#BapplesOrchardCollabs

[geikurre]

My artwork for the regency era prompt challenge

#art #my art #fanart #alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor fanart #human alastor #human vox #radiostatic #PrideRingandPrejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs

[macabr3-barbi3]

PrideRing and Prejudice Prompt Challenge!

hello everyone! the Bapple's Orchard Discord Server had a Regency Prompt Challenge that a lot of crazy talented artists and writers have contributed to: here is the Masterlist of everyone's submissions that will be being updated through the day as more people post! There's something for everyone, and will be including RadioStatic and x Reader fics and music!

With that said, here are my submissions! First, have a string quartet arrangement that I did for a Bapple Approved™️ RadioStatic song, Something About Us by Daft Punk 🦌📺

And a short and sweet Alastor x Reader fic- enjoy! 💕🦌

Moonlight on Canvas (Hazbin Hotel Regency AU)

The ball hosted by the Morningstar family had been, as always, a fantastical soiree until you had spotted Alastor.

You give Lord Morningstar’s daughter Charlotte a wave across the room when she spots you, her own arm waving furiously, and as she turns away you see Alastor behind her, caught in conversation with the eager viscount, Vincent Vox. He strikes a silhouette like a portrait, one you’ve painted countless times before; tall, lean, the red of his outfit a charming contrast to his dark hair and eyes. You can see it in your mind now, the brushstrokes you could use to mimic the beauty of him in the lights of the ballroom, the burgundies and crimsons for his jacket, hickory and mahogany for his hair and the darkness of his eyes where they watch the viewer under the shadow of his fringe. It would make a stunning painting, and yet still be a poor imitation of what stood in front of you.

He looks like he would rather be anywhere but where he is, taking cautious steps backwards that Vox follows, and when he casts a desperate look behind himself he catches your eye, brows rising when his gaze settles on you, resplendent in your evening finery.

You bolt when he turns to make his excuses, ducking into the hall that leads to the garden before his eyes can track where you’ve gone.

The cool air of the night is a soothing balm on your nerves as you settle on the bench amongst the roses and tulips, off the main path where married couples and chaperoned groups pass by. Your heart is racing and you wish you had given enough thought to your escape to grab a drink before fleeing. You couldn’t face Alastor tonight; maybe you never could again. Once a close friend, he had been gone for seven years. You had written him countless letters, asking of his travels, when he would be coming home, why he had left so suddenly- every one of them left unanswered, the Viscount having assured you that he was passing your messages along since they had also been tentative friends before he left.

Surely you had done something wrong. He had changed his mind after leaving, your last conversation one about his marriage prospects- “if I must marry anyone, a lifelong commitment to a friend that I have grown fond- to you- would be far more desirable than one thrust upon me by the demands of society,” he had said, and while it wasn’t a dramatic declaration of love you knew what you expected of one another. You wanted him, but you would settle for being part of society, not pushed to the wayside as a spinster as your age went on; he wanted to be left to his own devices, no longer bothered by the mothers of eligible women or fathers looking to make a marriage for business connections. You had thought that he meant you- you must have been mistaken, if his blatant ignoral of your letters was anything to go by.

You wouldn’t let it bother you. You had been waiting for him all this time, but perhaps the time had come to set aside matters of the heart and focus on your life. Sir Pentious, a charming (if clumsy) man was present at the ball, and had made an offer for your hand once that you had declined, no father or brother to convince you on the matter and your mother uncaring of your choices- perhaps you could speak with him and see if the offer still stood… 

A branch cracks behind you, tearing you from your thoughts, and you turn to see Alastor behind you, two glasses of champagne held in one hand. “I thought I might find you here,” he murmurs, giving you that familiar smile of his. “Where else would an artist be but amongst the most beautiful scenery on the grounds?”

“Alastor.” You glance through the bushes and trees, not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity. “I didn’t know that you were back!”

His head tilts ever so slightly. “Oh? So your record setting sprint from the ballroom was for another reason then; I see.” Despite his smile you can see that he’s a bit irritated, his grip on the stems of the champagne glasses making them clink together before he hands one to you. “I had hoped that we could speak tonight- I meant to inform you of my return sooner.”

You take the glass from him wordlessly and down it, ignoring the amused look on his face. “Perhaps you should have informed me of your departure sooner as well, rather than disappearing into the night without so much as a ‘farewell.’” You use your glass to keep you grounded and turn to inspect the flowers, fighting to keep the ire from your voice. You weren’t ready for this conversation with him, hadn’t been planning on talking to him at all really, after his absence. 

“Darling.” You hear the compression of the grass as he steps closer to you, entering the peripherals of your vision. “What have I done to earn such a dismissal? Do you not wish to see me at all?”

“No,” you say truthfully, and the flash of hurt across his face strikes anguish into your heart. “I didn’t- I wasn’t ready to see you tonight.”

Even now he is beautiful, especially now; he stiffens his shoulders, his face upset, eyes still bright in the darkness of the night. Amongst the flowers, the yellows and reds contrasting so stunningly with the image of him, you could paint this scene a hundred ways and still never quite capture the raw emotion that overtakes his expression. Depending on how the rest of the conversation goes, that might be the only way that you can gaze upon his beauty going forward- paintings done from memory, sketches on ballroom napkins when you spot him at a party and can’t stop the itch in your fingers that demands you bring the vision to fruition.

The tension seeps from his frame, not in relief but defeat. “I wish you had come to me,” he whispers, pain evident in his tone. “About whatever I did to cause your apparent frustration with me. Before simply deciding to cast me- our friendship- aside. So that I may have had some attempt at salvaging it.”

“What are you- Alastor, you cut me off!” You whirl around to face him fully, hating the sting of tears in your eyes. “I sent you countless letters when you left and you never responded-”

“You’re one to speak of unanswered correspondence,” he huffs. “‘Countless,’ you say- can you not count to ‘zero?’”

“What?” The tension in his frame has returned while he struggles to keep his composure, and he looks away from you, casting his eyes out across the garden rather than facing you. “Alastor, I sent you hundreds of letters over the years- I had to send them off through the Viscount since you didn’t deign to even tell me you were leaving. So many letters asking where you were, why you left, when you were coming back. If you were… okay. I thought you might have died and I was devastated until I saw you today and I thought that you just-” You cut yourself off when you hear the quiet clamor of other voices, and you duck into the shadow of the apple trees that line the path. You watch Alastor track their movements down the path before he turns back to you as they get out of sight, his expression now curious rather than pained.

“What did you think?” He sets his glass down on the bench and steps closer, maintaining a respectable distance between your bodies but reaching his hand out to take yours, pulling the champagne glass from your own tight grip with his free hand and setting it beside his. Your heart is hammering in your chest while you stand there together; if someone so much as saw you out here together-

“Dearest.”

“Don’t call me that,” you manage despite your breath being caught in your chest. “Not now. You’ve clearly changed your mind, if you meant it at all, and I was foolish to-”

His unoccupied hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone and effectively making your brain stutter. “What did you think?” He asks quietly, his eyes lidded as he looks down at you, his familiar smile looking like it means to come back, twitching at the edges of his lips. “Grant me this clarification if you would- a proper conversation might help to clear up any lingering uncertainty between us.”

You can’t bring yourself to step back from his hold on your skin. “I- our last discussion,” you breathe, not daring to speak any louder lest you break the spell that’s fallen over the pair of you. “You had said that were you to marry anyone you would want it to be me, and then you vanished for seven years without so much as an ‘adieu.’ I thought…” You swallow the lump in your eyes, distantly thinking that the blurred image of him before you would make another lovely portrait. “I thought you changed your mind; that you had said something reckless and wanted to take it back without having to have such a discussion with me.”

“It would appear that the charming Viscount has played us both for fools, darling.” He looks like he wants to step closer to you but thinks better of it as a peal of laughter escapes the hall leading to your little platform in the garden. “I am not one to change my mind once I have made a decision; I sent you letters as well. Tales of what I could divulge of my travels- and I will provide more details when I am able to- and questions about what you were doing without me, mentions of how I missed our chats and teas. I inquired multiple times if you had considered what I said, blatantly verified that I would be interested in marrying you whenever I was able to return. I thought your lack of a response was a refusal.”

“Oh my God, Alastor.” The nervous laughter that bubbles out of you is so refreshing it takes over your body, stomach not able to heave the way it wants with the corset in the way of your air intake. “You tried to send your letters through Vox as well?”

“Not directly- I had my aide, Husker, coming into town with my correspondence. He left them with dear Vincent who assured him that they were going to the proper recipients. I suppose I can only hope that no one else was subjected to the same discourtesy and received my letters as intended.” He removes his hands from your face and wrist to clench his own into fists at his sides. “This blatant disrespect of not just my matters, but yours as well, will not stand.” He turns like he means to head back into the ballroom and your hand darts out, grips his arm like to let him go would be a grievous mistake.

“Did you really mean it?” You ask him, and the look that he gives you you want to find a way to paint on the back of your eyelids- fond and amused and relieved, tinged with anger that is not directed at you but on your behalf. “You- you would marry me?”

He hums a bit, glancing back at you with that fond look in his gaze. “As long as you'd still want to marry a man potentially convicted of manslaughter after I've seen the Viscount, then yes, darling. Seven years might have changed a lot, but neither my feelings nor my intentions.” He pulls you closer, almost into his arms then, his embrace so light it’s hardly there, the fabric of your clothing just barely brushing his. Your gasp is lost against the soft material of his coat before you look up at him, smile soft when he directs it to you. “Would you think me a scoundrel should I steal a kiss from you before my possible imprisonment?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “I could never think anything but the best of you, Alastor,” you tell him, and then whisper, “please,” tilting your face up and closing your eyes, the thought of someone seeing you far from your mind. This moment would make a beautiful painting, you were sure of it; anticipation clear in the strokes of the brush, the colors making the tension and relief between the two of you evident, your emotions bleeding through the canvas into the eyes of whoever looked at it.

His lips press to your forehead, and when your eyes fly open he’s chuckling at you, grin mischievous as he steps away. “I’m afraid this is all I will allow myself, dearest- I can’t be causing too many scandals in one night.” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a light kiss there as well before releasing you entirely.

“Now that things have been cleared up between us, I do believe the Viscount is owed a visit!” Alastor says this cheerfully, a wink aimed in your direction before he's striding back down the hallway to the ballroom, his long legs making it difficult to catch him before he can do something reckless.

You’ve just entered the room, cheeks flushed, when you see Alastor stroll up to Vox as casual as can be. “Alastor!” The Viscount exclaims, gesturing beside himself to a tall companion, dressed in a gaudy shade of purple. “I was just telling my friend here about-”

The crowd never hears what Vox was telling his friend as Alastor’s clenched fist connects with his face, sending him flying backwards into a table and spilling punch and hor d'oeuvres across the floor. His friend looks outraged, a young woman nearby failing to stifle a chuckle into her glass of champagne, and everyone is watching Alastor like some feral animal as he straightens up after dealing his blow and stretches his hand out. “This man,” he says, his voice full of contempt like you’ve never heard from him before, glaring down at Vox’s bleeding form, “is a cad. An encroaching fungus that has wheedled his way into the fine community that we have here and should not be spared another thought. Viscount or not, a wretch will remain a wretch; things such as honor and loyalty cannot, apparently, be taught. I implore you all to keep that in mind!” He offers a smile and a low bow to some of the nearby ladies as a couple of the Morningstar guards are shuffling over, and he puts up no resistance, holding his arms out amiably for them to take and lead him away. 

When the guards have led Alastor away, the Morningstar patriarch following out the way they had come, you watch as Vox is helped to his feet by his companion, furiously wiping blood off his face before storming out of the ballroom. You wonder if there’s a way to get your letters back- to give them to Alastor, provide him with the words that you had tried telling him for so long before the opportunity was forcibly taken from your hands. You find a glass of punch from a table that hadn’t been buckled under the weight of a man and sip it while you make a lap around the ballroom- unsure if Alastor will be able to return but not yet willing to let the magical feel of the evening end. There are whispers all around you, about Vox, about Alastor, and you look again to the broken table that hasn’t yet been cleaned up, wondering if they would allow you to take the stained tablecloth to use as a canvas if you stretched it properly.

“Excuse me, miss.”  A man speaks behind you, and you turn to see an older gentleman- Husker, if you remember correctly of your tea and chats with Alastor. “His Grace has asked me to reassure you that with the exception of his being thrown into a jail cell, he will come to call on you tomorrow at your mother’s residence; to ask for your hand properly.” He gives a heavy sign, glancing at the rest of the occupants of the ballroom and the group of people that stand to your left. “I was also asked to inform you that should you decide to paint the events of this evening, he would be more than happy to hang the resulting portrait in the manor’s foyer.” 

Your face lights up with a genuine smile, something that Husker eyes suspiciously before he walks away, muttering under his breath. You look around the ballroom and find Charlotte talking to a friend and make your way to her- she could be convinced to part with the tablecloth, you were sure of it, and you would use it to make a beautiful piece of art that hung in your new home and marked the start of something that had been worth waiting for after all.

#PrideRing and Prejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs #fan song #arrangement #hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor x reader #alastor #everyone is so creative <3

[fraugwinska]

PrideRing and Prejudice Collaboration

Folks - this is an event long in the making, and I'm so excited it's finally time!!! 💜 The amazing @bapple117 and all the other talented artists on her Discord Server came together, to write/draw/compose Art pieces under the theme: Hazbin Hotel Regency AU

Of course I had to participate - and this is the product! I sincerely hope you'll love it as much as I loved writing it! And please - check out all the other amazing contributions (We have major #RadioStatic pieces!) on our masterlist right here.

Socrates once said 'One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love.'

Maybe that was the reason life, for me, always felt like a burden to bear.

The runt of the litter. Oldest daughter of wealthy, respectable people, and yet... Not as beautiful as my two younger sisters. Not as clever as the youngest. Not as talented as the middle. So parental love, spare thing that it is, was distributed towards the ones with the most prospect, while I, dutifully, smiled, nodded and stayed silent in the shadows of my sisters, living of the rare crumbs that they let fall once in a while.

There was a time, where I thought love was finally within my grasp. When Lord Vincent Voxley – young, handsome, charming, rich - a successful merchant and eligible bachelor had begun to show interest, asking for a dance on one of the many balls my family frequented to have me shown off and – hopefully – off their hands with a hasty and relatively profitable marriage. They were delighted at the prospect of joining families with the Voxleys, and eager to foster what they thought bloomed that moment before it could rot at the stem. For one night, I felt like life could indeed be free of pain, lost in the movement of a dance and a smile that I didn't have to share, that I thought was all mine. But I was foolish, still am, I suppose.

Lord Voxley, although continuing to shower me in luscious gifts, inviting me to strolls and prospecting engagement even, was generous with his smiles. And his attention. Soon enough, I'd meet another lady with a bracelet matching the necklace he gifted me, hear the same charming words spoken to me from his lips to anothers ears. I couldn't bear the thought of mirroring life as it was, only with even more of a broken heart as it wouldn't be my family, but my husband who'd ration his love for me - if there even was something like love - and rejected his offer with a heavy heart.

My parents were angry, disappointed that I had wasted the one opportunity life gave me on finally being wed. My sisters, one already married and glowing and one engaged and radiant, were equally pitying and dismissive. But I had learned to be content with silence and solitude, and thus found myself accepting the lonely fate life had prepared for me.

It was in that moment, when I finally realized that life wasn't kind, and that it never would be, that I met him.

Gossip of my rude rejection spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of Mr. Alastor Hartfelt, who soon after sought out my father and inquired about me. Known around town for his eccentric personality, a solicitor of the law, a lot of the townspeople looked upon him with wary suspicion - even though considered middle class, he had a fair amount of wealth, servants and acquaintances in the upper circles. Frequently consulting Lord Voxley at his trading business had the rumor mill run wild, the nature of the connection between both unmarried men slowly brought into areas of vulgarity. Which had been the point where Alastor had declined further company of the Lord, to the latter's deep chagrin.

And yet, despite the rumors and the gossip and the strange reputation that he held, my father was all too eager to give him my hand in marriage.

The short span of escorted dates was filled with polite, but reserved conversation, and his demeanor was one of an obliging acquaintance rather than a man seeking to know a potential partner. His smiles were fleeting, his thoughts often turned inward, and while he was leading our conversations with an astute mind, I had a feeling his mind was always elsewhere whenever I spoke.

When he proposed, I was taken aback, and he noticed. "I am not one to beat around the bush, dear. We are both well aware of the rumors surrounding my person and yours, and while I do not care much for gossip, you clearly did. Your parents are happy with the union, and while my affections for you might not be as strong as they probably should, my respect is."

My face must've given away the hurt at his words, the sting of a blow to the last bit of pride I had been able to conserve. He had the decency to look contrite, and I saw his hand move as if he wanted to touch mine, but then decided against it.

"I won't force you to accept," he'd told me, the first words he'd said that truly sounded genuine. "I will not demand something from you that you cannot give willingly." He looked at me, with eyes so deep I couldn't help but stare back, trying to decipher the secrets they hid, but only finding a certain sadness in them that I couldn't yet understand, but deeply resonated in me. Familiar, in a way.

"I...," I tried to formulate, my voice breaking as I thought about the future, what the the years would look like that I would spend without someone by my side. Alastor wasn't a cruel man, in contrary. He was honorable and thoughtful, and had been nothing but a gentleman in the time I had known him, treating everyone he encountered, especially women, with utmost decency and respect, including me. Which was the closest to love I had ever gotten to.

"I would be honored."

His eyes softened, and the honest smile he gave me was, for the first time, directed at me and me alone. "That is enough."

So I found myself, dressed in a white gown I had given up ever wearing long ago, a ring on my finger marking me as a wedded woman. The wedding ceremony had been modest and quick, held on Alastor's own estate, which was an outrage in itself. Lord Voxley, invited by my now husband and accompanied by his associate (an italian fellow named Valentino), angrily glared at me from the distance and watched along friends, families and aquaintances as the officiant declared us husband and wife, a tight smile on Alastors face and a wary one on mine.

After the ceremony, he had excused himself for a short amount of time, leaving me with my newfound relatives and the other guests. There was an uncomfortable, almost palpable tension in the room, as all the eyes present were staring at me, wondering and judging the reason why someone like him would settle for a pariah like me, the whispers slowly starting to turn towards the direction of the rumors once more. Even my sisters were joining in the whispers, a betrayal that stung more than I thought, even though I had expected something like this to happen.

It was a short lived comfort when Alastor's housekeeper Niffty, small and bubbly girl that she was, snuck up behind me and took my hand, congratulating me on my wedding and telling me how wonderful and happy the day had been, a smile so sincere it made me wonder if this was the only one present. Her enthusiasm was a welcome reprieve, and her small hands squeezed mine reassuringly before she hurriedly scurried back to help serve the guests... the first one I saw that seemed happy for the union, the first one I saw who had the decency to look happy for the bride.

A cold hand on my arm ripped this happy moment from me, Lord Voxley standing at my side and giving me an icy smile. "I would say congratulations, but I'm not so sure how sincere it would be." His gaze, usually soft and warm, was now piercing and calculating, and I was unable to read his expression. Behind him I could see his escort watching us with a mocking smile, swinging a glass of red wine with long fingers. It looked like blood.

"You don't have to lie," I quietly said to him, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. "There's no need to keep up the charade anymore. It's over now, and we can both move on."

He scoffed, his face contorting into a grimace. "Yes, I suppose that's true. There's no need to entertain a farce, no need for pleasantries." His hand gripped my arm tighter, and his words were venomous. "Well then, since we're honest now, let me make a few things clear: You are just a replacement, a decoy wife to stop the small-town gossip about me and Alastor from spreading and we both know that. I just have no idea why he would demean himself as far as to marry the likes of you."

His grip hurt, and he looked as if he was about to say more, when a tall figure appeared next to him. "Let go of my wife, Vincent. We wouldn't want to spoil her day."

Lord Voxley's face changed from angry and bitter, to a cold, polite smile, and he let go of my arm. "Of course, old friend. It was just a friendly chat."

"Friendship, not unlike love, is earned through patience and respect, and you are sorely lacking in both, dear Vox." Alastor countered, taking my hand and squeezing it reassuringly, a gesture that not only surprised me but made my tense heart flutter.

Voxley grimaced and sneered. "Let's see if her patience will last, when she realizes-"

Alastor stepped between us, his teeth gritted. "This is a warning, and my last kindness, Vincent. Don't test me. Especially not on my wedding day."

It was clear the fight would escalate soon if the situation wasn't diffused, and it was Lord Voxley's Italian business partner that interfered now, placing a firm hand on Voxley's shoulder and grinning mockingly. "Ah, ah, tesoro. Let them have their moment while it lasts."

Both exchanged looks, and finally, Voxley seemed to relent, before his gaze flickered over my new husband and settled on me with pitiful scorn.

"Pardon us," he said with a derisive smile and rolled his shoulders, before he made a short bow. "And warm wishes for a successful, long-lasting marriage." With a condescending smirk at the two of us, he and Valentino went back to the center of attention, where the loud laughs of drunk guests and a lewd melody played in a corner told everyone just how the festivities would turn tonight.

Alastor watched him and his retreat with a grim expression, before turning to face me fully.

"I apologize for this unpleasant scene, I'm afraid our dear lord has too much of an ego for the good of anyone involved." His eyes wandered to the place the cold hand had pinned me. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

I shook my head, and was surprised to find that my hand hadn't left his, still softly pressed against his side. The comforting heat his body radiated warmed me up faster than any fireplace could, and I knew, despite the difficult past weeks and the uneasiness that still permeated the celebration, that this had been the right decision, and the only one possible.

"Let us take a little walk, a little air and quiet will do us both some good. I want to show you something."

Hand in hand, he led the way along the aisles of the dining hall, bowing his head in polite acknowledgment towards the guests we passed before walking outside, towards a dark part of his property.

The gardens were a sight to behold, with the sun slowly settling behind lush, green, yellow and red tree tops, a cool autumn breeze blowing and the leaves around us rustling. While we walked, Alastor remained silent, lost in his thoughts once more, and I kept watching him carefully, while his gaze rested firmly at the ground he walked, avoiding my curious eyes and staring down intently, seemingly busy searching for something among the darkening floor.

I, in turn, felt nervous in the silence of the walk, unsure how to proceed, how to thank him for the small moment of kindness after the sharp, cutting words of Voxley. The singular moment I really felt seen, as if I mattered.

He led me deeper and deeper, between tall, beautiful flowers and pruned shrubbery, until we reached a secluded grove, the evening sky glowing gently through the leaves of an apple tree, the apples at its limbs not quite ripe yet, but there was a pleasant smell of fall lingering, and a faint bubbling sound. A spring, almost hidden to any unaware visitor by the small clearing, sprouted from an elevated layer of earth and rocks above and merrily splattered down into a small, narrow stream. The air was cooler here, fresh and clear, and the peacefulness of the area seemed a far cry from the celebratory noise of the party.

"I find solace in nature. And when I can, I come here, sit and contemplate the world in my moments of frustration."

My eyes wandered through the calm of the spot, until it reached my husbands figure, tall and stiff, the dying evening sun casting shadows in his face that made him look even more tired, more worn than he should have looked. It dawned on me then, that even for a moment, his mind was also riddled by things not entirely his making, thoughts and worries I couldn't understand.

He sighed. "When my mother passed away, the last thing she said to me was to 'find a woman whose character was in the smallest possible degree founded on rational principle', before she was laid in her final resting place."

He smiled, wry and empty. "And when I became acquainted with you, a woman that seemed to understand the situation I'm in and didn't demand for my affections, one of those 'rational principles' as my mother put it, I finally felt...relieved, in a way."

I swallowed around the lump that formed in my throat at his confession, my eyes feeling hot, suddenly overwhelmed at the knowledge of the affection my new spouse felt towards me, in a way, but not knowing whether I should feel joy or ache over the circumstances.

"I may not love you like a husband should today or tomorrow," His words echoed through the brook, clear as the water of the little stream, and his fingers, cold on my hand, lifted mine gently to his lips, "and you might feel the same way about me." His face turned slightly, and the smile he gave me was one of sympathy, and maybe a bit of shared loneliness. "But every river has to start with a spring."

But as he kissed my hand in a gesture so tender I hadn't believed him to possess, and my heart started beating faster, I was able to look in his eyes for the first time, and something that might resemble trust, warmth and a feeling close to comfort blossomed deep inside my chest, feeling as if my hand was a little lighter when he let it go.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #bapple's apples #Bapple's Orchard Discord Server #Pride Ring and Prejudice #Hazbin Hotel Regency AU #PrideRingandPrejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs

[miz-blue]

Hazbin Hotel fanfic/fanart: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Title: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: PG-13

Pairing(s): Alastor/Vox

Summary: (Regency AU) The once prestigious LeClaire family has of late fallen on trying times. So trying, as it happens, that the family's eldest son, Lord Alastor, begrudgingly agrees to enter into an arranged marriage with a wealthy commoner, a Mr. Voxley Smythe.

Notes: Part 1 of this fic was written for the Bapple's Orchard discord server's regency era AU collab, Pride Ring and Prejudice. (Server run by @bapple117.) This was originally supposed to be a contained scene, but I think it'll have two more parts plus an epilogue. If you find this post through a reblog, then check back to the original post which I will update with links as the other parts are finished. The story is also on AO3 too if you'd rather follow there.

This fic is a Regency AU, more or less. However, my regency knowledge is rather rusty, and also the setting is like some weird mash-up of canon and regency England. i.e. All the characters are still demons, and there's at least a little magic. And yes, Vox still has a TV head; it is what it is. Also, also same-sex marriage is totally fine, lol; the drama and angst come from classism and the characters being emotionally constipated.

A brief note on ages, Alastor is 30, and Vox is 28.

Fic is under the cut, and I also drew the end scene of part 1.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"Aunt Rosie, this is degrading," Alastor protested softly, still seated on the padded leather bench of the coach. "I have no wish to be a public spectacle." He could hear the distant sounds of people as well as the faintest strains of music, and Alastor, previously inured to his fate, now found himself possessed of a certain anxiety, fluffy ears pinned back against his head.

His aunt sighed, expression sympathetic but strained. "Alastor, dearest, I need you to step down from this carriage. Right now." Rosie was already on the ground having been assisted by a footman. "The other coaches need to come through, and you are holding up the line."

Alastor took a shaky breath to steady his nerves before sliding closer to the door, but he showed no sign of exiting. Ever a font of patience, his long suffering aunt gentled her tone. "Alastor, for me, please, come out. Why, I hardly recognize anyone here so I doubt they'll recognize us!" It was such a baldfaced lie, unbefitting of any lady but especially one of Rosie's status. However, the falsehood did give Alastor enough momentary hope that when Rosie extended her hand to her only nephew's elbow, he permitted her to carefully but insistently tug him from the coach.

In the next moment, Alastor had set foot on the carefully tended gravel pathway to Battlehill Manor. "Good luck, sir," Husk called from the driver's seat, and Alastor spared him a tight nod before the cat demon was obliged to drive on. Husk was also Alastor's valet and sometimes butler--the LeClaires struggled to keep staff ever since the incident seven years ago.

Now truly abandoned to the capricious whims of fate, Alastor squared his shoulders and faced the stately manor ahead of them. It would seem there was no way out but through. Composing himself as best he could, Alastor offered his arm to his aunt who graciously accepted, allowing him to lead them to the manor entrance even though they both knew the way. The Carmines were distant cousins so Alastor had visited their estate several times as a child, though no invitation had been extended for some time. No, even tonight's festive occasion had less to do with Alastor and more to do with his intended husband, a certain Mr. Voxley Smythe. The two men were to meet tonight and announce their engagement. Lady Carmine was graciously hosting the ball on Voxley's behalf since he had no land or title of his own. What he did have, apparently, was a very lucrative business deal with the Carmines.

Lady Carmilla herself was there to greet them in the foyer. "Lord Alastor, Lady Rosie," she nodded respectfully to them both. "A pleasure to see you as always."

Another unnecessary falsehood. Alastor smiled through it, greeting her in kind. "We must kindly thank you again for your assistance in this matter and apologize for any trouble it may have caused."

She smiled politely back. "No trouble at all, Lord Alastor. Indeed, all the guests seem to be in high spirits."

The three demons made pleasant enough small talk for a few minutes before Rosie inquired after Alastor's betrothed. "Has Mr. Smythe arrive yet by chance?"

"No, alas, he is late," Carmilla replied with the faintest whiff of irritation. "Some important business or other. He is often engaged in work."

"Ah, that is quite alright then," Rosie said sweetly. "We'll go in, shall we? We ought not keep you from your other guests."

Carmilla stepped aside so that the two aristocrats might step past her. "Yes, please enjoy yourselves. I believe the dancing has already begun."

Alastor and Rosie both expressed their delight again before stepping into the hall proper. As soon as Carmilla was sufficiently far away, Alastor immediately set his sights to criticisms.

"He isn't even here yet? I cannot believe my situation has come to this," Alastor whispered, sotto voce. He almost needn't have bothered. Every soul around the two LeClaires was giving them a wide berth as if they were stricken with some loathsome contagion.

"Now Alastor, try to seek out a happy moment or two--for Nifty's sake if not your own. A dance even! Your dear little sister would love to be here. Ah, if she had her way, she'd debut tomorrow, the scamp."

Alastor scowled for only a second before schooling his face back to its proper smile. "Then let Nifty marry; she's the poor soul who actually desires such a union." If Alastor had his way, he would have chosen to never marry at all. After the deaths of his parents, his dowager aunt had resumed the mantle of family head while Alastor had been preoccupied with his school studies. At present, the two demons shared the load--meager as it was now--until such a time as it could be passed to Nifty or her future children.

Regardless of the gravity of their words, Rosie's serene countenance never wavered as the two LeClaires meandered around the outskirts of the party. "Nifty's enthusiasm for matrimony is commendable, but she's yet several years too young, and we are facing financial destitution now. And since that's your fault, dear, I am going to need your help fixing it." Her voice was a calm but ironclad murmur that only Alastor could hear. "Furthermore, Nifty's prospects are hardly ideal. Your present sacrifice may yet wipe some of the stain off our family name."

"How noble of spirit I must be," Alastor quipped dryly.

"Please, Alastor."

Lord, how it pained him to disappoint her. "You actually liked Uncle Franklin," he said sullenly nonetheless.

She laughed with genuine mirth at that. "Your late uncle and I were lucky, dear. Mayhaps you might be too. Stranger things have come to pass."

"Hmm, perhaps." Luck had thus far evaded Alastor, and he rather much doubted that he ought to find it in the arms of some crass lout, but he would soldier on regardless. He did not wish to ruin his aunt's night with needless quarrels.

Rosie walked with him until they had reached a long row of chairs set against the main hall's far wall. A number of guests sat at varying intervals, some catching their breath from dancing and others waiting earnestly to be asked. "Will you be alright here for a bit, Alastor?" Rosie inquired as he took a seat. "Since Mr. Smythe is not yet arrived, I was hoping to catch up with Earl Zestial..."

Ever the dutiful nephew, Alastor kept his forced smile in place and waved her on. "No need to concern yourself with my moods, Aunt Rosie. I suspect none shall endeavor to move me from my seat."

She offered one last rueful smile before disappearing into the slowly growing crowd. Alastor was left to lean against the wall, listen to the music, and try to remain calm. As he suspected, while some in attendance shot him curious or apprehensive looks, no one dared approach him. Alastor cast his eye about too, wondering if he might find his intended before Rosie did--or rather that the other demon would find him. Uncaring of the engagement proceedings, Alastor had no idea what this Voxley looked like and only knew a little of his exploits.

Yes, his soon-to-be husband, Voxley Smythe, some upstart commoner who had made a fortune for himself expanding trade routes for the East India Company before returning to England and making his fortune twice-over in various newfangled factories. And now—like some bloated carrion bird—he had come seeking a nest to roost in and a title to go with it. Of course, what better way to secure said estate and title than to marry for it?

In this rapidly churning industrial age, destabilized aristocrats teetering on the edge of financial insolvency were hardly scarce. Alastor had merely thought his infamous reputation would've kept him off the bargaining table. Either this Voxley didn't know about the rumors concerning Alastor's involvement with the royal family, or more likely, he didn't care. Surely the man could not be so unseemly that only Alastor would have him? In truth, the deer demon did not know. After initially consenting to the written proposal, Alastor had left the matter of negotiations entirely to Rosie.

Fortunately for the LeClaire family, Voxley had no children of his own, and his and Alastor's union would not produce any; thus Nifty would still remain the next in line to inherit what was left of the family's property and good name. Voxley's monetary contributions would keep the LeClaires afloat and replenish their coffers, and in return the man could leverage all the political and social benefits that came with a noble rank. In some manner, it was a relief that Alastor was simply a means to an end, not a desirable aspect himself. A prickly and solitary composer, the young aristocrat had hardly been overburdened with social ties even before his fall from grace. With any luck, Voxley would spend most of his time in London overseeing his various business enterprises and leave Alastor in peace at his ancestral home in the countryside.

Alastor cast a wary look about the large room once more. Zounds, what was taking the man so long? Imagine being late to a party in one's honor; Alastor found it rude and ungentlemanly.

Although…allowing himself a little ungentlemanly moment as well, Alastor at last gave into the desire to be elsewhere. No one stopped him as he slipped out of the spacious drawing room, up a small staircase, and down a side hall towards where he knew a veranda should still be, assuming Carmilla hadn't made any recent renovations to the manor. But no, it was still there.

Alastor sighed, leaning on the thick balcony railing and glancing out over the dark countryside. Every so often the moon would peek out from behind the clouds, bathing well-maintained gardens and the distant woods in a silvery glow. Crickets chirped faintly, and Alastor could hear the dance music from downstairs, the windows having been opened to the cool, spring night air. The young aristocrat drummed his fingers to the beat of a violin solo, feeling the distant echo of his own magical powers but as ever, he was unable to summon them. So lost in thought was Alastor that he scarcely noticed an interloper on his solitude.

"Hey."

Red ears perked up and swiveled, and Alastor's eyes widened at the familiar voice. Turning around, his gaze beheld some strange amalgamation--a ghost of his past decked out like an omen from the future. The Victor Owens now before him was a far cry from the timid, obsequious clockmaker's apprentice that Alastor had for some time befriended whilst studying at Eton. Now Victor moved with easy confidence, walking towards Alastor as if he had every right to do so. More surprisingly was the other demon's clothing. He looked like a proper gentleman now, smartly tailored in the latest fashion of London. Alastor felt vaguely embarrassed for his own expensive but now threadbare suit, but something new had been a bit out of his means at the moment.

Alastor forced himself to incline his head politely which Victor did in kind. "My, but it has been some time since last we spoke." Since last we fought, Alastor thought, remembering their messy parting of ways nearly a decade ago. Though he had seen Victor about town after that day, the two of them had pointedly ignored each other. Then when Alastor had gone from Eton, he had scarcely thought of Victor at all. University studies of music and sorcery at Oxford and later a more...specialized tutelage in Windsor had kept him busy. At least until everything had fallen apart.

"It has been some years, yes." The slightly younger demon came over to the balcony, leaning against it too.

Alastor nodded in acknowledgment, but otherwise he had nothing to say to his former 'friend' and thus allowed the brief conversation to lapse into awkward silence. However, Victor did not quit his presence, and so the two demons stared out into the dark countryside together.

"Are you alright?" Victor inquired after a moment, politely neutral. "You seem a bit...harrowed."

Alastor managed a thin smile. So they would be playing the part of amiable old acquaintances then? Very well. "Alas, I've been better. I am to be engaged, you see." If Victor was moving in more prestigious circles nowadays, then no doubt he was already aware of the general outline of Alastor's situation if not its full extent.

"Usually engagements are happy occurrences…" the other demon prompted, a subtle invitation for Alastor to elaborate.

"Not this one," Alastor obliged, voice laced with an undercurrent of misery. And yet it was perversely satisfying to air his grievances so freely to someone, especially someone like Victor who did not require Alastor to put on airs. "The situation is utterly not of my choosing. Sold off like so much livestock to some repellent stranger."

"Aren't arranged marriages par for the course for your sort?" Victor apparently couldn't help but jibe. "I'm sure he can't be that bad, especially when you don't even know him."

"Oh please, what's to know?" Alastor's clawed fingertips tapped irritably on the glossy marble. "He's a boorish, vulgar social climber. You'd know the sort."

Victor glared at him, gentlemanly facade starting to slip--as Alastor had hoped it might. "Would I now? And is that what you'd say about me too? A disgrace too poor in breeding to be considered for an aristocrat's hand?" Victor glanced shyly away. "For your hand?"

Alastor laughed, finally in better spirits now that he had been presented with such easy prey. "Yes, I see you've come up in the world a bit yourself. Still not over your little flight of fancy for me though, hmm? Well, I certainly wouldn't have married you either way, old pal."

Victor's face flushed angrily. "No, you wouldn't have. You're more the type who keeps his lower class friends like a dirty secret and then discards them to save face."

Alastor felt a twinge of guilt at that but hid it well. "It's not my fault you insisted on reaching above your station, my dear."

The other demon composed himself with some effort. "I have a station now myself," he retorted tersely.

"And money, I'm sure, if your gaudy attire is any indication. All of which is merely like gilding brass. Simply scratch the surface and the cheap base material shows through." Alastor smiled meanly at Victor's hurt expression. Yes, this was why they couldn't be friends--why it didn't pay to befriend anyone from the lower class. Alastor had always wondered if Victor liked him or merely wished to be close to someone of his rank. "Regardless you're too late anyway. As I stated earlier, I am spoken for. Though even if I wasn't, I still wouldn't take up with you."

"Fine, fuck you, Alastor. I see you haven't changed at all in your last seven years as a hermit. Still just a prick with an overinflated ego."

Alastor feigned an offended gasp. "You really are a vile and insignificant little man," he replied with a pitying laugh. "Now leave me be. A proper gentleman should know when his presence is undesirable." The aristocrat made a vague shooing gesture to which Victor offered a far more vulgar gesture of his own before storming off back into the manor.

Once his former companion had departed, Alastor slumped back against the balcony railing with a sigh. Where he should have felt satisfied amusement, there was only cloying melancholy. The crickets and the violins no longer offered any solace, but returning to the party would be far worse. In truth, Alastor had been so long out of public that the presence of so many people now unexpectedly grated upon his nerves, and he wished only to return home to sweet sepulchral silence or perhaps the playing of his own hands upon his piano. Alas, like many things Alastor desired, it was not to be. At least sequestered here on the veranda he would not need to endure so many eyes upon his person.

However, Alastor was scarcely left alone for another ten minutes before Rosie came looking for him, heels clicking smartly on the tiled floor. "Alastor! There you are! Honestly now, I had to ask several servants before one knew where you'd gone." She began smoothing out his cravat and jacket, clucking at him like a mother hen.

"I was just taking some air," Alastor said with a sigh, letting her fuss over him. He would never admit it, but the motherly attention was very soothing.

"Avoiding the party, yes, I'm aware," Rosie replied, not fooled in the slightest. "Mr. Smythe has presently arrived though so if you would please come back to the main hall, you may meet him properly."

Alastor's stomached flipped unpleasantly, but he kept his smile affixed to his face. "Oh? Has his highness finally deigned to grace us with his presence?"

Rosie hustled them both back towards the ball as quickly as she could without appearing improper. "Now, Alastor, you've agreed to this matter already. Please try not to immediately offend the poor man."

"Emphasis on 'poor'," Alastor replied caustically, making his aunt sigh in exasperation.

The two aristocrats rejoined the main event, Alastor obligingly offering Rosie his arm again as she led them through the room. There were a number of faces about them that Alastor did not recognize, and he couldn't help but wonder which unfortunate soul he was to be fobbed off to.

They were near the curving, elegant main staircase when Rosie finally appeared to set eyes on the man she was looking for. "Ah, here we are." She turned Alastor around before stepping to the side. Gesturing to the demon coming down the stairs towards them, she said, "Alastor, this is Voxley Smythe."

Victor stopped on the second step from the bottom, smiling down at them. "Just 'Vox' is fine," he said.

Alastor felt his own smile grow painfully tight. Fuck him indeed, apparently.

tbc...

#PrideRingandPrejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs #RadioStatic #StaticRadio #Alastor/Vox #voxal #Vox/Alastor #my writing

[reinthechaosdeer]

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