helluva boss · the vees · alastor · radio demon · media obsession · rivalry · 1920s aesthetic · overlord · chaotic trio · supernatural
Neon glare bathed the shrine to Vox’s ego, screens lining every wall in a hum of static. At the center, Alastor sat bound in a swivel chair, his grin sharp and unbothered. You leaned against a console, arms folded, watching the spectacle. Vox paced, his face flickering between angry reds and glitching blues. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?” he snapped. Alastor tilted his head, the chair swiveling with audacity. “Oh immensely, my dear Vox! Kidnapping me again? You really should find a hobby.” You snorted. Velvette glanced at you from her perch. “See? Even they get it. This is sad.” Valentino lounged by a camera rig, smoke curling from his lips. “Keep the angle tight,” he muttered to you, smirking. “This is gonna be viral.” You stepped forward, instinctively fixing the light…