Work Text:
It was a bright morning in Pentagram city, such a bright tart-like red with a few swirling orange-red clouds (or were they just part of the sky itself? He never really managed to get that interview with the king of hell to ask more about the landscape and what not)
His eyes go from the big window of their shared penthouse and slowly fall to the winner at his side, basking in the much lovelier shades of red the man held – his beautiful crimson hair sleep tousled where his head rested on Vox's chest, his ears relaxed and tickling the bottom casing of his head slightly twitching at the sound of his breathing pattern changing now that he was awake.
Alastor's big amaranth eyes slowly opened, the deer sinner was clearly trying to fight the need to rouse for the day, but was quite adorably failing if his little grumble and annoyed ear twitching was anything to go by,
“Hmn, what… time is it cher?” He asked as if the rising ‘sun’ outside didn't indicate they needed to get up regardless, the time itself would only indicate how quickly they should do so.
Silly deer, he couldn't help but think, sleeping so late when he has to wake up tomorrow.
Even so, he checked his internal clock.
“It's 6 am already” he answered, his speakers lowered to volume 3 to not hurt his lover's sensitive hearing, “we should get up soon, we don't want a repeat of yesterday do we A̷͙ͭͫ̕l̙͖̑̾ͣ?” how weird, his voice glitching randomly like this, maybe he should get it checked-
Alastor grumbled again, instead curling closer to Vox's warmth from all the inner wiring and circuitry and components that went into keeping a technorganic being like him alive, he was always running hot compared to how cold Alastor always was.
️S̴̨̛͇̺͇͕̟̘͎̗͖̙͍̭̞͇̒͆̀͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕, ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕.
Vox fought the urge to giggle at how much Alastor hated getting up in the morning, in that little hotel pet project of his he was always awake before anyone else in that dump, but that was probably because the buck only really slept once or twice on a particularly tiring week, so it made sense his being awake before anyone if he wasn't even sleeping.
“C’mon babydoll, we have to get up-” he started, hesitantly attempting to sit up as he felt how his spine ached in that distracting way it always did, not enough to disable him (most of the time) but just enough to make him hold back a wince.
Alastor whined, whined, and just pushed him back down onto the bed– “five more minutes picture box, it's the weekend for heaven's sake” –he said in a sleepy voice, his usual filter currently weak enough to the point it barely made a difference.
Then he used his cold—
Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕, ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕, ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕? W̴̪̼̩̘͔͒̏̓͐͂̆͑̐͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓
—used his hands to grab at Vox's naked torso (he hated sleeping with shirts on, they always made breathing harder) and hugged him closer.
Vox didn't know what he adored more, when Alastor curled up like a fawn against his warmth when he slept or how cute he was in the mornings where he wanted five more minutes in bed, which always ended up being much more than five minutes.
He supposed his heart was big enough to adore both sides of his husband.
Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝, ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝, ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̐̈͘͜
He conceded quickly – quicker than he'd be comfortable admitting to anyone – and just let himself be used as a body pillow for his sleepy love.
His vents released more warm air against Alastor's torso, who sighed happily at the feeling of the warm air against his body and threw a leg on top of Vox's waist to get even closer to the heat source.
Vox looked down at his beloved and just smiled, not his sharp grin or predatory smirk, but the true smile that only ever came out when he was alone with his one and only darling, his husband,
He still got giddy thinking about their wedding day, about the rings on their respective ring fingers.
W̴̪̼̩̘͔͒̏̓͐͂̆͑̐͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋? Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋'t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️, ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋'t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜? F̴̢̛̗̹̼̮̲̪̼͕̓͒̃̆̑̊̓̇̔̆̓͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜, ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜?
He truly was the luckiest sinner alive.
Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠, m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝, b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝, l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝-
Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️x̵̨̞̳̟̰̗̦͈͈͙̻͎͉̫͓̌̎͒͑͠͝ͅͅ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠, b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ, ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ
He was almost finished with today's chores!
Vox had, quite extensively, been cleaning around the house since-
Oh, since 6 am when he woke to Alastor getting ready to go to that dingy hotel he worked at…
And it was already 5 pm! Gosh, he didn't even start dinner!
But then again, he was banned from cooking, so maybe that was for the best.
As he finished scrubbing the countertop of their kitchen (after he ruined his favorite cleaning dress with bleach whilst cleaning the damned butchering room of the caked bloodstains in it) he heard the door opening and excitedly stopped his scrubbing immediately and went to greet his beloved husband, he was always so grumpy if he wasn't greeted at the door, silly man!
“Alastor! You're back home my love! I was just finishing up cleaning the kitchen!” Vox said happily, almost running up to Alastor as the sinner took him in his arms and spun him around, the bell of his collar jiggling loudly.
He was put down after a quiet chuckle left his love's smiling lips and gladly let kisses pepper themselves all over his screen, it got all smudged but he obviously didn't complain, his husband wasn't always in such a good mood as he seemed to be now!
The buck before him took a handkerchief and gently wiped his screen, holding on the corner of his boxy head casing, “oh? Is that so, my lovely picture box? What a useful little housewife I have!”
His screen brightened as a lighter blue and faint snow crept onto his screen, he held his “cheek” and waved a hand dismissively at Alastor's praise,
“a-ah, it was nothing love! Re-eally!” He responded, his inner sound system crackling with embarrassed electricity and distorting his voice a little.
Vox turned around and held his held as he blushed even more when Alastor wrapped his cold—
️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅo̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕, ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕, ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋'t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕
—his arms around his waist and kissed the back of his neck where a few thicker cables bulged slightly out of his skin, a great cause of insecurity for Vox that he'd never ever admit,
Especially when his loving husband always made him feel better about such silly things.
“Of course it's not nothing! My dearest picture box making sure I have a clean home to come back to after a tiring day at work! Why, but one could only fall deeper in love with a doting wife such as mine!” Alastor basically sang against the junction between his neck and shoulder, nipping at the rough sandpaper-like texture of his rubber ‘skin’.
He whined, face heating up further and his fans kicking up as his vents fluttered under his 30’s styled dress and let out an audible gasp when Alastor's Hands rested right on top of where his side vents were.
“Al! What put y-y-you in suc-hh a gg-good mood?” Vox asks shyly, voice crackling and distorting even more when he feels the nips on his neck becoming attempts at hickeys and the hands on top of his vents venturing up to cup the soft mounds of his breasts (that could barely count as such considering their small size, they were more like tits than anything)
“Hm, maybe the sight of my cute boxy wife coming running oh so excitedly to meet me after a grueling and tiring day at that damned hotel” the deer responded, sounding like he was about to fall into one of his monologues Vox loved once more, “truly, one would think the literal princess of Hell would be less of a pushover when it came to something she claims to be so passionate about, but no! She lets herself get walked all over–”
Vox regretfully had to tunnel Alastor out at this point because of some more… pressing matters.
Like the man kneading and fondling his chest as if they were stress balls! Truthfully, did Alastor actually expect him to pay any attention to his speech about the Morningstar brat or that mangy ex overlord Thrall of his when he was already unbuttoning Vox's dress?!
“–and don't even get me started on that sorry excuse for a king! He can't even - ah, wait a second my heart, let us take this somewhere more comfortable, I wouldn't want to put more strain on your back than you've already done today” the man stops his angry tirade and incessant groping for a moment, picking Vox up by his ass and letting the TV sinner's legs wrap around his slim waist,
Alastor takes them to their cozy bedroom and lays Vox down carefully onto the bed, sweetly pulling aside his dress and exposing Vox's poor sensitive skin to c͕͗ͤ̕̕o̯̱̊͊͢l̙̑̾— to the air of their bedroom and simply laying his head down on the white skin in between his tits that ran all the way down to his belly, stopping just above his pelvis.
Vox held back a wince at the pain in his back he hadn't even noticed was there flared and slowly simmered to a stop, he sighs and carefully started petting his husband's deer ears, which twitched and leaned into his caresses.
“you're so lovely my dear, listening to my complaints about my day and even letting me rest on top of you like this” Vox didn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't exactly listening before so he just let his love remain blissfully ignorant to that fact, “truly, I couldn't ask for a better wife, no other sinner in this dumpster of a realm could ever hope to compare”
️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅo̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓, ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜, ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋'t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕, V̶̨̹̞͔͑̅͂͐o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️x̵̨̞̳̟̰̗̦͈͈͙̻͎͉̫͓̌̎͒͑͠͝ͅͅ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓
ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠, ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜
ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜—
Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝, ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜'d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋,o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅi̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝e̷̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̚ “Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️” ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅo̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜
m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜'️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝
I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕, ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋'t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️j̷̧̙̠͚̠͍̙̜̱̳̱͈̒͠u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜? W̴̪̼̩̘͔͒̏̓͐͂̆͑̐͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅâ̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜
️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜? W̴̪̼̩̘͔͒̏̓͐͂̆͑̐͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ ḟ̴̧̧̗͍͉͔̹͎̻͓̇͊̃̒̄̈̓̉̌̈͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜? Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜'d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕
ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋
Vox wondered how so many people in Hell could afford to be so fucking stupid.
Like, seriously, isn't it “internet safety 101” to not go to random addresses sent by a random goddamn number you've never talked to before!
Sure, he introduced himself as Vox, the CEO of VoxTek and yadda yadda you just won a contest you didn't even know you were part of! Meet me at this random abandoned fuckass decrepit building at the asscrack of the motherfucking Radio Demon's territory to get your prize! But that could've so damn easily been a lie, it was almost irritating how easy sinners nowadays were to trick.
Almost, because it was convenient for him at the moment.
And for his husband too, of course!
When Alastor had come to him, saying he was famished for some venison (sinner venison specifically, if he wanted the normal kind he'd just grab some rotting deer corpse from his pantry that he paid some group of imps to go over to the human world and kill for him) but didn't have any other deer sinners in his shadow realm and since he was a sponsor for the Hazbin Hotel, he couldn't just find and kill one without actual reason in the eyes of the princess.
That's why Vox is now letting all the twenty something sinners with enough deer traits that Alastor would consider them venison in his eyes.
“Thank you so much for contacting me, mister Vox! I would've never remembered I entered a contest if you didn't message me!” The last of the sinners entering the building said, a short buck with antlers that were definitely overcompensating for something else and a fur that was red enough to almost hurt his eyes.
He was definitely going to be the last one eaten.
“Eh, yeah sure, whatever, just go inside quickly, I have a schedule you know?” he said with a hand waving the other almost as dismissively as his lack of attention was, these pests were dying today anyway, no reason to have to maintain his image for a bunch of nobodies that fell for the easiest scam in the book.
The empty warehouse (at least it once was one) was fairly big, and Vox was already thinking of renovating it to make it his own, but still had the whole “empty haunted building only frequented by serial killers and their victims” which was very fitting for what was about to happen.
‘You can come get your food now Al, they're all in here’ he sends over their shared radio waves, not even needing to adjust his antennae to tune into their channel ever since Alastor made up a new design for them that was more compatible with his radio signals but didn't limit their reach or access to other types of signals, if anything it actually increased their potential!
His husband was truly just the best, no sinner could ever hope to even hold a candle to him.
‘T̨͈͗̌ͥḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḳ̯͍̑ͦ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ḿ̬̏ͤͅy҉̃̀̋̑ bẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒, y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇'r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ ĝ̽̓̀͑o̯̱̊͊͢o̯̱̊͊͢ḑ̴̞͛̒ f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕’ Alastor responded, the sound reaching into the depths of the wiring and mechanical parts Vox had to pass as his brain, making him shiver slightly at the goosebumps it always managed to give him,
It was a very intimate and almost invasive form of communication between them after all, if they weren't careful they could accidentally overload their channel with all of their thoughts and just essentially short circuit each other with the overflow of feelings, thoughts, words, sights and just overall a very uncomfortable over sharing of their senses to the other.
The first – and last – they accidentally did that, it was a disorienting and overstimulating ordeal, to the point both had to just shut off the channel and be a s far away from the other for almost a whole month, just from how unpleasant the experience was and how sensitive it left them afterwards.
It was like having both your and someone else's senses, being able to see, hear, taste, feel and smell everything the other did would be bad enough if you didn't account just how different their respective anatomies were compared to one another.
Thankfully they learned from that mistake and managed to never repeat it to this date.
Just as someone was about to question Vox on why he was taking so long and take him away from his inner musings, a low reverberating growl rang through the warehouse, the ground nearly shaking from the vibrations as a massive Alastor in full demon form ( so hot ) rising from the dark shadows of the building and descending upon the screaming and terrified sinners with a hunger that made Vox's circuitry spark with excess electricity and arousal.
Vox zapped into the old and uncomfortable cables of the building and reappeared next to one further away and on the second floor of the building and he looked down, leaning on the shitty railings, to watch his beautiful husband tear into several deer sinners and even eat one or two whole.
As much as he and Alastor don't really do sex in the strictest of senses, they don't don't do sex! And Vox was really hoping his offerings would make his beloved god at least a little aroused, or at least lenient enough to maybe let Vox get off on his hoof or something.
When Al was like this, crazed with hunger and lost in his bloodlust, he was always his prettiest. Dirtied and wet with blood and the entrails that managed to drip from his mouth, his teeth had meat and muscles and bones in between and stuck on them, and Vox was pretty sure he could see a hand trying to reach out to get out of his throat and getting swallowed back inside.
Vox couldn't be more in love with Alastor if he tried.
Couldn't be more aroused either because fuck, how could an asexual man be so fucking hot.
Lost in his musings and yearning for his beloved, Vox didn't notice the railings whining under his weight, and when he did notice it was too late and he was falling with the railings onto the ground below,
Before he could zap into the old cables of the building, not being able able to do it immediately because of how tight the fucking cables were, he felt himself land with an “oof!” on a soft surface that was wet and sticky with blood (his shark hindbrain going wild with that delicious heady metallic smell).
He looked down and saw that he was being cradled in Alastor's palms as the deer, still in his kaiju demonic form, caught him and seemed to sober up a little from going blood crazy just moments before.
“A̷͙ͭͫ̕r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ o̯̱̊͊͢ḳ̯͍̑ͦā̤̓̍͘y҉̃̀̋̑ M͉̅ͮ͒ͤo̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ C̵͉͋̔͞ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝? T̨͈͗̌ͥḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣḿ̬̏ͤͅo̯̱̊͊͢s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘ v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝y҉̃̀̋̑ ṇ̤͛̒̍ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑y҉̃̀̋̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ, ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅư̡͕̭̇ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣy҉̃̀̋̑ j̪̟̮̔ͩư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ ư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍c͕͗ͤ̕̕y҉̃̀̋̑ l̙͖̑̾ͣỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑t̲̂̓ͩ̑l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕p̞̈͑̚͞o̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ỉ͔͖̜͌o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ p̞̈͑̚͞o̯̱̊͊͢w̦̺̐̐͟ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝s̠҉͍͊ͅ” Alastor asked, concerned about him, and Vox felt himself turn putty in his lover's hands as a massive thumb came to carefully caress his head.
And oh, if having the static of that heavily filtered voice so close to his receptors didn't do things to him.
“I'm good Al, the cables in the warehouse are tighter than the ones I use so it takes longer for me to actually zap into them” he said and tried to hold back laughter when he felt the tip of a huge claw against his side, under where his gills rested, “it's like– like trying to fit inside a doorway that's made for someone half the size you are, like Nifty! Yeah, like trying to enter somewhere through a Nifty sized doorway!”
As he explained, Alastor kept petting and nudging Vox in his palm, occasionally poking his belly and making him falter in his little infodump and almost giggle.
When he finishes up explaining, he suddenly notices Alastor had nudged his shirt up and was currently petting the rough skin-plastic amalgamation of his light underbelly.
“A-Al?” He questions when the petting stops being teasing and tickling him and turns into something a little more… heated if Vox was reading Alastor's tells correctly but could also just be the other's age old curiosity over how Vox works and how he eats without a stomach.
Alastor hums curiously and he continues nudging Vox's clothes aside as
B̴̢̠̋̊͑̈̾̑̊͒͗̽Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅG̶̨̛̼̹̮͚̻͔̘̣͉͈͚̏̈́̿̅̀̏̀͌͒̀̐̇́͘ B̴̢̠̋̊͑̈̾̑̊͒͗̽Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅG̶̨̛̼̹̮͚̻͔̘̣͉͈͚̏̈́̿̅̀̏̀͌͒̀̐̇́͘ B̴̢̠̋̊͑̈̾̑̊͒͗̽Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅG̶̨̛̼̹̮͚̻͔̘̣͉͈͚̏̈́̿̅̀̏̀͌͒̀̐̇́͘
V̘̪͆̂̅o̯̱̊͊͢x̘̠̹͋ s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ f̵͖̜̉ͅr̴̨̦͕̝o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ ḳ̯͍̑ͦṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑ o̯̱̊͊͢v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ bo̯̱̊͊͢ḑ̴̞͛̒y҉̃̀̋̑ ư̡͕̭̇ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ bl̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑ w̦̺̐̐͟r̴̨̦͕̝ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑s̠҉͍͊ͅ, ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ c͕͗ͤ̕̕ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ v͒̄ͭ̏̇ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ư̡͕̭̇ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣy҉̃̀̋̑ r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕c͕͗ͤ̕̕o̯̱̊͊͢ĝ̽̓̀͑ṇ̤͛̒̍ỉ͔͖̜͌z̼͙̓́ͭẹ̿͋̒̕ V̘̪͆̂̅ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍t̲̂̓ͩ̑ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢'s̠҉͍͊ͅ y҉̃̀̋̑ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑ “c͕͗ͤ̕̕o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḑ̴̞͛̒y҉̃̀̋̑ V̘̪͆̂̅o̯̱̊͊͢x̛̘̠̹͋x̛̘̠̹͋y҉̃̀̋̑! Ỵ̛̖͋͢o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇'v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ bẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ư̡͕̭̇c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḳ̯͍̑ͦ ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅư̡͕̭̇c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḳ̯͍̑ͦỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑ r̴̨̦͕̝o̯̱̊͊͢o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ p̞̈͑̚͞ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḑ̴̞͛̒ā̤̓̍͘y҉̃̀̋̑ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ ā̤̓̍͘ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣf̵͖̜̉ͅ!”
O̖̼ͩ͌͐ḣ̖̻͛̓
Hͥ̽ͣ̃̔ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕? Hͥ̽ͣ̃̔ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ẹ̿͋̒̕s̠҉͍͊ͅṇ̤͛̒̍'t̲̂̓ͩ̑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ḳ̯͍̑ͦs̠҉͍͊ͅ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑'s̠҉͍͊ͅ bẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ l̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑, bư̡͕̭̇t̲̂̓ͩ̑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ v͒̄ͭ̏̇o̯̱̊͊͢ỉ͔͖̜͌c͕͗ͤ̕̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘ư̡͕̭̇ḑ̴̞͛̒ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝y҉̃̀̋̑ s̠҉͍͊ͅy҉̃̀̋̑s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕ḿ̬̏ͤͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ l̙͖̑̾ͣỉ͔͖̜͌ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕ A̷͙ͭͫ̕l̙͖̑̾ͣā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝'s̠҉͍͊ͅ ḿ̬̏ͤͅā̤̓̍͘ḑ̴̞͛̒ẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝ḑ̴̞͛̒ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕p̞̈͑̚͞ t̲̂̓ͩ̑r̴̨̦͕̝ā̤̓̍͘c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḳ̯͍̑ͦ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ỉ͔͖̜͌ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̕ w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ I̍̅̀̎̊t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅḳ̯͍̑ͦs̠҉͍͊ͅ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ḿ̬̏ͤͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ j̪̟̮̔ͩư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢c͕͗ͤ̕̕ư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅ o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕.
S̵̙͕̀̃ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑, ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ĝ̽̓̀͑o̯̱̊͊͢t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḑ̴̞͛̒ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑r̴̨̦͕̝ā̤̓̍͘c͕͗ͤ̕̕t̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒, ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢w̦̺̐̐͟ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ f̵͖̜̉ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ w̦̺̐̐͟r̴̨̦͕̝ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ĝ̽̓̀͑ḣ̖̻͛̓s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒-
Hͥ̽ͣ̃̔ư̡͕̭̇ḣ̖̻͛̓? B̩͎͍̾ͅư̡͕̭̇t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḑ̴̞͛̒y҉̃̀̋̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ A̷͙ͭͫ̕l̙͖̑̾ͣ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ bl̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢o̯̱̊͊͢ḑ̴̞͛̒ ḑ̴̞͛̒ỉ͔͖̜͌ḑ̴̞͛̒ṇ̤͛̒̍'t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕?
O̖̼ͩ͌͐r̴̨̦͕̝ ḿ̬̏ͤͅā̤̓̍͘y҉̃̀̋̑bẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕'s̠҉͍͊ͅ l̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢s̠҉͍͊ͅỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ỉ͔͖̜͌ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍
D̶͔̭̪̻ỉ͔͖̜͌ḑ̴̞͛̒ V̘̪͆̂̅ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣ l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḑ̴̞͛̒y҉̃̀̋̑? G̩̱ͩ̏͜o̯̱̊͊͢o̯̱̊͊͢ḑ̴̞͛̒, ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅṇ̤͛̒̍'t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḿ̬̏ͤͅo̯̱̊͊͢o̯̱̊͊͢ḑ̴̞͛̒ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ r̴̨̦͕̝o̯̱̊͊͢o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ, ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḑ̴̞͛̒ỉ͔͖̜͌ḑ̴̞͛̒ṇ̤͛̒̍'t̲̂̓ͩ̑ w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍t̲̂̓ͩ̑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ A̷͙ͭͫ̕l̙͖̑̾ͣā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ bẹ̿͋̒̕ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒, ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍, w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ỉ͔͖̜͌f̵͖̜̉ͅ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ĝ̽̓̀͑o̯̱̊͊͢t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḣ̖̻͛̓ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍, t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ V̘̪͆̂̅o̯̱̊͊͢x̛̘̠̹͋ w̦̺̐̐͟o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇l̙͖̑̾ͣḑ̴̞͛̒ ḑ̴̞͛̒ẹ̿͋̒̕f̵͖̜̉ͅỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣy҉̃̀̋̑ l̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢s̠҉͍͊ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͔͖̜͌̉͌ḿ̬̬̏ͤ́̏ͤͅͅ f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ ĝ̽̓̀͑o̯̱̊͊͢o̯̱̊͊͢ḑ̴̞͛̒—
M͉̅ͮ͒ͤā̤̓̍͘y҉̃̀̋̑bẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ s̠҉͍͊ͅḣ̖̻͛̓o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇l̙͖̑̾ͣḑ̴̞͛̒ j̪̟̮̔ͩư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ v͒̄ͭ̏̇o̯̱̊͊͢ỉ͔͖̜͌c͕͗ͤ̕̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣs̠҉͍͊ͅ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ḿ̬̏ͤͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ f̵͖̜̉ͅỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅḣ̖̻͛̓ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḑ̴̞͛̒y҉̃̀̋̑… j̪̟̮̔ͩo̯̱̊͊͢ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ A̷͙ͭͫ̕l̙͖̑̾ͣ,w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḿ̬̏ͤͅā̤̓̍͘y҉̃̀̋̑ bẹ̿͋̒̕… y҉̃̀̋̑ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḣ̖̻͛̓, y҉̃̀̋̑ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḣ̖̻͛̓, t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒s̠҉͍͊ͅ ṇ̤͛̒̍ỉ͔͖̜͌c͕͗ͤ̕̕ẹ̿͋̒̕.
They were worried about Vox, like, seriously fucking worried about the man's mental health.
It's been two whole months ever since the news of the radio demon's death, and the same amount of time since the corpse that was in that Hazbin hotel or whatever had disappeared.
From what they could faintly smell outside of Vox's room they had an idea where it was.
But anyway, it's been two whole months, and they've seen Vox maybe three times and each time he just looked worse and worse for wear.
Alastor's death really fucked him up, and anyone with eyes could tell.
Before, he rarely let his exhaustion or tiredness show up on his monitor, so Valentino and Velvette had to always try to read his tells and shit like that, but when they'd briefly seen him a week or so ago, he was so obviously tired, his animated eyes had thick eye bags, his bright and colorful monitor was dimmed and desaturated and he was just so obviously not taking Alastor's death well it was honestly sad and worrying.
So, here were Velvette and Valentino trying to enter Vox's room, but the paranoid bastard had it under fucking lockdown so they couldn't get in if they dropped a nuclear bomb on it.
Besides, they weren't nearly as tech savvy as their third was, even if they tried hacking or whatever, they wouldn't be able to get in regardless. What a great fucking time for Vox to never have explained shit about his systems to them.
All they could do is wait and hope that the lockdown turned off without the proper maintenance for it and that it did so before Vox did something drastic, because they both knew the tv headed sinner and his penchant for drama and overreaction.
They really hoped Vox didn't do something dumb, but they couldn't guarantee nor comfort each other that he wouldn't.
Vox had always been obsessively, well, obsessed with the radio demon, to the point that he would occasionally neglect himself and his needs in order to stalk or fight or just do anything related to that fuckass deer. They have heard him sighing wistfully when looking at the glitched out blob in his monitors, saying he'd kill himself over the minor and petty fights they had and saying he hated him in the same tone someone would declare their love and devotion to a god. It'd be funny if it wasn't so disgusting and worrying at times.
Valentino had just barged his way into Velvette's fitting rooms, uncaring of the startled and scared naked models getting dressed and fitted for a new spring set now that winter was ending, and was on his way to grab Velvette to start brainstorming more ways to get Vox out of his room,
His workload was seriously piling up more and more and neither Vee had never noticed how much the tv head had to tackle for the both of them and himself, it was honestly terrifying how much work Vox had when neither of them had even close to a third of those vox-mails to answer.
They might need to throw a little “Vox Appreciation Party” when the sinner is back, because fuck if it wasn't for his competent personal assistants, this company would be fucked.
However, before Valentino had even reached Velvette, they were surprised when they heard several error code alarms and system messages going off, which could only mean that something happened to the power source of the tower.
And what, exactly, is the power source of Vee Tower, you might ask.
Why, it's Vox himself, so for a fucking tower-wide error to be ringing out as they could hear several lights shutting off around their territory and probably the rest of the Pentagram (of not the whole of pride ring itself), that could only mean one thing.
Something happened to Vox.
Or more accurately, he did something to himself.
Now the question is,
Ｗｈａｔ ｄｉｄ Ｖｏｘ ｄｏ?
Blood dripped down his wrists, his thighs, his upper arms, even from his face.
Or were those tears? He couldn't tell, everything was so much now, he couldn't tell up from down if someone asked him now.
His body hurt, everything hurt.
But worst of all was his heart, it squeezed and squeezed and he didn't know if it'd burst or implode, it felt like something was piercing his chest and meanly poking around his heart and leaving behind the dripping and horrible dread he felt.
He sobbed, or maybe he choked on his own blood? Either way, he coughed our blood, falling directly on the slowly rotting corpse underneath him.
So beautiful, he was beautiful even in death, his Alastor. His one and only love.
His soft and bright red hair, tipped with black, was dirty with blood and matted now. His glorious antlers and his fluffy ears, always standing at attention and grabbing the attention of anyone who even so much as glanced at him, his antlers were broken and his ears were unnaturally limp. His gracious body, always moving and flitting about as if he couldn't bear to be still when there was so much entertainment to be had in one day, it was so still and limp beneath him now, and he knew it only wasn't filled with disgusting maggots and bugs eating away at his delicate rotting flesh because his room was in lockdown so not even an ant could enter.
His mind was a jumbled mess, he felt light headed and had a killing headache, his fins were contracting harshly to get air in his body as well as the fans in his head to cool him down, he faintly heard multiple system warnings about blood loss and some parts of it starting to shut down and others following protocol and going to his backups for work stuff.
He took a deep shallow breath, he was still sobbing/coughing blood. He had failed. He couldn't bring Alastor back, he couldn't bring his reason to live back.
He was so useless, if he couldn't even do this, maybe he should have been the one to die instead of Alastor.
Not that it matters now anyway. His Alastor's body was cold, and his wound was rotting and he smelled disgusting, not at all like the spicy Cologne he wore to add to the natural metallic and bloody smell that he carried.
Actually…
There was one last thing he could do, if his love wouldn't come back, he could just attempt to join him in whatever happened to a sinner after a permanent death.
Such a scary concept, and if he wasn't in such world shattering despair, maybe he could think about it more clearly, he could live without Alastor, he had a company to run and associates friends to help him run it.
But he couldn't. Not really. He couldn't live without Alastor.
He tried, and it didn't work. There was a reason he was always begging for Alastor's attention without saying all the words.
He looked down, trying to decide how to best do this.
And then, he saw him.
Alastor had– had opened his eyes? How? Wasn't he dead? Or did his plan work? Did forcing his own blood and flesh down his wound and throat, respectively, actually work?! Was his love back with him? Would they get to live and fight and bicker and do everything they once did together again??!
“V̘̪͆̂̅o̯̱̯̱̊͊̊͊͢͢x̵̛̘̠̹̹̬͋̄̽, ḿ̬͉̏ͤ̅ͮ͒ͤͅy҉̃̀̋̑҉̃̀̋̑ ḑ̴̶̞͔̭̪̻͛̒ā̤̤̓̍̄̓̍͘͘r̴̨̦͕̝͉̜̎͡͠l̙͖̙͖̑̾ͣ̑̾ͣỉ͔͖̜͌̍̅̀̎̊ṇ̤̣̤͛̒̍͛̒̍ĝ̩̱̽̓̀͑ͩ̏͜ t̨̲͈̂̓ͩ̑͗̌ͥv͒̄ͭ̏̇͒̄ͭ̏̇, y҉̛̣̖̃̀̋̑͋͢o̯̱̯̱̊͊̊͊͢͢ư̡͕̭̠̇҉̷̙ͦ ḳ̯͍͕͓̑ͦ͌̎̾ṇ̤̣̤͛̒̍͛̒̍o̯̱̖̼̊͊ͩ͌͐͢w̦̺̦̺̐̐̐̐͟͟ t̨̲͈̂̓ͩ̑͗̌ͥḣ̖̻̖̻͛̓̇͛̓ā̷̤͙̓̍ͭͫ͘̕t̲̲̂̓ͩ̑̂̓ͩ̑'s̠҉͍̠͊ͅ҉͍͊ͅ ṇ̤̺̻͛̒̍̔̆ͅo̯̱̯̱̊͊̊͊͢͢t̨̲͈̂̓ͩ̑͗̌ͥ t̲̲̂̓ͩ̑̂̓ͩ̑r̴̨̦͕̝͉̜̎͡͠ư̡̡̛͕̭͕̭̇̇ẹ̰̿͋̒ͭ̉̇̕͟” Alastor(?) said, his voice sounded wrong and far away but Vox chalked it to his audio receptors being shitty without proper maintenance. “Ỵ̛̖͋͢o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ḳ̯͍̑ͦṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢w̦̺̐̐͟ w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓y҉̃̀̋̑ I̍̅̀̎̊ḿ̬̏ͤͅ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ l̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣy҉̃̀̋̑, y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ḳ̯͍̑ͦṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢w̦̺̐̐͟ w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ḿ̬̏ͤͅư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕, o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕ l̙͖̑̾ͣā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ỉ͔͖̜͌ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕”
Vox could hear someone giggling in a broken and insane way, maybe it was him? Someone else? He couldn't tell anymore, he was so disoriented and Alastor was speaking to him, he needed to pay attention to him.
“W-what do I need to do Al? Tell me, please tell me, I'll do anything, I swear!” He begged desperately, grabbing the cold face beneath him, he'd missed that smile so much, those beautiful red eyes looking into his soul, why did his face look so wrong, it looked so different from what he remembered.
“G̩̱ͩ̏͜ỉ͔͖̜͌v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ l̙͖̑̾ͣā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ p̞̈͑̚͞ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝s̠҉͍͊ͅẹ̿͋̒̕l̙͖̑̾ͣf̵͖̜̉ͅ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍'t̲̂̓ͩ̑ y҉̃̀̋̑ẹ̿͋̒̕t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ĝ̽̓̀͑ỉ͔͖̜͌v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ l̙͖̑̾ͣo̯̱̊͊͢v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕, ĝ̽̓̀͑ỉ͔͖̜͌v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝ ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ j̪̟̮̔ͩo̯̱̊͊͢ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ ḑ̴̞͛̒ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓” not-Alastor(?) said, voice sweet and soft in a way that sounded wrong coming out of Alastor's mouth. He should probably question his sanity if he was seeing and hearing Alastor talk to him after he'd been dead for– a month? Or was it more? Less? He didn't know anymore. He should be more worried.
But when his decades-long obsession asked him to give him his heart so sweetly, and tells him to kill himself so softly, as if it was for his own good, and it likely is if Alastor or telling him to do it—
Well. Who was he to deny his love of one last indulgence?
He took the knife he'd let slip out of his shaking hands earlier from the sheets next to them, and tried to make the cut into his chest as carefully as he could, he didn't want to accidentally damage his heart and give his love the results of his own shabby work.
No, shabby and shitty work was for customers only. His love got only the good and the best from him.
So he cut his chest, deeply and shakily as he felt the burn and sizzling of angelic steel coming into contact with his synthetic skin and slitting him open as easily as a hot knife passed through butter.
He made a big opening, blood splashing all around them and staining his sheets and Alastor's clothes in a deep blue, sparks of electricity came out of his wound and he gasped wetly as he accidentally shocked himself with the high voltage of his inner workings coming into contact with the metal of his claws, his fingers burnt and his chest burned even more.
It hurt so much, but he'd endure, for Alastor he'd endure anything.
Coughing out more blood and having to take a minute long break to shake away the light headedness that the blood loss gave him.
Vox put the knife away and instead reached inside him with his hands, yelling out in pain and crying earnestly as he shocked himself more, burned himself with the electricity running inside him and sobbed from the pain and everything else combined.
He wrapped his hands around his ribs, made from titanium to be able to endure the weight of his head and of some of the components that rested inside of his ribs, and he used all of his remaining strength to pull them apart and break them just enough to properly reach inside and grab his heart from in between his vents where normal lungs would be.
A scream rang out and he couldn't tell if it was him anymore, the voice was so glitched and loud and high-pitched, it was obvious that whoever screamed was in pain.
No matter, he can't lose focus now, as his hand wrapped around his racing heart and gently pulled it out, shaking and trembling and oh so unstable.
His heart was a work of art, a mix between soft metals and actual tissue to make up an organ strong enough to pump super electrified blood throughout all of his body, the blue and silver made quite a sight.
A blurry Alastor's face came into view and Vox was almost sure that the man was admiring his heart with interest and hunger, but he couldn't tell for sure. His visual receptors were starting to fail him just like his auditory and sound systems were.
He bent over Alastor again and lovingly, with the care of a devotee at his God's altar, laid his heart on top of where the other's silent one was. A gesture so romantic he'd giggle if he was able to.
As Vox gave his offering to his god, he felt warm hands cup the edges of his screen, where his cheeks could technically be, and compelled him to tilt his head upwards.
Weirdly clear for the first time in a long while, he saw Alastor's face looking down at him, a sharp and mean looking smile slightly soft and warm paired with half lidded eyes with dilated pupils that screamed affection met his own desperate and shaky eyes of his snowing and glitching screen.
What a beautiful smile that Alastor gave his way, this was one of his rare true smiles, ones that pulled at the skin of his eyes, and that could be seen to actually reach them.
This smile fit Alastor so nicely.
And Vox was helpless but to smile back at him, trying to convey as much of his love and affection for the sinner before him as he could pack into one smile.
As his vision went dark and his systems started shutting down rapidly and permanently this time, his last thought was “I love you, Al”.
And if he believed enough, he could swear he heard a voice suspiciously like Alastor's saying “I love you too, my stupid picture box” as he faded away to find what awaited him in his double death.
They ran up to Vox's penthouse at the very top of the tower, hoping that the faster when they got that it'd still be something reversible, whatever Vox did to himself. They needed him alive not only for themselves but also because essentially the entirety of the Pride Ring ran on Vox's systems and only he had access to more than half of those.
Velvette used her magic to break down the door to their third's massive living room, both she and Val panted and felt dread pooling inside their guts as they saw the disgusting and destroyed state Vox's home was, no doubt from the fit he threw when the cameras overseeing Alastor cut out suddenly.
It was eerily quiet, and that gave them a pause, the loud alarms that rang downstairs didn't reach here, and it made the place feel like it was straight out of those psychological horror movies Vox loved to watch.
Velvette looked up at Valentino and saw the moth wrap his wings around him as if trying to protect himself from an unseen threat, not turning them back into their coat form.
“Do you… think he's even still here?” Val asked in a voice smaller than she's ever heard from him in their decades of friendship.
“I dunno Val, we…” she stopped speaking for a second, feeling actually scared to look around to see where their friend was and worse, what state he was in. “We should search around for him. You go to his room and bathroom first and I'll check up on his home office and kitchen okay?”
She could tell Val was close to tears, he just nodded and slowly went to the hallway where Vox's bedroom and bathroom was, as if steeling himself for what he might see.
This all felt like one of those cliche horror tropes and she was half expecting Vox to jump out from somewhere to scare her, to tell her this was all a big stupid bloody prank and that the worst she feared hadn't happened.
Before she even reached the kitchen, she heard Valentino scream loudly and in a way that was closer to a terrified shriek than a scream.
Velvette immediately turned back around and ran for Vox's room. When she reached it, she saw Val hiding his mouth with his upper hands as he cried, his lower arms pulled back like when he touched something dirty bare handed.
She made his way to her sobbing friend's side, not sure if she even wanted to see what he saw.
It was so much worse than what she thought it was.
There, in Vox's ridiculously big bed, was Alastor's long dead corpse, obviously rotting and smelling as such.
But what actually scared them? What was the one thing they had been all but praying to not have happened?
Vox's body, fallen half on top of Alastor's corpse and half on the bed. His arms, his legs and even his hips were littered in cuts that overlapped each other and with various different depths and lengths. The sheets were stained and encrusted with Vox's electric dark blue blood, as well as his hands and the angelic knife that rested an inch or so away from the two bodies on the bed.
And the star of the scene, Vox's sloppily carved open chest, showcasing his broken ribs and all the other disgusting organs and components he had, a few had obviously slid down and some were almost falling out of the wide cavity. While his heart, his still and limp heart, was pulled out from where it rested with the other organs and was deliberately laid on Alastor's own angelic wound on his chest where his heart probably was, not unlike an offering if Velvette was honest.
She felt sick at the scene, she wanted to cry, to scream, to throw up, maybe even all three.
Could they have stopped this? Could they have saved Vox from himself? Should they have been more insistent in getting him to come out of his penthouse? Should they have made more of an effort during the two measly times he did come out of his room?
She didn't know, and she didn't want to know, because that would just make all of this even worse.
Val hugged her and she let herself breakdown in his arms as they both fell to the floor, holding each other and, for once, not caring about their appearances.
At least one thing was certain between the two of them now.
At least, their dear friend was happy in his blissful slumber, never having to deal with the heartbreak he had been dealing with before.
They hoped that whatever there was after their afterlife, that at least Vox got what he wanted in the end.
It was never power, fame, wealth or anything like that, that Vox truly wanted. There was a reason he's always reaching for more and more, nothing ever being enough.
Because what he truly wanted, from the bottom of his heart, was Alastor.
And they hoped, that at least in his permanent death, he finally got what he'd wanted since before they knew him.