#before death

_________________________

Genre: Fluff, a tiny bit of angst

Warning: death, angst, killing, demon, voodoo.

Summary: Long little story, fluffy, but kinda angst-filled scenarios where you meet him in the afterlife- (some stuff is changed a bit to fit). Can be read as Woman reader, GN reader, Male reader.

Alastor x reader💜

_________________________

Alastor:

He set his eye on you a day where in the rain-slicked New Orleans evening he saw you for the first time, it’s where jazz curled through the air and lanterns glowed against the mist. You were the kind of person who looked at the world as if it might bloom for you—soft eyes, easy laugh, ribbon in your hair.

Alastor noticed you long before you ever noticed him.

His interest was peaked when you laughed at one of his radio jokes at the charity event, and he looked up out of instinct—only to find you watching him with a strange, gentle curiosity. Not awe. Not fear. Just… interest.

“You speak like a man who has secrets,” you told him later, offering him a pastry you had bought with your last two coins.

“And you listen like a person who knows them,” he replied.

Your smile was small, delicate.
And it disarmed him more thoroughly than any gun ever could.

You fell for his charm the same way people fall asleep—slowly, then all at once.
He fell for your kindness in a single breath.

You saw him as a gentleman.
A charismatic protector.
Someone who made the world feel safer.

He let you believe it.
He wanted to be that for you.

His crimes stayed hidden.
His impulses stayed leashed. His hands stayed clean around you.
His violence stayed quiet whenever you were near.

You kissed him like he was human.
He held you like you were his salvation.

For a time, he believed he could keep both you and the darkness. But life sure loves its twisted jokes.

They’ve gotten so a custom to each other that. Neither could imagine life without each other but then the worst happened.

He should have walked you home that night.
He replayed that mistake endlessly. It haunted him.

You were attacked in an alley—
wrong place, wrong time, wrong man.

They said you fought back.
Of course you did.
You had a life worth protecting.

By the time authorities found you, it was too late.

Alastor arrived as fast as he could but it would never be fast enough.
He didn’t cry, didn’t scream.
He only knelt beside you, touching your hand as if he could warm it back to life.

Your ribbon lay on the ground.
He kept it.

And in the quiet of that alley, something in him fractured.

The funeral shook the town, you were beloved by everyone your charitable nature drew people in, even if it was your last cent you never hesitated to give it to others and maybe that’s why you were targeted.

The authorities never found out who did it.

Alastor found the man responsible.
He did what needed to be done.

But vengeance didn’t fill the hollow you left.

His grief grew teeth. And it sank deep into his heart and soul.

He abandoned sleep, food, sanity.
He sought every root doctor, every hushed priestess, every whisper of magic that might reopen the door between life and death.

“I will find you again,” he promised the cold earth of your grave. “Even if it damns me.”

The spirits listened.
They always do when desperation tastes like blood.

And they offered him power—real power.
Enough to reshape fate.
Enough to reach the dead.

At a cost.

His soul.

Alastor accepted without hesitation.

In that moment, the darkness welcomed him home.

But he never got to use his new power.

Power churned beneath his skin for barely a day before fate—cruel, ridiculous fate—intervened.

He walked through the forest at night, still dizzy with new strength, still whispering your name like a prayer.

A hunter, seeing the outline of tree like antlers through the leaves—took aim.

A crack split the air.

Alastor collapsed with a laugh bubbling in his throat.

“Of all the ends…” he murmured, blood warm on his hands, “this is almost… comedic.”

The world dimmed.

Hell opened its jaws.

When you died, your soul sank straight into Hell, but you didn’t find the flames Alastor feared.

Instead… you adapted.

You wandered Hell’s streets for a long time—
a few decades… then another decade… then another.

You were frightened at first.
Confused.
Lonely.

But you survived.
Not through violence, but through kindness so stubborn it almost offended Hell itself.

Demons mocked you.
Some tried to trick you.
Most ignored you.

But you kept helping the lost ones.
Kept feeding the strays.
Kept choosing gentleness even when Hell spat in your face.

They called you naive.
Too soft.
“Ridiculous little wannabe saint.”

But you kept living.

Alone.
And unaware that somewhere in this lonely hell, the man you once loved had torn himself into a monster trying to find you.

You never knew the Radio Demon was the human you lost.
you never knew he was the reason your soul was dragged down.
you never knew he was searching for a way to reach you when he died.

Your memories of him faded over the years—
not gone, but smoothed over like river stones.

You only remembered that you once loved someone gentle…
someone who never came to find you.

You assumed with his kind nature he must have gone to Heaven.

So you let him go.

When Charlie’s message began spreading across Hell, most demons laughed.

But you didn’t.

A place for redemption?
A place to change?
A place to hope?

After many yesrs wandering alone, you walked straight to the hotel’s doors with your only bag, your ribbon, and nothing else.

Charlie welcomed you with a bright, beaming smile.

“You really want to try reforming?”
“Absolutely,” you said.
“I want to believe in something again.”

Charlie adored you instantly.
Vaggie trusted you.
Angel teased you lightly.
Even Husk warmed to you after a few days.

You became part of the little family.

And through it all—

Alastor wasn’t there.

Not yet.

And when he was fact was too cruel they hadn’t crossed paths.

When the Radio Demon finally returned, all theatrical smiles and static flare, you were in the kitchen helping Nifty.

The whole hotel froze when he appeared.

Except you.

You just blinked, curious but not afraid.

“Oh! You must be the famous Radio Demon,” you said politely, tilting your head.

Alastor paused, searched your face…

…and felt nothing.

No recognition.
No spark.
No memory.

You were just another sinner.

He tipped his hat and moved on.

You merely shrugged and kept washing dishes.

Fate had missed again.

It happened days later.

You were humming while sweeping the hall.
A soft tune, old-fashioned, fragile—
the same tune you once hummed while baking pastries in their tiny Earth kitchen.

Alastor’s cane slipped from his hand.

He stared at you.

No…
No, it couldn’t be—

You looked different.
Felt different.

Years of Hell had changed your aura, your shape and even your voice.

But the melody—

That was your melody.

He approached slowly, static crackling in the lights overhead.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked too sharply.

You smiled, confused.

“I’m not sure… it’s just something I’ve had in my head for as long as I can remember.”

Something cold and molten twisted inside him.

He said nothing else and vanished in a burst of radio static.

The moment he was gone, the walls shook.

From that day onward:

He watches you.
Shadows twitch behind you.
Static follows you.
His smile grows sharper.
His voice drops lower when you walk into a room.

You don’t notice.

You thinks he’s just “quirky.”

But Alastor is becoming unhinged inside.

He found her.
After years.
After death.
After damnation.

And you don’t even recognize him.

You don’t even remember the shape of his face.

He realizes with a sickening ache:
Hell took your memories of him…
but left his memories of you untouched.

Unfair.
Cruel.
Deliciously painful.

And the worst part?

You’re still gentle.
Still warm.
Still good.

You are everything he lost…

and now you’re finally within his reach again.

He watches you laugh with Charlie.
Watch you share meals with Vaggie.
Help Nifty clean.
Pet fat nuggets and razzle.

Every moment stabs him.

He ruined you.
He dragged you to damnation.
He is the reason you walked Hell’s streets alone for years.

And now you stand in front of him, trusting, hopeful, unaware—

Unaware he once held you as you slept.
Unaware he died trying to reach you.
Unaware he would burn the entire hotel down if you ever left him again.

He forces a smile and greets you:

“Good evening, my dear.”

You beam up at him.

“Oh! Hi, Alastor!”

His shadow writhes behind him.

He clenches his cane until the wood cracks.

Because deep inside—

The Radio Demon wants to tell you everything.
The man he used to be wants to fall to his knees.
The monster he is now wants to lock you away so he never loses you again.

But he only whispers:

“…I’m so terribly sorry you ever came here.”

You laughs softly.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I think I finally found a home.”

His smile breaks, twitching.

“Indeed,” he murmurs.

“Home.”

It hits you one night after a long shift cleaning the hotel hallways.
You falls asleep quickly, ribbon tied loosely in your hair, curled beneath blankets in a small room Charlie gave you.

And you dream.

Not of Hell.
Not of the hotel.

But of him.

Human him.

A warm kitchen.
Fresh pastries.
His laugh — real, soft, not distorted by radio static.
A hand brushing your cheek.
Eyes like dark honey.
A voice whispering your name with an affection so deep it aches.

You wake up with tears in your eyes.

When you try to recall his features, they blur like wet paint.

“…Alastor…?”

You don’t know why you even say that name.

But your heart throbs painfully.

The next day, you enter the lobby and finds Alastor tuning an old radio.
His back turned.
Posture elegant and stiff.

You open your mouth to greet him—

But the faint crackle of his radio dial…
the little ping as he twists the knob…

It strikes you like lightning.

Images slam into your mind:

• His hand over yours on a phonograph
• Dancing in a dim living room
• His voice singing softly behind you
• His breath warm against your ear
• His smile — the real one, the human one

You gasps sharply.

Your knees buckle.

The broom in your hand clatters to the floor.

Alastor turns sharply, eyes narrowing.

“…my dear?”

You stare at him with wide, trembling eyes.

“I… know that sound,” you whisper.
“It feels like— like someone I lost.”

Static ripples across Alastor’s silhouette — barely contained emotion.

He steps closer.

“Who?” he asks softly, dangerously.

You press a hand to your temple.

“I… don’t know his name.”

The Radio Demon’s smile twitches.

He wants to scream.

Over the next week:

You hear his laugh echo from another room → you freeze, shivering.
you sees his shadow stretch oddly on the wall → you feel déjà vu.
you finds an old cookbook tucked in the hotel kitchen → you know the recipe by heart.

You begin humming old melodies again.

You begin dreaming again.

You begin breaking all over again.

And Alastor watches every second.

One night, you find Alastor in the hotel garden, sitting on a stone bench, cane resting beside him.
He’s looking at the wilted flowers again — the ones you planted.

Something draws you toward him.
Memory.
Gravity.
Fate.

You sit beside him.

Quiet.

The moonlight makes his antlers glow faintly.

“Alastor…” you whispers, voice trembling, “I’ve been remembering things. Little pieces.”

His smile freezes.

You continue:

“I… I think I had someone. A man. I loved him. Deeply. And he loved me.”

Alastor’s fingers curl tightly around his knee.

“And sometimes,” you says, “when you look at me… I feel like crying and I don’t know why.”

Static rings in his ears.

You looks up at him, tears filling your eyes.

“Alastor… was I waiting for someone in life?”

He turns to face you fully.

And for the first time in a century, his smile drops completely.

His voice is raw.

“You weren’t waiting.”

Your breath catches.

“You were searching.”

you swallows hard.

“For who?”

His hand lifts… hesitates… then gently cups your cheek.

A touch he hasn’t dared since he was human.

“For me,” he murmurs.

The world goes silent.

Your eyes widen, shimmering with shock… and recognition.

“You…”
Her breath trembles.
“You were him?”

He nods slowly.

“Every part of me, my dear, has always been yours.”

Tears spill down her cheeks.

You whispers his old name — the one you never remembered until now.

“Al… Alastor…”

He inhales sharply, fingers shaking against her skin.

And in that moment —
Years of Hell, loneliness, grief, guilt —
all of it slams back into both of them at once.

You remembers his smile.
His voice.
His warmth.
His death.

You remembers loving him.

You remembers losing him.

And the look you give him breaks him in half.

Not fear.
Not hatred.

But heartbreak.

“You were my Alastor…” you whisper

He swallows hard.

“And I lost you,” you cries softly.

His voice comes out low, shaken, almost hysterical under the surface.

“No, darling… I lost you.”

Your eyes brighten with sudden clarity.

“I remember…
The pastries…
Your laugh…
You held my hand…
And—”

Your breath stops.

“The day I died.”

Alastor closes his eyes.

“I searched for you,” he whispers.
“Even in death. Even in Hell”

You cover your mouth, shaking.

“You’re the reason I’m here,” you say softly.
Not accusing — just horrified.

Alastor bows his head.

“Yes.”

Your tears fall faster, but you don’t pull away.

“And…” you whispers, “you’ve been alone all this time… waiting for me?”

He finally breaks.

“Yes,” Alastor breathes, voice trembling.

“I’ve been starving for you.”

“I’ve missed you terribly Alastor, my love”

“It may not be the same as before but hopefully now we can live out the life we were promised to before cruel fate tore us apart” Alastor said with his usual smile but his eyes showed hints of sadness

“Of course, I’d love to”

_________________________

My, you remember!

Well...it was a long, long time ago. Perhaps before your time even. I will spare their name. It was back when I was a young man and I had been their friend for a long time since childhood. We went to the same church and naturally became friends.

We fell in love in our 20s.

Unfortunately, the war came around and I was drafted. I had gotten lost in the wilds and presumed dead.

When I eventually returned to the US, they had already moved on and married. I assume they thought I was a goner and I do not blame them for marrying. I never asked or spoke to them again.

Another Doodle of Elizabeth Afton

Sorry y’all the background was lazy. I’m always trying to improve my art + the backgrounds on a daily basis!

Mun: So funny story about Garnette...she wasn’t always evil! She was actually a very sweet woman who aspired to be a big time singer, but she was betrayed and murdered by what would have bene her fiancé back then, only to awaken discarded confused and upset and eventually twisting into what she is now. Though she did eventually kill her murderer ...it wasn’t enough and her rage consumed her and made her into the demon we know today. ATM jamming to Moulin Rouge and so far Nicole Kidman voice sticks in my head for her voice lol.

ENJOY

Art/Garnette(c) @littlemediumella​ @bluebiesartblog​