gelenya
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“Fantastic. And why are you here? You’re free. I don’t want to see your face. Get the hell out and leave me be.” So I can lick my wounds in private.
“Oh, you know,” Alastor sing-songs. He pulls up a chair next to the sick bed, hops down on it, and primly crosses his legs. “After spending so much time here over the last week, I think I’ve gotten used to your hospitality. Maybe I miss being around you already!”
Vox knows Alastor is being sarcastic. He knows. And usually, he’d be able to shrug it off.
But he’s so damn beaten down already, the words are like a knife to the heart, making him bleed.
“I don’t want your fucking gloating,” he snarls. “You won. Is that what you wanted to hear? You were right about me, and I’ve failed, again, like you told me I would. Big fucking hurray to you. Go celebrate your victory with Princess Friendship.”
In the aftermath of Vox’s
mass-murder-suicide attemptfailed uprising, Alastor gives him a visit. It changes nothing, but it helps.Series
- Part 2 of Complicated and [redacted]
Bookmarked by gelenya
03 Dec 2025
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“What’s a shame?”
Francis looks at him. Really looks at him, and brushes his jaw with his knuckles.
“That you have such a lovely voice, you terrible man. And you so rarely let me hear it.”
There is a tear caught in the corner of Arthur’s lash line, from the laughter, from the wind that dried his eyes; because he is tired. It could be any one of those things or a little of them all. Francis reaches up to brush it away, and Arthur is so still—so very still—as he does it that Francis thinks he might be holding his breath.
Bookmarked by gelenya
07 Aug 2024