#too drunk too fuck

[depression-room-punk]

stupid microphone no stay in place ):<

Luckily nice people run up on stage to help you sometimes ❤️

[swampthingking]

can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180°, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

-

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

[orangechickenpillow]

Meanwhile Lae'zel:

Bg3 as unhinged posts 🍾/?

Part 3

Bonus Astarion under the cut

[carbonateds-oda]

it doesn’t fully hit chuuya that he misses dazai until winter hits and the cold that touches his skin feels achingly familiar but still not close enough to the way no longer human would flood his senses with relief whenever dazai used to touch him and he realizes that no cold breeze could ever replicate that feeling or satisfy his restless soul the way the chill of Dazai’s touch could

[raeofgayshine]

Bruce Wayne, drunk and full on Brucie mood in the middle of a gala: You know, that accent doesn’t really fit in around here. It’s cute. Where are you from?

Clark, internally debating every life choice that led him to this moment: I’m from Smallville. Kansas.

Bruce, leaning closer to Clark with a flirty smile: Oh you’re cute and funny. You know, I like that in a man.

Clark, very confused but trying to just go along with it: Thank you??

Bruce: I mean, everyone knows that Kansas isn’t real but I do always enjoy a good laugh.

Clark: What.

Bruce: What? Everyone knows that Kansas was made up for Wizard of Oz.

Clark, unsure if Bruce is fucking with him or if he’s just really deep into this dumb act: Bruce, Kansas is a real place. It’s one of the 50 states that make up America.

Bruce, tilting his head a little confused: There’s 50 states? Since when?

[harbingersecho]

she should've been problematic at the club

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

staged but i've never watched it and i'm drunk

hello mascot good omens mascot here okay so THE STAGED LIVESTREAAM IS ON SATURDAY BTW. That is a thing that is happening. So. You know. If you're above 18 because @thescholarlystrumpet (and I ig) are responaible adults come and like. Join us. Watch me react to staged and probably die. i'Ll probably share details when I'm not drunk and when it's not nearing midnight.

But until then I'm drinking battery acid (this red wine cost like the equivalent of 2.5 USD) and I am here to summarise staged.

It's about David Tennant and Michael Sheen, who, until barely a month ago, I had no idea existed (we don't talk about Michael sneakily being in Twilight and Passengers I'm actually pretending the Twilight thing didn't happen pklease respect my denial)

It started over Zoom and it's about them rehearsing a play during COVID but like it's scripted so it's a show about rehearsing a play and it stars the actors as themselves very meta very fourth wall

David has hair extensions and Michael does not

David keeps switching locations because he has to quote Michael "twenty children" and they're everywhere. Because of this hellsite that's obsessed with David to an unhealthy level I know that this is not true, he has five children and I can probably give you details and how is this my life

Michael stays in the kitcehn and some watchers think this is a poetic choice it's not David just has to shift because humans are everywhere in his house

Georgia who is David's wife and Anna who is Michael's wife which I also know because of this hellsite both also star in it

They're all neighbours now by the way which this really creepy hellsite was DETERMINED that I know about okay thank you tumblr I'm uh that's knowledge for sure I'm sure they're having fun

Judi Dench is involved and I'm not sure who she is but she's a Dame and she's a very good actress and she's kinda intimoidating and also for some weird reason I associate her with that Cats nightmare fuel even though I didn't watch it but yeah she probably had nothing to do with it

There are three seasons and FOR SOME REAOSN EVERYONE IS CRYING AT THE END. WHY ARE YOU ALL ALWAYS CRYING WHY HAVE YOU DRAGGED ME INTO THE CRYING TOO I'M STILL CRYING OVER GOOD OMENS WHAT IS THIS NOW.

it's uh it's a comedy but I've realised now that in Britain comedy = will make you sob harder than a tragedy but will be more subtle and sneaky about it

god this wine tastes like shit i really need to make money so i can afford better alcohol. any suggestions, maggots? wait this is a summary not a life update

uhhhh the silhouette of one of david's kids appears in one of the episodes

that's all i've got i'm sorry time to go make more bad decisions I love you all byebyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee stay rotten

[stressfulsloth]

Cannot stop thinking about Ruby and how brutally Klaasje fucks her over despite everyone in Martinaise's clear affection for her. How everyone seems to like Ruby and her 'gruff charm,' how she gets passionate about radio technology and loves movies from the 20s, likes 'a beer on the beach to watch the sunset'. She's an 'old lady whisperer,' Isobel likes her and even defends her, the

Hardie boys are clearly very fond of her. Even when you're being blasted by her pale latitude compressor, it's hard not to like her at least a bit. She tested it on herself first! The Half-Light reaction of sympathetic fear to Klaasje's accusations, and then Drama cutting in to point out that the fear isn't to do with Ruby, it's the fear of being arrested that Klaasje is feeling. Her first response, out of fear of the RCM and the Moralintern, is to use the presumed biases and homophobia of these RCM officers as leverage to pin the blame on Ruby, even as nearly every other scrap of information you can collect describing Ruby's personality contradicts it.

[demadogs]

Lightning crashes, a new mother cries

YELLOWJACKETS | 2.07

[whereismyhat5678]

I had a clear vision with this one.

I did NOT need to spend that much time on this BUT DAMN IT IT’S FUNNY-

Context: Peppino was annoying the fuck outta’ him and it got so bad he wanted to take him home.

He was done with his bullshit- 💀

[lukesaprince]

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[cosmonautroger]

Dead Kennedys, Too Drunk To Fuck, 1981

[xielianlover2]

I like how younger Xie Lian just does not know how to curse properly, even after growing up with Qi Rong and Feng Xin. Like my sunshine child decided not to retain ANY of that?? It's so funny to me. It's like he grew up with foul-mouthed sailors and still only knows one or two curse words

[molchanovix]

The way this man would cry and slide down a wall and cover his face if he heard the first few seconds of any TV girl song

[kingkatsuki]

Mother Mitsuki, who despite Masaru’s pleas, is way too invested in Bakugou and your relationship.

[zensations35]

Where Do We Stand? (Radio/static)

Yeah, I went whole ass horny with this one. One-sided fet!Vox pining after a drunk Alastor shows up hurt and sick at his doorstep. Lots of angsty shitass banter and a sprinkle of sexiness. cw for a Val cameo and whump with blood mentions. Enjoy!

Vox’s security monitor keeps fucking glitching. His own screen flickers and Vox’s left eye squints, mouth forming a tilted line of annoyance. He lifts a teal claw to tap the screen but it fuzzes anew and in tune with a squalling sound.

What the fuck? This screen is brand fucking new!

He fills his lungs to call out for a fledgeling demon when another sound stops him. From the front of the building.

What the electric fuck?? It’s 2AM. Who the--

ــــ٨ــ

The sounds twin with the glitching on the screens he was in the middle of editing with. 

Rgh. I’m being stupid. Glitching electronics happen. 

Still…

He rises from his personal study and follows the sound, finger scraping along the base of his screen like he used to do to his living chin before a big meeting. 

The halls, unlike those in Vox’s security room, were dim, low light. The glow of his screen is enough to guide the way toward the double doors leading him in the direction the strange static leads him. Each speaker he passes grows louder, less crisp.

            ٨ــılııl٨ــ

It can’t be that. I saw him get fucked up. He wouldn’t come here. Why the f--

He wrenches the front door open to a pathetic, bloody, giggling--

“Alastor??”

“Why hellooo Vox~ Kfh-HK٨ــEHaha!!” 

His smirk is cradled in flushed cheeks and beaded by dots of thick ichor. Holy shit. The fucking Radio Demon is crumpled on Vox’s front porch, folded into a disheveled pretzel, ears asymmetrical, eyes half black and glossy.

“Jesus fuck,” Vox reactively kneels, hands jutting toward his injured rival, but stopping just short, wrenching back as if Alastor’s body were laced with fire. His screen dims, brows knitting. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Visiting, obviously,” Alastor’s head lolls to the side, his wrist lazily rotating as if they were conversing over dinner, “was it not on your bucket list to see me at my worst, old pal?” His palm hovers over his face and his head cocks back, “EifSZk٨ــK!” 

“God fucking dammit!” Vox laces his arms under Alastor’s, heaving him to wobbly legs with a slew of curses. “You came to me? Not your--ngh!” he drags him through the doorway, Alastor stumbling drunkenly, “Not your new friends?”

A keening laugh breaks through Al’s static, “Oh~ new friends. HaĦȺ. Well. They don’t trust me--”

“I don’t trust you,” Vox growls as he uses the toe of his shoe to wipe a smear of blood from the shiny tile. He shifts the Radio Demon so he can use his back to carry him the rest of the way to his room.

Well, this floor was clean. Vox will have to get someone to scrub the fuck out of the hall and immediately wipe their memory. That’ll be another all-nighter. Fuck. 

Alastor props his pointed chin on Vox’s shoulder and flicks the antennae on his hat playfully. “Ahhh, but I know where you stand. I know what to expect from…hhh-ik!” he smushes his nose into Vox’s neck and shudders. “Nnnhـ٨ــhh…we were friends once…and I know you wouldn't let me die, not until you got me under the sheets.”

“Fucking hell--are you drunk?!” 

Another cackle, “But of course! Ɐμɑ! How else was I to have the utter lunacy to come to your doorstep?”’

“Ugh…”

Finally in his bedroom, Vox uses his foot to slam the door shut, thanking Tesla he wasn’t sharing it with anyone tonight. He heaves Alastor onto the brand fucking new couch and groans, massaging his lower back with a few spicy curses.

Alastor slumps full out, dizzy and whirring, resting his cheek against the cool leather as he allows his eyes to flutter shut for a few seconds.

When they pop open, the ink of his power fades and the crescent of his smile thickens as he dances his gaze around the room. 

“You’ve redecorated.” His throat rasps. “I don’t like it.”

“You never do.” Vox grumbles. His eyes roam over Al’s ravaged body, charred and seamed, coat in unholy tatters.

The Radio Demon wiggles a finger and even that small action looks like it exhausts him.

“Enjoying the view?”

Vox folds his arms, cocking his screen, “Just admiring Adam’s work.” He dips his teal finger under Al’s ripped vest and Alastor hisses. Vox pauses, throat tightening.

“Go on,” Al waves, “ignore my…noises.”

Vox mutters but continues peeling away some of the sticky fabric. “Al, Jesus this…this looks,” his eyes surge, “What the hell did you do?”

“Hfـ٨ـZX!” 

Vox pauses, his system blipping. He sweeps a thumb across the base of the wound, making Alastor twitch in pain. 

“It hurts that bad?”

“Not at all.”

“Fucking liar.”

“As ever.”

“I’m going to have to undo your vest.”

“Are you asking to undress me?”

Vox presses fingers to his screen, pixels beading in a prism where the pressure hits. “Al, Jesus, you know I wouldn’t--”

“I knew. Seven years ago. Things have changed.”

“Not that. Never that.”

Alastor scoffs. “Well, the company you keep.”

“You have no room to judge me or them, you fucking--”

“You’re right.”

Vox pauses, mid-breath. He flicks his gaze back up to Alastor, suddenly severe.

“I don’t.” Alastor says coolly. 

Vox grinds his teeth assertively, “Those two helped me when I had no one. When I was at my fucking lowest. When I…”

“Mmm…I see.”

“Do you? Mr. I need no one?”

Al scoffs, a derisive snort. “What the hell do you think is happening right at this very moment?” he gestures down the length of his beaten corpse.

Vox’s vibrant eyes roam down the mangled form, his mouth shrinking into a tight crescent frown.

The glower slips from Alastor’s face as his lips contort into a twist, his fist winging up to catch a half-stifled, “GSZ’TF-Vـ٨ـvV!” 

With his hands still on Alastor’s body, the jerking motion sets off a buzz of Vox's sensors, flushing his screen with a purple and pink glow. 

Alastor wipes the side of his mouth and chuckles. “Ah~ Some things don’t change.”

“Fuck off.”

Al slips the top portion of his vest off and snorts at the look on his rival's face. “It’s embarrassing how badly you want to fuck me, Vox.”

“Will you stop analyzing me long enough for me to actually help you? Because I’m losing my patience here.”

“Fine.”

Vox grinds his mouth a severed frown at the corner of his screen as he dips closer to inspect Al’s chest. “What the hell did you do to it?!” The split skin is sewn together with some sort of green string--sloppily so, as if Al had done it half asleep and shivering. Which… actually tracks.  

Alastor slaps his hand away with a grunt. “I’m no pharmacist, Vox. What do you expect from me? My expertise is pulling bodies apart, not piecing them together.”

“And you think I can do a better job?”

“Can you? Or are you more jealous you didn’t get to do it yourself?”

Vox mutters something and turns to rummage in a medicine cabinet.

A clattering knock has both men jutting ramrod stiff, Alastor wincing and scrunching his claw over his tattered wound. 

“Vox~?” Valentino’s amorous voice floats through the closed door.

“Shit!” Vox glances at Alastor and his screen freezes, a line of pixels popping out in a shock of contrast.

Alastor’s smile stretches, his bleak eyes set in a wan but capricious leer. “Oh dear~”

“Shut-up!” Vox pings to Alastor’s side, his hand splaying over his mouth as Val’s voice floats through the door. 

“Vox, darling? What’s the commotion in there?” 

“Nothing!” Vox struggles to keep his voice neutral, even as Alastor’s lips move under his fingers, hot and damp. The breeze of his breaths flutter through his parted claws as he begins to pant, his grip on the wound growing firmer with a small shiver. 

“Ff٨ــvv” 

Oh Tesla, fuck no--

“Vox, can I come in, amorcito? I have…”

Vox misses Val’s next words, his screen blipping as Al’s face crinkles inward from the center, nose scrunching with a staccato of hitching breaths under the pressure of Vox’s palm. 

“Hz͎̰͒c̩̍͋͐̚͠h̃́F!”

Godfuckingdamnshitb̷̧̝́į̵̇t̷̤͑͛c̴̻͊̂ḫ̷̨͘ç̵̉ơ̵̡̥c̶̰͒k̶͉̿̆ ̸̟̓

Another force presses against Al’s thigh, Vox’s erection growing reluctantly and brimming with flux. Alastor’s brows form a twisted V, a knowing look passing between them. 

Vox feels his screen fuzz, as if he were experiencing a small surge. Then, a ping mildly akin to connecting to bluetooth. 

((What--??))

((get--hh٨ــget rid of him)) Alastor’s thick staticky tone coat’s Vox’s inner speakers. 

((You invaded my wifi??))

((Don’t be stu٨ــvphhii-)) the warm breath sweeps across Vox’s fingers and his screen crackles with energy, pixels oscillating with errors. But the voice isn't coming from Alastor's mouth. Only itchy breath.

((Control yourself, prick!)) Vox seethes through the wireless connection. He feels his rival’s breaths pulsing under his palm. Vox’s heartbeat speeds, matching the rhythm of threadbare hitches.

Alastor’s body wracks with a shudder. ((“Hvvv٨ــvXSH٨ــ!!”))

Vox feels the sneeze both vibrating his hand and within the walls of his mind. His own shiver is not one of fever but lust. 

((Jesus fuck, Al.))

Alastor's smug grin stretches as he wraps his hand around Vox’s wrist and pries his teal claws from his face.  ((You’d have a firmer chance of fucking him than me.))

RGH! Alastor’s head cracks to the side as Vox’s palm strikes his cheek, leaving a bold imprint on the side of his face. Dark blood paints a tiny ribbon on his lip as it curls into a soft smirk. 

((Oh, I bet that felt good, enjoy it while you can get your filthy hands on me, you virtual fuck.))

Vox’s fangs vanish in an angry glitch for a brief nanosecond. ((I’m going to enjoy disinfecting your goddamn wounds and watching you writhe in antibacterial soap, shitass))

((Oddly, you’re not the first person to call me th--)) 

“Vox! Are you ignoring me??” Val’s voice swings from sugar to salt as it takes on a whiny tone. 

With a pained grunt, Alastor shoves Vox away and snarls. ((You’d better go. Now))

((But you--))

((I’ll ħⱥꞥđłē it. Go)) 

Vox grunts pissily, but he knows Val is on the knife’s edge of impatiently storming in. The TV demon electrically ports to the door, his hand on the knob in seconds. 

Before the moth can slip inside, Vox squeezes out of the room and clips it shut. Val glowers, cigarette holder snaked between the fingers of his upper hand. 

“What the fuuuuck babe?” he whines. “What are you doing in there?” his lower arm trills toward Vox’s tighter than normal pants. “Your boner is bigger than the building, Luminosa.” His crooked grin ticks, pink essence beading at the corner, “Am I interrupting~ something?” 

Vox’s fans sigh with a buzz. “Val, I’m just wor̴̗͠٨̵̠̔̓ “

A power surge overtakes him, making him groan, dropping his glitching screen into his palms. “H-k! Fv̵̨͛٨̴͈̀v̷͒͜٨̷̺̈!” 

Valentino’s lower arms wind around Vox’s shoulders, his eyes drifting into concern. “What? What’s wrong?” His slim body bends at the waist to meet Vox’s, alarm spreading his wings to half mast.

“N-gh-nuh,” Vox hears Alastor’s voice mirrored in his internal speakers like an upload. 

That fucker…

“Hih٨ــ! Their hitches twin across the connection, Vox’s body reacting to Alastor’s. “Heh-’̸̱͘SchË̴͇W̴̯̒H̸͓̕!̶̰͒!̷̮̐”̴̖͗ ̷͕̚  His screen flares brilliant blue, the jumbled onomatopoeia scrolling across the screen. “Gehh…snf!” 

Val’s hands grip him tight, rooting him in reality. “Darling!” his tone peaks with coyness, “Are you unwell? Or are you playing~?” Pink venom inches down his fangs as his smile caresses his cheeks, his fingers gliding toward Vox’s groin salaciously. 

Vox grunts, his palm smushed against the core of his screen as he attempts to sever the connection between himself and Alastor. “I’m٨ــhgk! I--”

Val’s hand grips his cock and he’s so hard and hot it could be the powerhouse to heat the flames of Hell itself.

 “F-ffuuuhh--” he feels an encore of hitches from within his sensors. As Val fondles him, Al’s static strokes his modules. Vox’s claw crimps the fur on Valentino’s robe. His legs feel like gel and his free hand massaging the plasma of his screen is doing nothing to stave off the encroaching--

“IYZ’ETD̷̢͝C̶̗͕̙͇̟͒͌͠Ḩ̶͇̱͉͍͆Ž̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘” 

“Baby~” Val’s voice slinks along his skin, making him tingle with need. “Come to bed. I’ll take care of you...”

Suddenly, like the snap of a frayed cord, the connection to Alastor severs. Vox’s eye flares red and his heart stills for a full beat. Two. 

What happened? He reaches out, opening pairing mode. Nothing.

He swallows and drops his hand, abandoning his lover’s touch. 

“I--I’m fine, Val, I…I have to get this work done, I--” he backpedals, trying to swallow his heart back into his chest. “I just need a reboot and--”

Valentino visibly wilts, confusion washing his face as his antennae droop, “You…what??” his lips curl bitterly.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Vox is already threading through the doorway, “Night.” He slams it knowing he’ll pay for snubbing Val tomorrow. Physically and mentally.  He spins to see Alastor flagging over the side of the couch, his wounds freshly split and gushing.

“Fuck!” Vox races to his side, snagging a towel and bracing it against his chest. “Why the fuck did you do that?? You had me going fucking crazy out there!”

Alastor grunts, face painted with cold agony, pushing himself up against Vox. “Nfg,” You’re wـﮩ٨ــwelcome,” he spits, ears flattening as he glares at Vox, “Would you rather he hear me?” 

“Maybe!” Vox snarls, pressing the towel harder onto the wound to watch the Radio Demon wince, “Maybe I should have let him find you just to throw you to the curb. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you--”

“Hـﮩ٨ـSZV!” The burst of noise makes Vox startle, his hands bunching in the fabric of Alastor’s suit as he pins himself to the sputtering Radio Demon. 

Alastor gasps, his chest inflating against Vox’s. His fingers climb against his face, clamoring to cover his nose and mouth even as his shoulders shake with the effort of restraining himself just long enough to get them there. 

Small grains of lightning leap around the edges of Vox’s screen. Each of Alastor’s panting inhales make his breaths buffer and lag. He dares not risk looking at the Radio Demon--one more bracing inhale would suck the air straight from his lungs. “HFZḨ̶͇̱͉͍͆٨ــŽ̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘𝚇༽༼Ɀ!!” 

Alastor jerks forward into Vox’s arms, painting the TV demon’s hands dark and wet. Vox does his best to tamp down a fresh burst of desire and rage as he leans Alastor back against the couch. 

Alastor sucks in fresh beats of air before peering up at him, a smug curl of his lips, “That was grossly and pathetically inappropriate.” He rasps a small hacking laugh, lifting a finger to graze the thin edge of Vox’s screen, leaving behind a garden of friction. “I hope you enjoyed it while you can.” 

Vox shunts his gaze, neck twisting to hide the flush of his glow. “Goddamn you.”

“Already happened.”

Vox stands and grabs the previously deserted box of bleedstop.

Alastor’s brow lifts as he scrubs his nose. “Are you still consuming the poison?”

Vox scoffs, dumping out two packs of the supply. 

Interesting they have such a large stock…

“I do what I do for my own reasons.”

“M~ and do those ‘reasons’ have anything in relation to myself?”

“Tch,” he sprinkles the crystals into his palm, “not just you.”

“Good. I almost felt bad for a moment there. Hgk-!” 

Vox slams the palm of powder onto Alastor’s chest, causing the Radio Demon to wince and wither, noise blaring from his core. “Hff-Fuck! Couldn’t have done that any--eighhh!” 

Vox grinds the heel of his palm into the wound, crushing the powder into a paste and buttering it over the gash. 

“Ffــ٨ــuck! Vox, is this really necessary?!” 

“Oh, so very necessary,” Vox snarls. 

Alastor mirrors it but his lips are peeled in a grimace. He did invite this with his baiting remarks after all. Deserved. As always.

Once the salve is administered, Vox leans back and rips open a large roll of gauze.

“Lean up so I can get the back.”

Al does, but the movement makes him shiver. When Vox reaches for him, Alastor recoils, sealing his eyes shut with a moan.  

“Don't be a fucking baby, Al. This won’t take long.” 

But Al is shuddering so hard his teeth are clicking.

“Al?”

“Hfvv…Cــ٨ــcold-d…” 

Vox touches his skin and it feels hot--feverish. “Fuck.”

Al wobbles and sags against the couch, still shaking, his arms now wrapped around his bare shoulders. His knees wind up and his ears disappear behind his head. “V-Vox̵̡̰̾̍͘x̴̢̫̜̊̎͛͌…”

“Al, stay awake.” Vox exhales, fans spinning anxiously. “Stay awake!” 

Goddammitgodd̶̻̫̪͛ǎ̷͚̬͌̍͝m̵̫̮͝i̷̼͔̤̻͕͐͒͐͝t̶̰̙̲̜̦͊̑͗̒͘G̶̹͚̽́͐Ő̸̖̀D̸̢̙̩̍̆̍̒͊F̵̼̝̣̦̪̈́̾̈́U̶̹͚͕̒͑̂̍͝Ċ̸̙͖K̶̺̎͂̒̚̕I̵͇͝N̷͕͈̐̇̕G̶͕̀͜D̷̡͓̻̘̼̑̿A̵̠̠̋͝Ḿ̸̯̭̝̥M̶̟̅̀̊̒̓Į̵͝T̶̼̮̮͂́̄!̴̺̤̫̺̓!̵͉̘̽̋͂̕

Alastor slips, descending further into the seams of the couch, his left eye fully black now. 

“Al, fuck,” Vox grabs a blanket from his bed (brand new fucking blanket too goddam--) and wraps Alastor with it. It seems to warm him a bit, the Radio Demon letting out a chittering sigh. He looks up at Vox, deliriously muttering with a newly wedged smirk. 

“It seems you are b-better at this.”

“Fuck you.” Vox grumbles as he tucks another blanket around him. “Some of us have to be around here…” He waits for another snipe about Valentino, but it doesn’t come. “I still need to wrap your wound.”

“Of course,” Al says, but he makes no move to allow this. Vox rolls his eyes and props his screen on his fist, watching the asshole drift lazily. 

Hours later, after finally having gotten the stupid ass gauze wrapped around his stupid ass not sexy body, Alastor seems asleep, but you never know with that guy. And Vox does not plan to sleep, even if he didn’t have to clean floors and mesmerize assistants. 

When he returns from cleanup, Alastor is awake--or at least rested enough to stand on his own. His ears are alert and his eyes have cleared back to their normal magenta. 

He’s doing his best to button up the three remaining buttons on his mangled vest. He seems sober now and perfectly posh and asinine as ever.

Normal. Except for. 

“Where’s your cane--”

“Microphone.”

Vox rolls his head to the side, “Fine, call it whatever in this afterlife. Where is it?”

“Gone. Disposed of.”

“Why?”

“It matters not. I don’t need it. I’m not--”

“I know, Al.” Vox dribbles a sigh. "Are you going to be--"

"Thanks for having me over, chum," Alastor interrupts him, strolling to the door and flicking a coin to Vox. “For the service.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

Al shrugs. “Keep it. I do not wish to owe you.” He tugs his coat straight and adjusts his bowtie. 

“Oh, and Vox,” Alastor pauses, claws ticking along the grooves of the bedroom wall. “Never say never.” 

Vox lifts a neon brow. “You mean…”

“Once you find the exception, it becomes easier and easier to justify each consecutive time. And then you become that which you abhor.”

Mist curls around the Radio Demon’s body, and he vanishes as if he’d never been present. 

God damn him. Vox slams the door, even though he didn’t actually leave through it. 

That’s why he hates Alastor so much. Because he’s right. He’s so often goddamn right.