thawed in the outside heat compared to the icy room you've been locked in. You hadn't paid mind to everyone's greetings around you. You didn't care for all the flashing lights, and tasty smells, and loud music and laughter and screams around you as finished you little assignment.

You wanted to get things done so you could be by the familiar demon again. His presence almost felt like a drug you've been deprived off for so long, that it physically irked you to be away.

And that's how it was from then on.

You were given a new room at the hotel. Alastor had replaced all the books he destroyed because he just felt so guilty. He had also finally remembered to buy you all those papers and art supplies you asked him to get you. And he had even returned your phone and television to you.

Not that you cared for any of those. You've spent most of your time in Alastor's room anyway, unable to stand a second without hearing his voice. 

You'd cling onto every word he'd say, attentive, obsessed.

Your eye would twitch every time he'd mention someone, anyone. Part of you irritated that he had spent time with someone else other than you. Even more so that he cared enough to remember their name. To say their name.

Soon you not only clung onto his words, but onto him as well. Unable to stand that others spent time with him when you could not. You'd miss meals, miss sleep, drop whatever you were doing to follow him wherever he went. To stay by Alastor's side. 

When he forbade you from doing so, you would follow in secret, or have your own little ways to spy on him. To know what he was doing.

The few times you were away from your owner's side, you could be found standing over a dead sinner. Maybe someone who touched him, maybe someone he mentioned, maybe someone who simply glanced at him for far too long for your liking. Regardless, they were all equally deserving of death in your eyes. How dare they.

Alastor knew of these, of course. And while he was quickly growing suffocated by your constant overbearing presence, he hadn't really bothered to say much.

He still preferred this—this grotesque reflection of his own affections for you—over your defiant little attitude before.

His last straw, however, was now. When you stood over yet another sinner. The light gone from their eyes as you still, repeatedly, shot at their corpse.

The green chain appeared in his clenched fist for the first time in a long while. The collar snapped shut around your neck, but you hadn't even noticed until he gave it a harsh yank.

You were pulled to the side, stumbling over the body by your feet. You looked up, confused, to see Alastor snarling down at you.

"I needed him alive, dear." He said, his annoyance barely kept under control.

"He touched you." You merely replied, as if it was the worst offense, worst sin, in Hell.

"Because we were making a deal, you stupid pest!" Alastor hissed through his teeth, but you merely blinked at him as if you didn't see his point still.

You stood up straighter, keeping your eyes on him. Always on him.

He was so beautiful, so perfect. Everything you needed.

Why had you ever wanted to find anyone more?

"But he still held your hand."

"I'll touch who I want to touch. Do not forget who holds the leash here." His eyes narrowed, chain pulling taught between you.

You smiled at him, loving the way his voice sounded when he was getting angry. It rarely happened now considering how good you were for him, but oh, did it sound like music to you.

Your hands lifted to softly run your hands through the chain by your neck. "You do, of course. I don't question that."

"I need you, Al." You added, soft, almost loving expression on your face as your adored his furious red eyes. "And while I can't force you to stay with me, alone. I can simply just get rid of everyone else. I can be your only one, if I'm the only one left."

"So you've finally flew off the handle, dearest?" His question seemed genuine, not at all in jest.

But you laughed anyway, as if it was the funniest thing ever. "And what if I have?" You grinned at him. "What will you do? Run from me?"

Your fingers gripped the chain suddenly, yanking yourself forward, closer to him. You feel his pull against the chain as well, not to bring you close but simply to keep hold of it. To keep hold of his control over you.

Your eyes lowered, admiring him from up close now. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was new, and you couldn't wait to see more new things from him now that you're so devastatingly devoted to him.

"You own me, remember? I'm here forever."

[radio-writes]

Alastor breaking out into literal song and dance just to mess with reader is my new religion now

My dear anon, every one is welcome in this cult of mine.

[radio-writes]

WAIT A DANG MINUTE.

The meek wife, the never sucked dick before thing!!

Is the mistress fic taking place at the same time as the gaslighting fic?? ARE YOU TELLING ME ALASTOR HAD THE GAL TO CHEAT ON THE POOR GAL HE GASLIT TO BEING A LITERAL ACCESSORY TO HIS MURDERS???

What can I say, the man has "rizz" even if he doesn't want it.

[radio-writes]

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

[radio-writes]

Congrats on the 300 followers Vien! for the event:

"They were there, you weren't" + "What keeps you up at night?"

Embracing Faded Pages of Tainted Saints

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Mentions of past physical injuries

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

You stood awkwardly at the doorstep of the new hotel, unsure exactly of what to do next.

You knew there was a chance he'd be the one to open the door and greet you, but truth be told you were hoping otherwise. You thought you had worked through all your emotions about him years ago; but standing in front of him now, you realized that was far from the case.

You felt a surge of pressure almost squeezing at your heart, but you tried your best to ignore it as you offered Alastor a small smile.

"Hey, Al. Long time no see." You tried for casual, despite the way things ended the last time you were together.

"How are you—" Al finally spoke, his grin tight as his eyes narrowed at you.

A bright, bubbly woman shoved her way to the door, effectively cutting off whatever Alastor was going to say.

She grabbed you by your hands, and you did your best to shift your focus to her. You listened, responded, and tried very hard to ignore Alastor's burning gaze on you.

You were very swiftly taken into the hotel lobby, brushing right past the tall man. You were introduced to the staff and guests alike, and you painted your best smile as the blonde host swept you here and there. You merely tried to swallow past the lump at your throat as you greeted everyone.

You heard this place offered a chance at redemption, as well as some sort of protection from all the horrors Hell had to offer. You thought it was worth it, that the solace you could find in here would greatly outweigh having to be near Alastor again.

But his mere presence, just knowing that he was in the same room as you again, was already eating at you—suffocating you.

It was like you could feel the sharp stabbing pain across your gut again. The blood—the life—leaking out of you. The desperation crushing your heart. 

"I'll take it from here, Charlie, dear." You heard his voice before you felt a heavy hand at the small of your back. "This lovely demon seems to be a little bit overwhelmed. They can do with some rest, don't you think?"

The bright blonde agreed easily, allowing Alastor to quickly guide you along the halls of the hotel and away from all the excited chatter.

"You're alive." Alastor stated, his eyes set ahead of himself as he walked beside you. His hand had retracted from your body, now resting behind his back.

No thanks to you.

"Nope, still dead." You tried to joke, a soft, fleeting attempt at a laugh following it. But you stopped immediately when you realized that, despite his wide smile, Alastor didn't seem to be in the mood for jokes.

"You were bleeding heavily." He said instead.

You tried to keep your responses vague. "Yes, I...I remember."

You've thought about it many times over since your near-second-death experience. How Alastor had always been a dear friend of yours, through life on earth and Hell. How you both knew you were helpless at that time. How it was perfectly normal for him to choose to save himself instead.

You've forgiven him, at least that's what you told yourself. You still saw him as a friend, even after he abandoned you—and that's why you would never let him find out about your betrayal.

You could never hurt him like that.

You thought that this was all so crystal clear to you. That you've long healed this wound, but evidently that wasn't the case.

Just seeing him now. So well poised, so put together, cozying it up with the Princess of Hell. His smile was as you remembered it, and not a hair was misplaced on his head.

He had continued on like nothing happened, like he didn't once leave you to die.

And there was that awful, bitter, anger slowly filling your chest. That nauseating feeling of betrayal that twisted your gut. No matter how hard you tried to stick to reason, to remember all you've resolved in the past years, you just couldn't help but hate how he was able to move on so easily.

The rest of your time heading to your room was silent. Just a constant soft static noise following your steps. You spent that time fighting your base instincts to just jump him, throttle his neck, scream at him.

How could you? How could you just leave me to die like that?

Alastor finally halted by a door, his clawed hand turned the knob and ushered you in. 

You looked up at him, smiling once more as you tried to hold onto your more logical side. "I don't know how I feel about you having keys to my room." You try to joke again.

Oh did you miss the times when the two of you wasted hours in hysterics; just exchanging the dumbest jokes you could think of.

But that felt like almost two lifetimes ago.

"This is my room." Alastor clarified.

"Well that explains the swamp." You say bluntly. You walked slowly in, not exactly knowing what you were doing here now.

"I thought we could sit down for some coffee—" Alastor said, closing the door behind him. His hands reached for a coffee pot, but paused before he could reach the handle. "No no, this definitely calls for something much stronger."

He sat down on one of the seats by the fireplace, easily summoning two small glasses and a bottle of rye on the table. 

You watched him tentatively, heart tightening at the familiar sight.

There was once a time when nights like this was something you looked forward to—but it didn't seem that way anymore.

Your eyes couldn't help but narrow at how well off he looked. It's like nothing had changed for him at all.

You attempted to be civil, still, and made your way to sit across him. It's was stupid to hold a grudge against him for something like that. What he did made sense, and you shouldn't be mad about it.

Your eyes scanned the knickknacks scattered about his shelves and walls, eyes catching on a wide set of antlers mounted high above.

"That yours or a friend's?" You once again tried to lighten the mood. Whether it was for your sake or Alastor's, you weren't sure.

"We both know I've never been one for small talk, dear." Alastor said, pouring alcohol in your glass before his. He easily downs the drink he poured himself before filling it up again. "How are you alive?" His head tilted.

The moment the words left his mouth it felt like someone emptied a bucket of ice water over you.

The question simply came out of nowhere. Sure you had expected him to ask sooner rather than later, but to jump right to it?

Your half-assed smile dropped just a fraction of a bit.

Looking up at your old friend, the ever charming, ever present smile, you realized that perhaps you were being stupid—and not for the reason you originally thought.

You've been friends with this man since either of you could walk, friends through his stupid murder fixation, friends through his takeover of Hell.

But he left you for dead.

He finally found out that you survived and the first thing out of his mouth was an interrogation?

Where was your fucking apology?

So maybe, just maybe, you've been stupid this entire time. That you didn't need to be making excuses for him. That you didn't need to forgive him. That maybe your anger, your want to hurt him back, was more than valid.

You picked up your own glass and downed its contents in one go, relishing in the familiar bitter taste.

"There's no bed." You noted instead of answering your old friend, your grip was tight around the glass you held. "Where do you sleep?"

"I don't." Alastor answered simply. He moved only to fill up your glass again, but his eyes never strayed from you.

You weren't sure how much truth there was behind his words. Sinners still slept, and no matter how highly Alastor thought of himself, he still functioned the same way the rest of you do.

"What keeps you up at night, then?" You couldn't help but ask.

Perhaps it was an attempt to piss him off. Make small talk, delay from giving him answers.

But as much as you hated to admit it, it was likely because there was an answer you wanted to hear. One caused by that part of you that still hoped for your old friend to show you even just a hint of a conscience.

Perhaps if he gave you that, it would be enough for you to hold onto civility. It would be enough for your to at least honor what past friendship you had with him.

"Nothing in particular, really." Alastor glanced away from you, downing his drink once more.  "There's just no rest for the wicked, isn't that what they say?"

You followed his lead, throwing your head back and letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat.

It almost felt like old times when you'd compete with him in old dingy bars.

"Ah, I figured you wouldn't be hung up on it." You held your empty glass in your hands, a finger unconsciously caressing its cool surface.

"My bad, dear." Alastor gave you a faux look of guilt, but the mockery that dripped from his tone easily gave it away. "Did you want me to mourn you for a couple decades?"

You rolled your eyes. "Considering everything we've been through, I'd have expected at least a few years." 

You noticed Alastor fill his glass up again, he knocked it back just as quickly as the previous ones.

You both looked like you were drinking your problems away, but it seemed like this was more of a habit. One formed through a lifetime of repetitions.

"I can start now if you'd like." Alastor smiled at you.

Your brows raised. "I am very clearly not dead."

"You might be soon." The static in his voice was heavier, and for a split second you could have sworn his pupils changed to dials.

Your fingers stilled against the glass you held, feeling your skin prickle at the silence that followed.

The wood in the fireplace crackled, and the eerie light coming from the green flames added just a tinge more terror to your situation.

Or it would have if the only emotion you felt wasn't an all consuming rage.

The clear threat hung in the air for a second before Alastor spoke again. "So tell me," 

How long have you been alive?

Why didn't you tell me?

 "How are you alive?" He said.

You had no idea why on earth he was angry. What gave him the right?

"We both know the answer to that already, don't we?" Your own smile tightened, teeth clenched hard to keep yourself from growling at him.

You tried to stomp out your anger, but every time you tried to reason that he used to be a friend, you couldn't help but be brought back to that time.

Lying in a pool of warm blood—your own blood. Seeing the exorcists flying down to you, racing to see who could kill you first. Turning your head, using the very last of your strength to reach out to your friend. Watching him stand from your side and melting away into shadows without you.

"Well yes, a deal, of course. But with whom? Not many demons down in this festering tar pit have that much power. You were practically gone, dear."

Ah, so it was a pride thing, you thought. He was bothered that there was someone who could do what he couldn't. 

You couldn't hold back from scoffing. "And did that ever bother you? That I was practically gone?"

He paused. The sound of static grew messier for a few seconds before Alastor gave up on his glass entirely. He opted to just grab the bottle by its neck and drank from it.

"You seem like you were hoping it did." He teased as he set the bottle down back on the table. "Shouldn't a good friend be happy I wasn't suffering?"

Your heart clenched, eyes narrowed. The both of you have danced around it this entire time, but it just seemed like there was no longer any way to stop the words as they finally slipped from your mouth.

"Shouldn't a good friend try everything to save the other?"

The accusation, the betrayal, the bitterness, finally dripped like venom from your question.

A heavy tension covered both of you once more. The elephant in the room finally addressed properly, but it seemed neither of you knew what to do with it now.

A beat of silence.

"Then, it looks like we're both such terrible friends." Alastor said, as he sunk back into his chair. You hadn't noticed the tension in his body this entire time, you weren't sure if Alastor himself noticed it either.

But as he rested his head behind him, you noticed something you failed to before now.

He looked...exhausted. His smile was in place, his hair neat, his suit wrinkle free. He looked as perfect as ever; but he looked tired.

You were sure you didn't look any more chipper currently.

You tore your eyes away from the demon that sat across you. "It's been a long night."

"It's been twenty minutes." There was finally a hint of genuine amusement in his tone, but it felt strained.

Like it slipped before he could stop it, a habit formed through decades of banter.

"Twenty too many around you." You simply shut it down.

Still, not one apology. Did he even regret it?

You felt so confused, so conflicted, so angry, and you knew you just had to leave before you did something you would regret later on—whatever that may be.

He looked like he wanted to say something as you got up, but he chose to bring the bottle of alcohol to his lips instead.

It was only when your hand landed on the door handle did he speak. "I would do it again." 

It felt like a light went out inside you somewhere.

You didn't turn around.

"I would leave you to die—over and over." Alastor's floaty voice continued. "You were a good friend, but not great enough for me to risk my own skin."

You've known your friend to be quite the liar. He knew what to say and when to say it, and he lived to crawl under people's skin and piss them off.

But at that moment, you knew it was one of the rare few instances where Alastor was honest.

"It seemed like you wanted to know." His normally mocking voice seemed softer. Like it really was just a fact and nothing more.

"The V's were there when you weren't." You found yourself saying. You turned your head to the side just a tiny bit, but still didn't turn to look at him.

The lights flickered and your hand closed around the handle of the door.

"I made a deal with the V's. Everything about you and more, in exchange for my life." You continued, almost unable to stop the words from coming out, really.

"Your defeat seven years ago was my doing."

You really were terrible friends.

"It seemed like you wanted to know, old pal."

You left his room just as the lights fully went out.

[radio-writes]

For the event, would something like this work?

"You won

I didn't deserve any of this

This will be the last time you lie to me"

But There's Something Latching Onto My Throat

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Cannibalism, minor character deaths, blood, manipulation

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"Oh don't you look so cute down there, my dear. Green really is your color." It was hard not to miss the mockery in Alastor's tone as he looked down at you from the bed.

You kept your head down, hands balled into fists as you glared at the glowing green chains cuffed around your wrists.

"You really ought to know your limits, dear. And I say this for your sake, of course!" The demon continued, a red claw coming down to play with the chain. "I mean, did you really think you had a chance in the first place? You really are so cute, I could almost eat you." He laughed at his own sick joke.

Your gaze followed the chain as it swayed lightly; from the cuffs around your wrists, to the bedpost it was tied to, to the red finger it wrapped around.

You finally meet Alastor's gaze, his smile calm and mocking as he lied on the bed, feet kicking childishly in air. You could feel your blood boiling as you tried to hold your tongue.

"But no, I couldn't possibly do that to you, my dear." He didn't really seem to care that you just sat there glaring at him from the floor. "Besides, I'm still quite full, you know, having just eaten your little friends and all."

Your jaw clenched, nails digging into your palms as you tried to hold yourself back. You tried hard not to think about them. How they heard you were still alive, how they spent months scheming to try to help you escape.

How they struggled to their last breaths as this horrid man dropped them into his mouth.

"Oh, their screams of terror made such perfect tunes to accompany my meal." Alastor sighed contently. "And don't get me started, on how crunchy their bones were. Except for that heavier fellow, no, he was rather chewy—"

"Enough!"

The sound of your own voice surprised even you.

Your body had moved almost on it's own. You had stood up, yanking at your wrists. The chain pulled Alastor forward by the link he played with. 

"You won, Alastor. I get it." You hissed at him, glaring down at the demon that held you captive with as much fury as you could muster.

Alastor's eyes were wide for a moment, before he started laughing just a second later. He moved to sit up, "Now, I don't see what you're so angry about. You're the one that put your friends on the line, not me."

"The bet was if I lost I'd never see them again! Not that you would—" You tried to fight back the bile that rose to your throat, "eat them!" 

Alastor rolled his eyes as if he found your outburst to be far too overdramatic. "You weren't specific enough, that isn't my fault, my dear."

"You're sick." You snapped at him.

"And you're being unfair, my darling." Alastor said.

"I haven't ever done anything unprompted. You're the one that came to me to sell your soul. You're the one that snuck out. You're the one that insisted we make a bet, instead of just accepting your punishment." Each time he blamed you he gave the chain he held a harsh tug. "And you're the one that placed your friends' lives as prizes." 

Alastor remained sat on the plush bed, seemingly as relaxed as ever as he continued to play with the chains in his hands. "If anything, I have been more than fair to you, my dear."

You were far too close to him than you would have ever liked to be. At this distance, you couldn't even try to hide the tears that stung in your eyes as he spoke. You weren't sure anymore if it was from anger, indignation, or just the sheer overwhelming grief over all you've lost to this man.

"Fair? You've been fair to me? You sold me out to fucking Valentino, I had no choice but to beg for your protection!" You didn't even care anymore that your voice shook as you spoke.

Alastor waved a hand in your direction, as if physically brushing off your words. "I'm sure you had plenty of other options besides begging me to take your soul, but we can agree to disagree, I suppose."

You almost snarled at him.

"You've locked me up in this god forsaken radio tower for decades!" You yanked back at your hands, standing up straighter as you looked down at him.

"For your protection, of course." Alastor only smiled wider—and it sickened you.

You felt like the room was getting smaller, the air a little thinner.

"You've kept me from everyone I cared about, half the people I knew thought I was dead!" Your voice rose in volume, your heart pounded so loudly you swore you could hear each beat. 

"I thought if I behaved, if I just did what you said, if I just followed you, you'd let me go already! But I- I—" You could feel the hot blood rushing through body, every nerve on edge, every cell singing.

And then it was quiet; you couldn't feel anything at all. 

Your shoulders slump and your eyes fall to the glowing green cuffs that bound your wrists.

"I don't deserve any of this." You said softly. 

A hum cut through the silence, soft static coming back to life.

"You are correct to some degree, my darling. You don't deserve any of this pain, this suffering." Alastor said, bringing your attention back to him.

There he sat, just as he was, unbothered by your shouting.

"You don't deserve scum of the earth pretending to be your friends while they try to lure you back into Valentino's well...office." His fingers playfully danced up the chain he held. He didn't meet your eyes as he grinned down at it.

"What?" You felt just a tiny bit unsteady, his words hadn't fully sunk in yet.

"Oh, you know I'd do anything to protect you, my darling. Plus, it's my half of the bargain after all, to keep you safe and away from that stupid moth's hands." Alastor met your unsure eyes. He finally stood up, the chain clinking in his grip as he closed the space between you.

"When I heard that a group of lowly sinners planned to con my dear partner into a new contract, I didn't worry much." He leaned down closer to your height so your dazed watery eyes can see him more clearly.

"After all, I thought better of you. You had to be smart enough not to fall for something so dull. Something so poorly planned." 

He slowly walked behind you, circling around you in a familiar way that almost made you want to shrink away and hide.

"But no, I suppose that was a mistake on my part. I hadn't taken into account how desperate you had gotten for company. You'd even cling onto whores who called you every insult under Hell's hot sun."

You see your friends, smiles wide, relieved, when they first saw you again. The rumors were true, you were alive. They could free you.

"They'd never." Your voice spoke out on its own, but it was soft. So soft that you doubted Alastor even heard it.

"Oh, what was it they called you? A bimbo, a slut, a whore?" He counted off on his fingers as he went on. "I'm pretty sure they said something about you being just an entertaining hole at some point—"

We'll get you out of there. We'll keep you safe.

"They would never say any of that." Your voice was louder now, just a little bit surer.

He finally stopped walking when he was in front of you again. He brought his hand up, knuckles gently caressing your cheek, barely grazing your skin.

The touch almost snapped you back to life. His soft touches, almost loving, had never once been genuine.

He was lying.

"Oh, but they did! Believe me, I was as shocked as you were. The vulgarity of it all—"

There was a sound of metal clinking, a struggle, bodies hitting the floor.

"This is will be the last fucking time you lie to me, Alastor."

You glared at him below you, the green chains tangled and wrapped around his neck as his claws gripped at it.

"I will not let you turn me against the few people I cared about. Double dead or not." You yanked your wrists back, causing the chains around Alastor's throat to tighten.

"Why you ungrateful little wretch." Alastor snarled, his eyes had gone black and you stared down defiantly at radio dials.

"Do you really want all of Hell to hear you begging for mercy?" 

Static prickled against your skin.

The room was steadily growing darker, shadows creeping around you as you kept the demon pinned down on the floor. His antlers grew as he smiled wickedly up at you.

"Try it." You dared him, unwavering.

"And I will use every last breath to tell everyone in Hell about that pretty little collar around your neck."

You swore you heard him growl at you, felt his chest vibrating beneath your body.

You pulled at your restraints again. Alastor's claws scratched at his own skin as he grasped at the glowing metal, trying to keep it from crushing his throat.

You matched his stupid grin with one of your own. 

Sure, you absolutely might die tonight. But seeing the great Radio Demon brought down to the floor, his own leash choking him, was just the perfect parting gift.

You leaned down closer, the tip of your nose brushing against his as his warm breath washed over your skin.

"Green, is absolutely your color too, Al."

[radio-writes]

300 FOLLOWERS EVENT [CLOSED]

Why, hello there, depraved souls seeking entertainment!

Tired of reader always getting the short end of the stick? Been wanting to rough up the old red demon in my fics? Well then, do I have great news for you!

As a thank you for all the support, I decided it was high time I let readers take a swing at Alastor—a little pay back, if you will, for all his silly crimes against you.

Just choose any dialogue from the prompts below!

♪ It starts with sorry

♪ There's nothing you can do

♪ They were there, you weren't

♪ You win

♪ Why should I stay?

♪ This will be the last time you lie to me

♪ And what will you do? Run from me?

♪ We were soulmates

♪ What keeps you up at night?

♪ I wasn't ready

♪ You should sleep

♪ Maybe now you'll hear what I was saying

♪ I didn't deserve any of this

♪ It's about time for your blood to spill

RULES

♪ open for 24 hours from posting

♪ feel free to mix and match the dialogues, or tweak them as you please

♪ please do not put additional plot or specifics

♪ keep in mind that this is a dark content blog. I will go to very disturbing ends for a good plot

♪ blog rules still apply

Break him.

[radio-writes]

Some days are bad days. And other days I get to listen to Alastor narrate the Bee Movie.

[radio-writes]

Keep All Your Worries Aside

Alastor on his partner's birthday - Headcanons

Warnings: implied power imbalance, slight manipulation

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, fluff, self indulgent as hell

MDNI

Alastor used to adore birthdays when he was alive. It was the perfect time to get to know people; friends and targets alike.

He also got the chance to earn the person's favor, which was never a downside to him. He never knew when it would be useful to have those people on his side, after all.

Whenever he had partners in his lifetime, whether just for show or out of genuine care for their company, he spoiled the ever living heart out of them. Dinner, gifts, dancing, his absolute undivided attention—whatever they wanted and more he made sure to give it all to them.

It was unconsciously an addicting habit for him. He loved the way it made them so happy. How he knew he was the cause of their smiles and hence could just take it away any time he wanted to. How it made them so thankful to get to spend such a special time with him.

After he died, however, the excitement over birthdays was all but left behind in the mortal part of his existence.

Alastor didn't see the point of celebrating a birthday, specially when in Hell. After all, he was hard pressed to even find anyone that was happy about being born into this world, only to be stuck in such a miserable cesspool in the end.

And besides, not a lot of wandering souls even revealed that much of themselves anymore. Something as personal as a birthday was often kept a secret, in fear of it being used against them somehow.

Perhaps, sarcastically, he has brought up the idea here and there. If he knew it brought some sort of anguish or misery to some lowly sinner, why wouldn't he? 

But when it was his darling partner who just openly shared such information with him? Oh, he just couldn't help but to be interested.

Such a little act showed how much they trusted him, and he couldn't just let that go unpaid, could he? It would mean he would owe them, after all.

Alastor found that his old habits came back a lot faster than he expected them to. He found himself dragging his darling out all around the pentagram—whether they wanted to go or not—showing them off, showing them the sights, showing them a generally great time with his arm looped around theirs.

He bought every single thing they even glanced at, but he didn't dare burden their arms with holding it all. No, he had his shadow creatures trailing behind, carrying all his gifts for them.

Couldn't he just simply bring them into their room at the hotel? Of course! Easily so with a snap of his fingers. But that wouldn't be as fun as getting to show off just how well he could provide for his partner.

It's only when his dear finally asked him to ease up on the fanfare—they feared the trail of shadows would cause a traffic accident at this point—did Alastor finally stop and just transported their gifts to the hotel.

He took them out dancing, shopping, drinking. Always had a hand on them no matter what, to keep them close.

He found that old giddy feeling in his chest seeing his darling smile because of him—knowing he alone caused their happiness.

And when they thanked him at the end of it all? Said those oh so humble words

"I have no idea how to repay you for all of this."

Well, no one could blame him when his grin stretched just a tad bit wider. Eager, excited, thrilled. He hadn't exactly set out to earn any favors on their birthday, it was simply to pay back the trust they gave him.

But hey, he wouldn't turn down having his darling in debted to him. And he could certainly think of a few ways they could return the favor.

It is my birthday and if I say I want fluffy Al, I'm getting fluffy Al.

[radio-writes]

Hellish day, you darling sinners!

After internally struggling with wanting to answer asks, while also not wanting to spam your dashes, I've decided to just compile some of them into one ridiculously long post.

Oh, stop peeking into my WIPs folder anon. You wouldn't want to spoil yourself now—that's my job!

None at the moment. But I am starting to see the allure of another Hazbin Hotel man, so maybe I'll be considering it in the future.

Unfortunately, it is not Vox. Sorry, anon.

I hid your identity for your own safety because the internet can be such a weird place.

I actually like the little guy too, and I fear I'm far too old for cringe culture. But not liking something is also valid, don't worry about it!

I am really sorry if I skip over your comments or asks, I promise it's nothing personal! I likely just did not see it or forgot to reply entirely!

Or I simply do not know how to respond to it

I don't have any plans for writing for ships, really.

But I do like a few!

Huskerdusk makes my heart go soft and it's really a comfort ship for me.

Radioapple is weird, in a way that I absolutely do not want them romantically or sexually involved ever, but I do love their enemies to pettier enemies dynamic. Soulmates in a "one was made to piss off the other" kind of way.

Radiosilence I absolutely adore. And honestly if it isn't canon I think I—and a great deal of the fandom—would genuinely be shocked.

Oh, you're not wrong at all, anon! I did love it!

I searched it up shortly after musical divorce anon sent the song in. I've had Hermes' song on repeat for a while now actually!

The funny part is, I do!

Sometimes my tired brain just doesn't catch all mistakes still.

But be rude to me again, anon, and I'll proof read you

Why, hello there! Are you new to the internet, dear fellow? Just kidding, of course!

Jokes aside, dear anon. I'm just more used to darker themes when it comes to writing. The plot just flows easier for me.

Not the same with fluff. When I think of fluffy scenarios, all that comes out is screaming and cuteness aggression.

I'm just going to run with this as a compliment from now on.

Thank you, lovely anon!

I do, actually! But I cannot draw to save my life so she'll just remain in my head I suppose.

I named her Venison because I want the Alastor to eat me.

Ending with these two lovely messages.

Truth be told, I, being bi and a little hyper sexual, didn't really intend to write the smut pieces with Alastor's canon sexuality in mind.

I really just wrote how I thought Al would be like during those scenes, but I am very glad that it translated to such a way anyway!

Thank you all so much for your support so far! I hope I can continue to provide wonderful entertainment for all your depraved little hearts.

[radio-writes]

Sometimes I feel like the person running this page is Alastor 😭

That man wouldn't touch the internet with a 10-foot long microphone.

[radio-writes]

These asks seemed similar to me so I thought I'd tackle them in one go.

What I think of Alastor The Radio Demon

I've never really done a character analysis before so I'm not sure how to go about it. Honestly, I had to rewrite this several times to trim it down. 

I put little footnotes here and there for parts that I think ruined the flow of thought, and weren't essential but still figured were worth a mention. Corresponding footnotes can be found below the lower divider for any interested.

The way I see Alastor, and how I try to write him, is that he's smart—terrifyingly so—and emotional. 

I mean we all know he's basically a textbook manipulator. He's charming, great at reading people, and brilliant enough to know exactly what to say and when to say it. 

He's so gifted at charming people that a fair portion of the fandom's basically head over heels for him—despite the fact that based on what we've seen in the series, he's an objectively despicable person.

And he's so good at manipulating people that, again, a huge portion of the fandom thinks he actually sees the hotel gang as friends/family now. Hell—a lot of people even believed him when he said he cared for Charlie like a daughter.

Add his brains and his skill of wrapping people around his clawed finger, to his god-complex1 and selfishness, and what you'll see is that, on paper, he should absolutely be the big bad of the show.

Except...he currently isn't; and I don't think he will be although it would surely be fun to see how that would go.

Because as much as he is terrifyingly evil, he is also, extremely driven by his emotions.

I know it sounds like a bit of an ass-pull.

Alastor being emotional? The same demon that doesn't drop his smile even when having a whole mental breakdown? The same demon who doesn't bat an eye at a hotel patron dying?

Well, yes. Because there's more to feelings other than sadness and love and care.

There's anger, there's hope, there's desperation, there's pride, there's hate.

And I think Alastor is absolutely driven by these and more.

As said by the most darling, delightful, dangerous overlord over one side of the pentagram,

"words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth."

As much as Alastor wants to think he's in control, we've seen his emotions come first before rational thinking. 

His pride has absolutely taken over him. He thinks he's above it all, untouchable, unreachable. Because he's so clever, so strong, so charming, and it has more or less gotten him everything he's wanted.

But it's this pride of his that has also lead to his most glaring flaws.

Alastor's first instinct was to lower Lucifer in any way that he could—leverage whatever he did have that Lucifer didn't (height, a relationship with Charlie etc.). Because Al knew that Lucifer was inherently stronger than him, better than him—and he hated that.

His pride couldn't stand the blow, and that—along with feelings of irritation and likely insecurity— is what drove his actions for most of that episode; overtaking even his usually smart wits.2

But it's not just negative emotions.

If Alastor being a mama's boy is still canon, then even his relationships are steered by emotions too, whether he's aware of it or not.

His love for his mother influences his biases towards women. How he judges and approaches them miles more fairly than he does men.

Hell, his whole persona—the transatlantic accent, the radio theme, the over the top silly jokes, his laugh even!—all a by product of his passion for being a radio host.

But why does being emotional mean Alastor won't be the antagonist in the show, you ask?

Well because, being emotional is such a humane thing. It shows weakness, vulnerability. Something the show has often used as leeway to develop and redeem its characters.

While I don't think Alastor has the best intentions coming into the hotel—or even at the point of the season 1 finale really—I do think him being this emotional of a person shows that there is some chance of him genuinely growing fond of the gang, and then settling into the found family at some point in the future.

It may not be a conscious choice, it may take some pushing and pulling, it may take the whole run of the series, but Alastor is capable of caring. And when he feels something he feels it to a point past his own rational thinking.

Would love to see him try to betray the hotel though as some last minute attempt to maintain an evil persona.

Now this doesn't exactly mean I can see Alastor ascending into heaven not unless they drag him kicking and screaming.3 But I do think that in the end, he'll find some sort of other form of "redemption," one that he would actually like.

Perhaps it's coming to terms with the fact that he is mortal and that is okay and it doesn't mean he's any weaker or any lesser. And that even if it did, it shouldn't matter.

Honestly, I'd be more terrified of him once he's come to that point. The only weakness Alastor right now has—aside from whatever deal it is that he made—is his ego.

You could probably get away or manipulate him back if you struck at it, but once he's all done with hotel therapy time and has his emotions under control? That man's going to be unstoppable and I fear for all of hell.

Maybe Charlie should let him keep his issues after all?

1 I find Alastor's god-complex extremely ironic. Oh, he definitely has it. My best guess is that it stemmed from his serial killing days.

If the previous source saying that he killed on a weird moral code (not unlike Dexter) still holds water, then he probably saw himself as some god doing such good work for the people. Judging criminals and delivering punishment.

This whole, "I'm so strong and untouchable even amongst criminals" mentality of his was probably egged on when he got into Hell and he was able to take down big bad overlords with ease. That definitely fed his ego nicely.

Now I say I find it ironic because well, he thinks he's so above it all. So perfect and pristine—nothing like all those other sinners. He doesn't care for senseless killing or stealing jewelry or sex, no he's so much better than that, isn't he?

Well, the way I see it, he's really no different.

*cue angry radio noises*

He cares so much for all the material and outwardly things. Sure, it's not to brag or to be sexy, but you can't tell me that fucker isn't just as vain as say, someone like Velvette.

He'd probably freak if anyone caught him outside of his well tailored suits and impeccable posture. 

To Alastor, image and public opinion must mean so much more than he's willing to admit.

And all that killing the bad guys, killing the criminals, killing the scum of the earth. Oh let's not pretend he does it out of any other reason aside from the fact that he loves it. 

It's an act for power for him, not actually done to protect anybody.

And considering he eats most of his victims now, I'd say he's actually below your average criminal.

On sex—well, fine. He can have that one, I suppose.

But still, the irony that this man thinks he's so above your common everyday sinner is just hilarious to me, because he's exactly just like them.

2 I have seen people say that this is yet another one of Alastor's cleverly planned schemes. That he kept pushing only because he was confident Lucifer wouldn't smite someone Charlie cared about. Which, sure, I could see that being the case later on in their interactions.

But as an introduction? An opening line? When he didn't know Lucifer's temperament, and Lucifer didn't know how much Charlie valued/cared for Al?

No. I genuinely think, that this was purely a gamble on Alastor's part. A slip, a jab that he just had to make to save his own pride.

3 Personally, while I absolutely love all the angelic designs of Al, I really do not want him up in heaven unless it's for comedic purposes or he's grocery shopping for angel meat.

Dude was a serial killer. Granted, he killed criminals. But I've never been a fan of vigilante killings. I mean, who's to say the person he killed actually did the crime though? What if it had been someone who was actually innocent?

And even if they weren't, can you imagine if he killed your parent in your lifetime for say, stealing some bread to feed you? And you're just chilling in heaven and all of a sudden your parent's murderer is redeemed while your parent still rotted in Hell?

I would just start a riot right then and there, damnation be damned.

Besides, red suits Alastor best, anyway.

Tagging @cofeedaifuku because they were the only one out of the three that weren't on anon. Hope my fellow vien and the other anon find this answer anyway.