#bapple writes

[bapple117]

80s Fashion Radiostatic!

I couldn't resist doodling some of the outfits I had in my head while writing Bluest Monday. I love 80s stuff so much ARUGH look at Vox's patches someone please notice them

For anyone interested you can find my 80s Radiostatic fic HERE

I will be drawing a lot more 80s radiostatic stuff sorry not sorry

[ao3feed-bnha-rarepair]

Bapple Sauce

Bapple Sauce by riahsays

Shouta sighed and flicked the light back off, deciding it's too early to deal with Denki Kaminari.

Words: 388, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of Anime (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Kaminari Denki, Sero Hanta, Bakugou Katsuki, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Relationships: Kaminari Denki/Sero Hanta, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Kaminari Denki

Additional Tags: Dadzawa, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is a Good Teacher, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is So Done, Kaminari Denki is a Dork, Kaminari Denki is a Ray of Sunshine, Bisexual Disaster Kaminari Denki, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Cook, Short One Shot, Short & Sweet, One Shot, i made this in 10 minutes, on the bus, and it's my favorite writing

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38081242

[wolf-pearl]

You guys im wheezing I got called out 3 times by @aimeelouart @birdsfortheboobourgeoisie and @beefyknees to show you all my writing WIPs.

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Ok first off; Bold of you to assume that I'm smart enough to keep my WIPs in a WIP folder.

Anyways, since a number of my WIPs are currently in the "literally just a discord chat log" stage, I'm only going to mention the ones like that which I have immediate future plans to start writing for them. Or at least intentions of writing them in the vaugly defined future. Also I won't include most of the WIPs that are a collaboration work because my co writers already got tagged and mentioned those WIPs.

Anyways, onto the WIPs!

Degrading Dadesis and blind duckling

Papa cid

Zack gets an angry duckling

Zack does not have a good time

SSC theories AU - Zack's past

Bapple gang gets visitors

Part 3 of the skeleton dad AU

Massive Kitsune Majora ficlets

FF7 AU WIP list

Cat-astrophic God Larvae

Nekomata and Tanuki

Mutant Cloud AU

Spider Cloud

As for tagging peeps to do this next... uh. Most everyone I know that I also know for sure writes have already been tagged and I have 13 wips uuhhhhhh (;¤_¤). @im-totally-not-an-alien @sheseesinthedark @tyrantchimera @nekky-nek @bama-lama-ding-dong annnnnd im out of people I can think of. Feel free to tag yourself.

[mayeetjim]

mayeetjim --> awesamdad

Important:

Names: Marvin, Karl, Mayeet, Anxiety, Jim, Evan, Shurb, Moss, Orpheus, Strider, Alastair, Toby

Last name: Von Raum

Pronouns: He/Him, They/Them, End/Ender Gha/Ghast, Crown/Crowns, Pri/Prince, Jewel/Jewels, Pin/Pink, Pot/Potato, Anarc/Anarchy, Bee/Bees, Game/Gamers, Wing/Wings

Gender: Gender Queer

Sexuality: Queer

Relationship: Taken :D

Archive: Anxiety_Induced_Writing

Icon: @bapples

Writing Word Count Goals:

Chapters: at least 1k

One shots: at least 1.5-2k

Drabbles: about 100-1.5k

Tags:

Writing: Marv writes

Drabbles: marv drabbles

One shots: Marv one shots

Chaptered fics: Marv Updates

Head canons: Marv Ponders

Discord Friends: Marv n friends

Tumblr Friends: Karl n Friends

[i-trouted]

((do u ever try to answer an ask but the only thing in your mind is “bapple” bc that’s how im feeling rn

my writing instructor is going to have a TIME w me today jeebus christo))

[garagetoilet89-blog]

more bits and bats

Today is the very last day of B2’s trip to Korea!  For the last week, B2 has been taking depositions in Seoul and we odd-numbered bowls have been fending for ourselves in a papa-less wilderness.  For me this has meant subsisting solely on the weird-but-maybe-balanced diet of roasted Brassicas (of which B2 is not fond), ramen, and gigantic M&M pancakes.  For B3, it has meant having to suffer through my far poorer renditions of daddy’s lullabies.  As much as I like M&M pancakes, it is difficult to tell which one of us is more excited that my husband is on his way to LAX right now.

That said, Luke is at an especially silly-sweet age right now, which made B2’s trip far easier for me than it had any right to be.  I think we have literally said that every age is the best age (except maybe for the two weeks when he was sprouting his molars and was less than thrilled about it) but he has been such a little chortling ball of sunshine this week that it’s been less me taking care of him on my own and more him keeping me company while daddy’s away. These days, B3 loves blowing kisses (“MMMAH!”) and giving hugs, looking through his legs upside-down, and turning around in circles like a puppy when anyone asks “Where’s your ball?”  He laughs uproariously during music hours at the library for reasons unbeknownst to any other baby, shouts “bapples!” (apples) whenever he sees them and thinks counting to ten is hilarious.  I didn’t realize until this weekend, without B2 as back-up, how often I have work at the back of my mind when I’m home because I know that he could take over if something came up.  While no weekend is complete without all three of us, being able to shut that out completely this weekend and focus completely on our sweet boy has been an unexpected silver lining.  We’ll be doing this all over again in a few weeks, but backwards–I’m flying to Buffalo (Seoul, it is not!) for my own depositions and am going to miss both my boys so much.

As for what we’ve been cooking, it seems like these past few months have been full of debut cookbooks (and, in some cases, second cookbooks) from my very favorite food bloggers and food idols, and cooking from these gems has been a fun change of pace from the home stretch of my own manuscript.  My only regret is that I haven’t been able to photograph or write about them with as much detail as I would have in a long-forgotten age before book babies and real babies!  The brevity of their mentions here reflects on me, not on them.  Here are a couple of our favorites from the last few months:

As though it needs any introduction, Smitten Kitchen Every Day by Deb Perelman is the source of that vibrant chicken noodle soup above, which we were making every other week for awhile there when our household was a merry-go-round of runny noses.  These meatballs marsala with buttered egg noodles are next on my list.

The Pretty Dish by Jess Merchant, which has these 15-Minute Sesame Noodles that give my beloved Indomie a run for its money.

Molly Yeh’s Short Stack Yogurt, a slim tome devoted entirely to Luke’s favorite food on this earth (in close competition with all cheese, also Cheerios, also–broccoli?), which has a chicken and rice soup with yogurt that we’ve been making in turns with regular chicken noodle, and soft yogurt pita, and challah French toast, and as a bonus, is printed in hot pink and does the neat trick of making everything look green if you read it for awhile.

Minimalist Kitchen by Melissa Coleman, which pretty much depicts my aspirational life and has, to boot, a chipotle salad that perfectly mimics a Mendocino Farms one I’ve been on the hunt for.  (And out today!)

For the Love of the South, by Amber Wilson.  It bottles up all of my nostalgia for my Southern childhood into deep, evocative pages and presents the odd problem of having to decide whether to cook from it (muscadine Dutch babies! hushpuppies! pimento gougeres!) or just sit and get lost in its pages.

Any favorite cookbooks lately? Tell me!  Hope you are all having wonderful, warm springs.

you may also like

Source: http://tworedbowls.com/2018/04/10/more-bits-and-bats/

[bapple117]

Chapter 5 of Bluest Monday is now up!

A Radiostatic fic set in the 80s ~ AO3 Link! 18+

I had to draw a scene from it hehe

Here's a snippet!

Vox could die right now and he’d die happy; Alastor is also deeply content. He strokes Vox’s face now, tracing his fingertips across Vox’s screen. Alastor can feel the hum of static; that low, intriguing vibration. 

“Most interesting,” Alastor mutters. “I wonder what it would feel like if we combined energy.”

Vox raises an eyebrow. 

“If we what now?”

“Like this,” Alastor says, pressing his forehead to Vox’s screen.

Alastor brings forth his own radio static energy; it thrums against Vox. The TV Demon seems to understand; he increases his own energy and it buzzes between them. It feels strangely good. Both demons pull away and look at each other. 

“Well that’s new,” Vox laughs. 

“What did you feel?” Alastor says. 

“It felt good!” Vox admits. “Like you were inside my head and we could communicate without words, or something. What did you feel?”

“Much the same,” Alastor says, nodding. 

“You wanna try again?” Vox says, coy. 

“Very much so,” Alastor breathes out. 

They push their faces together again; electricity pulsates between them. It tingles in their nerves; both demons feel their whole bodies throb with it. It is unlike anything either of them have experienced before. Alastor is enraptured by the sensation; lost into the whirring signals, he pushes out frequencies. Radio waves, coursing into Vox; the TV Demon receives these, taking them in. It feels divine.

Alastor is so drunk on the sensation of broadcasting into Vox and how all encompassing it feels that he finds his lips moving against Vox’s screen; Vox meets them gladly. The combination of them kissing and sharing energy is otherworldly. 

Read the full story here!

[bapple117]

More 80s Radiostatic <3

same vox, same

Can I interest anyone in more doodles (by me) of my best boys in the 80s? >:)

These are the outfits from the library scene in chapter 2 of my radiostatic fic Bluest Monday! yes I know I keep shamelessly plugging it I'm sorry

I feel like this has been a crash course in drawing clothes honestly

📻📺❤️💙

[bapple117]

Memory Reboot - A One-Sided Radiostatic One-Shot (Vox x Alastor)

Third person - Fluff, Pining, Angst - mild adult references

~ A03 Link ~ text is also included below after the break ~ excuse the crappy art ~

Summary: Every now and then, Vox allows himself a trip down memory lane; back to when he and Alastor were good friends. This night, Vox rediscovers an old bit of memorabilia that has him reminiscing, all about one night when he and the Radio Demon shared a drink or two. The memory is a bittersweet reminder of what could have been, and what almost happened; lips meeting for the sweetest of stolen moments.

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

Vox stumbles into his room, clumsy and heavy with drink. He bashes his head into the door as it rebounds; groaning, he rubs at his screen with a grimace. 

Drinking alone is always a bad idea. With the other two Vees both out for the night, Vox had allowed himself a little more stalking than he usually does; drinking in his surveillance room, watching and rewatching clips of the Radio Demon going about his day. It’s obsessive; Vox knows it is. He still can’t help himself. 

He teeters wildly on his legs now, looking through his belongings for some painkillers for the inevitable screen-ache he’ll have in the morning; where the fuck are they?!

Not a single drawer he searches yields any results. Vox tosses items left and right, searching through masses of cables and piles of clothes. He rifles through his bathroom cabinet, knocking down an assortment of pill bottles in the process; none of them what he needs right now.

“Fuck my life,” the Television Demon mutters to himself. 

On his hands and knees, he pulls out a bottom drawer from a huge dresser. Vox moves sloppily with inebriation as he pilfers through all the junk and bric-a-brac. And then - his hand is on something that feels familiar yet forgotten all at once. Vox pulls it out; and there it is.

His electric heart shudders within his chest. 

The tiny die-cast CRT TV model that Alastor had gifted to him years ago. So many years ago. So long ago, in-fact, that when Alastor had presented Vox with this small model, it had been exactly what Vox’s own head had looked like. A chunky, heavy, 70s television. Long outdated technology, these days, of course; Vox has upgraded several times over the years since then. 

Vox can hardly believe his tired eyes; it’s been years since he thought about this. He remembers the night Alastor gave it to him all too well - too painfully well. Vox sighs; his sadness threatening to leak into the forefront of his drink-weakened mind. 

The search for the painkillers now given up on and forgotten, Vox crawls to his bed and lays on it in the dark, the small metal totem still in his hand. Neon lights from the city outside dance and skitter on the walls. Vox stares at the ceiling. 

He can’t help himself; the memory begins to play in his mind, like an old VHS recording, discovered and dusty. Vox usually represses these memories, but for some reason, he allows this one to consume his thoughts this night. He drifts off into it; a broken heart indulging itself despite the pain. 

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

It’s the past. Long, long ago; some time in the 1970s. Vox is drinking with Alastor - the Radio Demon, his friend. They are drinking together in Alastor’s old apartment, sharing each other’s company in the easy way that they used to. The apartment is full of antique furniture and vintage radio paraphernalia; Vox has been here many times, and yet he always eyes Alastor’s decor with the same dry observations. 

“You really need to get with the times, Al,” Vox says. “Get some more modern stuff.”

The Television Demon gawks at himself in an ornate mirror on the wall; his on-screen features blink back at him, set in his wide CRT TV head. 

“Nonsense,” Alastor calls from the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with my decor choices. Some things never go out of style.”

Vox huffs in amusement to himself. Secretly, he adores Alastor’s presentation. Vox looks up to the Radio Demon; he admires him. Vox wants to be just like Alastor, really. Powerful, respected, smart, classy. Alastor is everything Vox wants to be. At this point in time, Vox is a much weaker Overlord than Alastor, having only been in Hell for less than twenty years. It’s never an issue between them, of course, but Vox knows he is inferior. One day, he’ll be better. 

The Television Demon joins his friend in the kitchen then; Alastor is pouring new glasses of drink for them. Something expensive. 

“Woah,” Vox says, laughing. “What are we celebrating?”

“Well, I was wondering when you’d ask,” Alastor says sassily. “I took down another one of my rivals today.”

Vox blinks. His screen buzzes. 

“Another Overlord?” He asks, both impressed and appalled. 

Alastor nods, pleased. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Alastor says, grinning. “It was no effort at all, really. Hardly worth you looking so gormless over. What fun it was though!”

Vox laughs nervously. 

“Well, uh, that’s great, Al!” He says, accepting the drink. “You gotta promise not to ever try and take me down like that though, huh?”

It’s a weak joke; both demons know that it stinks of a true fear. Alastor scoffs. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vox,” the Radio Demon says. “How long have we known each other now, hmm?”

Vox scans his memories to try and answer accurately.

“Uhhh… Well years,” he says. “Almost two decades.”

“Exactly. And have I ever once betrayed you?” Alastor asks, gesturing for them to sit at the table. 

Vox follows Alastor’s lead and sits. 

“I guess not,” Vox says. 

The two demons sit in silence for a while; which is odd, given how prone to idle conversation they both usually are. Alastor hums along to a jazz tune playing in the background; Vox fiddles with his glass.

Alastor is deep in contented thought; eyes closed, a red claw tapping at the table to the rhythm of the song. Vox takes a gulp of his drink, still not knowing what it is; his question is answered as soon as it hits his throat. Some kind of very strong spiced rum, neat on ice. The Television Demon coughs a little, white noise filling the silence. Alastor grins. 

Vox looks up at his friend then; sees his smile. His own grin creeps up on to his screen. How simple it is between them; how easy it’s always been. Just the two of them. Alastor doesn’t have many friends; Vox is honoured to be one of them. Friends. Vox wishes they were so much more. 

“You know,” Vox says then, staring at his drink. “We could be something. Together, I mean.”

Alastor’s neck snaps a little as his head twitches to the side in confusion. 

“Something?” 

Vox hastens to clarify. 

“You know. A team. Take down Overlords together,” he says. 

Alastor seems to genuinely consider this for a moment; he drifts away into the thought of it. Vox lets himself hope for a second; his hopes are dashed just as quickly. 

“Hmm,” Alastor says. “You know me, though! I prefer to work solo.”

Vox slumps a little. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up messily; one begins to loosen from its turn-up, so he focuses on re-rolling it. 

“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely, though?”

“I don’t think so,” Alastor says, amused. 

“Oh.”

The Radio Demon ponders this for a beat longer; he senses he has insulted his friend somehow. This is meant to be a nice evening celebrating his latest victory; Alastor supposes he should show a little courtesy to keep things jovial. 

“I suppose it does, sometimes,” Alastor says. 

Vox feels his inner wiring twisting in his abdomen. 

“Oh?”

Alastor rolls his eyes; must he elaborate?

“Well, I suppose having more allies couldn’t hurt,” he says. 

“Oh, well,” Vox says. “I could… I could be that for you?”

Alastor grins. 

“In your current state, I feel you may not be of any use to me, Vox old pal,” Alastor teases. “Come back to me when you’re stronger, hmm?”

The Radio Demon knocks playfully on the side of Vox’s clunky CRT head; it echoes within him. Vox knows that Alastor only means this as a cheeky gibe between friends; it wounds him all the same. 

Vox lets out a nervous laugh as response and tries to conceal the hurt.

The night is salvaged somewhat; the two demons continue to drink into the early hours. They chat, they listen to music, they share stories about various occurrences in Hell. Despite the fact they are undying souls in burning eternity, they are also both something else; two beings who both died as young men, now frozen in time. 

Alastor isn’t who he’ll truly be just yet; neither is Vox. In this memory, they are their younger, slightly sweeter selves. It’s enough to make present-day Vox cry with how much he’d give anything to have those days back. 

Towards the end of the night, the two demons sit side by side together, wasted. They use the sofa as a backrest as they sit sloppily on the floor. Vox hiccups and it sounds like a channel being changed; Alastor laughs.

“You know,” the Radio Demon starts. “I do enjoy these little chats of ours, despite our conflicting technology.”

Vox is giddy; he nods, eager. 

“One day I’m gonna be great, Al,” Vox says, suddenly. “I’m gonna build an empire. It’s gonna be huge.”

Alastor smiles; it’s the soft, fond smile of a friend humouring someone. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Vox says, slurring slightly. “And I’ll be as strong as you - no! - even stronger.” 

Alastor is laughing; genuine and warm. Vox grins wide at the sound of it. 

“I’ll take over all of Hell!” Vox says, clenching a fist. 

Alastor chuckles. 

“Hm. That sounds nice,” he says, drunk and feeling it. 

“Well,” Vox starts. “You’ll be there with me, right?”

Alastor quirks his head. 

“Will I?”

“Sure! We’ll do it together,” Vox says, wicked intent on his screened features. “We’ll rule Hell together. No fucker will cross us with our combined skills.”

Alastor is giggling; Vox wants to climb into the sound of it and live there. 

“Well, that is a lofty concept, to be sure,” Alastor says. “But it is pleasing, I have to admit. You truly do get some devious ideas don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” Vox says, delighted. 

Alastor smiles to himself, looking away. 

“Well, if that ever comes to fruition, you can count on me being there,” he says.

“Yeah?!” Vox is beaming. “I can’t wait for what the future brings, Al. This old thing will be the first to get an upgrade, that’s for sure.”

Vox taps his own head; even now in the late 70s, his TV set head is looking a bit vintage. Vox just needs to wait for Earth technology to advance and filter down; he can’t wait to be better. Stronger. Faster. Alastor tenses as a thought seems to come to him.

“That reminds me!” The Radio Demon says. “I have something for you.”

Alastor retrieves something from his pocket and hands it to a captivated Vox; it's a tiny metal die-cast model of a Sony Triniton KV-1820UB television set. It looks just like Vox’s current head. 

“Here you are,” Alastor says, pleased with himself. 

Vox is enamoured; the Radio Demon doesn’t do gifts. This is special; it means Vox is special. 

“Al, I don’t know what to say,” Vox says, his nerves alive and crackling. “I can’t believe you got this for me… I love it.”

Alastor grins wide. 

“I got one for me, too,” he says, holding up a tiny model of an old radio. “I found a charming boutique selling all kinds of little novelties. Aren’t they fun?”

Vox is astonished; not only did Alastor get him a gift, he got one for himself to match. This surely is symbolic? Vox’s receivers are scrabbling to interpret the signals Alastor is giving off. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s uh… That’s cute, Al,” Vox says, shakily. “It’s not like you to give gifts.”

Alastor laughs. 

“Well. My conquest today put me in an especially good mood, I suppose,” he says. 

Vox nods. 

“Thank you, Al,” he says, screen blinking. “I will treasure this. I mean it.”

Alastor’s quota for sincerity has reached its limit; eager to return the conversation to playful jibes and gossip, the Radio Demon scoffs. Vox grins; he knows Alastor hates to be perceived as kind, despite the fact he can be. Vox shoves himself into Alastor’s shoulder in a playful bump.

“You’re goin’ soft on me, old man,” Vox jokes; Alastor pretends to be aghast. 

“Old man?” He scorns. “How dare you, Vox. I only died two decades before you and we were both more or less the same age at death. Watch your tongue.”

Vox chuckles to himself. The two demons sit together for a little while longer in peaceful quiet; Vox’s mind is full of static. He’s processing, thinking. Vox has tried to broach this topic before, but he can’t help himself; he needs to push it again. 

“Hey, uh, Al?” He says. 

Alastor looks at him and hums an acknowledgement. Vox’s gaze shifts around nervously. 

“Do you remember that… conversation, we had a while ago?” Vox says. 

Alastor does remember; he pretends for now that he doesn’t. He shakes his head. Vox exhales shakily. 

“Look, I, uh… I know you don’t like talking about… feelings, and stuff, but…”

Alastor wants this nipped in the bud as soon as possible. 

“Is this about your infatuation, hmm?” The Radio Demon says, trying to sound casual about it. “I’ve told you Vox. It will pass, it’s just a-“

“No,” Vox says, urgent. “It won’t, Al, and you know it.”

Vox grabs Alastor’s hand; the Radio Demon doesn’t recoil. He lets his claws sit limply within Vox’s; a tiny concession for this display of vulnerability. And anyway; they’ve linked hands before, when dancing or fleeing a crime scene, or such. No big deal. Alastor sighs. 

“You know I can’t give you want you want,” he says, radio filter slipping away. “This is all I can give you. My time. My friendship, my consort to you as a fellow Overlord.”

Vox is exasperated. 

“Can’t you give me just a little bit more?” He asks.

Alastor avoids the Television Demon’s gaze. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. 

Vox grabs Alastor’s chin in his, then; pulling it in his direction to make Alastor look at him. 

“How do you know you won’t like it?” Vox says. “You’ve never even tried it.”

Alastor blushes at the sudden contact, the intrusiveness of it. He’s flustered simply because Vox is being so forward; any sign of aggressive intent is entertaining to Alastor, of course. 

“Why don’t you let me just try?” Vox says, his voice a thin whine.

“Vox, old friend, come on now-“

“Why won’t you let me just kiss you?” Vox whispers. “Please, Al.”

Alastor hesitates; if he relents, will it be enough to just shut Vox up about this once and for all? This topic cropping up every couple of years is getting tiresome. And... he does care about Vox. Alastor loves him, in his own way; platonic but true.

“Please, Al,” Vox murmurs, his eyes fixed on Alastor’s lips. “I’m begging you. I know it’ll feel right when it happens.”

Vox’s hand tightens around Alastor’s chin; he’s trying to pull him inwards. Alastor’s heart rate quickens; annoyingly. He’s a deer in headlights; drunk and unsure how to retaliate. Vox is closing the distance between their faces; Alastor can feel their hot breath exchanging in the small gap between their mouths. 

Alastor’s ears are flat against his head; Vox is staring at his lips.

“Please,” he whispers again. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Alastor whispers back. 

“Please,” Vox begs, desperate. 

Alastor huffs in defeat, and Vox knows he has won. Vox leans in and presses his screen to Alastor’s mouth; for a moment, the Radio Demon is rigid. But then… his mouth is moving; Vox is elated. Alastor is relenting. Vox cannot believe it. Alastor is kissing him back; his hand at the edge of Vox’s screen. Their mouths move together quickly, the taste of rum amongst it all. Vox's mind is awash with joy.

Yes, YES. Fucking YES! This is it, this is IT! 

Vox moans into Alastor’s mouth; he risks letting his tongue breech Alastor’s lips, tries sticking it down Alastor’s throat - 

Alastor pulls away; Vox is devastated. Too far. 

“Hmm!” Alastor says, recovering, trying to sound light-hearted. “No, still not for me, I don’t think.”

Vox is panting, red in the screen. He’s hard; of course he is. Vox’s eyes dart all over Alastor, looking for signs - proof that he did like it. 

“No, Al, come on,” Vox says. “Please, you know it works, WE work, c'maaan!”

Alastor is sad; a part of him does wish he could give Vox what he wants. It would make things so much easier; it would ensure keeping his loyalty, for one. And… well. It would make things a bit less lonely. But Alastor just can’t let himself go there.

“I’m sorry, Vox,” he says, genuinely melancholy. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want from me. I really am.”

“No,” Vox is angry. “It cannot be like this, please, we were so close-“

“I think it’s high time we went to bed, hmm?” Alastor says. “You’re in no state to get yourself home. You can sleep on the sofa.”

“Al, stop, just, can we talk about this? Can we try again, I’ll go slower, I promise,” Vox says, grasping at straws.

Alastor smiles weakly. He reaches up and turns one of Vox’s dials fondly; Vox’s erection twitches in his jeans. 

“You’ve just had too much to drink, hmm?” Alastor says. “We’ll sleep this off and tomorrow it’ll all be forgotten about.”

Alastor stands then; Vox groans, his screen in his hands. 

“We’ll be back to normal tomorrow, eh, old pal?” Alastor says with forced jollity.

Vox sighs; it’s guttural. He looks up at the Radio Demon, agonised. 

“I’m never going to be back to normal,” Vox says. “I’m always going to want this. I’m always going to want you.”

Alastor hesitates; he looks forlorn. Only in the eyes, of course; but his smile is a tight, thin line on his face. 

“I know," he says.

Vox's heart shatters in his chest; not for the first time. 

"Do try to get over it, though, won’t you?” Alastor says, and he turns to leave for his bedroom. “Get some sleep.”

Vox is left alone in the living room; ruined. 

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

The memory of that night, so many decades ago, drifts away from present-day Vox, just as cruelly as Alastor had slipped from his grasp.

The pain of it - and indeed, remembering what came later - is unbearable; Vox can only cope with these memories now by wanting Alastor dead. Just so he’d be gone for good; just to rid himself of the pain of knowing Vox never got to keep him. He came close, of course; some years later, in the 80s. For a while, Vox had had Alastor; it had been so sweet. Vox doesn’t let himself think on this, for now. It’s too brutal. He’d be a mess; for now, he needs to compose himself. Vox places the die-cast vintage TV model on his bedside table and looks at it for a few beats. 

I wonder if Alastor still has his radio model. 

I wonder if he still thinks of me.

Vox curls into a ball in his bed; the truth hums around him, thick and heavy, like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. 

He’ll never love me like I love him.

He never did.

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

This story continues in:

Bluest Monday

Read all my stuff on AO3 🍎

[bapple117]

ANON I'M SO SORRY I had to screenshot your ask bc I originally replied to this but then needed to re-do it bc I forgot Alastor's antlers I'm a DINGUS SORRY

but yes ARUGH I'm sorry for the pain I cause with the fic T_T

[bapple117]

I don’t like radioapple as a couple either personally I enjoy them being like super mad at each other all the time like pushing each other down the stairs type of stuff and then acting like they didn’t do anything u know

Al has a point tbh but Luci is VERY fun to draw I have to admit (don't tell Al) 🍎

Read my fics! / See more of my art!

[bapple117]

Chapter 6 of Bluest Monday is now up!

A Radiostatic fic set in the 80s ~ AO3 Link! 18+

Here's a snippet!

The heat is overbearing; it seeps into their skin, making it prickle and sting. Alastor is grouchy with it, resenting the fact he has to acknowledge bodily sensations such as sweating. It is the first time either of them has cursed their damnation.

“This infernal heat,” Alastor groans. “I can’t take much more of it.”

Vox murmurs an agreement without looking up; his screen is off, but he is sentient. Conserving energy. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Vox says, voice low and sleepy.

“Well I’m not going to sit here nude as a babe, like you,” Alastor says, affronted. “I at least still have some decorum.”

Vox laughs. 

“You’re making it worse for yourself for no reason,” he says. “Just take your fuckin’ sweater off, at least.”

Alastor huffs; he relents. 

“Fine,” he says, lifting his sweater off in a rush. 

Alastor rolls his shirt sleeves up; he does feel a little better. Vox’s head is ringing. The TV Demon feels ill-equipped to deal with any kind of raised temperature; his mind feels sludgy and buzzes with static. He moans a little with the displeasure of feeling so depleted. The Radio Demon eyes his partner then; he slips from the sofa to join him on the floor. Alastor notices, as he always does, the smattering of faint scars on Vox’s blue skin. 

“I remember you getting that one,” Alastor muses idly. 

“What?” Vox mutters, screen still off.

“That one,” Alastor says, poking at a scar on Vox’s ribcage. “This scar.”

Vox startles; his screen is on immediately. 

“Jesus, Al,” he says. “Don’t do that!”

But Vox is laughing, then, too; Alastor grins. 

“I don’t,” Vox says. “Remember, I mean.”

“That’s unusual, for you,” Alastor says, eyebrows raised. “Hmm.”

Vox lies back again, sighing with a mixture of heat-exhaustion and contentedness. His screen powers down with a wooomvvphff. 

“Tell me,” he says. 

Alastor smiles. 

“It was 1958. Early days,” Alastor muses. “We’d only known each other, what? Three years at that point?”

“Mmm,” Vox murmurs; he flaps over a hand to Alastor lazily. 

Alastor takes his partner’s hand in his own pair. He starts to fiddle with Vox’s claws; a regular bit of comforting casual contact between them now. 

“You got yourself into some scrap at the that bar we used to go to all the time. Do you remember the name?” Alastor says. 

Vox thinks; his head is so thick with hot frazzled wires and jagged signals that his memory fails him.

“No,” he mumbles. 

“No matter,” Alastor says. “It’s not the point. Anyway, some loan shark pulled a knife on you. Stabbed you, right here.”

Alastor fingers the scar again, gently tracing it. It’s slightly raised on Vox’s skin. The TV Demon knew the touch was coming this time - he doesn’t flinch. 

“I took you back to my apartment for the first time,” Alastor muses, smiling. “You were so excited.”

Vox laughs. 

“Don’t tease me, Al,” he says. “I was not.”

“You were!” Alastor laughs. “You were gripping your side, bleeding out, looking around my apartment like it was Wonderland or something. You kept thanking me for having you over, while you got blood over everything.”

Vox laughs again; his screen comes back on. He grins at Alastor, side eyeing him. 

“I was a bit starstruck,” he admits bashfully. “You had a much nicer place than mine. At the time.”

“Mmm,” Alastor agrees. “And then I stitched you up. You were very brave about it.”

Vox rolls his eyes. 

“So very brave,” Alastor teases. “My bravest little receiver.” 

Vox snatches his hand away; Alastor paws at him for it back. Vox concedes with a pleased sigh. 

“It’s too fucking hot,” Vox says, pointlessly. “I feel like shit.”

The sound of traffic thrums from outside, like white noise, loud and full of friction. Living in the inner city makes the heat feel so much worse; all of that extra warmth generated from cars and tarmac and buildings, densely packed together. Congested. Vehicles beep loudly; traffic is bad. The sound gives Vox an idea - he sits up suddenly, making Alastor jump. The Radio Demon knows his partner’s expression all too well; Vox has found some glimmer of inspiration. Alastor steels himself for it. 

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Vox says. “Somewhere better than this.”

“Where is better than this?” Alastor says. “We’re together.”

Vox huffs in amusement. 

“No, Al,” he says. “I mean like go out. Out in the open, cool off a bit. Feel the breeze, and stuff.”

Alastor considers this. He would like to stop sweating, if possible. The Radio Demon feels a little too corporeal; like a hot sack of meat, sticky and heavy. Alastor prefers to feel like a presence, rather than a person; this heat makes him feel all too of the flesh. 

“Alright,” he nods, and Vox is aglow with delight. “Where?”

“We could go for a drive?” Vox says. “See where the road takes us.”

Anything is better than sitting and suffering; Alastor nods again.

“I’ll get my keys,” Vox says, standing and looking around. “And a shirt, I guess.”

Alastor smirks. 

“Keep that show just for me,” he says, deliberate in his demure. 

Vox almost trips on his way to the bedroom. Alastor is pleased.

[bapple117]

You don't have to tell me twice?! One of my favourite HH authors asking for deranged oneshot ideas?! HELLO! HI! COMO ESTAS?!

I do have a request that pesters my brain for quite some time, and I'd LOVE to see it come to life. I'd die to see Alastor x deaf!reader Just because he is such a talker, a charmer with a golden tongue, but take that away then he has GOT to be creative! Is he able to do sign language? Would they pass notes? How would he SEDUCE them?!

I don't care if it's fluff or smut (smut is always good)

Thank you for sharing your talent with us <3 Sincerely, the dirt beneath your feet

Your wish is my command!

Alastor x Deaf!Reader - Reader is AFAB - 18+

Reader is referred to as You or 'Yuna' (Not a fan of Y/N)

Fluff & Smut 18+

The Radio Demon is no stranger to talking people's ear off, that much is true; but when a deaf sinner joins the hotel, Alastor finds himself in unusual territory. Unable to charm or intimidate by usual means, he must resort to more... interesting methods.

He finds himself captivated, all the same.

[bapple117]

PSA About Bluest Monday 📻📺💙❤️

My Radiostatic Fic set in the 80s!

OKAY SO

This story came about from an idea: what if Alastor, sensing that Vox is on the precipice of evolving away from him forever in the technology boom of the late 80s, FINALLY gave into Vox's other desires to keep control over him?

HOWEVER

This story evolved naturally into what has become a supercuts hazy nostalgic montage of that one year we worked until we didn't, with TRUE LOVE at its core. It's a love story y'all!! There isn't anything non-consensual in here. Demisexual!Alastor is here to stay and they LOVE each other OKAY?

Yes: it's not going to end well in the year of '89. BUT. I have big plans. The ending is present day; that's all I'm going to say. HANG IN THERE.

Okay that's all. This has been a Bapple Announcement!

Read the story: HERE

[bapple117]

All My Links | Header Art

---Currently Writing:---

🍎 Say Hello, Wave Goodbye (A Radiostatic Love Story) 18+

🍎 RadioCotton Saga (Book 1 finished, Book 2 in progress) 18+

🍎 Hazbin One-shots (Suggestions welcome) 18+

---Writing Guides:---

🍎 Velvette Slang Masterlist : A humble guide to British / South London slang for fellow writers, from a British person with love x

---Main Tags:---

bapple writes / radiocotton / bluest monday = fic stuff

verity = my Hazbin OC 🐰

bapple chats / bapple goofs / bapple's art / bapple draws / q&a etc = me messin' about or doodlin' or answerin'

All other tags are featured below <3

[bapple117]

Chapter 4 of Bluest Monday is now up!

A Radiostatic fic set in the 80s ~ AO3 Link!

Here's a snippet:

“Guess we’re sharing a bed before you stay over mine, after all,” The Television Demon says, very fucking happy with himself. 

Alastor shrugs and tries to maintain the high ground. 

“We’re probably not going to do much sleeping, anyway, I suppose,” Alastor says dryly. 

The Radio Demon smirks to himself at Vox’s immediate expression change. Alastor ignores this and begins to unpack his bag in his typical keenly-organised way. 

“W-What?” Vox stammers, throwing his own bag down into an armchair. 

“Well,” Alastor starts again, voice light. “I’m assuming there’s a lot we can do here?”

“In… In the bed?” Vox says quietly. 

Alastor rolls his eyes. 

“In this resort,” he says, retrieving a handful of books from his bag. 

“OH,” Vox coughs out. “Oh. Right. Yeah, sure. I’ve booked something good for tonight actually.”

The TV Demon perches on the edge of the bed. He bounces himself using his feet for leverage, seemingly testing the springs of the mattress. Alastor walks to the window, prising the blinds open with two narrow fingers; outside he spots wealthy-looking demons arriving out front in fancy vehicles. He catches the sight of Vox bouncing in his periphery and huffs in amusement. 

“Good buoyancy?” Alastor teases, not looking away from the window.

Vox immediately stops and seems flustered. 

“Yeah, I… uh. I think so,” he says. 

Alastor watches out the window as a demon couple walk, arms linked, through a nearby garden. It’s full of Hellish topiary; shrubs trimmed neatly into the shapes of well-known Hell icons. There are flowers, too; wild growths of red twisting vines and blossoms that snap when you walk near them. Alastor is enamoured at the sight.

Vox has laid himself back on the bed; Alastor regards this with an eyebrow raise. The Radio Demon did not think this through; how very unlike him. Alastor curses himself now for not realising this quandary; he’s going to have to find ways to deny Vox all weekend. Of course, Alastor knows that Vox wants and, indeed, expects physical intimacy; Alastor is betting on it. And, truly; he doesn’t mind. He’s interested in the idea from an experimental point of view. He’s willing, even; willing to find out what all the fuss is about. If he can’t do that with Vox, who can he do it with?

But not this weekend, no; Alastor needs to dangle that particular carrot for as long as he can. The sooner he gives Vox everything, the less he has to use as leverage. Vox will get cocky, complacent; he’ll want it all the time. Alastor loves the chase, he has to admit to himself; he adores��the playful mind games of keeping Vox on his toes and hungry for him. Relinquishing that control now, this early into the game, isn’t an option.