#radiostatic fic

[hiemaldesirae]

all current references ive made for madman's vice because its officially pride month now

vox

alastor

* i debated giving him a slicked back curly look but i couldnt make it look right so bear with me pls

niffty, velvette and valentino

the morningstars + the hotel crew are still being worked on but heres what ive got so far and honestly im not that upset with them all

[ineffableslytherinking]

Comment notification on AO3: Someone has to remind Alastor to be a gentleman. What I literally JUST wrote: Alastor shoving Vox into bed, flashing radio dial eyes. Me: About that...

[speakofthedebbie]

oh my god they said the thing

[tianrenart]

Old deer new tricks

Added art to my fic “Old deer new tricks”

[valscigarette]

Gone

A quick Vox character study based on @toastervox's drawing/hc!

Takes place seven years pre-canon; Vox believes Alastor is dead and grieves him.

-

Alastor's disappearance doesn't hit Vox until a week later. He's been calling it a defeat publicly, both to the other Vees and in the wall-to-wall media coverage Voxtek has run in the days since, but the word is too definite for him to believe in. There were no angelic weapons. He didn't impale Alastor on a stolen spear, or shoot him with a bank-breaking bullet; they fought fair and square with taunts and grandiose displays, without double death on the table. 

That’s what Vox thought, anyway, until a network of static charge coursed through Alastor’s body. Yowling and jerking, the slippery bastard tried to melt into the shadows like always, but Vox caught him with another wave in time to stop him. It killed him, but it shouldn't have been permanent. Any minute, he expected Alastor to stand up and resume the fight with renewed vigor, but the minutes ticked into hours as the Radio Demon's shadows frantically slithered across his prone body. Vox got bored and left. He didn't make a statement until the next day, by which time he expected retaliation.

Now, eight days have come and gone in silence. Vox's spies report no light or movement at Alastor's tower, his exaggeratedly slanderous broadcasts air unimpeded, and his shadow obeys the laws of physics with miraculous perfection: all signs pointing to a reality he had never stopped to consider before.

Alastor is gone.

Plugged into his computer terminals, Vox scours the city security footage for any sign of Alastor, but another night wasted ends with the simple realization he isn't going to find him. It's over. 

Ego has always been one of Alastor's fatal flaws--a rare commonality between them--and if he were alive, he would have corrected Vox's spun version of events by now. The fucker must be dead, which is cause for the celebration of the century but strikes Vox with a longing he's never previously known. Not to be confused with grief, of course; such a pathetic response implies affection, an emotion Vox hasn't harbored for Alastor in decades. He hasn’t lost him for the simple fact that he didn’t have Alastor to begin with.

It shouldn’t matter, which only makes it all the more poignant when the realization crashes into him. Vox can’t find it in himself to gloat when there’s an empty hour of his evening, previously reserved for Alastor’s broadcasts, spent lost in the churn of unclaimed static and surveillance footage devoid of the only sinner Vox wants to see. His body is gone, too. The last sign of the Radio Demon was his favorite glitch of interference, long enough for his corpse to vanish without a trace and for Vox to hope, for a week and a day, that he’s been planning a re-entrance: an appearance Vox now has to accept as impossible. 

Alastor’s gone. He’s fucking gone, double-dead and not coming back, vanquished like any other nothing loser, finally out of the picture for good, resting-in-piss, a future distant memory. Vox ought to be happy. Instead, he rips the connection cables from the back of his screen like they’re pumping poison into his motherboard instead of data.

Having a rival was fun, it kept things interesting, but there will be other imbeciles insistent on threatening Vox’s monopoly. He didn’t need Alastor to challenge him. He needed him, he realizes, to serve as a walking reminder for Vox not to trust other overlords. For all the benefits of his partnership with the other Vees, he doesn’t trust them with anything that doesn’t serve their personal interests; he wrote out the whole caring, having faith, believing in someone program after Alastor started his own broadcast, but the code still existed for him alone. That backdoor has been left open for years, a weakness ready to exploit but Vox has been too sentimental to remove.

He buries his face in his hands. His latest face–a flatscreen, twice as wide as his previous head and impossibly thin–is too large for them to cover his eyes entirely, but it blocks out most of the monitors towering around his chair. The world has to be smaller. It’s too big, too empty, without Alastor in it. At the thought, his cheeks begin to burn and spark with the first sign of tears.

“No, no, no no no,” he whimpers. His voice echoes over the quiet buzz of his computers, distorted and wet by his own standards. Another warning. “I don’t cry, don’t cry, dammit, no!”

If Alastor were here, the old Alastor who made grand plans for the two of them and wanted to take over Hell by Vox’s side, he would come up with an insane distraction absurd enough for Vox to forget he’d been about to cry. And, if that didn’t work, he would hold his monogrammed, moth-eaten handkerchief to Vox’s eyes to sop of the worst of the mess, and he’d help fix the water damage to the delicate biomachine of Vox’s body like it was no trouble at all. The new Alastor, the one Vox murdered, never saw him cry. 

“Fuck!”

Vox frantically swipes at his eyes, tiny webs of static shocking his fingers. He’s gotten along fine without Alastor for years. He doesn’t cry in front of anyone, doesn’t allow himself to get close anymore, but he can repair the damage himself. If it’s really bad, Velvette helps with the mechanical side while Val soothes the pain with his drugged kisses, neither of them claiming affection they don’t feel. They can be business partners, indulgent in intimacy, without the burden of trust. He doesn’t need them.

“Fuck, no, don’t fucking cry,” he scolds himself, flattening his palms into his screen as if he can physically hold the tears back. They’re slimy, more coolant than bonafide tears, and as they smear into his face he can feel the pixels shorting and scattering. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! No! Fuck you, Alastor, fucking- asshole!”

Drool fills his mouth and drips down his screen, dancing with the broken filaments in his display as electricity seizes his hands. He shouldn’t cry over Alastor but each time he reminds himself so, another sob wracks his shoulders until his cursing and muttering is lost behind his pathetic display of weakness. Wave after wave comes until his screen is a pollock of dead pixels and frozen colors, his hands and neck jerk with waterlogged circuits, and he physically runs out of tears to cry. 

There, alone in his dim office, completely broken, Vox accepts that Alastor is gone. 

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

So as I'm working on "I Love You Forever and Always" what things do y'all think would be interesting to see.

For content, check out the first chapter! Here! (Chapter 2 coming soon so follow to keep in tune!):

Now so far it is going to more angst, sort of romance based.

And imma leave it there for now but y'all got a day to answer and suggest other things that could happen. If I like your idea I'll keep it in mind! I do have ideas of my own but I'd be a liar to say I'm not serious of what everyone else is thinking.

Honestly I want the story to end in a happy ending so any angst will be along the beginning and middle.

[lunchtimebedamned1997]

RadioStatic WIP stuff >:3

Currently working on a big RadioSilence fic, and I was already planning to make some art for it, but what I saw that people are doing a RadioStatic week starting May 13th - well, lets just say that day 1 works perfectly for one of my favorite scenes in the fic :3

(pls note this is the rough initial sketch, proportions will improve lol)

And hey, why not give you all a little sneaky peak at the story too...

Did I mention it's a 'origin' fic of why Alastor and Vox hate each other so very much in S1? *evil giggles*

Idk if any of this will be postable by May 13th bc I'm disabled and in a lot of pain rn, but we'll see! I'm too excited not to share sneak peaks, even if I don't end up being able to post for the actual event week! If I post any art, it will be here on Tumblr though! (the event is technically a Twitter event, but I really only use that app to look at shinys from X-only artists , so I won't be posting over there lol)

Do any other artists have the roughest first sketches? XD I'm almost embarrassed to share the CSP screenshot haha

[ray-wilds]

So it turns out when you overwork yourself for way too long you get way burnt out. Who wouldve guessed! I was also dealing with some health issues but Im back somewhat! I don't feel quite ready to work on my current fic so Im starting a new one and opening requests for short radiostatic or Vees drabbles! Hoping between these I'll get my inspiration back to work on CPU Overload so I can finish it and fully dedicate myself to the next fic! Please reblog, comment or submit an ask with prompts!

[xxuso-tsukixx]

Chapter 5 Preview👇

"Tell me, what's got the big bad Radio Demon all boozed up, huh?"

Despite his inebriated state, Alastor hesitated. Discussing his rut or the increasingly complicated dealings with Vox was not on the table, especially not with Mimzy, whose penchant for gossip was as well-known as her charm.

"Oh, just minor nuisances piling up, what with the Overlord Gala only a week away and all..." Alastor turned his tone braggadocious, trying to play off his woes as nothing more than trivialities in the grand scheme of things. He idly picked up his glass from the table and brought it to his grinning lips, only to drunkenly realize it was empty, much to his disappointment.

"Tch, is that it? ...Must be nice havin' first-class worries," Mimzy muttered enviously to herself over the rim of her martini. "For a second, I thought you might be lovesick or somethin'."

Alastor immediately tensed at her accusation, though she just as quickly dismissed her own opinion with a wave of her hand. "Eh, but who am I kidding? If I couldn’t sweep you off your feet, what chance would any other sinner have? Heehee!"

Alastor cracked a wry smile, sharing her laughter at the ludicrous idea that he, The Radio Demon, would ever swoon over someone, anyone for that matter. Yet, beneath that bluster, the unbidden image of Vox's smug grin sliced through the fog of alcohol, sending an unwelcome shiver down his spine.

"Not a chance in Hell, my dear! That I can guarantee, hehe," Alastor assured her playfully. However, in the next moment, he was turning back toward the bar, tapping a clawed fingertip insistently against the counter.

[spiralsintime]

Finished my first radiostatic smut that explores Alastor’s asexuality as a no-touch-top

[theprestigegirly]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Velvette & Vox (Hazbin Hotel)

Characters: Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Velvette (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Unrequited Love, Pre-Canon, Rejection, First Meetings, One-Sided Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, Vox-centric (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Voxvel bestieism, author is british so will write Velvette’s british slang correctly, radiostatic have me on a leash barking like a dog

Summary:

“He could keep on drinking until Alastor’s name was the only word left in his head. All he’d know to do would be order his drink and Alastor. That couldn’t kill you in Hell. It was all he wanted. Alastor— AlastorAlastorAlastor.”

Or

Bitterly rejected by the love of his life: the Radio Demon, Vox picks up the pieces of himself (literally) and makes a new friend in Alastor’s old favourite bar

—————————————————

NEW FIC BY ME! radiostatic hyperfixation has grabbed me intensely and won’t let go

i wrote this a good deal of this oneshot on the bus to my maths exam (during radiostatic week unfortunately so i am a litttlleeee late)

and i hope you really really love it because i like it a lot and i LOVE radiostatic and vox and velvette’s bestieism sooo here it is radiostatic nation ‼️‼️

[hiemaldesirae]

sooo angel telecaster vox, anyone? or, well, viktor, i guess-- this is fanart of one of the most fun oneshots ive read, The TV Host From Heaven by Cybra!

(i kinda went overboard maybe but also i have exams for the rest of the week so i think i deserve this bit of indulgence. eumf.)

also took the chance to incorporate standing room in heavens little fun announcer portion

[ineffableslytherinking]

Chapter 12: Not Enough of my dark RadioStatic fic Prized Acquisition has been posted!

“Vox,” Valentino snapped, his voice hard, bringing him back to his senses. “You need to tell me what the fuck is going on here right now.” “No, Val, you need to get out of my room,” Vox argued firmly, clasping his forearms behind his back. “You don’t get to just barge in here and demand explanations for shit that’s none of your fucking business.” “You’re my fucking business!” he snarled, jabbing a finger into his chest. “And you’re gonna tell me why you walked out on me this morning to be the radio freak’s fucking chew toy!” Alastor’s shadow darkened, growing where it fell over them both. “I suggest you remove your hand before you lose it entirely,” he growled. “Excuse me?!” Valentino shot upright to glower down at the Radio Demon. “Woah, okay!” Vox spun to the side, holding out a hand as though to physically stop both of them. “Both of you, calm down.” He angled his screen towards Valentino, his eye spiraling hypnotically, and the moth demon’s shoulders slumped. Alastor dug in his heels stubbornly against the command for a moment, before he gave a resigned sigh and his shadow shrank back down again.  “Al, go sit down where you won’t keep making things worse, and wait for me to be done,” he continued, and Alastor really rebelled against that.  “No,” he snarled. “Yes,” he snapped, still without looking away from Val, ensuring that he remained calm. “Look, this display is hot and all, but I need you to let me handle it. So, sit and wait.” He didn’t add ‘good boy’ when Alastor turned with a huff and stalked over to the couch, but it was tempting. 

This is a dark fic where Vox owns Alastor’s soul, so please heed the warnings on AO3!

[speakofthedebbie]

guh. GUHSFAFDD

[tianrenart]

Evening Worship

in an attempt to bring some trans joy and provide a fictional escape I have posted my sequel to Evensong early.

[pennedinblood]

Summary: It always ends the way it starts— with blood-stained hands and cutthroat words. But somewhere along the way there was laughter and music, drunken nights and playful fights, and perhaps, deep down— the small creepings of something more.

Or, Alastor & Vox through the years, following the prompts for RadioStaticWeek2024.

Day 5: Rain (Part I)

“Don’t look so smug,” Vox growls, because there it is again, so blatantly obvious on his face.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Alastor grins, and wow, okay. The fucker really is gloating.

Alastor might think it’s funny to watch him squirm, but for Vox this is more than just a nuisance. The few drops that manage to slip between his casing elicit small shocks from his body, and he’s sure that beneath the sound of all that thunder there’s a sizzling of copper wire as his insides fry themselves like scrambled eggs.

“You’re a dick, you know that, right?”

It's at that moment, of course, that the quiet creaking of one of the large, thin branches above him sounds out.