patheticandmiserable

[patheticandmiserable]

Okay but what if both of the people hiding in the dusty closet need to sneeze?

[patheticandmiserable]

Wait wait wait wait wait. Do we think. That if Bli/tz got someone who had been taking care of him sick. He would try to treat the caretaking as transactional? 😭😭😭 Especially if it’s Sto/las?

Like his instinct is that well they did this for him, therefore he needs to repay the transaction, maybe even a little more than what they did for him because it’s his fault they’re sick. Maybe even pushing himself too hard to do so even though he’s still sick too

And maybe it’s like he does really want to take care of them anyway, but can deny to himself how much he actually cares because he rationalizes it as just returning the favor

[patheticandmiserable]

a character with a cold mumbling “i’m up, i’m up” when their alarm goes off, to be met with “are you sure you should be?” from their partner.

[patheticandmiserable]

What about when the titles/honorifics come out

when the pet names come out the second a cold is clockable >>>>

[patheticandmiserable]

Appreciation post for some of my favorite things in whump fics

Villain whumpees facing the suffering they’ve inflicted onto others.

Reluctant caretakers. The ones who are like “I don’t like helping you, but I also don’t want you to die.”

Whumpees who know how to fight back. I want to see two characters beat the shit out of each other.

When the whump is out of revenge for something Whumpee did.

Caretakers who get revenge on the whumpers.

Whumpees who normally don’t show affection expressing their love to their caretaker while weak and delirious.

Whumpees who are too cocky and pick a fight with the wrong person.

When the whumpee and the whumper are both bad people.

[patheticandmiserable]

woah this character is so cool i wish they were covered in blood their whole body trembling with a look of absolute horror on their face as theyre struggling to breathe in panic

[patheticandmiserable]

Sweet

Soooo, the He/ll/uva B/oss brainrot continues, and I wanted to write something super fluffy that wouldn't take too many braincells lol.

Thus, I whipped a little something in the last few days and shall present 3.4k of corny Sto/li/tz fluff in which Sto/las is extremely pitiful and clingy with a bad case of the flu and a high fever, and Bli/tz takes care of him really tenderly with all the affection he needs. This is an established relationship take on these two, so I actually did not make this one angsty at all lmao--it's just very light and cute! :) Hope y'all enjoy!

CWs: Past contagion, kink!char (Bli/tz, nothing very spicy lol), sneezing on another character (no mess), holding tissues for another character to blow their nose into, telling a character they should eat something (as opposed to just sleeping), swearing + like one mild sexual innuendo lol

Minors DNI as always!

While not necessarily intended for the whole song, this fic is named after Sweet -C/igare/ttes A/fter S/ex, particularly for its chorus:

It's so sweet

Knowing that you love me

Though we don't need to say it to each other

Sweet

Knowing that I love you

And running my fingers through your hair

It's so sweet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Humming and mumbled lyrics, awfully enthusiastic for how whispered and quiet they were kept, provided a sense of fullness and warmth to the enormous, typically stuffy palace. The soft fwoosh of a stove burner soon joined the lovely little sounds, followed close behind by dissonant, metallic clashes and clangs of several cans, spoons, and a large pot being filled with what was endeavoring—and, one would hope, succeeding—to earn the rather esteemed classification of “soup.”

The grand windows accenting the walls on either side of the kitchen bathed the room in the golden light of dawn, which Blitzø, the impromptu chef of the morning, used to inspect some unknown, raw mystery meat he’d found in the fridge, holding it up into the sunrays and squinting at it skeptically for a moment before shrugging and deciding it was probably fine to toss right on in. While he was generally quite tall for an imp, he was still hopelessly short for the design of Goetia appliances. Fortunately, however, he had solved the problem by boldly repurposing a couple of cardboard boxes marked “FRAGILE” in bright scarlet letters as a makeshift step stool. In fact, he actually hoped the warning was as accurate as possible, since they were probably remnants of Stella’s belongings, which deserved less than this treatment, frankly.

“Buh-bah-da da-daah heeeels,” Blitz sang absentmindedly to himself, forgetting the words but still enjoying the melody stuck in his head as he added in a few vegetables to his simmering concoction. “Buh bah da da-daaaaah… duh da-da Pink Pony Club, ‘m gonna keep on dancin’ at the Pi—” While he continued his little jam session perfectly fine even when taste testing a ladleful of broth, he immediately choked on the soup at a single, mere muffled sound from upstairs that stole his attention in an instant.

“IhhgHKTSHhh!”

Now, if choking mid-swallow wasn’t an extreme reaction to begin with, then the amount of effort he put into trying to resist and muffle the resulting coughs definitely was, especially since the reflex was pretty necessary to expel the broth that was going down the wrong pipe. However, he was just… far more interested in listening to a different reflex from someone else who seemed to be awake now. Some part of him immediately declared the brief choking incident worth it when he heard an utterly pitiful groan of some mixture of relief, frustration, and ticklish irritation preceding telltale jumps of breath that led into a few more itchy, congested sneezes.

“H-heh-hiiiih—! EH’kdttshhiew! —ihdtschh! —kDTTsh’eih!… Nguhh, fuck…”

Yyyup, definitely awake. And sounding terrible, the poor thing. An all-too-familiar cocktail of concern and endearment, with a splash of lust for spice, fluttered through Blitz’s stomach. Even regardless of that last little ingredient, he found his hooves taking him up to the master bedroom the very second that he clicked the stove burner to a lower heat.

After a few soft knocks, Blitzø opened the door, movements slow and near-silent just in case his ailing lover had already fallen back asleep, which wouldn’t be unprecedented given how tired he had been lately. Hell, he knew how draining this particular flu could be, since he was only just getting over it, himself, and one could have made a very safe guess on where Stolas had gotten it from, considering how many hours the Goetia spent snuggled up with him and taking care of him.

“Heyyyy-yeesh.” Blitz’s gentle greeting dissolved into worry on his tongue like a gradient the moment he saw the bird’s fever-rouged cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the mountain of tissues overflowing the nearby trash can—even a few handkerchiefs were strewn about for good measure—and the slight shiver wracking its way through his feathers. He grimaced in sympathy and sat down on the side of the bed. “Youuu… look pretty fuckin' miserable today. Sleep didn't help ya at all, Stols?" 

"Ndo,” Stolas confirmed, looking up at the imp with large, sad eyes that glowed much dimmer than usual and a frankly pathetic pout. The horribly congested sound of his voice and the thick sniffle that followed were more telling than anything he could have said. “It really didn't... I keep shiveri'g and getti'g chills... and mby body aches terribly..."

"D’awwwh, poor baby,” Blitz cooed with a click of his tongue. “Ya think I can kiss it any better or somethin’?" he asked, knowing perfectly well what answer he’d receive.

"Sndff.. perhaps. Mbay as well try it just idn case,” Stolas replied, coming off considerably less coy than he’d intended, a small smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth just at the thought.

"Aight, c'mere, birdie." Blitz crawled a little closer on the mattress and pressed a long, soft kiss to his forehead, wincing a little in concern at the heat against his lips. "That work?" he asked, feeling his patient’s forehead with his palm before running his hand back through his feathers in rhythmic petting motions.

Stolas leaned further into his touch with an owlish coo, relishing the cooling sensation and affection. "A little..." he decided, hardly more than a whine.

"Hmm… Ya want me to just come back to bed?" he offered after a moment of thought.

"Please, darli'g... if it wouldn't be too mbuch trouble...?"

"Why the fuck would it be? One, you're really fucking sick,” Blitz began, counting on his fingers for emphasis. “And two, ya know this is my kinda gig anyways. You’re gonna have to scooch over though—just 'cause you have the plague doesn't mean you get to have the wholeass blanket too, 'kay?" Despite his words and the shooing gesture that accompanied them, both demons knew damn well they’d end up inseparably entangled in each other’s arms the moment Blitz laid down.

"Of course,” Stolas agreed immediately, but his fever-glossy eyes unfocused and blinked in irritation at the prickling sensation brewing in his sinuses. A hazy, itchy look overcame his delicate features, his jaw slackening a little as his breath stuttered. “Just-hih!-give mbe a mbombehhh... hh-hehhh..."

"Oh, take all the time ya need,” Blitz insisted with a shameless, playful smile, propping himself up onto his elbow to watch. “I really don't mind the show."

If his lungs didn’t have other ideas, Stolas might have responded with something along the lines of “I didn’t think you would.” However, all he could do was take a long, sharp inhale and bury his face into a new pile of tissues held by both of his hands, just before shuddering down into them with a ticklish-sounding, yet forceful sneeze—the type that he usually experienced when sick, which Blitz had noted long ago. “Hiiiih-iHDTschh!!”

“Damn y—”

“—IHGKTSHhhiew! EiiihhHh…?” He scrunched up his face a little in discomfort as his body fell indecisive for a moment, breath fluttering uselessly. Fortunately, fanning his face with a hand seemed to do the trick quite quickly, his features flooding with desperation. An urgent waver of a gasp escaped him and—“Ahh-hiiih! IhpTSCHhh’uhh! Huhh’iHTSCHhhiew!… Eh’ktshhh!” An extremely pitiful, if a touch dramatic, groan and an abundance of sniffles followed the small fit. He scrubbed the remaining tickles away impatiently with the side of his hand.

“Awww, damn ya.”

“Ugh, thangk you, darli’g,” came the extremely stuffy reply.

“Ya done?” Blitz checked, instinctively studying him for any more signs that he wasn’t, but finding none.

Stolas blew his nose twice for good measure—necessary, given how constantly runny the damn thing had been—before responding, his voice thankfully a little less muddy now. “… I believe so. I’ve been wrong about that a lot the last couple of days,” he admitted, fidgeting with the hem of the blanket a bit out of embarrassment.

“That so?” Blitz’s sappy smile was audible, protectiveness and endearment filling his heart to the very brim and overflowing. “Y’know, you’re wayyyyy too fucking cute like this. I kinda can’t take it. It’s almost unfair.”

“Cute enough to want to come back to bed, even?” Stolas tempted hopefully, putting on his very best puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, absolutely,” Blitz confirmed immediately, without doubt or hesitation in the slightest, “but I was gonna do that anyways. Gimme a few minutes to finish the soup I was makin’ ya and then I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Oh, snddff… I thought you were just waiting until it was safe to cuddle without risking being sneezed on.”

“Nah, c’mon, that’d be a bonus, honestly,” Blitz corrected casually with a shrug. “Wanted to see how you were holdin’ up, buuuuut didn’t wanna miss anythin’ too eventful by heading back down too early, y’know?” He punctuated the statement with a wink.

“Ah, fair enough,” Stolas conceded easily without batting an eye. “But do hurry back, please, Blitzyy?” he pleaded, drawing out the nickname a little.

“I will, I will, don’t get your cloaca in a twist. I’ll be back in, like, 10 tops.”

“Mmh, okay…” Stolas acquiesced, albeit not very happily.

Seeing his lover’s pout only deepen, Blitzø rolled his eyes and brought one of Stolas’s hands up to his lips for a gentle kiss, adding to the feverish blush already present on his pale features. Then, he pulled him in for a long kiss on the lips, losing his fingers in the feathers on the back of his head. As he stood back up, he smirked and gestured at his now-grinning sweetheart. “Theeere ya go, that’s better.”

“Much,” Stolas murmured in agreement, more than satisfied, his heart fluttering with pure adoration.

“Be back in a sec, Stols,” Blitz promised after grabbing the trash can that had been overflowing with tissues, as well as those that had spilled out onto the floor as a result. He pulled the door closed behind him with his tail and set back to work.

Soon enough, the trash was discarded, the soup was finished and put in the fridge for later, the dishes used in the process were left in the sink for now, an extra slice of toast from Blitz’s own breakfast had been consumed, and the imp was scampering back upstairs with the empty trash can in one hand and a fresh glass of water in the other.

“Oh, you’re back!” Stolas chirped with a tired smile, turning off his phone that he had been scrolling through and sitting up a little as soon as the door opened. 

“Yep, told ya it’d be quick!” Blitzø replied, kicking the door closed and setting down the trash can by Stolas’s side of the bed and the glass of water on his nightstand. “You seem exhausted,” Blitzø commented after a moment of looking him over. “This flu’s reeeally kickin’ your perky lil ass, huh, pretty bird?”

“Undfortundately, yes. Ndow, get over here already. Please.” He held the blanket up with his arms out for Blitz, who happily climbed into bed and let himself be pulled close into a tight embrace much like a teddy bear. 

“For fuck’s sake, Stols, I can feel how bad your fever is just like this,” Blitz murmured, arms tightening around the Goetia’s chest and tail wrapping around his waist to hold him even closer. “Poor birdie.”

“Mmh, it feels mbuch better with you here though.”

“Well, I do what I can,” Blitz replied, smiling fondly. “I want’cha to eat somethin’ in an hour or so, m’kay? Doctor’s orders. And chef’s orders too, I guess—you gotta try the soup I made. I wanna know if it turned out any good.”

“I’m sure it did,” Stolas reassured warmly. “But, to be hondest, all I wandt to do is sleep the rest of the day away.”

“No, c’mon, you gotta eat and stuff.”

“But I’mb so tiiireeed…” Stolas whined, perhaps quite childishly, though he could easily blame it on the high fever and sleepiness.

“Yeah, but you still gotta eat, okay?” Blitz insisted firmly with a venomless glare and quirked eyebrows.

“… Fiiiinde…” Stolas relented. Not a moment later did his breath snag somewhere in his throat or lungs—both, perhaps—and he turned away from Blitz to muffle a fit of wet, crackling, coughs into his elbow. The imp rubbed circles in his back until he recovered with a weary sigh. “I really do feel awful though…” he lamented.

“I know… I’m sorry ya got this shit from me. It really ain’t fun…” Blitz sympathized, averting his gaze for a moment before a far more lighthearted grin overtook him. “But guess what, pretty bird?” he prompted, pulling back a little so he could meet his eyes.

“Hmm?”

Blitz pulled him into an indescribably gentle kiss. “I looove youuu,” he reminded in a slight, tender singsong, already feeling himself be squeezed tighter in their embrace and soft feathers nuzzling against his horns. “A whooole fucking lot,” he added for emphasis before his tone fell into one of mischief, and he shrugged casually, joking, “And I’ve fucked a lotta holes, so that’s really saying something.”

The sentiment immediately sent Stolas’s heart beating faster and a smile as wide as he could possibly manage spreading across his face. All the discomfort and exhaustion seemed to melt away from him, warmed like a hearth by the fire stoked in his heart. He really couldn’t help but be overcome with joy and fulfillment any and every time he heard those words or even merely thought about their truth. “I love you too, darli’g—mbore thadn I could ever put indto words… though that’ll ndever stop me from tryi’g.”

“Fuckin’ dork,” Blitz scoffed, pointedly ignoring the blush burning through his red cheeks.

“I believe the word you’re looki’g for is rombandtic, no?” Stolas corrected playfully.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘robadtic,’ sure,” Blitz muttered with a roll of his eyes and exaggerated impression of the prince’s congested voice, “but that doesn’t make ya any less of a dork. Now, hurry up and go back to sleep already, bitch, I’m not fuckin’ around about that two hour deadline for breakfast.”

“Oh? I thought it was onde hour, wasnd’t it?” Stolas teased with an eyebrow raised skeptically, “Are you sure it’s that strict a deadlidne?”

“Hey, keep talking shit, and you’ll be lucky if you get 15 fuckin’ minutes before I cram some food down your gullet, all right?” Blitz warned. It was an empty threat, really, but still an effective one nonetheless.

“Two hours it is, thedn,” Stolas mumbled, voice already being tinged with the pull of slumber. He yawned—frankly more contagious than the flu Blitz had given him, since the imp echoed the reflex immediately—and snuggled in a little closer until he was comfortable, eyes blinking slower and slower before simply staying shut.

“Yeahhh, that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” Blitz snickered fondly. Just as he figured Stolas was about to fall asleep, he felt him shift somewhat uncomfortably, then rub his nose against the imp’s own shoulder before a ticklish little whimper escaped him. Blitz froze, a shiver running down his spine, but his face burning hot in an instant.

“Hh-iiih…! Wait, Bli-hiiitz, I-hheh—” Stolas tried to warn, still half-asleep and hopelessly entangled with the other demon.

“Shh, s’okay,” Blitzø murmured, not bothered in the slightest. “I know. Just—”

“Eihh’kDTTschh!!” He tried to hold it back, he really did, but he just couldn’t help it. The poor thing was simply too ill and drowsy to control his flu-ridden nose or extricate himself from the pretzel of cuddling he found himself in, leaving him no choice but to muffle the itchy sneezes that tumbled out of him one-by-one into his lover’s collarbone and shoulder that he had nuzzled into minutes ago. “Huhh-uhh—? IhhDTSCHHhieww! S-sorr-iiihhy—”

Blitz’s hand found its way up to the back of Stolas’s head, fingers running gently down the bluish-gray feathers in soothing, repeated strokes as the Goetia shuddered against him. “Juuust let it out, birdie. S’okay.”

Even if it wasn’t okay, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it, what with his breath already fluttering erratically in his chest and his features scrunching up in anticipatory desperation for relief. “Ihh… h-hihhh… hehhHHh! Ehh’TSCHhh!… Hah-aanh…” That last waver of his voice was awfully vocal, nearly nothing other than a whine or moan, which sent a wave of warmth down Blitz’s stomach that he did his best to ignore. “HIHDTSCHhh’ehh! Hehh… ihgktschhiew! —iHPTSCH! Nguhh… IHDTSCH’ahhh!… Hahh’kdtshh!… Hih’ktsch!…” Ticklish, yet rattling coughs punctuated the fit, along with a small groan of relief and sleepy little sniffles.

“Christ on a stick, damn you. You’re really gonna fuckin’ need this nap, huh?” Blitz fretted, still petting him in comforting little caresses.

“Mmnnhhhh, m’sorryyy,” Stolas mumbled in a guilty, mortified whine, still muffled against Blitz. “Didn’t mbeadn to, umb… snnddfff, snddff… ughh… it snduck up on mbe a bit…” Despite all the sneezing, which had even been enough to accidentally shrug the blanket off of himself partially, he was clearly still only mere moments away from dozing off into some much-needed rest.

“Hey, ya don’t gotta apologize. I don’t mind, remember? Like, at all. So, don’t worry about it,” Blitz reassured, casually wiping Stolas’s beak with a couple of tissues before holding them over his nose. “Here. Blow real quick for me, so ya don’t hafta keep snifflin’ so much,” he instructed.

To his surprise, Stolas complied with no particular hesitation or protest. “Good,” Blitz praised before tossing the tissues in the vague direction of the trash can, not caring when it sounded like they hit the floor instead. “Just take it easy and get some sleep. I gotcha, birdie. You’re gonna feel wayyyyy better real soon, m’kay?” The only response he got was a mostly inaudible murmur that he was pretty sure translated to “all right,” which was plenty enough for him.

After Blitz pressed a brief kiss to Stolas’s fever-pinkened cheek and brought the blanket back over the Goetia’s shoulder from where it had slid down to ensure he stayed warm, he nuzzled back down into his feathered chest—truly unrivaled by any pillow that could ever have been made—listening to his lover’s heartbeat until it was joined by quiet, congested, owlish snoring. Eventually, his own heart rate slowed a little to match as he drifted off into dreaming as well, feeling almost overwhelmingly peaceful cuddled up so comfortably with limbs entangled so inextricably. It didn’t take long before rhythmic purrs became yet another soft sound of sleep in the elegant bedroom.

Blitzø could really get used to this sort of thing. He was getting used to this sort of thing, and he could still hardly believe he was lucky enough to do so. To feel so connected, so close, so loved and cherished and valued, to bring such comfort and joy to someone he loved just with his mere presence and affection, and for it to be with this silly, sweet bird he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about or caring about or falling in love with for so very, very long… he couldn’t put it into words either. But what he could do was continue to try his best to figure out how relationships worked and make sure his love was shown and felt as deeply and truly as possible.

For all of the grand romantic gestures that Stolas dreamed about for years, it was funny how much meaning the littlest things seemed to have, wasn’t it? The small, brief acts that said “I love you” like ensuring one another got enough rest, making them food even as easy a simplistic soup, keeping a close eye on their fever, cuddling them closely, pulling blankets up over them for warmth, perhaps even setting one’s alarm for three hours instead of the promised two so that they could sleep off their flu a little longer in their lover’s arms… Sometimes these things meant far more than any grand gesture ever could, especially as they added up over time. To feel safe and loved in all the littlest of ways over and over and over again…

It was something new, yes, but that only made it feel even more significant, filling holes in their hearts that they may have not even realized existed or could feel so complete.

It was something complicated, yes, but that didn’t make it any less worth trying to fully understand and reach for together.

Still, perhaps more than anything else, by this point, it was as tender as chocolate covered strawberries melting on a lover’s tongue, as quietly healing as one’s favorite ice cream after a terribly draining day, and as soft as the fluffiest cotton candy shared amongst loved ones.

It was something sweet. 

[patheticandmiserable]

me: I hate cliches

media: here’s a character losing control of their powers when they’re sick

me: omg a character losing control of their powers when they’re sick

[patheticandmiserable]

It's been a long week and I have an awful headache. I've been trying to relax by drawing the deer man

[patheticandmiserable]

A sneezy CEO.

[patheticandmiserable]

In spite of recent events I will now strive to be more horny than ever.

[patheticandmiserable]

Hey, everybody.

Considering the amount of LGBTQIA+ and women and a lot of others here, I can assume that all of you are less than happy, and also quite scared about the results of the election.

I know that this isn’t exactly an orthodox place for politics, but I will say this:

I can’t say for certain if things will be okay, so I won’t claim that they will be. However, there are so many people, online and in person, who love and support you. The only prerequisite to care about someone is that they are human, and we all fit the bill.

Try your best to support/protect each other and yourselves, and we will see where the next week takes us. If any of you ever need any support, my DMs are always open.

We may not be undamaged, but we will not be erased.

[patheticandmiserable]

I think it’s so funny that I’m so bashful and shy about this kink, like embaressed about it cause I feel so perverted

But my most explicit sexual fantasy is a girl with the sniffles and a slight fever leaning her head on my shoulder while she nurses a mug of tea and with lemon and honey I made for her, and I wrap a blanket around her so we can watch her favorite tv show on the couch.

[patheticandmiserable]

[patheticandmiserable]

Thinking out ghost snz…

someone has dust allergies, and ends up as a ghost….haunting a dusty library (and they quickly find out that allergies aren’t just for living people)

this can easily work for someone with pollen allergies haunting a garden. Dust/hay/animal allergies? Guess who’s haunting a farm. It can also work for sickness…Maybe someone died with a cold and now they’re stuck with it forever. Whatever floats your boat. Endless possibilities.

bonus: imagine ghost cannot interact with physical objects very well so they’re just stuck as a sneezy/ectoplasmic mess. U go into a haunted place expecting spooky sounds and creepy wraiths but it’s just some sniffly, rather miserable ghost that can’t stop sneezing and coughing.

[patheticandmiserable]

Over the Radiowaves (2/2)

@ripelytoo So imagine me kicking down the door, completely out of breath with my hair partially on fire because hoo boy that took so long and thank you so much for your patience! Writing Vox and Alastor + life stuff got in the way of everything but I finished within the deadline baby! I hope the wait was worth it! We got silly, hurt/comfort, a smidge of emotions and feels, fluff, etc. Plus questionable, slightly less one-sided Radiostatic?

This is a sequel to @rosieknows's own request Under the Weather, so go check out part 1 if you're interested in starting from the beginning!

Quick cw: there is a small bit of mess at the end, though it's not very detailed. But I wanted to give a heads up at the end!

I'm gonna go lie down...in the meantime, thank you for the request and enjoy the fic! 🩷

---

Vox would not call himself a reckless man.

He prided himself on his maturity, his restraint, and a dash of opulence for good measure. All in all, he was the definition of the highest perfection in technology, a one-man revolutionary that never seemed satisfied.

But fuck did he need a vacation.

And that was just the case, glaring at the very screen that not too long ago sang a song that continued to haunt his processors. And the worst part was that he didn’t know why. He couldn’t quite place it, but it bothered him beyond belief.

“Ht’chhzzzt!” Speaking of which. It's not that his vents were irritated by Alastor's flu. It was just some bug– a minor glitch in the system. He was, without a doubt, above such an outdated virus! Clearly the rattling of his exoskeleton was from the malfunctioning air conditioning because holy Here it was fucking freezing. Clearly the excess electricity that rose his core temperature was from a long night’s work. And clearly the tingle that came with it, the static shock that ran from his processors through his wiring…down to his sk-skull…building with electric sparks until– 

“Het’chhzzzzt! ET’CHHZZZZT! HET’KSHHHZZZT!” The sound of shattering rained down like knives, luxurious chandelier lamps burst and broken by uncontrolled power. “Eh…heh! HEKT’SCHHZZZT! Guhhh…”

Vox pursed his lips, flicking a shard of glass from his shoulder. Well, maybe he should pay the walking germ fest a visit anyway. Just to rub his good health in that smug prick face. He nodded curtly, ignoring the overwhelming dizziness and cooling fans that sputtered like an old, rusty engine. It was clearly a warning for his overheating mind. But he couldn't not be all there, could he? Because he was fine! Taking a deep breath-- or one that didn't result in a debilitating coughing fit-- he focused on where he wanted to go. Flipping through channels and pathways, he had planned on not looking too desperate.

Which he wasn't, of course.

Maybe in front of the hotel. A few blocks away, even. He could see it now: he'd stroll up to those stupid, gaudy double doors and invite himself in. Make a grand show of the lack of security. Brag about how weak and defenseless The Radio Demon was, and how Vox was clearly superior because machines don't...hheh...cahhh-catch the–

“Hekt’SHHHZZZ’hoo!”

It was around midnight when Alastor returned from his little excursion. Not to say his meeting with Zestiel was difficult, but it was...interrogative. The seven year absence can only boast mystery and intrigue when it remains an intriguing mystery. But now he felt quite silly for stringing one of his oldest friends along-- a little sympathetic, even. After all, the demon faced down on the hotel floor gave him a confusion and frustration that he didn't know was in him.

“Vox?” Alastor craned over the poor soul. Only for him to spring to life, finding balance with a hand to the wall.

“So we meet again, Alastor!” Vox laughed.

“What is happening.” His rival replied flatly.

“Isn't it obvious?”

“Is what obvious.”

“That I won! I beat you! You got sick and I didn't!”

A pause. Alastor looked at the state of the intruder. Then to the radio on his bookshelf, still flickering a striking electric blue. Then crossed the carpet with a sudden smirk on his face.

“I see! Then please, by all means, recount your glorious victory over the poor, defenseless Radio Demon!” He cried, holding a hand to his chest. “I deserve to hear it. All of it.”

“Well look who finally decided to give up and throw in the towel! And after I saved you from freezing face down in the snow!” His rival smirked drunkenly, tugging on his lapels– as well as himself, nearly stumbling into the corner of an armchair.

“A tantalizing sight, my life right in your claws for the taking.” Alastor recalled, catching Vox under the arms by the heel of his cane to push him upright.

“And– and I was the guy who carried you to the tower’s main office without being seen.” He slurred, pointing slightly left of himself. “You better be fuckin’ grateful, by the way. You almost blew my cover! Twice! Seriously, it's like your stupid flu was as disgustingly dramatic as y-yuhh-youhhh...are…! Hup’TSHHHZZT! HUTSCHHZZZZT!” 

A battered desk lamp flared in a firework of light before settling back again. The overhead bulbs momentarily shook with a sudden burst of energy. And in the middle of the flickering, flashing mess stood the Tech Overlord, sniffling miserably into a sleeve.

“Truly you are a paragon of grace and wit.” Alastor assured as he strolled towards the bathroom. Leaving Vox to follow him in his delirious, rambling rage.

“And then! And– Hep’shhhzzt! Sdnff!” His body jerked forward, screen glitching wildly just for a moment before resuming the one-man battle that he was definitely winning. "And then I treated you pretty good I think!"

"Well."

"Whatever! I– ihh- It’schhhzzzt! Ughh. Th’ point is that I took care of you! Monitored your temperature, gave you blankets, made you tea. And then you just LEFT! How's that for morality--" Alastor hummed nonchalantly, passing him a downy comforter. "--oh, thanks. I mean come on! I already had like ten different projects I'm working on so the least you could do is..."

The Radio Demon stood, waiting expectantly while his potential patient trailed off. Vox stared down at the gathered blanket in his arms, hoarse voice lowering. "...you're taking care of me."

"Ah, I see your wires have finally uncrossed! Truly a headline for the ages, don't you think?"

"You're taking care of me?"

"Would you rather I show you the door? Because--"

"No!" Vox blurted. Then remembering himself, cleared his throat with a thick sniffle. "No, no, uh. It's. It’s juhhst- huh! HUT’SCHHZZZT! Ughh..." Already overworked vents shuddered with the effort, and his entire frame followed suit as it struggled to adjust. "I just-- I haven't seen you in a while. The, uh, other you."

The silence was heavy, and it smelt of dust and mold stuffed deep in the back of a closet full of unwanted things. Alastor paused. He inhaled. Then exhaled. "Let's make a deal."

At that Vox opened his mouth, stopped by a hand. "Verbally. And one I'm sure we would both prefer."

"...Okay." He exhaled wearily, wobbling to sit by the fireplace. "Lay it on me."

Alastor replied with another contented hum, sitting opposite, Cheshire grin still plastered on his face. "You’ve had the chance to kill me before, but decided instead to spare my fate. As you mentioned quite loudly." Vox’s flushed face spread to the corners of his screen, sinking into the blanket. “And judging by a severe exhaustion not dissimilar to mine, I’m sure that returning to your tower would be a near-Herculean task. So, for your repayment, I will assist you for tonight and tonight only. No strings attached, no loose ends untied. Do you understand?"

The Vee swallowed harshly, stuffing down his pride as far as it could go. “Fine. It’s a deal. You win.”

"Excellent! Now, then." In a snap a flurry of inky creatures circled the two, hammer and nail at the ready. “I believe it’s time to claim my prize. Shall we begin, old pal?"

Alastor expected whinging and moaning. Maybe a little bit of desperation. But instead Vox was eerily silent. Sensors glazed over lying propped up on the headboard of his newly built bed, watching. Waiting. Mind completely and utterly glassed over with fog. Not even a half-witted jab at the old-fashioned mercury thermometer that slipped from between his fangs. Sighing heavily, Alastor poured a spoonful of medicine from a bottle, humming softly to himself as he tipped the rim into his patient’s mouth. And ever so slightly some color seeped into sepia tone. Alastor was sure the second of cognisance was the foul-tasting syrup until a few weak notes echoed back– breaking into occasional coughing fits that rattled the poor man's chest. 

“You can't seem to stay quiet, can you?” The Radio Demon snapped, though it had no bite. Closing his eyes, the soft broadcast of a song began to whisper. 

“Does this satisfy?” Vox nodded slowly. Alastor swallowed a nauseating pang of relief. 

It wasn’t long after that his caretaker was jolted awake, eyes pried open by screeching static and shouting voices. Pushing himself to his hooved feet, each delicate step across the room grew heavier and heavier as the deer demon approached. Through mucky speakers it sounded as if this fever dream was submerged in muck and grime. But between the two of them, the tangled mess of a memory from seven years ago might as well be clear as a spring. The reflection in the water stared back at him, and Alastor couldn’t help but watch. It was like a bad telanovela, and yet he could read every page of the script by heart.

“Listen asshole! You don't get to tell me what to do with my company and how I run it! I make the rules, not you.” The bitter voice crackled painfully behind the monitor.

“I assure you that my ‘rules’ are sound. These flashy entertainment devices and security systems you flaunt are completely and utterly worthless in the face of the exterminations, and yet you claim they bear the freedom and safety to back it up. It’s foolish and irresponsible to half-ass a game if you hold all the pieces.” Alastor muttered, mimicking his younger self that responded in kind. He squeezed a fistful of comforter until it ripped. 

“Fuck no! VoxTech was made so sinners can feel safe. Seriously, what is your damage? You hide the fine print just like us, so why the Hell are you throwing a bitch fit about a few white lies?”

“Sinners need an honorable deal, not a gaggle of snake oil salesmen. The Vees are built on false hope, I have the power to actually fulfill my promises.  And that, my dear, is the difference.”

“They want an out, I’m giving them an out!”

 Alastor shot upright to face the bastard, every twisted feature hemmed by an eerie artificial glow. “If you cannot understand why I despise your nonsense business practices made of flowery language and empty promises, then I r̵̨̞͑͠e̸͉͚͛f̸͈̅ù̵̹s̶͈̅ë̵͇͉́̎ to join your useless little team you absolute–!”

“--Listen asshole! You don’t get to–”

And all too suddenly, Alastor snapped back to the present. The angry burn on his cheeks faded as the same memory played again. And again. Skipping on repeat over and over and over like a useless, broken record. 

He stumbled, collapsing back on the edge of the bed. Calm yourself, it's just a nightmare. He'll break out of it eventually. But time passed again. And again. The horrid sting could not reduce itself to a dull itch, finally breaking its pattern when a pathetic whimper passed Vox's lips and– alright, that's enough. 

Waking a person from a nightmare was dangerous, doubly so if said subject was a demon– triply so for an Overlord. And although The Radio Demon held far more power and control over his rival, the Vee still had countless amounts of voltage coursing through his veins. Hauling himself to his feet, shaking his previous nerves loose before plucking a snuff box from a high shelf.

Well, he decided, better a sneeze than the electric chair.

Sitting again by Vox’s bedside, Alastor held the powder under the vents that dotted the sides of his patient’s face, watching them shallowly suck in air– taking a small portion with it.

“Hhh..!” The reaction was immediate. The sound of sniffling and hitching replaced the cacophony of his dream, and he twisted with discomfort. Stuck in a torturous loop, unable to sneeze out the irritant. Alastor huffed in annoyance, rolling his eyes.

“Always with the dramatics.” He chided.

“Snffff snff! Ugh! And whose f-fuh-fault is…is thahhhHHH–! Hhhhghh…th-that!” Vox warbled out, airy voice pitching higher and higher. Finally deciding to end his misery, Alastor traced the tip of his claw around his vents with a feather-light touch. Quickly distancing himself, as a final shuddering gasp was his one and only warning before–

“Het’tshhzzzt! H’tshzzzt! ‘Zzzt! Zzt! hhhhHHHH–! …Hekt’SHZZZZHOO!” 

A pop, and a firework of electricity branched from his core, erupting from his suit and branching out– which Alastor casually stepped to the side to avoid. “Gesundheit.” 

Unfortunately, the blessing was premature. “HUT’TSHZZZOOO! HUP’TSHZZZZZT’hoo…huh-hehhHHHTSHZZZOO!” The ground rumbled with scorch marks from the lightning storm. Somewhere in the hallway, the shattering of a bulb made Alastor’s ears press to his head.

“Do you want to wake the entire hotel?!” He hissed through clenched teeth.

“I cad't hhhheh! helb ihhdt! IT’SCHZZZZTHOO! Heh! Hhh! …hghh…” The chaos began to settle, leaving the cyborg gasping for air as Alastor slapped his hands against his vents. Cringing as a thick fluid brushed his ungloved palms.

“S’rry.” Vox mumbled sheepishly.

“You're ill.” Alastor spat regardless, pulling back in disgust, “If you're going to annoy me, don't take credit for things you didn't do.”

“...Okay?” The sickly demon blinked blearily. He tried to sit up, stopped by the head of a cane to his chest.

“Ah-ah, don’t get up. I'll be back in just a moment.” The other sneered, plucking a tissue from the nearby nightstand and, wordlessly, exited. Ignoring the harsh, obnoxious blow that followed.

It took minutes for Alastor to wash the unidentified liquid from his hands and handle. It took an eternity for Vox to fall back asleep. Maybe he did regret that argument from seven years ago. Maybe not. Either way, he scowled and turned his back to The Radio Demon.

Because just for tonight, Alastor had won. Again. He had been cared for, doted over, and treated with the utmost respect. For the first time in a long time, he had a taste of happiness from an old friend.

And honestly? It was awful.

[patheticandmiserable]

Under the Weather

Oh my God @rosieknows you put me up to a really fun challenge!! Vo/x and A/la/stor are the two characters that are the hardest to write for me. But I really enjoyed this and it took so long because it became. Almost 7 pages???? It's a bit long and wordy but I hope you enjoy it, and that it matched what you wanted as a request!

Song near the end is Lady Luck by Ted Lewis and His Band from the musical "Show of Shows".

Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

---

Alastor would not call himself a reckless man.

He prided himself on his calculations, his patience, and a dash of eloquence for good measure. After all, you can't slice your game without a well-sharpened cleaver.

But if there was one thing The Radio Demon lacked, his one Achilles Heel, was the eye of Lady Luck. Today, for instance. All it took was her flick of the wrist and a winter blizzard had all but ended him. He trudged through the snow, steaming breath hot on his face as it carried on the wind. Without an audience to speak of, and a lack of energy to even hide his misery, he rubbed at a raw nose that wrinkled against the cold.

Sadly, his near-frozen fingers did little to ease what came next.

“Hgg’tshzzzt! Het’tchzzzzt!” He wrenched out, stumbling...somewhere. Strange, he seemed to forget where his path went. His mind began to frost over as a sudden dizziness overtook him from reaching…reaching…where…where was he going again? His snowflake-laden eyelids drooped, swaying on his feet as his impromptu nap was rudely interrupted with a stinging itch that didn’t seem to quit. He wrapped his arms around himself. Image be damned, there was no one around and he was determined to keep his warmth. He was absolutely not going to...t-to...!

“Het’TSSZZZEW! Oh, fuhh..for God's sa-sakeET’SHHHZ̴̠͕͝Z̵̢̛͓̅͛Z̷͈̈́̄̕T̶̢̛̲͇̫͊͛͐̈́!̸̱̟̰̝̗̃” He gasped for air, barely catching himself on his cane. Of course there was nothing more he could do, could he? He was all but reduced to a walking shell. There was no path. There was no opportunity. There was no plan.

“Well, well, well! If it isn't Hell's most ancient artifact!” The ghost of a memory lit through the fog that was just about to swallow him whole. He would be more grateful, if said ghost wasn’t the most annoying burr that dared to attach itself to him every chance it got.

So in the face of his prey he did what he did best: straighten his spine, tug on his lapels, and flash Vox a smile. Despite the fact that its edges were already wearing at the seams. Despite the fact that he felt his face tingle with a rising heat. Despite the fact that, no matter how hard he tried, his nose just wouldn't. Stop. Streaming.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t take a little water? Is the ol’ machinery finally rusting over?”

“I'm ahh-- afraid I don't know what...what you mean.” Alastor cleared his throat to stifle a cough, uncomfortably aware that it did little to hide the rasp in his voice. He quickly pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket to stall the mess, cringing as its soaked fabric bit the tip, flickering tickle building to a dizzying roar.

“Oh come on! Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look even older than you usually...do...” Vox’s sharp grin fell, screen flickering lightly as he leaned in closer. And for a brief moment, Alastor too was stunned to see the reflection that stared back. His shivering frame rocked his entire body, forcing it to wilt as pathetically as the ears that once stuck straight up. His nose was not unlike the color of his suit, feverishly flushed and twitching madly as he slowly lost the battle against an itch that never seemed to...to...!

“Hgg'tshhhew! Hih-Hegg’tshhhhew!” He let out another desperate set, and Vox yelped as he stumbled back.

“Jesus, fuck! Watch where you're pointing that thing!”

“Well maybe if you weren't in my way you w-wouldn't…h-hhheh..! HeT̴̗͓̱͘̕͜S̵̮͚̽́C̵̼̱̠͎͓̀̊H̴͎̬͓͎͓̋́Ź̸̧̩̺̪̝͗̒͠Z̸͔̟͖̒̑͘ͅŹ̸͍͚̝̊̍T̸͔̔̽͌!̷̢̰̯̳́̀̉͒!“

Unable to safely trust his sensitive skin with the handkerchief he carried, he helplessly sneezed into the crook of his collar-- to no avail as the obvious happened and panic began to set in. He could only mourn his sloppy state of mind as he doubled over again.

“Het'tschhh! Het’shh! ‘Tschhh! ‘Tschh’HEW!” Alastor could feel himself lose control of his body. A blur of tentacles broke through the snow, writhing and curling in agony. And though the street was blurred with irritated tears and overwhelming vertigo, he swore he could feel unseen eyes crawl up his back. Examining him on a butcher’s block, sharpened cleavers waiting for the right angle to slice.

“Stop it. S-stop-- kaff! stop looking at me! All…all of you...” Alastor protested through slurring words. 

“There’s...uh. There’s nobody here.” Vox answered.

And all too suddenly the audience grew quieter, satiated– a fever dream that nearly willed itself into existence. But it didn’t matter. All The Radio Demon could do was fall limp into the snow like a ragdoll, landing with a sickening crunch, a sudden gasp responding in kind. If Alastor had the energy to laugh, he would. An all-powerful Overlord reduced to a useless toy. For once, Vox had The Radio Demon in his hands. He had the power to end his life. A limp ear twitched when Vox made the first move. The mounds of ice beneath him shifted. His opponent was thinking. Most likely deciding on how to kill him, or worse. A sharp row of claws slipped to his waist and...

...gently uprighted him, slinging one arm over his savior's neck. Then pulled close, fans whirring to life and soaking the android's wool suit like a soft bedwarmer.

And as two sets of foosteps picked up again, Vox grumbled out an irritable, “You're a fucking idiot.”

For the first time in his afterlife, Alastor couldn't help but agree.

The rest of the walk was a passing blur. By the time Alastor's eyes had opened and awareness returned, the ice between his bones had thawed under layers of blankets— though the ache between his eyes wasn’t quite as settled. He reached to massage the bridge of his nose, mortified to find that it was still horribly sensitive. He clenched his teeth and tried to will the sneeze back–

“Seriously? Again? Come on, it’s not like we’re on air.”

– as Vox continued to examine him, luck still run dry. He sat opposite on an identical couch, leaning over the coffee table between them.

“Why were you out in a storm.” He narrowed his eyes.

“I see no need to dihh...!" Don't you dare! "Di- snfff! dihh-! ...hhh...d-discuss my mundane shopping excursions.” Alastor breathed out, hiding a sigh of relief as the budding tickle subsided.

“Ouch! You have to be feeling like shit if your lies are this bad.”

“And why would I bother concealing the answer to such a ridiculous question? Are you really interested in my everyday activities? My, your obsession for me must run deep.”

A spark popped from Vox’s antennae. “Will you shut up and take this seriously?! I'm trying to interrogate you!”

Alastor hummed, unimpressed as his dulled eyes swept the room. Garish pink and gold wallpaper rudely invaded his vision, wallpaper and furniture alike littered with disgustingly gaudy hearts. And to add insult to injury, the hideous decor touted posters of a familiar Overlord's sex workers. The most famous front and center, proudly rubbing a quote on quote “sexy as fuck” smirk in his face. Well. At the very least, The Radio Demon respected his attempts to make that miserable masquerade of a smile real.

But still.

Eugh.

“You really must choose a more intimidating cell for your next victim. Unless you mean to torture me with sparkles and hearts.” Technical clockwork whirred irritably, flickering screen brightening at the center, not unlike a flustered blush. Alastor's smug grin widened. Pushing himself up on a couch that smelled of smoke and cheap cologne, he grabbed the cane leaning against an armrest, clutching the handle with a death grip. “Now if you'll excuse me, I-- kff kfff! I must be going. I can only entertain your antics for so long."

"Whoa, hey, wait! Don't you dare--"

The second Alastor stood his body swayed, caught in another wave of dizziness. He was pulled in all directions, pitching down down down-- and into Vox's arms.

“The fuck! I saved you from a double death, the least you can do is listen to me!” He spat.

“Oh? And why should I do that?” Alastor huffed. He couldn't help but feel humiliation return at the way he was cradled– cradled– bridal style. Slipped back into the makeshift bed, Vox motioned to the wall wordlessly. Slowly, carefully, Alastor followed suit, paling at the garish sight of his shadow. Its form dripped heavily like ink, clutching its chest and swaying dangerously. Its ears pinned to its skull, stomach heaving once. Twice. Until the tickle that still lingered brushed just under Alastor's nostrils and he found the damn thing mirroring his every feeling, physical or otherwise. He cursed, instinctively reaching for the ruined handkerchief in his breast pocket— when a box of tissues was unceremoniously shoved under the crook of his arm.

“There. There's your fucking reason. Now stay. Down.” Vox hissed through gritted teeth.

And through a string of curses, Alastor ripped two— three— five tissues from the box, bringing it to his nose. “Het’kshhh!! Het’kschhhzzt! Hehh…hekt-! Het’KSCHHHZZT!!”

His lungs finally gave out, collapsing back into the cushions with a hacking cough, wincing in pain.

“Y'see?” Vox snapped, “You suck at not dying but you keep tempting it anyway! How the fuck am I supposed to keep my viewers entertained if you keep doing that?!”

“Doi'g– kff! ...what? ETCHHḤ̵̡̰̣͌̽Z̶̧̠̙̍Ẕ̶̼̱̬̆Ź̵̦T̵̢̳̅͌̊̓!” Alastor wheezed out, blowing his nose. Dignification be damned, he was already saved by this walking, talking eyesore. He didn't expect to sink any lower. “I-- Snff! Ugh, pardon me-- I don't follow.”

“That!” Vox gestured wildly, “That whole ego shit you've got goin' on!”

Alastor opened his mouth to question when a palm pressed to his head. All words died in his throat, and the world came to a standstill, claws blaring with each mechanical beep.

"...102.4." Vox decided, "Ugh, no wonder you're dizzy. Your body's probably running on empty and…uh."

He faltered when he met Alastor’s face– eyelids fluttered closed, ears drooped. He pressed further into the cool, metallic palm, entirely hypnotized. Involuntarily peace only lasting a moment before he stepped back at the sudden telltale twitch of his patient’s nose.

"Et’schhhzzt! Heh-eh-S̵͇̓̀͜C̶̮̻̉H̸̗̃Z̵̛͎͋Z̶̮̖̀͋Z̴͍͎͝Z̷̬̼̀T̷͕̦̓!" He pitched forward, the reluctant caretaker yelping as he barely dodged another wild, uncontrollable circle of tentacles. Shivering, frost laced Alastor’s breath as the lights in the room flickered and darkened– only for a moment as he felt the weight of a comforter. He sunk into the sudden warmth, shadowy whips snaking under the floorboards and disappearing entirely.

"Look, just. Let’s call whatever this is a truce, okay?" An onyx-tipped ear twitched in response from under the hem of the covers. Suddenly, a piercing whistle broke through the darkness. When he opened his eyes time had apparently passed, and Vox was hovering over him with a mug of tea-- and of course it was the Fuck Alastor mug.

"How charming." He sighed, feeling the heat of the ceramic between his claws, relishing the steam that loosened his slowly growing headache. Taking another tissue, he pressed it to his nose to keep from sniffling back the loose congestion that threatened to drip.

"I can see why you wanted to sponsor that broken down shack of a hotel. You're all so weak it's sad--"

"Rosie's."

Vox blinked, "...What?"

"Let me be perfectly clear: I'm only giving you what you want so you will finally stop screeching at me." Alastor muffled in cotton fabric. "I was going to Rosie's to..." His static-laced voice trailed off, as if testing the right words in his mouth. "...treat this bothersome illness."

Silence fell over the room. Vox stared like he had just burst into flames.

"I, uh. Oh." He stumbled over his own stuttering before readjusting himself, sharpening his smile and definitely not wiping the shock from his mind. "I-I mean Christ, about time!"

The Radio Demon narrowed his eyes, doing his best to focus and not somehow slip into unconsciousness while lying down. "I am simply doing this for my survival since you won't leave me to rest-- koff koff! Oh-- koff! Oh, dear." He mumbled, sipping the honey-laced drink to calm his throat. Surfacing with a soft hum to test his voice. "Besides, my death by illness is far less entertaining for you than viewed on those tacky picture boxes of yours."

And from the way you aren't broadcasting my suffering in the first place, your current motives are far more personal. He wanted to add. But didn't-- for his pounding headache, mostly. He wasn't interested in another childish tantrum complete with competitive singing. Instead he felt himself fade again, and allowed it. If not to see Vox's angry face one last time.

The next time Vox woke, the couch was empty.

Good. Finally rid of that smug ass face and stupid fuck ass bob, he rose to his feet, stretching his limbs and popping his spine for good measure— getting his synthetic nerves back in working order. Finally free of that walking malware, he could finally resume his work. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the empty mug resting on the nightstand. Well, it wouldn't hurt to check the balcony. Or the mini bar. And y'know, behind the TV. Just in case the dumbass decided to slink into the shadows.

And as he stepped up to the screen, the sudden blast of snowy static made him nearly leap out of his skin. A rapidly beating heart in his ears calmed, making way for a distant melody that played on the radio waves.

--Come on show me

Show me that you've got it

I wanna see that golden smile.

Oh Lady Luck, I knew, I knew you should

I knew I knew you would be good to me!--

Vox quickly flicked the remote with tightened fingers, an annoyed sigh breaking the short silence.

He really could never read that guy.