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reinthechaosdeer · 16 days

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A fantastic story written for the Collab event our lovely group participated in. I'm very blessed to be surrounded by many greats in their field. Do give this a read and all praise it deserves!

Return to Radio Hall

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an alternate universe, once conceptualised, must be in want of a fic. This collaborative event by Bapple's Orchard is brought to you by our collective need to stop @bapple117 from writing a full-length Radiostatic romance novel set in Regency era England*. We've got so many great contributors, with art, short fiction and music, and so if you enjoy this piece I highly encourage you to follow the link to the masterlist for the event below to go see everything that my friends on the server have done.

*They could, and we know they could, and that is why we must stop them.

⚜Summary: Having made his fortune in the New World, Vox Vee returns to visit his former benefactor, Lord Alastor.

⚜Pairings: Vox/Alastor

⚜Content Notes: Unrequited love, Regency era AU, depiction of illness

The weather on the road to Radio Hall was treacherous; great peals of thunder accompanying the rumble of the carriage over the stones on the road as the rain sheeted down.

This ought to have been a triumphant march, the return of a protégé who had proved his mentor wrong, had made his fortune, had won the great game of life. Instead, Vox sat alone in his carriage as it ascended the hill towards the estate, the rain on the windows providing little distraction from the matters that troubled him.

Valentino would have said something to calm his nerves, something witty that made him scoff, if he had been there, but his lover had declined to accompany him across the Atlantic.

“Maybe for a season in Vienna or Paris, amorcito.” Valentino had sucked his pipe, eyes glinting red. “But not for this. You want to go visit your fusty old lord-of-the-manor, you can go by yourself.”

Of course, Valentino was more than capable of entertaining himself while Vox was gone, but Vox couldn’t say the same for himself. He’d spent the voyage over staring at the far horizon, for all the world like the protagonist of some interminably long work of literary fiction fixing his sights on some lofty goal, but all it had achieved was to make Vox wet and cold.

It had been seven years. Seven years since their catastrophic falling out. Lord Alastor had been his closest friend, his confidant and supporter, all of that blown away in an instant.

You will never be my equal.

That was the last thing Alastor had snarled to him, rage seeping from behind the man’s beautiful smile, and the thing that had kept Vox afloat all these years was the urge to make that statement a lie. To meet Lord Alastor again, perhaps invited to a soirée by a mutual acquaintance, to catch his eye across the room and to smile at Alastor as Alastor smiled at the world; with perfect, assured confidence. To say, without speaking, I’m not merely your pet commoner, your charitable project. To smile, with only teeth- I belong here now.

And he had done it. He had made his fortune, not in a way that Alastor would have approved of, but a fortune nonetheless. He had friends, and lovers, and power, and a life that any man alive would have been envious of. He’d been so close, so damn close to swanning his way back across the Atlantic with a retinue in tow, to being invited to all the balls of the season, a hot commodity simply by virtue of his status as a wealthy and unmarried man. But none of that mattered now.

Vox watched the rainwater slide over the window of the carriage, making his view a grim, grey blur. Alastor always had to do things on his own terms. Alastor had to have known that he was planning his grand return; a house in Kensington and a thumb on the nose to everything Alastor had said about him. Vox would have flaunted it. Alastor would have hated it.

That was when the news had come, from one of Vox’s cousins, still living near Radio Hall.

That Lord Alastor was sick.

That he might not last the month.

And of course Vox had thrown all his neatly laid plans aside and booked passage at once, on a ship that he didn’t even own. The whole way there he had prayed that he wouldn’t be too late, that Alastor wouldn’t have the final word in their argument. What was the point of years of striving, if he didn’t get to be right? If, in the end, he still had to come crawling back to Radio Hall?

The carriage crunched to a halt outside the main doors, a pair of footmen hurrying out to greet him with umbrellas. Vox shielded his face with one hand, peering up the front facade of Radio Hall, and smiling as he caught sight of the light from the window in the west tower. Alastor’s bedroom. He wasn’t too late, after all.

Escorted inside, he brushed off the entreaties of the attendants that he get settled in his rooms and change his clothes, making a bee-line to Alastor’s valet, Mr Husk. “I want to see him.”

Mr Husk looked him up and down, as insolent as ever. “Didn’t expect you to show your face,” he said, tone amused. “Thought you of all people would be glad to see him in the ground.”

“Then you are fucking mistaken,” said Vox, a crack in his voice. Alastor had been his greatest friend, his confidant, had been so important to him. Was so important, still. “Show me to his rooms.”

The ascent to Alastor’s tower was a familiar one, but Vox found himself viewing the passage with fresh eyes after so long away. The heirlooms and paintings that lined the walls seemed faded, the space itself more confined and dark after years in spacious white-painted apartments. Even the carpets were more ragged and less luxurious than Vox remembered them. Had it all fallen into ruin in his absence, he wondered, or had it always been like this, faded and rotten, with Vox too blinded by Alastor’s charm to see it for what it was?

He’d been in Alastor’s rooms countless times; late nights drinking in his little study and putting the world to rights, or playing cards with other friends before the fireplace. He had been young then, and naive, excited to have such an invite to the man’s inner sanctum. When Alastor had started to speak of the occult, in abstract, hypothetical terms at first, swirling the last of the whiskey in his glass, Vox had listened, rapt.

And when it came down to the less theoretical matters, more practical matters, Vox had listened and learned, a willing apprentice.

They’d traveled Europe together, scouring the collections of rare book dealers and antiquarians, a month here, a month there, and those not in their intimate circle had assumed him to be Alastor’s lover. Those close enough to see clearly knew the truth, however; that Lord Alastor’s obsessions lay too bloody and too deep to be sated by a simple man like Vox, or by any man for that matter.

It was on these trips that he’d laid the foundations for his trading company, connections with Alastor’s friends and with people who wished to curry Lord Alastor’s favor. He’d met people for whom a thousand pounds was a trifling amount and borrowed seed money from them, all from under Alastor’s watchful shadow.

He’d seen more in their friendship than friendship, or perhaps he had hallucinated it, just as he had imagined the painting in the halls to be grand and glorious, their frames golden rather than peeling gilt.

Now, the place smelled like a sickbed; like blood and feculence and rot.

“Mr Vee to see you, sir,” said Mr Husk, his tone bored.

Alastor’s voice was silvery as ever. “Let him in.”

Alastor’s bedroom was no different to the version in Vox’s mind, each ornament and piece of furniture committed to memory. The four-poster bed with the Radio family crest carved into the headboard; a stag recumbent on a field of thorns. The stuffed crocodile that Alastor kept in the corner. The fireplace, a brass basket of firewood before it.

Alastor smiled at him, face gaunt and tired. He sat up in bed, robe loose around his shoulders, blanket at his waist, a stack of pillows behind him.

Vox froze in the doorway, caught between the boy he had been and a hundred versions of the man he hoped he would have become by now. He had envisioned this moment so many times, but somehow never like this. Never with Alastor bedridden and sick, collarbones prominent at the neckline of his robe. The Alastor in Vox’s mind had been an invincible thing, dressed in red and laughing as he danced across a ballroom.

“Hello, Voxxy.” Alastor lowered his eyelids, his lank hair falling half over his face, his teeth glinting in the firelight. “How was the new world? Was it as glamorous and glittering as you had hoped? Did you have a nice vacation?”

Vox swallowed, heart in his throat. How dare he? How dare he sit there and pretend like the last seven years hadn’t even happened? As if Vox had just this moment walked from the room and returned, his absence as notable as the space between breaths.

“Alastor.” Vox forced himself to take a step forward, into the light of his former mentor’s fireplace. “I, uh-”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you come to grieve at my bedside?” Alastor tilted his head, the sly, teasing smile on his gaunt face instantly familiar. “Since you came such a long way, I suppose I could lay down and be quiet for a little. Though I’d prefer if you didn’t paw at my bedclothes, they’re enough of a mess already.”

“Alastor!” Vox choked.

“And your heart is worn on your sleeve, as ever,” said Alastor, a roll of his eyes as Vox stepped closer. “I thought I told you to guard your feelings better.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything that you told me to.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it has.” Alastor sighed. “Why did you come here?”

For one brief instant, Vox was the stag faced down by the hounds, frozen in place before he could flee into the night. The wind howled outside, rain dashing against Alastor’s window.

You will never be my equal.

Those were the words that had echoed in his ears all these years. Those words that he desperately wanted to be a lie, those words that he had fought to disprove. Every brick of the empire that he had built, every late night and every bloody victory had been in their service, and somehow it hadn’t been enough. He wasn’t Alastor’s equal. He was rich, but still of common birth. He was a competent magician, but he lacked Alastor’s natural talent. Faced with tragedy, all he had was rage and bluster while Alastor would keep smiling even on his own deathbed. Vox stood at the foot of Alastor’s bed, looking down at the man he had called friend, unable to say because I belong here.

“I heard you were dying,” said Vox.

“I’m afraid that’s true.” Alastor gave a gay little laugh, and narrowed his eyes when Vox winced. “Don’t look so shocked. A lifetime of good food and bad magic is bound to catch up with one eventually.”

“Can I help?” Vox asked, his heart once more on his sleeve.

“Well, that’s an ambiguous offer if ever I heard one,” said Alastor, his tone playful.

“You know what I meant,” growled Vox.

“And more’s the shame,” said Alastor. “I thought perhaps you’d want the final say on things. I know I would, in your shoes.” He was talking circles around Vox, the same way he always had.

“We’re not the same,” said Vox. A peace offering. I will never be your equal. “If I can help you-” If I can save you, he left unspoken.

Alastor gave him a long look, his smile tight lipped, then patted the bedspread beside him. “Sit,” he said, and Vox did.

This close to Alastor, the smell of death was stronger; a smell like a carcass left in the sun, and even in the light from the fireplace, Vox could see the strained lines around his smile.

“There’s no loophole to this one, old pal,” said Alastor. “Believe me, I’ve checked. Damn thing’s eating me from the inside.”

“There must be a way-” Vox protested, but Alastor interrupted him.

“Do you plan to spend my last days down in my library, as I wither up here? Or would you rather spend them here with me?” Alastor wrinkled his nose. “Well?”

“Alastor,” breathed Vox, staring.

How many years had he spent as a young man, waiting for something like this from Alastor? Theirs had simply been a friendship; a precious friendship, and Vox had been a fool to want more than that. But he had dreamed. Of being someone that Alastor might want to spend the rest of his life with. However long that would be now. A few days, or weeks, or more, perhaps.

With the utmost care, he reached out to his old friend, his mentor, the man who had taken him in, the man he had raced hare-brained across the Atlantic to return to, and took him into his arms, embracing him.

“You are a sentimental fool,” said Alastor, quietly, but he did not pull away. His thin body relaxed against Vox’s, his face against Vox’s shoulder, and he gave a single, shuddering breath.

You belong here.

#bapples orchard collab #pride ring and prejudice #Hazbin Hotel regency AU

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reinthechaosdeer · 17 days

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Chapter one: Melodies of the Heart

In the grand ballroom of Voxley Manor, the air hummed with anticipation as guests arrived, their elegant attire shimmering under the soft glow of chandeliers. Among them stood Vaughn Voxley, the esteemed Duke of Ashbourne, his heart heavy with the weight of recent events that included him cutting ties fully with his longtime lover Valentino Ruiz. Across the room from Vaughn and having just entered the ballroom was Alastor Laufey talking to Roslind (Rosie) Philmont, a dear confidant and friend of the two gentlemen, Alastor exuded an aura of quiet strength, his piercing gaze betraying none of the turmoil within at having seen Vaughn across the room.

Vaughn and Alastor had been inseparable since their youth, their bond forged in the fires of shared laughter and whispered dreams. But as the years unfolded, their paths diverged. Alastor pursued his passion for music, honing his skills until his name became synonymous with brilliance on the grand stage of the world's most prestigious concert halls. Meanwhile, Vaughn ascended to his rightful place as Duke, navigating the intricate web of aristocratic society with grace and poise. During such a time Vaughn met and became close to Valentino Ruiz.

Yet, amidst their individual triumphs, one truth remained unchanged: Vaughn's heart belonged to Alastor, a love that had blossomed silently over the years, its roots deep and unyielding. That love for Alastor had partially caused the rift that would then separate Vaughn from Valentino along with Valentino having become abusive and running off with prostitutes constantly moving from one to another flight of fancy.

As the evening progressed, Vaughn's thoughts were consumed by memories of their shared past and visions of a future he dared not envision without Alastor by his side. Little did he know, fate had orchestrated a twist of destiny that would test the bounds of their friendship and the depths of their hearts.

It was during a lull in the festivities that Alastor materialized, a vision of elegance and grace, his fingers caressing the ivory keys of a grand piano with unparalleled skill. The music flowed from his soul, weaving a spell of enchantment that enraptured the assembled guests, Vaughn included.

Unable to resist the pull of Alastor's melody, Vaughn approached him with a mixture of trepidation and longing, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alastor, it's been too long."

Alastor's fingers faltered momentarily before resuming their dance across the keys, his gaze fixed on the instrument before him. "Indeed, it has, Vaughn," he replied, his tone guarded yet tinged with a hint of soft nostalgia and hidden care.

As the night wore on and Alastor moved from the pianoforte to allow another to take over, Vaughn found himself glued to Alastor's side, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if no time had passed between them. But beneath the surface, a tempest brewed, threatening to shatter the fragile peace they had forged and the tentative pleasure swirling in the air around them.

It was as Vaughn gained the courage to ask Alastor to dance that Valentino Ruiz, Vaughn's former lover and a man of volatile temperament, made his presence known, his eyes blazing with a mixture of jealousy and possessiveness. Without warning, he lunged at Alastor, his fists clenched in a display of drunken aggression seeing them together.

Vaughn moved to intervene, his heart pounding with fear and desperation. "Valentino, stop! This is madness, We’re over!”

But Valentino was beyond reason, his mind clouded by jealousy and wounded pride. Alastor stood his ground needing to prove that he cared about Vaughn after decades of passively standing aside, his eyes flashing with defiance as he met Valentino's onslaught head-on.

In the chaos that ensued, Vaughn found himself grappling with conflicting emotions, torn between his loyalty to Alastor and the remnants of his past with Valentino. Yet, in the heat of the moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation.

With a strength born of love and determination, Vaughn stepped between them, his voice ringing out with unwavering resolve. "Enough! I will not stand by and watch as you attack Alastor, Valentino, this misguided attempt to win me back ends here and now."

For a moment, the world stood still, the weight of Vaughn's words hanging heavy in the air. And then, as if by some silent accord, Alastor and Valentino lowered their fists, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange of understanding.

In that moment of clarity, Vaughn realized the truth that had been waiting patiently in the depths of his heart: his love for Alastor was not simply a fleeting fancy as Valentino had always responded with and nearly convinced Vaughn of, but a bond forged in the fires of shared history and unwavering devotion.

Turning to Alastor, Vaughn reached out a trembling hand, his voice barely a whisper. "Alastor, I have to ask though I fear your answer, please...give us a chance. Let me finally show you how much you mean to me, how much I've always ardently adored and admired you."

And in the gentle curve of Alastor's smile, Vaughn found his answer, a silent affirmation of the love that had endured the test of time.

As the notes of the next melody played beckoning guests to dance away, Vaughn took Alastor’s hand, their fingers intertwining in a silent promise of a future yet unwritten. And amidst the echoes of their shared past and the whispers of a love being rekindled by those who watched, they left the ballroom to walk in the garden away from others.

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

A gentle breeze swept through the bustling streets of London, carrying with it the promise of a new day. Amidst the throng of shoppers, Vaughn and Alastor strolled arm in arm, their laughter mingling with the rhythm of their footsteps.

It had been a few months since that fateful night at Voxley Manor, and in the wake of their reunion, Vaughn and Alastor had embarked on a journey of rediscovery, exploring the depths of their love with each passing day.

As they meandered through the crowded thoroughfares, their conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to the next, the weight of past grievances replaced by the lightness of newfound joy.

Yet, amidst the bustling activity of the city, a familiar figure emerged from the alley ahead of them, his presence a harbinger of unresolved tensions and lingering regrets. It was Valentino Ruiz, accompanied by his new lover, Anthony Gallo, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of resentment and malicious envy.

"Vaughn," Valentino called out, his voice dripping with disdain as he approached, his gaze fixed squarely on Alastor after running a lascivious glance taking in Vaughn’s body like toxic muck. "I see you're still with the mutt. Tell me, does he dance to your tune like a good little lapdog, happily begging for scraps?"

Vaughn's jaw clenched with restrained fury, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Valentino, this is neither the time nor the place for your pathetic attempts at insulting us. Leave us be."

But Valentino was undeterred, his words laced with venom as he turned his attention back to Alastor. "And what about you, Alastor? Are you content to play second fiddle to Vaughn's whims, forever relegated to the shadows of his affection?"

Alastor's gaze remained steady; his composure unwavering in the face of Valentino's provocation. "I am nobody's second choice, Valentino. Least of all yours."

Valentino's laughter echoed through the streets, a bitter reminder of the wounds that still lingered beneath the surface. "Oh, how noble of you, Alastor. But we both know the truth, don't we? Vaughn will always come crawling back to me, no matter how hard he tries to deny it."

But Vaughn stood tall, his resolve unyielding as he stepped forward, placing himself between Alastor and Valentino. "Valentino, I will not allow you to poison this moment with your petty insecurities. Alastor and I have found something worth fighting for, something that transcends the shadows of our past."

Valentino's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched in a silent display of fury. "You're making a mistake, Vaughn. Mark my words, you'll regret this decision."

But Vaughn remained steadfast, his gaze unwavering as he took Alastor's hand in his own, their fingers entwined in a silent gesture of solidarity. "I have no regrets, Valentino. My heart belongs to Alastor, now and forever."

With a final glance of contemptuous surrender, Valentino turned on his heel, his retreat a testament to the futility of his words. And as the echoes of his footsteps faded into the distance, Vaughn and Alastor were left alone once more, their love a beacon of light as they continued their journey through the streets of London headed toward the opera house, their hearts intertwined in a silent symphony of devotion, Vaughn knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, they would face them together.

Chapter 3: Harmony Everlasting

The stage was set, the spotlight casting its luminous glow upon Alastor Laufey as he stood before a sea of adoring fans. His fingers danced across the keys of the grand piano, each note a testament to the passion that burned within his soul.

As the final chords of his latest composition reverberated through the concert hall, a thunderous applause erupted, filling the air with a symphony of appreciation and admiration. But amidst the sea of faces, there was one that shone brighter than the rest, a beacon of unwavering support and unconditional love.

Vaughn stood in the front row, his eyes brimming with pride as he watched Alastor take his final bow. For in that moment, he knew with a certainty that transcended words: Alastor was not only his love, but his destiny.

As the last echoes of applause faded into the night, Vaughn made his way backstage, his heart pounding with anticipation. And there, amidst the whirlwind of congratulatory embraces and well-wishes, he found Alastor, his eyes alight with the glow of creative fulfillment.

"Alastor," Vaughn whispered, his voice barely above a breath as he took Alastor's hand in his own. "You were magnificent tonight. Your music...it moves me in ways I cannot ever begin to describe."

Alastor's smile was radiant, his gaze locking with Vaughn's in a silent exchange of understanding. "Thank you, Vaughn. Your unwavering support means more to me than words can express fully."

And then, as if guided by some unseen force, Vaughn found himself sinking to one knee, his heart laid bare before the man he loved more than life itself. "Alastor Laufey, will you do me the honor of spending the rest of your days by my side? Will you marry me?"

For a moment, time stood still, the world around them fading into insignificance as Alastor's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. And then, with a joyous laugh that echoed through the depths of Vaughn's soul, he threw his arms around Vaughn, his answer a resounding affirmation of their love.

"Yes, Vaughn," Alastor whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he pressed his lips to Vaughn's in a tender kiss. "A thousand times yes."

And amidst the applause of their friends and well-wishers, Vaughn and Alastor embarked on a journey of love and partnership, their hearts united in a harmony that would endure for all eternity.

For in the quiet moments that followed, as they basked in the glow of their shared happiness, Vaughn knew with a certainty that transcended words: theirs was a love that would stand the test of time, a love as timeless and enduring as the melodies of the heart.

Bonus Chapters Vaughn before the Ball: Breaking Free

The weight of silence hung heavy in the air as Vaughn Voxley sat alone in his study, the flickering flames of the hearth casting long shadows across the room. In his hands, he clutched a letter from Valentino "asking him to come back...That he wouldn't cheat again or hit him", its words a damning testament to the lies and deceit that had always plagued his once-glorious romance with Valentino Ruiz.

For years, Vaughn had turned a blind eye to Valentino's indiscretions, his love blinding him to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. But now, as the harsh light of reality pierced the veil of his illusions, he could no longer deny the painful truth: Valentino was not the man he had once believed him to be.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Vaughn penned his response, each word a dagger of truth aimed squarely at the heart of their doomed relationship. And as he affixed his signature to the parchment, a sense of liberation washed over him, the chains of his past finally shattered beneath the weight of his resolve.

It was amidst this tumultuous sea of emotions that Vaughn received word of Alastor's return to town, his heart aflutter with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. For in the depths of his soul, he knew that Alastor's presence heralded the dawn of a new chapter in his life, one filled with promise and possibility.

As the days passed and preparations for Vaughn's upcoming ball reached a fever pitch, whispers of Alastor's return spread like wildfire through the aristocratic circles of London. And though Vaughn tried to quell the rising tide of anticipation that swelled within his breast, he could not deny the flutter of excitement that danced in his heart at the thought of seeing Alastor once more.

And then, on the day of the ball, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars painted the night sky with their celestial glow, Vaughn watched as Alastor arrived with Rosie.

Bonus Chapters Vaughn leaves Valentino: Shadows Unveiled

The night was shrouded in darkness as Vaughn Voxley made his way through the winding streets of London, his heart heavy with the weight of impending confrontation. For weeks, whispers of Valentino's infidelity had plagued his thoughts, each passing day a cruel reminder of the lies and deceit that had poisoned their once-glorious romance.

And so it was, on this fateful evening, that Vaughn found himself standing outside the elegant townhouse where Valentino had taken refuge, his resolve steeling itself for the inevitable reckoning that lay ahead.

With a trembling hand, Vaughn pushed open the door, the soft click of the latch echoing through the empty foyer. And there, amidst the dimly lit shadows of the parlor, he found Valentino, entwined in the arms of another man, their whispered confessions a damning testament to the depths of his betrayal.

For a moment, time stood still as Vaughn's heart shattered into a million pieces, the sting of betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. And then, with a loud yell of anguish, he lunged forward, his fists clenched in a desperate display of furious hurt.

However Valentino was ready, his movements swift and precise as he struck back with a force born of cruelty and dismissal. Blow after blow rained down upon Vaughn, each one a cruel reminder of the pain that had festered beneath the surface of their doomed romance.

With every ounce of strength remaining, Vaughn fought back, his vision clouded by a haze of pain and rage. But as the darkness closed in around him, he knew that he could not win this battle alone.

Summoning the last vestiges of his resolve in living to see Alastor again, Vaughn broke free from Valentino's grasp, his body battered and bruised as he blindly kicked Valentino in the face and slammed a vase to daze him, then crawled out the window quickly. And there, amidst the cold embrace of the night air, he made his escape, his heart heavy with the weight of shattered dreams and broken promises.

As he fled into the darkness, Vaughn knew that this would not be the end of his story. For in the depths of his soul, he carried with him the ember of hope, a flickering flame that refused to be extinguished by the shadows of his past. And though the road ahead would be fraught with uncertainty and peril, he would face it with courage and determination, his heart guided by the light of a love that had refused to die no matter what.

#regency au #hazbin hotel au #vox/alastor #radiostatic #bapplesorchardcollabs #pride ring and prejudice

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