Alastor x Tyler (oc)
Words: 1,047
Warnings: spoilers for Hazbin S2 ep4
This one-shot was inspired by Doctor Who s8ep3 as well as Hazbin s2ep4 I just couldn't help myself. I love my oc and Alastor's relationship, they are both such petty brats.
Tyler’s wings twitched with irritation, brushing faintly against the cold, metallic frame of the desk chair he was tethered to. Their muted browns and yellows, patterned like a death’s-head hawkmoth at the back of his neck fluff, ruffled slightly with every frustrated movement. All four of his arms were securely restrained behind him, bound tightly by Vox’s humming cables. Each tiny shift against the restraints sent a low, mocking vibration through the cords, resonating unpleasantly against his antennae and the sensitive membranes of his wings. Back-to-back with Alastor, they were trapped in a way that made every attempted move a futile display of rebellion. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast sharp, shifting shadows across the room, highlighting the tense muscles along his jawline and the taut membrane of his wings. Each twitch and shuffle of his restrained body sent the chair squeaking and rattling, underscoring his growing frustration.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking, taking on the Vees by yourself?” Tyler snapped, twisting futilely in his seat. His four arms remained firmly bound, useless for the flailing he so desperately wanted to do. “Especially so soon after that fight with Adam! Putain d’enfer! All this because Mommy wouldn’t give you a new staff and powers, now we’re stuck here as the Vees’ playthings!” Even without free arms, he tried to punctuate his words, leaning forward, tilting his head, and beating his wings against the chair in irritation, producing a soft, scraping echo across the floor.
Alastor, as composed as ever, hummed a soft, melodious tune, his grin wide and unwavering. The chaotic music of his voice seemed almost to harmonise with the low hum of the cables. “Will you please be quiet?” he said smoothly, the sound of his words mingling with the faint static of his presence. “And I don’t recall asking for your help, my dear. Technically, you’re here of your own accord.”
Tyler’s wings flared sharply, brushing against the restraints with a faint clang. His antennae twitched back in agitation, signalling his indignation despite his fully restrained arms. “Right. I’ll remember that next time you decide to throw a tantrum like the whiny little brat you are when things don’t go your way. Grow up.” He tried to lean and twist, forcing his body to punctuate his words, but the humming cables resisted each movement, a subtle vibration of mockery.
Alastor’s laughter erupted suddenly, a chaotic, crackling storm of static that seemed to animate the very air. “Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha!” The sound ricocheted through the cables, sending faint tingles across Tyler’s bound limbs. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing, wings fluttering in small, frustrated beats against the metal chair.
“Oh, alright. Here we go,” Tyler muttered, throwing his head back so he could rest it on Alastor's shoulder, while he tried to get a better look at him. “It’s laughing time. This should be great. What’s so funny, Alastor?”
Alastor snapped his head towards him, crimson eyes glowing faintly under the flickering lights, sparks of static dancing along the edges of his grin. “Well, you amuse me, my dear. Out of both of us, if anyone is a brat, it’s you.” His laughter continued, curling through the air like a tangible current, teasing Tyler’s senses with its intensity.
As he lifted his head again with a groan, wings twitching in irritation, brushing faintly against the cables and chair as he tried to shift his body. “Well, I’m glad I amuse you, this is ridiculous, VOX! HE’S LAUGHING! YOU CANNOT KEEP ME LOCKED UP WITH THE LAUGHING RADIO OF A BRAT I CALL A HUSBAND!” His voice echoed sharply, bouncing across the metal walls, amplified by the small, sterile room.
Alastor’s laughter deepened, static crackling in waves. “You know, I find that quite funny. I feel another laugh coming on—ha-ha-ha!”
Tyler’s antennae twitched violently. He tried to pull at the restraints again, using all his strength to tug and twist in different directions, but the cables resisted, tightening slightly as if they were alive and deliberately mocking him. “VOX! I CANNOT REMAIN IN THIS ROOM! EXTERMINATE ME NOW!” His wings quivered in an annoyed flutter that made the chair squeak dangerously.
Alastor leaned lazily against him. “Oh, please. Don’t be so theatrical.”
Tyler’s head snapped toward him, antennae drooping slightly, wings lowering defensively. “You’re right. Exterminate him instead. I’d like to see if the great Radio Demon Brat can still laugh with an angelic spear slicing right through his chest.”
“Been there,” Alastor said cheerfully, eyes gleaming. “Done that. And here I am—still laughing.”
Tyler groaned again, slumping in his chair with a dramatic sigh, wings drooping and antennae twitching in frustrated disbelief. Ninety years of marriage had not prepared him for being trapped back-to-back with Alastor, enduring laughter that seemed to have a life of its own. “VOX!”
“VOX!” Alastor immediately echoed, and Tyler bellowed once more, creating a chaotic duet of exasperation, honed over decades of annoying each other.
From the far corner of the room, Angel, bound in his own chair, finally intervened. “WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP? Do either of you understand in any way at all that Vox is probably… getting off on this with Val somewhere?”
Alastor tilted his head lazily toward him, sparks of static tracing along his grin. “I’ve known that since the beginning.”
Angel groaned, already having had enough of their bullshit. “I said shut up! I never thought I’d get to see the Moth of Death and the Radio Demon argue over who the biggest brat is.”
Alastor chuckled softly. “You’re right, Angel. But out of both of us, it’s definitely Tyler. I mean, what was it they used to call you back in Paris when you were alive? Le gamin de Pigalle?”
Tyler’s eyes narrowed, the luminescence of his eyes reflecting the flickering lights. His body twitched in agitation, as if he could physically cast the accusation back at Alastor. “Oh, you want to play it that way? Fine! I’m not the one who—”
“HEY!” Angel snapped, voice sharp, slicing through the tension in the room. “What I just say, this is not the time to have a brat-off! And besides, if anyone's the biggest brat here, it’s me, so both of ya shut it!”
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