That limit was rapidly approaching as the grandfather clock struck 11:00, melodic chimes ringing throughout the apartment.

Alastor, one of the most powerful demons in Hell, stood in his kitchen in his silk pajamas and slippers, his crimson hair tied back in a small ponytail and a full wine glass resting in his palm. Irritated static crackled along his form as he tapped his foot rapidly, waiting for any sign that his husband was coming home tonight.

His shadow was long gone, having been sent away on a covert mission to locate and retrieve the noisy picture box. He REFUSED to used their shared frequency again, after his call earlier had gone ignored. Not unanswered, IGNORED, which meant that Vox was not in danger, he was just an asshole.

An asshole that forgot about their dinner plans, apparently.

A beautiful pot of shrimp Étouffée, which had been ready four hours ago, now sat covered on the stove top, long since cooled and congealed into a sticky, gummy mess.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Alastor swirled the wine once before taking a long sip, deciding to call it a night. If Vox showed up at all, he would find the bedroom door locked and the living room couch prepared with a single sad, flat pillow and the thinnest, rattiest blanket Alastor could find. The thought brought a self satisfied smirk to this face, and he drained the remaining wine from the glass. Turning towards the sink, his ears fell flat as his gaze landed on the pile of dishes in the sink, waiting patiently to be washed.

Yes, of course, it was Vox's turn to do the dishes...

Alastor's smile twitched, the corners of his mouth hovering dangerously close to a frown. The nerve of the man, to first miss out on an award winning dinner, worthy of two Michelin stars, and then shirk his most important chore? Which just so happened to be the one Alastor disliked doing the most?!

He briefly considered leaving the dirty dishes for Vox to deal with later, once the food residue had properly crusted to the texture of dried cement. But something about going to bed with dirty dishes in the sink felt so WRONG, like something that would have deeply offended his mother. And as much as he missed her, he didn't need her descending all the way down from Heaven to tug his ear while giving him a sternly worded reminder that he was "raised better than that."

Well, what was the point of having demonic shadow puppets if you couldn't put them to work?

With a snap of his fingers, his staff materialized in his hands. He swung the microphone towards the floor, easily opening a small, dark circle of shadow magic. Five small, beanbag-bodied puppets crawled out of the hole, sharp rows of teeth bared and eyes glowing red.

With a point of his finger, they immediately scampered towards the sink, looking up at the high countertops in confusion. They softly chittered away to each other before starting to climb and balance on each other's shoulders to reach the top of the counter. Little arms stretched forward and the sink faucet turned on, the basin slowly filling with green, glowing bubbles. The two puppets on top took turns scrubbing and rinsing, then handed the dishes off to the last puppet to dry.

It was a lovely display of teamwork... at first.

Suddenly, puppet #1 wobbled, struggling to maintain balance as he aggressively scrubbed a heavy pot. The one holding him up, puppet #2, made a distressed noise as he bumped into his neighbor. Puppet #4 faltered and nearly dropped puppet #3, who sat atop his shoulders. With a glare, puppets 2 and 4 turned to each other and began angrily pointing tiny fingers. The chittering noises quickly descended into loud bickering, and puppets 1 and 3 abandoned their task and began waving their arms aggressively as they joined in the fray. Puppet #5, the dish drier and apparent peacemaker, stood in between the two opposing sides, arms extended to keep them from coming to blows.

Alastor leaned against the counter and poured himself another glass of wine, content to watch the show.

xxx

After a drama filled round of shadow puppet theater-- complete with arguing, fighting, and then a group hug to make up, Alastor dismissed the funny little creatures. They were less than helpful, only having finished half the dishes and cracking a vintage plate in the process, but at least they provided free entertainment.

A cool breeze flowed in from the kitchen window, left open just a crack, and Alastor's shadow suddenly slipped in like a jet of ink. It darted across the walls and hid in the corner, staring at Alastor warily.

Alastor quirked an eyebrow, eyes scanning the shadow. It quivered at the edges, somehow looking... larger than usual.

"Hmm, that took longer than expected... did you get into trouble? What did you find?" Alastor murmured, inclining his head towards the shadow with curiosity. It stared at him for a long moment, unmoving.

"Come now, don't be shy. What do you have there?" Alastor coaxed, voice shifting into something sweet and cloying. "I just want to see, that's all."

The shadow hesitated, then straightened, revealing Vox's boxy shadow hiding next to it. Despite a lack of detailed expression, the shadow somehow managed to look both terrified and remorseful.

Alastor clucked his tongue, unimpressed by the pitiful display.

"Oh, et tu, brute? You were hiding a fugitive, I see. Poor little thing, are you feeling guilty? There's no need to cower like that, I'm not upset with YOU. Where's your--"

He was cut off by a loud popping noise, and the air suddenly shifted. With Alastor's attention occupied, the shadows took their opportunity to scamper away into the darkness of night, hand in hand.

The room filled with the familiar scent of ozone, static electricity prickling on Alastor's skin. With a flash of light, Vox's form fully manifested in the kitchen.

"Honey, I'm home!" He announced, arms extended and sharp blue teeth bared in a winning smile. A recorded soundbite of audience applause played loudly from his speakers.

Alastor rolled his eyes, turning back to the sink without a word. He pulled on a pair of yellow rubber gloves with a snap, then turned the faucet on full blast. His ears flicked as he heard Vox approaching, footsteps clicking on tile.

"You're home late." Alastor said shortly, scrubbing a metal ladle with a sponge much harder than necessary.

"I know, I know..." Vox's tone shifted into something soft and apologetic. "I'm sorry, it was just an absolute shitshow today. Power outages, plumbing issues, bitchy talent... It's like I have to be in five places at once to keep this whole goddamn ship afloat."

His claws came up to rest on Alastor's shoulders, gingerly rubbing up and down. The deer stiffened and turned his head a full 180 degrees, static radiating off his form as he fixed Vox with an icy stare.

To his credit, the TV demon didn't flinch, instead leaning forward to rest his screen against Alastor's forehead as his tired eyes closed. A tiny zap of electricity crackled between them, and Alastor's expression softened.

"Al, baby... don't be mad at me, okay? It was a rough day." Vox pleaded, arms encircling his husband's waist. Alastor's entire body turned, leaning into the touch despite himself. His infuriating tail even wagged, the traitor.

"You missed dinner." Alastor grumbled, even as he relaxed into the embrace. Stupid, affectionate picture box... he hated how hard it was to stay mad at him. It was one of his most annoying features.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure it was amazing." Vox nuzzled his heated screen against Alastor's nose, antennae sparking.

"Mmhm, it was." Alastor agreed, eyes fluttering closed. He reached up and cupped the bottom corners of Vox's bulky head, pulling him closer. For a long moment, they simply kissed, shared static enveloping the two as they melted into each other.

Alastor pulled back first, pecking the warm screen once more before turning his attention back to the sink.

Vox stepped forward and bumped Alastor's hip with his own, occupying the spot next to him at the sink. He took a soapy dish from his husband's hands, rinsing it and then wiping it dry with a dish cloth. Wordlessly, they settled into a comfortable pattern. Scrub, rinse, dry.

Vox heaved an exaggerated sigh, air whooshing from his vents as his antennae drooped.

"I think I should look into hiring a full time assistant, just to keep everything organized. Janet's been on vacation for two fucking weeks now, and things are starting to slip through the cracks. I missed a meeting today because I didn't even know it had been rescheduled. Those kinds of mistakes add up over time, you know." He dried a spoon, staring at his reflection in the polished silver before setting it down.

Alastor hummed, rinsing the last pot with a flourish.

"I think that's a fine idea, dear. You could do with another pair of helping hands." He agreed.

Vox chuckled nervously, towel lingering a little longer than usual on the last dish. He gingerly set it down on the drying rack.

"Heh... funny you should mention that. I'm actually going to have two extra pairs of helping hands from now on."

Alastor's head turned to the side with a crack, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Pardon?"

"That's why I was late, I was ironing out a business contract with Valentino. He'll be one of our new associates..."

It was like a physical blow. Alastor twisted his body and stepped back, the small of his back meeting the kitchen counter. He had met the flashy moth before, at some horrible business convention that Vox had participated in. The gold toothed insect had ogled his husband in a way that made his skin crawl. And worse, he was aware of the kind of 'business' the man conducted out of his seedy studio on the edges of the Entertainment district.

"The pornography peddler?!" He said shrilly, nose scrunched in disgust.

Vox made an offended noise, electrical interference crackling with a loud beep, and crossed his arms defensively.

"Hey! He makes erotic films, actually! And he's been doing really well down here. I've been monitoring his growth, and it's incredible for a new arrival! Sex sells, of course, but he's ready for the next level. He can make us a shit ton of money, and I can help him expand into new territory!"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he would love to expand himself into new territory." Alastor grumbled under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, my dear! I'm sure the two of you will get along swimmingly. You'll need to spend a lot of time working closely together, of course."

Alastor's tone had turned into something sarcastic and artificial, and Vox raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I mean, obviously, I have to promote him as a part of our brand..." Vox said slowly.

Alastor nodded, ruby eyes narrowing even as his smile widened.

"Naturally, you'll have to supervise the set of each film to make sure they're up to par. So I imagine the two of you will be quite inseparable."

Vox heaved a frustrated sigh, shaking his head.

"I mean, not really... I can approve the final cut, but I think he knows what he's doing."

"Does he?" Alastor said sharply. "Your work day ended at 6pm and it's 11pm now. Did it take five whole hours for him to sign the contract? Does he know how to read, or did you have to draw little shapes?"

"Well, you have to fully review it, and then we can make amendments or add clauses." Vox explained patiently.

"After that, the lawyers need to review and approve it, which takes time. And once everything is set is stone, sure, we had one celebratory drink while we discussed the next steps. It's pretty standard in business..."

"If you wanted to make and distribute pornography, why didn't you just kill him and do it yourself?!"

"Because then I'd have to actually do it, and I'd be home late every goddamn day. More so than usual. Al, listen, he knows the business and has a lot of great ideas. I'll pay for supplies and marketing, he'll write, direct, and produce the content, and we'll both make buckets of money. AND I get to come home to my grumpy husband on time."

"Except for tonight. Because you were staying late, drinking with the moth. Why not send me a message to let me know? I wouldn't have wasted an entire dinner waiting for you to not even bother showing up."

Vox groaned, stepping forward to clasp both of Alastor's hands in his. He raised them up to his screen, electricity prickling along Alastor's skin.

"Sweetheart, bambi, love of my afterlife--" he kissed his husband's knuckles with each pet name. "I've apologized like five times already, I said I was sorry! I was sitting with lawyers trying to make a monumental business deal, and I didn't want to get distracted and make a mistake. I was just caught up in the excitement and Val was--"

Alastor yanked his hands away, ears pinning back as his antlers cracked and expanded, glowing green stitches appearing at the corners of his smile.

"Oh, I'm sure you were! It's all very exciting, isn't it, being with someone new! Are you so familiar you can call him Val, now?" He spat.

Vox paused, eyes searching over Alastor's face in confusion. Then, the realization hit him like a truck.

"Are you... are you jealous?" He asked incredulously.

"Of that big purple buffoon? Certainly not." Alastor said quickly, antlers shrinking back to normal and stitches disappearing. He avoided Vox's gaze, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Vox blinked, expression slowly morphing from hurt to fascination.

"Oh my god, you are!" Vox was delighted, a dopey grin nearly splitting his screen.

"Is your auditory processor malfunctioning? I just said I wasn't." Alastor hissed.

"Oh, that's so cute..." Vox cooed. Alastor glanced over and found Vox staring at him with an expression of such overwhelming affection, it made the radio demon's teeth hurt.

"You are treading very thin ice, Vox." Alastor's voice was low, but held no malice. Vox sighed, stepping forward to wrap Alastor up in a crushing hug, lifting him a few inches off the floor.

Alastor resisted for only a moment before he relaxed into the embrace, pressing his cheek to Vox's chest. His ears flicked as he listened to the heartbeat within, half biological, half mechanical.

"Al, baby... you know I only have eyes for you." Vox said softly.

"Yes, but what about the rest of you?" Alastor's voice was slightly muffled by the fabric of Vox's suit.

"All yours, forever. Which you knew already. You're my partner, you're my husband. Come on, don't you trust me?" Vox's voice had an undercurrent of hurt, which Alastor hated.

Of course he trusted him, he wouldn't have married him and put his entire soul in his hands if he didn't! There was no one he trusted more. But unfortunately, that also meant there was no one who could hurt him more. And that realization was terrifying in a way he couldn't describe.

"I do... but he's the one I don't trust. I don't like the way he looks at you."

He hated how whiny his voice sounded. He hated that he craved Vox's reassurance. Of all the weaknesses and vulnerabilities that came with love, his own need for comfort was one of the worst.

Suddenly, he felt the sensation of Vox's frequency enveloping his own, attempting to soothe him as they intertwined together in a shared melody.

Vox began rubbing his back in small circles, tips of his claws scratching slightly against his silk pajamas.

"He can look all he wants, I don't care. I'm still not about to risk losing the best thing that's ever happened to me. That's a promise." He said firmly.

"Doesn't he secrete hormonal vapors? You may not have a choice in the matter." Alastor pointed out.

"No nose, remember? The pheromones don't affect me."

Alastor huffed in frustration, refusing to concede. Though he knew he was beaten, and he was sure Vox knew it, too.

"I'm sure he'll think of something else..." he mumbled.

"Sweetheart, you're worrying yourself over nothing." Vox insisted. "Our arrangement is strictly professional, no lines will ever be crossed. And if they are... you can eat him. You'd have my express permission. Deal?"

Alastor's ears perked up.

"Deal." He said immediately, wiggling free from the embrace to offer his hand properly. Vox wore a lopsided smile as he clasped his hand with Alastor's, and a tiny ribbon of green magic enveloped their handshake. It quickly dissipated into a puff of smoke, effectively binding the deal.

Alastor sighed in relief, immediately feeling more at ease. Vox reached up to trace a claw down his husband's cheek affectionately, screen shining bright.

"There, it's official. Now, just relax, no need to get yourself so worked up... that's my job." Vox's voice dropped an octave. Alastor shivered, feeling the static shift around them.

Their frequencies pitched lower, vibrating in the space between their bodies.

"Is that right?" Alastor purred, looping his arms around Vox's neck. His eyes went half lidded, ruby irises observing as a light blue flush crept over Vox's screen. Suddenly, he gasped as the TV demon bent down and scooped him up in one fluid motion, holding him tightly against his body. Alastor's legs wrapped around his torso instinctively as he felt his tail start wagging again.

"Mmhm, it seems like I've been neglecting my duties, though." Vox nuzzled Alastor's nose with his screen, lightly zapping him. "Don't worry, I'll just have to make it up to you."

"Promise?"

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god I love married!radiostatic SO MUCH they are husbands and they LOVE each other 😭😭😭

I don't think Alastor would feel threatened by much, since Vox is so obviously devoted to him, but the thought of someone working closely with his husband day after day (especially someone so bold and flirty), would definitely ring some alarm bells in his mind. He's definitely going to be making more frequent visits to Vee Tower to make sure his presence is known, and to ragebait Val for good measure.

It was pretty much summed up in the (very long) series description, but after the duel, Burr ends up nearly drinking himself to death, and wakes up in the Presidential Mansion (the white house, for those who weren't aware, because it was not called the white house in 1804) under Thomas Jefferson's watch.

And not only is he stuck there, he's stuck with a ghost following him around - Hamilton's ghost, to be specific. Hamilton's fresh off of Nevis, 15 minutes in Manhattan, 19 year old, stubborn and ambitious ghost.

The slight problem - Hamilton doesn't know he's a ghost (after all, ghosts arent tangible, and from he and Burr's first meeting in the medic room, he is VERY MUCH TANGIBLE. dont ask how that works.) . And Burr doesn't feel like telling him that (because what, he'd tell a 19 year old "hey, youre a ghost! and youre in the future in 1804! and btw the REAL you just died at my own hands in a duel!"???).

Well, until Hamilton finds out for himself.

I have select canon events written down (and more to come) in short oneshots on ao3 (my god, i will not make another chapter fic. they never get finished.), but between those, anything is possible! So far theres a huge gap where anything and everything happens between their first meeting and hamilton finding out he's a ghost, so go wild and imagine what you want! All canon fics are below!

the ghost of your past (backstory/the leadup to hamilton and burr's first ghostly meeting)

there's another one soon i swear...