#pennspen

Summary: During his seven year absence, Alastor pays Vox a visit— more frequently than one would expect.

thank you @henchy5824 for the tag!! posting this as we're creeping up on thursday because the day snuck up on me lmao :] truly digging into the depths of un-spoilery territory for this ahaha anyways bit of staticmoth for this one <33

Valentino stares at him, red-hot eyes unflinching. “I like it.” He says it so easily, so surely, like he’s already discarded the person he spoke to last week without so much as a fuss. In its place stands a brighter, shinier version, unmarred by the kinks and scars of living— a blank but familiar canvas Valentino appreciates just as much as the molting painting in the attic. A deep flush creeps onto Vox’s cheeks without his permission. Beside him, Alastor tenses, the smile on his face unreadable. “Thanks,” Vox chokes out. It’s futile to will his screen into dimming; that kind of bodily control is beyond the meager upgrades he's been able to infuse himself with. Maybe one day. “What are you doing out here? Taking the night off?” Valentino sighs with his entire body, the picture of drama. “I wish. Boss wants us to mingle with the crowd when we’re off-stage, make the show more intimate or something." He drapes himself across the bar, wings splayed like a beautiful tapestry that nearly swipes Vox's drink into his lap, and Vox- Vox tries his damnest not to stare. "Fuck that. He just wants to pimp us out without the extra pay.”

wheeee thank you sm for the tag @henchy5824 <333 !! tagging uh. uuuuh @toastervox <3 @cringefailvox :] @hypnoticmoth (this time on purpose moth, HAH :')) as always, absolutely zero pressure to post anything<33 also I realize this is nearly if not already thursday for most people but. let's ignore that. anyway. from Virtuous Vices this time~

Summary: It always ends the way it starts— with blood-stained hands and cutthroat words. But somewhere along the way there was laughter and music, drunken nights and playful fights, and perhaps, deep down— the small creepings of something more. Or, Alastor & Vox through the years, following the prompts for RadioStaticWeek2024.

Day 4: Drinking at a Bar

“No no, like- if you could choose. Not Hell or- or whatever. Would you still be a deer?”

“Ah. No, definitely not.” He’s grown used to his form by now, and he’s come to appreciate the deceptive nature of it, but Alastor had not taken kindly to being turned into a prey animal when he’d first landed here. “I don’t know what I’d choose,” he admits.

Something sharp and ferocious, perhaps; a creature feared by all in name alone, something that would send even the oldest Overlords scurrying for cover, would cause every being, dead or alive, to drop to their knees and beg for mercy before he’s even lifted a claw—

“I think you’d be a cat.”

thank youuuu @cringefailvox for the tag :) <333 haven't had a chance to write much this week but!! here's a snippet from Romantic Homicide— not the next chapter, but in fact the one after that :3 (yes i'm two chapters/15k+ words ahead. no i have not posted squat. we don't talk about it)

“I mean, you seemed pretty peeved the last time.” Peeved is putting it lightly; the man would not stop complaining about having to drag his sorry ass three fucking blocks, as if it’s even an inconvenience for someone that can dip in and out of shadows on a whim. Vox ducks his head a little beneath the crimson canopy, antennas flopping forward like coiled springs.   “Oh.” Alastor raises the umbrella, the gentleman that he is. “Perhaps I have been a little harsh on the matter.”  “Maybe,” Vox admits. “But I can’t rely on you for everything, Al.” His mind wanders to the stack of sheets that once sat on the coffee table in his apartment, carefully bound and ready. A divisive proposal, in more ways than one. Vox tacks on a laugh, hopes it veils his discomfort. “Sooner or later, a bird’s gotta leave the nest.”  “Well, it's a good thing you’re a picture box, then, isn’t it?” “Ha ha.”  Beside him, Alastor slows. He squints through the haze of rain and out toward the edge of the street, a funny look crossing his features. “Tell me something. Why didn’t you use the powerlines? There are more than enough around.” Vox's heart lurches. Within the incomprehensible void that passes for his mouth, a sandpapered-tongue scrabbles to find purchase on words. “Ah, you know.” Vox waves a flimsy hand, fooling no one. “I figured ruining your night would be more fun. I barely had to try, and look!” He leans in with a grin, encroaching further on the small space between them, the smallest sliver of dry land in a storm. “I’ve got my own personal escort! And it’s the Radio Demon, no less.” “Lot of blabber for someone near tears on the telephone earlier.”

Summary: It always ends the way it starts— with blood-stained hands and cutthroat words. But somewhere along the way there was laughter and music, drunken nights and playful fights, and perhaps, deep down— the small creepings of something more. 

Or, Alastor & Vox through the years, following the prompts for RadioStaticWeek2024.

Day 3: Dancing

It is just the two of them now, Radio and Television, standing around in the dimly-lit room, Alastor looking almost ethereal in the glow of the candlelight, the soft orange hues like a blush on his cheeks, and—

And what the hell is Alastor on about? How could they dance without partners?

“We won’t be needing them,” Alastor says lightly, like he can hear his thoughts. “Did you forget? You poor, stupid thing. You only need one to dance. Two, if you’re feeling frisky.” His hand drops a little, either from boredom or fatigue from holding it up for so long. “So? What’ll it be? I don’t have all day, you know.”

Lonely or frisky, huh?