Chapter Text
Warning Notice:
I am not now, nor will I ever claim to be an expert on human sexuality. I base my work on experiences that myself or people I know have gone through so please keep that in mind when commenting. If you do not want to see Alastor who is canonically confirmed asexual involved in sexual acts then this is not the story for you. If you wish to learn more about asexuality then please find a reputable source for educational material.
Next. My spelling and grammar have gone through editing but the editing is also by myself and I am highly dyslexic. I am getting better with their, there, they’re, but please keep in mind any words with multiple spellings may not be the correct version. Effort is being put forth but for me it is highly confusing when to us to vs too. Usually, I will stick with just one version of a word through my stories but I tried to challenge myself by attempting to choose the correct spellings for each instance. If you ever notice a word has been altered I may have gone back and corrected it if I spot errors.
Last notice, trigger warnings. This is adult content and anything could be hiding in these pages. I try to use tags the best that I can. I am not a huge gore person but violence can still be found in some of my works. I do not condone harming anyone for any reason other than self-defense. This story is art. Just because I have put something negative into it does not mean I find it to be appropriate to copy in real life. Stay safe, stay hydrated, and have a good time.
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Feelings of betrayal. Of heartbreak. Of anger.
No. Not anger. Rage.
Rage that would now be directed at the nearest source of frustration. It was mocking him. The typewriter was mocking him. Calling him a fool in it’s own way. When his old set up jammed one too many times on that wrong day, that was it. He lost it. Utterly lost it.
Alastor threw it into the wall. Parts all over. Scattered. A large hole in his drywall to boot. Damn it. Now he was stuck with this new fangled thing. Some sort of typewriter that was a computer but not. A shame, he really missed his old one. The sound it made as he worked.
This new set up was a little complicated for him. Irritation made the demon’s teeth buzz with static. The thing was called a Treewrite. Evidently it was some sort of play on the name brand they sold on Earth to the living souls. Freewrite was the original brand. But here in Hell everything was a terrible joke it seemed. Being Hell an all. That would explain all the singing and dancing. Alastor loved that part though. The little logo on the front of the contraption he was faced with was a small tree with a single apple hanging from it. Gold as the sun, the little apple lit up when you turned it on.
“Some say it was a pomegranate.” Was all Alastor said when he had opened the box.
His inspection of the logo and devise had prompted that statement.
“I know the list of fruits people think it was but trust me, it was an apple. A red one, but golden apples are known for their chaos. Also you’re welcome there Bambi. Now. Stop putting holes in the damn walls.” A gift from the King of Hell himself.
How grand.
First the ‘i̸͈̥̗̓n̷̓͛̈́ͅcĩ̸̭̣͘͜den̶̤̺̑͝ț̵̠̆’ and then Lucifer playing kiss ass. Lovely.
Alastor shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. Wondering thoughts were dangerous. A distraction. Like Lucifer. He. He was a distraction.
Never mind all that. His teeth hummed from the low level frequency of the simplified computer. Basically the thing was a keyboard with a little screen that folded in on it. A soft on the eyes looking screen that showed his words. He could save his work. Even send it to other devices. It’s minimal use and the ability to shut off the internet functions unless needed were the main reason it had been picked for him.
Lucifer knew it would be less taxing on Al’s body to be around it. All the screens. The noises. Constant frequency interruptions these days. It made his dials spin. And the King seemed to know it.
A normal computer was something Alastor could be around for a while on a good day. On a bad day it would give him a migraine after a few minutes. The radio frequencies were the few that didn’t make his head feel like popping. Computers and phones, whatever was coming off of them made his head scream from the inside out if he wasn’t in the mindset to brace for it. It was like hearing constant yelling. Doses were one thing. Nonstop all the time was another.
It didn’t always hurt though. And not every phone or computer was strong. The reception and ratio going on around him impacted it all. But this little device mearly made his teeth hum in an excitable sort of fashion. Secretly, Alastor very well liked it.
When Lucifer had waltzed in one day to make a half assed apology he had found Alastor preroar. Heads were about to roll. Parts of Alastor’s smuggled (and stolen from his father) to Hell typewriter that he had cherished in life were everywhere. A large shape blasted into the near by wall. The impact zone. Collision city. Location, the wall with the front door attached.
What happened after that mess was of no one else’s concern. But one thing stood. Lucifer knew that Alastor was out of a typewriter. That and coincidentally the online profile for the publisher of the King’s favorite author announced that the next installment in Lucifer’s favorite book series was now delayed.
It took some time to come to terms with the series of unfortunate events but Lu could not get the idea out of his head. Alastor had destroyed his typewriter and now the new book Lucifer was waiting ever so patiently on was delayed. He could not help himself.
Lucifer Morningstar would find out if his favorite author was indeed Alastor The Radio Demon or not. He needed to know. Surely these two situations were unrelated. Right? And there was only one way to find out.
“If he turned out to be your current favorite author, dad that would be so great. Friends with your favorite author? That would be sooo amazing! What are you waiting for? You should go an ask him!” The daughter. Charlotte. Always so excitable. She had certainly inherited her father’s zest for life. Well, his zest pre depression.
Lucifer’s sweet cherub of a child. Well, woman. Adult daughter. And as his child she really should know better. Charlie Morningstar thought he would just ask? No! Why would he ever do that when he could simply give Alastor a new way to write and if this next book came out soon then maybe, just maybe there might be some relations going on but if this changed nothing than that would be the end of it.
The plan was swiftly put into action.
“Why?” No ‘sire’ or ‘my king’. No jokes. Alastor simply asked with a displeased smile as Lucifer held the gift box out to him. Even his radio filter was gone when he spoke.
‘Just take the stupid keyboard and be happy you jerk.’ Lucifer hissed in his own mind.
Alastor made no move to take the gift.
“Let us call it my way of apologizing for… the other day. I… I regret my actions. I shouldn’t have been such a jack ass when you were unwell. Now can you just take the stupid gift please? I just want to move forward as us seeming to get along means a lot to my daughter.” Again, he held out the box with a slight shake.
This time Alastor took it. He opened it. He was slightly stunned by how personal, how heartfelt the gift had been chosen. Was Lucifer being compassionate here? Or perhaps he was making fun of him? What the joke was he couldn’t be sure of but since the old typewriter had been dear to him he felt that Lucifer may poke at that some how.
But no. The gift was just that. A gift. Well, maybe not JUST that as Lucifer also wanted to see what would happen next. Admittedly Lucifer did feel warm after Alastor thanked him later on. The next morning The Radio Demon thanked him during breakfast.
The keys of the board were glossy. The thing felt cheap compared to the heftiness of his old set up. But he had to give it to the electronics on this one. No jammed keys. Lightweight. He could carry it and it’s charging cord in one of his oversized pockets. At night he would stay up and type in the dark. The little screen was backlit. The keys glowed in the dark. When he got tired he would hit save and flip the contraption shut.
Between his radio shows, hotel work, and writing, he was as busy as ever. Attending an overlords meeting was even added to the line up. So much to do.
Yet still.
About a week after Alastor was gifted his replacement typewriter the demon made a call to his publisher and updated them. His next book would be ahead of schedule. And it would be his last one. A long conversation ensued. The books! They were so popular, why, why end them?! Well because inspiration often wanes. After many books about a hopeless human man who was in love with The Devil himself, Alastor had lost his desire to write about such a subject.
The apology had softened the blow but quite frankly, Lucifer had fucked up bad. Very bad. Alastor was ending his series because of… ‘t̶h̵e̶ in̴c̸i̴d̴e̶n̸t̵’. The deerling just wanted this over and done with.