#skmekne xan do it for me too thats fube

[hiemaldesirae]

there was an ask i got a while back that brought up the idea of vox pulling away from alastor (while they were still friends) because he figured alastor was only using him for entertainment and al in turn becomes the biggest wifeguy alive to keep vox by his side and. well. my fingers got itchy

Vox stares forlornly at the photograph held gingerly between his claws. It had been taken some time (comparatively) early on in his friendship with Alastor- the date of August 16th, 1967 was scrawled in Vox's own unsteady, drunken penmanship. He'd been plastered to the roof when they'd taken the photo, which, now that he thinks of it, was probably the only reason Alastor had ever agreed to it in the first place.

He mulled over that conversation once more, as if he hadn't been at this for a month. The stack of papers that Husk had passed him with a worried look and a huff laid neatly stacked next to the transcripts of the confirmation calls he'd had with Mimzy after Husk had told him.

He only sees you as entertainment, Husk had said. It's how he functions. I don't know if he's had a genuine relationship with anyone other than Mimzy and Rosie, and even then the chances are slim.

And Vox had wanted to believe that he was wrong. God, he'd hoped so badly that Husk was wrong. But- the Overlord had never once led him wrong before, had he? And he had no reason to lie to Vox about this.

His hands shook as he took the picture and tenderly placed it back into the drawer where he'd taken it from.

Even if the first friendship- the first ever taste of love he'd gotten, in life or death- he'd managed to strike up in Hell had been one built on lies and for Alastor's- entertainment, he still didn't want that proof of the simpler, happier times to disappear.

So it was with a heavy heart that Vox prepared to bid farewell to his first and dearest friend.

One thing that Husk had made sure to make absolutely crystal clear to him was that Vox should not, under any circumstances, be the one to let Alastor down gently.

At least, not directly- Vox had disagreed with this line of thinking, believing that Alastor deserved to know the truth, but then Husk had shown him what Alastor had done to the couple past demons who had dared to do the same and Vox found his protests drying up on his tongue as quickly as they'd come to him.

"Well, what do I do then?" Vox had cried, practically faceplanting all 15 pounds of his CRT television head into Husk's bar counter. To his credit, the Overlord hardly even batted an eyelid before sending one of his thralls to clean up his despondent kid's mess. "I don't wanna just fake my death or something!"

"I wasn't gonna say for you to do that, but actually, that might be a good idea if the Radio Freak doesn't take the initial plan well," Husk mused, before he caught sight of Vox's- frankly heartbroken looking- face and sighed. "No, the idea is to get him to think it's his idea. Start by gradually distancing yourself so you're no longer attached by the hip- Lord knows you needed a healthy sense of distance from him, anyway- and then move to blowing off his plans and stuff. For valid reasons, like say Rosie scheduled you in first or something and you couldn't leave without invoking her wrath. Make yourself some new damn friends, for God's sakes. It'll make it harder for him to wage revenge on you if you've got allies backing you up."

Husk could see his kid's face gradually growing paler with every word, and he internally sighed. Fucking Alastor, and his need to ruin every good thing that passed him by. "And if it gets to that point, which it shouldn't, I'll protect you first. An alliance with Ol' Bambi is not worth more than your wellbeing, котенок."

"I know," Vox said quietly. He tapped his hands on the counter for a second before standing up, a sad look on his face. "I just... I might need a little to come to terms with things."

"Of course," Husk nodded understandingly. "You take all the time ya need, got it?"

"Yes, dad," Vox rolled his eyes, though the sad expression on his screen had brightened considerably and he now managed to give Husk a weak smile. "Really. I'll call or something if I need you."

That was weeks ago. Vox had started to put 'Plan Pull Vox Out of a Toxic Friendship' into full play a little while ago, occasionally turning down Alastor's invitations to soirees, operas, theatres and the like and instead focusing on his work. Before, he would have dropped everything just to accompany Alastor, which was something Vox was suspecting the other demon had already known and potentially specifically chosen him for because it made him more entertaining.

In any case, things had been going smoothly. Vox had even managed to start a few new projects, the most impressive of which was a part mechanical part organic demon shark. He'd found the poor thing missing half its limbs, and gone on a horribly roundabout mission to make it new ones. So far things had been going smoothly and the shark had taken to leisurely taking swims around Vox's small aquarium, one that spanned one entire wall of his even tinier apartment.

What he hadn't expected was for Alastor to show up one day completely uninvited and make him dinner.

He'd been in the midst of arranging meetings with other up and coming sinners of Pentagram City, looking through his contacts to see who else would have the most potential to become an Overlord. One had been Valentino, who was the man he was trying to speak with when a crash came from his kitchen. He'd asked Valentino if he could bear to be put on indefinite hold incase he was killed, deafened before he could hear a response, then proceeded to the kitchen, hammer in hand, only to find-

"Ah, there you are, my dear picture box! I was afraid I'd never see you again, what with that awful habit of yours with locking yourself into the workshop for hours." Alastor stood in his kitchen, humming quietly as he stirred a pot full of gumbo leisurely. "Go sit down and wait, would you?"

"I- you-" Vox looked in between Alastor, who was wearing an apron that said Kill the Cook atop his regular fitted suit, painting an elegant yet absolutely ridiculous portrait and back to the table, where several other creole dishes sat on the table in front of Vox. "You're in my house."

"You didn't answer me when I tapped on the radio waves," Alastor shrugged lesiurely. "You've gotten busy these past weeks, haven't you?"

"Well... sort of," Vox said, expertly skirting around the question. "Anyway, that doesn't explain much. You don't like coming to my apartment. And you only cook for Rosie and Mimzy because you only respect them."

"I don't like coming here, correct."

"So.... why are you here, exactly?" Vox crosses his arms, leaning on the counter. "You don't usually come for visits."

"I care about you," Alastor said softly. It almost sounded sincere. No wonder he was a radio host- truly, hearing those words had nearly stopped Vox's resolve to leave entirely. "Isn't that enough?"

"I wish," Vox said in reply, a hand pressed to his chest to stop his rapid breathing. "God, I wish."

But God didn't exist for Sinners.

So when Alastor finishes cooking the food and sits down to eat with him, asking him about the work and projects he's been doing, Vox just grits his teeth in a smile and forces himself to act as if his world isn't breaking apart piece by piece.