#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʀᴇᴡɪɴᴅ; ᴡᴇ’ᴠᴇ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰᴀʀ ❞ ¦ 「 Vox and Alastor 」

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Vox was still in a state of shock. They had fights before, yes, but never this bad? To the point where Valentino had put cracks through his screen. He had yet to even make the move to upgrade. Vox was trying so hard not to believe it. He loved him, didn't he? What the fuck? "Get me the strongest drink you can make. Pronto." ( can be wherever! & surprise me with the muse! ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Alastor meandering about the television’s room is not an uncommon occurrence. The deer slipping in and out of the shadows of Vox’s life with such nonchalance ( and consistency ) that it doesn’t cause the other to so much as bat an eye nowadays. What’s most unusual about the interaction is the blunt command… as well as the maze of cracks upon the other Overlord’s screen. But Alastor only draws attention to one at first.

❝ ❛ Pronto? ❜ I see someone has forgotten their manners. ❞ Gently chiding with a hum, there’s no malice behind the calm words. Nothing but a quirk of his brow and a twitch of his closed smile betrays his true thoughts, ears still as statues despite the indignant rage boiling within. Smoothly turning to the others bar, tense air is prodded by the soft clinking of glass and pouring of liquid. Rather than complete the request for the ❛ strongest ❜ drink he could make— Alastor knows some combinations that could kill a soul twice —he instead goes for something more personable. Figuring that more comfort could be found in the familiar rather than trying to force forgetfulness.

❝ Here you are, my dear. ❞ Handing over the drink, he sits down beside the fellow Overlord with a soft hum. Keeping a fair bit of distance between the two; not wanting Vox to feel suffocated or any more on-edge than he must already. He's unfortunately familiar with seeing someone in shambles after a... disagreement. That's what his father preferred to refer to them as. Every blow against his mother of her doing, according to the skewed logic where it was capable to earn harm from one's loved one. Too tender as that term feels for someone who would DO such a thing.

Alastor doesn't need to ask about what occurred. He can tell from what pieces of that disbelieving expression he can read on Vox's shattered screen... Taking a sip of rye, he looks at the liquid in his glass. Then he asks anyway. So Vox can have the opportunity to voice it. To come to terms with it. ❝ What happened? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

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(( @questionablemuses ))

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For some unknown reason, Alastor is completely wasted. Maybe he just needed a night of unwinding, to forget everything. Well, he certainly did, having him winding up wherever the hell he is now. Cheeks are flushed & he's clearly not seeing straight. His suit is a bit off his shoulder as he stumbles forward, muttering nonsense under his breath as he gets comfortable on whoever's bed this is, holy shit it was comfy. He's ignoring protests, probably? Alastor isn't sure, but he's determined to sleep this off. ( Have a drunk off his ass Al, for whichever muse! Surprise me! ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Vox is too tired for this shit.

After an exhausting day, the LAST thing he needed was to walk into his room and see the Radio Demon inside it. Let alone passed out on his fucking bed. Initial reaction had been the expected shock outrage. Vox fervently interrogating Alastor over what possessed him to invade V Tower. He hasn't been back since he turned down Vox's offer years ago. Mainly rhetorical questions along the lines of ❛ What the FUCK, asshole? ❜ and ❛ Why are you here?? ❜ . He hadn't expected any satisfying answers, but Vox had assumed he'd at least get a reaction.

But Alastor is apparently too atomized drunk off his ass.

Exasperation dying into begrudging acceptance, Vox figures he has a few options... the easiest of which would be letting the prick use his bed for the night. Hopefully when morning comes and Alastor is contending with what will no doubt be a MASSIVE hangover— Vox can smell liquor reeking from him —wounded pride will encourage a hasty exit. If he knows Alastor ( and he likes to think he does ) the other wouldn't want to delve too deeply into specifics about whatever... this was.

Standing beside his bed, judgmentally glaring down at the dozing man, he wonders how— out of everywhere Alastor could have gone, ANYONE he could have bothered —he was unlucky enough for the deer to trot his tail into his room. Shaking his head with a growl, Vox hastily shrugs off any further wonderings. A stroke of misfortune, that's all. A mind fogged by booze making an unintentional decision. As random as it could possibly be... If he lets himself humor thoughts of Alastor subconsciously WANTING to be here, he'll drive himself insane.

Spinning on his heel, he straightens his coat with a sharp tug of his hands. Sparing a glance over his shoulder at the bane of his existence, he snarkily mutters, ❝ Guess I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight. ❞ He can't exactly leave Alastor unattended when in such a state. For the other's benefit as well as his own peace of mind. Who KNOWS what kinds of problems may arise if the deer was disturbed? Best to remain in the room and pray this is settled quietly. 「 ☆ 」

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"What's the matter, can't handle a little truth being tossed back to you?" Alastor just smirks more, pleased with the way his comment hit home. "Or are you too chicken to admit it? Why else would you be this obsessed?" ( rip Vox ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Vox has heard some pretty batshit insane things since being thrust into literal Hell... and BEFORE it, to be honest. But the open eccentricity of people had definitely stepped up once damnation was a-given. Yet in all his decades of life and afterlife, he's never been taken off-guard NEARLY as much as Alastor managed to do a mere breath ago. Spewing such outrageous filth with that unwavering smile, smugness radiating off the deer's face as if he actually believed every word.

Which he COULDN'T because Vox has been vehement in his hatred of the Radio Demon. To the point where there could be no doubt that should Alastor drop dead on the spot, Vox wouldn't care. Hell, he'd throw a celebration! As far as anyone needs to know. Sure, perhaps there'd been... camaraderie in the past. A sense of trust foolishly given on the Television's part. Which Alastor graciously repaid by treating him as if he were worthless. As if everything between them had been a WASTE. Velvette and Valentino were smart enough to recognize his potential power and prosperity when it was placed on their laps. So why couldn't Alastor?

Maybe he had harbored ❛ feelings ❜ for Alastor in the past... before he knew better. But not in the way the other Overlord was implying! Anything Vox may have thought was completely misguided and misunderstood, even by himself. Despite being aware Alastor is just trying to get a rise out of him— knowing smirk like nails upon the chalkboard of Vox's patience —he can't help but indignantly bark ( once he's blinked out of his flustered stupor; eyes wide and breath catching with a shock of static ) , ❝ Why? WHY?? Oh, I don't know— maybe because I fucking Ⱨ₳₮Ɇ you? ❞

❝ Believe it or not, Al— everyone isn't as fucked up in the head as YOU! Not everything is this grand deception. Some people just think certain OTHER people are complete and utter pricks who should be spit-roasted by an exorcist spear! You think I'm chicken? Well, I think you're delusional to suggest there's anything going on other than me being endlessly-annoyed by your incessant ฿ɄⱠⱠ₴Ⱨł₮! ❞ 「 ☆ 」

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"I blame you for this, you inept tangle of overpriced circuitry." Though his words were biting and cold, they were said with that ever present smile, Alastor not even truly bothering to hide his boiling rage from the TV demon as he sent a glare his way. "Well, I do hope you're happy, seeing as that portal was our only way back to hell. Tell me, was this little trip worth it for a few moments of childish mockery?" Head twisting to the side at an unnatural angle, static filled the air as that sadistic grin grew to take up nearly Al's entire face, it not being a question that was meant to be answered. "Oh well, very little we can do about it now, thanks to you. I suppose we'll need to find another way back home." A sigh still filled with venom, but more resigned now as the radio demon gave a snap of his fingers, his otherworldly appearance soon giving way to that of a normal human with a flash of green smoke and lingering crackles in the air. "Goodness, it's been some time since I've worn this face, it feels far more restrictive than I remember." Said as he tugged at his blazar and tie to settle them more comfortably on this new body, his grin couldn't manage to be quite as wide with the mask he now wore. "Well then, shall we see if we can find a way to fix your unfortunate blunder? With any luck, we'll be back in hell before my tea grows cold." - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟꜱ-ꜰᴠʀʏ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Mouth opens to snap at Alastor as soon as the first insult is out of the infuriating deer’s mouth, only to get caught in his throat at the annoying flex of power creepiness. Stiffening where he stands, Vox hastily shakes off the feeling of instinctive dread that arose at having a front-row seat to the spectacle. It’s been a while since he’s had the opportunity to be in such close proximity to Alastor. One can’t blame him for being somewhat susceptible to the deer’s tactics. He’s out of practice, that’s all. But it fades, unease quickly replaced by a far more potent rage and recklessness.

There. That’s better.

The others less-imposing human disguise might ALSO have something to do with the quick turn-around, but Vox refuses to acknowledge it. ❝ Oh no. No, no, no no ₦Ø— ❞ He firmly retorts when Alastor has finished his judgmental spiel, a finger pointing at the other man. ❝ You are NOT blaming this screw-up on me! Let's not forget, the only reason I'm here is because YOU needed help in the first place! ❞

Granted, Vox could have saved his boasting for after they were safely through the portal. But his excited lapse in judgement isn't the cause of this predicament! Merely an... unfortunate addition to the already FUCKY situation. ❝ When the ❛ independent and powerful Radio Demon ❜ — ❞ Hands wave in mockery of the title, Vox's tone dripping with disregard, ❝ —needs to call someone else for assistance, tail between his FUCKING legs... I more than deserve to rub it in your stupid, smiling, shitty face. ❞

A face that is very human right now... Unlike Vox. Grimacing as he's abruptly thrust from his high-horse, he can already feel the power shift. Bitter irony tainting the far too brief taste of SUPERIORITY he had over the other Overlord. Despite the impending realization, Vox stubbornly refuses to draw attention to his lack of a disguise. Or his inability to manifest one as seamlessly as Alastor had.

Arms crossing, in a desperate bid for control for as long as allowed, he simply averts his gaze and snarkily adds through faux-composure, ❝ Anyway, I don't suppose you have any ideas for how to fix this mess YOU dragged me into. Or are you planning on aimlessly wandering around looking like a complete idiot. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

“I don’t know why you’re acting like such a brat. You broke up with me remember?” Al @ vox for the exes AU - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Oh this mother FUCKER.

Vox can barely keep from blowing a fuse as blame is placed solely on his shoulders. As if HE'S the one who set their demise into motion. Technically, one could claim it is the television’s fault. He was the mastermind behind the idea that Alastor firmly stomped to death beneath his gross hooves. But that was unprecedented! It should have been a done deal, an unspoken contract between the two. They were partners for fuck’s sake! How was Vox supposed to anticipate that Alastor would turn down an offer to join his alliance?

He's usually good at predicting what people will do. Controlling them as he sees fit, be it through force or old-fashioned manipulation... But Alastor had thrown him off-guard, as the deer often does. What is usually an intoxicating thrill twisted into something unsavory, nowadays. Tainted by the past, yet still tinged with a ❛ secret ❜ longing that Vox desperately tries to veil with anger.

They were already intertwined thanks to their relationship— a far stronger link than Vox has with those engaged in solely ❛ business ❜ affairs, the Overlord somewhat biased when dealing with personal matters ( a weakness he knows he should get under control ) —so dealing in matters of business shouldn’t have been such a source of conflict. It only made sense. Hell, Vox was being generous in trying to include his boyfriend in the empire he was constructing! An empire that Alastor could and SHOULD have helped immensely with.

Isn’t that what a good partner does? Help the person they love?

❝ ᴬᴺᴰ ᵂᴴᴼˢᴱ ᶠᴬᵁᴸᵀ ᴵˢ ᵀᴴᴬᵀ, ᴬˢˢᴴᴼᴸᴱ?! ❞ He snaps, electricity cracking his words and sparking across his outraged screen. Fixated upon Alastor with glowing eyes— as he often is whenever the other is in view —an accusatory finger points at the deer, ❝ YOU'RE the one who treated our relationship like it was nothing! ❞ A step is taken forward, Vox unable to even consider getting himself under control. Painfully aware that this show of emotion is not helping his standing with his ex the other Overlord, voice distorts as it raises in volume, ❝ I gave you the offer of a lifetime— a deal other demons would KILL for —because I cared about you! And what did you do? You refused! You acted like it was a joke! Like I was a fucking JOKE! ❞

Perhaps he's exaggerating, memory distorted by the unexpected blow to his pride. The lingering shame at having acted so rashly as a result. Lashing out to try and gain some semblance of control in the situation. Over ALASTOR; a man who had captured his interest because of his untamable nature. Yet in the heat of rejection— however minor it could seem to the Radio Demon —Vox had destroyed one of the things perceived as a threat. Something that could and had unintentionally hurt him.

❝ And THEN as if that wasn't bad enough, when I broke things off— you just LET me! ❞ Voice breaks as it switches from infuriated to disbelieving, hands raised in front of himself in a subconscious plea to understand, ❝ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ FUCK ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ?? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

✧   「   @wrinkled-sheets-and-sunlight   」   ✧  - Continued from ★  

「 ☆ 」 Vox… doesn’t know how he would feel if Alastor died. Genuinely died. He knows what he would DO. He’d openly celebrate, probably get fucked by his boyfriend business partner, and then set things into motion to gain a better grasp on the gaping hole in the power dynamic of Hell that would be felt with the Radio Demon’s absence. Things like that are seldom around for long, after all. With how ravenously denizens of Hell act when there’s so much as a sniff of imbalance. It’s not dissimilar to what he did when Alastor merely disappeared… for years. After their- … violent spat.

He doesn’t care to recall how he felt when his former friend infatuation rival vanished. The confusion. The panic. The anger. The shame. The weakness. Should Alastor perish, Vox would be a fool to think the emotional turmoil wouldn’t be far worse. Sure, he could get swept up in the fantasy. So long as it was detached. Subconsciously unreachable. A way to expel years of hurt. Free to cheer and complain and not actually comprehend the possibility of Alastor being defeated. It was Alastor. An annoying constant of damnation— … most of the time. How easily one can slip back into taking someone for granted.

Besides, if anyone was going to kill Alastor… Part of him, twisted and disgusting, would want it to be him. He’s not entirely sure why.

He’d rather not dwell too deeply on it.

Hands slowly work at buttons, almost an unwitting reverence in the action. When Alastor appeared at the tower, he had been shocked to say the least. Down in seconds, embarrassingly fast but having acted before he could consider the implications. A pattern that remained strong, the pair now in the privacy of his room… with clothing being removed. Only Alastor’s shirt and due to morbid curiosity, but still. It’s enough to make his screen heat up, Vox grateful he’s managed to keep from sparking. However he didn’t manage to keep quiet.

Tensing as Alastor draws attention to muttered words he had NOT intended to let slip— lips always were looser around this damn deer —gaze doesn’t leave Alastor’s chest. ❝ Get bent, Al. If anyone here’s an ❛ antique ❜ , it’s the Radio Demon. ❞ Older vernacular slips thanks to the odd familiarity of such a scene, rather than the usual ❛ Fuck you ❜ he's come to adopt. Careful to change his persona along with the steady march of progress through the decades. Even internally correcting himself whenever slang from when he was alive enters his thoughts. It's not much of a change from BEING alive, Vox the sort to weed out overly-casual speech in order to keep up appearances. Frankly, he's become a lot more crass since entering Hell.

Stubbornly fixated, he finally opens the garment, revealing a brutal looking wound. Sucking in a sharp breath, brows knit over wide eyes. Gaze dulls at being faced with the reality of the fight... of almost having lost Alastor. It settles heavily on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Nearly making it impossible to speak. He only snaps out of it when his fingers are slowly reaching toward Alastor's chest, intending to gingerly brush down. Blinking when he's torn from the haze and back to the absurdity of the moment, fingers hastily curl as his hand retracts.

With a thick swallow, he takes a step back. Clearing his throat, he straightens his suit with a sharp tug, still refusing to meet Alastor's gaze, ❝ ... Those stitches look like shit. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"If you stay, I'll make us coffee." Vox being quick to interject because fuck if Alastor was thinking of leaving so quickly. "You can even watch me make it so you'll be sure I don't put anything in it. Just. Stay." - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 He has to get out of here.

Preferably before his old-pal turned current-enemy turned accidental-lover ( temporary as he knows this mistake will be; HAS to be ) wakes up and has the bright idea of prolonging this annoying little… accident. Yet all Alastor can manage to do is slip out of Vox’s annoyingly-warm arms, before the television demon has stirred from what was no doubt a VERY restful slumber. He had certainly exhausted himself last night, as the aching of Alastor’s marked body can attest. How insulting, bitten by the other Overlord like a scrap of meat thrown to a starving mongrel.

What’s even worse is how pleasant the sting of those bites feel settled into his skin, an animalistic part of Alastor’s brain near-preening at being marked so thoroughly by his mate.

Standing at the side of the bed, back facing the other man— refusing to look at whatever pathetic desperation Vox is likely aiming at him ( he always was so worriedly emotional ) —he pauses in putting on his shirt ( pants already donned: tail on display and showcasing its bright underside ) an arm halfway through the sleeve, before shuffling it over his shoulders. Upper lip twitches at the missing buttons, hands hovering at having no busywork to burden themselves with.

❝ … You owe me a new shirt. ❞

Dryly breaking his silence, he sharply tugs down the garment as if trying to futilely rid it of wrinkles. Hands keep gripping the edge of his shirt, he tensely stands there. Trapped in torturous indecision, he mulls over the best way to save his cracked pride. The only reason it has yet to shatter completely is that Vox clearly is the most outwardly pitiful of the two. Hastily bargaining for Alastor to stay, he could easily leave the television to wallow in his loneliness. To drown in regret and paranoia, wondering whether he made a monumental mistake… Or Alastor could stay, and ensure that Vox KNOWS this.

Make it irrefutably clear that what transpired was a lapse of judgement— no, an act of necessity. Surely someone in business with Valentino would be aware of such things. Would easily believe such a ruse. If he runs, Vox’s imagination devises a narrative and Alastor knows better than to let others attempt to decipher his actions. Not when it MATTERS. Entertaining as theories may be, they’ve been… unflattering, as of late. Best to nip this in the bud before Vox can become even more reckless in his chasing.

God forbid anyone ever finds out about this.

❝ I expect a proper coffee. None of that pre-ground, boiled nonsense. ❞ Glancing over his shoulder at Vox, ear gives a flick as he says in as unaffected a purr he can muster, ❝ I trust you remember what I taught you? Or have you gone so long swallowing swill that you've forgotten all about how to start a morning decently. ❞ If Vox even still owns the Siphon coffee maker Alastor had insisted the other buy once the deer learned of his subpar preparation methods. Let alone the whole beans Alastor used to meticulously grind for them. A less-convenient method than modern machines, but a soothing way to begin ones day. As well as ensure a rich, aromatic cup. Far more vibrant than newer methods could hope to achieve.

Truthfully, due to some of the curses of his cannibalistic form, he can't exactly taste anymore... Not unless it's richness of blood or the tenderness of flesh. But proper coffee is still a nostalgic feeling. A reminder of a life once lived, of his human past as well as the companionship he used to share with Vox. 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

( Tag Dump - Vox )