#《 ◈ 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 ;; 𝚟𝚘𝚡 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) ◈ 》

[staticintone]

vox: *breathes* alastor: *offended*

[staticintone]

The slightest of movements had Alastor flinching.

Even the sound of Vox’s voice tightened the grip on the staff. Popping his knuckles and straining his hands. Claws digging into fingers. Fresh blood dripping to the already stained floor.

“A week ago?”

Voice still even. Echoed through the microphone, avoiding his tightened vocal cords completely.

“What you’re holding in your hands is a week ago.”

Distorted thinking gave way to new anxiety. A seed in his mind, planted by the lack of any awareness, any understanding. Vox was making less sense the more he spoke.

Years.

Years had passed since they’d seen each other, somehow. He had contact a week ago, but hadn’t met face to face in years.

People didn’t lose that much time. Sixteen years and then some. The way that Vox spoke about the recollection in the tape didn’t sound fresh. There were causes… but Alastor kept his timecode pristine. There wasn’t a second that wasn’t accounted for, not today, not yesterday, not since his first month dead.

“It’s intact. My timecode.”

The distrust still heavy in the air. Half an accusation in his mind that never came to pass. He couldn’t very well assume Vox had done anything to break something untouched.

“Something is wrong, but not with me.”

     ALASTOR  STILL  DIDN'T  SEEM  TO  REMEMBER.  vox was stuck between the past  &&  the present,  mind racing as it remembered every gory detail of that night,  newly layered with this understanding.  a different agony placed over it like a new filter.  he heard alastor speak,  acknowledged it,  stayed back like he was giving a scared animal the space it needed.  there were all - too - obvious signs that things were still bad.  no,  that they were getting worse,  somehow.  his explanation hadn't helped at all.  something more was wrong here than just alastor seeking an explanation.  the other didn't play pretend for cruelty's sake or rarely even to make a point  —  he had other methods,  certainly,  if he wanted to be cruel to him,  &&  for all the distance between them,  alastor was not the type to look so ruffled around him anymore.  if he even ever really had before.  that was usually vox's forte.

     the final words rang like a dismissal.  he was still holding one of the tapes.  the frequency was quiet now,  the only things across it was vox's own re - dawning heartache  &&  resignation.  he followed alastor's lead,  switching to speak aloud without a moment's thought or hesitation.

        ❛  i  -  alastor,  something is wrong still.  you don't remember,  i can tell,  &&  ...  you've been acting very strange compared to a week ago.  what do you remember?  let me help,  still.  i  -  help me understand.  i'll stay over here,  away if you want,  just  -  i haven't seen you in years until now,  in person,  &&  i didn't know any of this,  &&  apparently neither did you,  unless you're playing some game here,  but i don't believe that for a second.  i'll even leave altogether,  i just  -  ❜

he stepped towards the exit,  even if he didn't want to,  holding the tape like it could keep him one piece.  an acquiescence of sorts.  if he was asked to leave,  he would have to go.  alastor made all the rules.

     ❛  i want to help,  if i can,  if something's wrong.  ❜

[staticintone]

@voxxisms && meeting up for the blood ball!

Why had he agreed to this?

The two of them had decided on meeting up at exactly 6:37pm. Back in the old days—the same old days that Vox had insisted on invoking in his invitation—Vox would have been early. Which would have been annoying, but acceptable.

Being late on the other hand...

"Where are you?"

Oh, never mind. He wasn't late. Alastor was just looking for the wrong thing. It brought out a laugh, both of humor and of spite. This was Vox’s interpretation of a masquerade event? It would be hard to recognize him, at least.

"You could have warned me."

It felt like a slight. It most likely was. A test to see if Alastor would remember what he looked like without all the bells and whistles. He did, obviously. As if he would ever forget the times when Vox was so broken he had to resort to this.

"Is this what you’re going with? Going to be harder to network this way."

He was fully anticipating Vox to flee from his side within minutes of arriving. He might have promised ‘old times’, but that certainly didn’t mean he would be glued to Alastor’s side like he used to be.

They hadn’t even bothered to match or coordinate. But Alastor still brought him the flowers to make sure he left some mark on Vox. To prove, even temporarily, that they had arrived together.

"I have something for you."

[staticintone]

✘ what are your thoughts on vox & val together? (totally an anon, vox isnt asking but i wanna be notified of this )

“He wanted someone fitting his new values. He found one.”

Spat out so fast it was hissed. Wrapped in static to the point where his voice barely even came through.

“He wants to fight and drink and hurt and be hurt—wants the power and reputation and none of the—wants a legacy that ends in his—fine.”

“He wants that life, he can have it.”

[staticintone]

"How's your first kiss with Voxxisms?"

“I assume you mean that one.”

It wasn’t something that Alastor spoke about. He had only admitted to it out loud a handful of times, when he sought advice on the situation, all those years ago.

“It was sudden. We had a good day, a good night. Nothing we did was out of the ordinary, until we were home.”

The incident wasn’t even on Alastor’s mind as of recently. He hadn’t even thought about it for several decades. Why would he? It was never discussed. It happened, and then it fell away. In the weeks after, of course, he reran the recording through his mind over and over. Trying to process what had happened, and what it would mean between them.

But that worry only lasted so long.

And when it became a nonissue, he let it slip entirely. He had to replay the memory just to make sure he could answer the question properly.

“It was intimate, but sloppy. A couple of drinks will do that. I wasn’t sure what to do or say about it. I wondered if it meant that things would have to change, or if it was just something new I had to get used to. But it never happened again.”

Obviously, it would have been all right if it did change things. A kiss could mean a lot of things, but it wasn’t the kind that could easily be misinterpreted.

“I would be surprised if Vox even remembers it, considering… everything.”

[staticintone]

Silence throughout the past few weeks.

Over the last handful of years, it was getting quieter and quieter. It was hard to place what it felt like, this growing space between two souls. It hadn’t begun with Vox moving out, but finding an exact catalyst was nearly impossible. The usual bustling of the house had gone first, and that was enough to cause an ache. But that was easy to fill.

Especially when there was still regular conversation.

Except even that had disappeared. Now the only noise around was that which Alastor created himself. And despite his greatest efforts, it was startling. Even the simple sounds of a glass scraping the counter was loud and clear. Hearing the rustling of pipes as the sink ran, the pouring of water into the cup, the movement of his own throat as he drank… was it ever something he would be used to again?

Vox was set to arrive any minute now, and the craving for the noise was at its worst for it. Expecting that he would be early for their scheduled time didn’t help much, he would have preferred to know the exact second. But it was worse now, in this moment.

He was thirteen minutes and twelve seconds late.

The knock on the door made Alastor scrunch his nose. Relief flooding his senses, only to be replaced by an irritation and concern when he realized that it was still too damned quiet. The frequency achingly low, in the background, compared to the sound of the world around him.

He opened the door, and the channel came alive. Vox talking a mile a minute over the waves, apologizing profusely and letting his thoughts run so far that Alastor very nearly had a headache from the sudden change. A welcome change, but an overwhelming one.

“I just couldn’t get away.” The exasperation in Vox’s mind was as obvious as Alastor’s discomfort. “You wouldn’t believe the week that I’ve had with this stupid production. We’re over budget, out of time and—sorry, did you want to go out, we can get going—but God, this is getting ridiculous!”

Alastor cradled his head for a split second while Vox had rushed inside past him. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to look at Vox, or greet him properly. There was a question in there somewhere, in all the mess, and Alastor tried to sort it out piece by piece.

When he wanted the noise back, this wasn’t what he meant.

“Why don’t we just stay here tonight?”

Vox hardly even let him finish before he was on again, complaining loudly as he all but collapsed on the couch. “It’s been like this for months, Alastor. I shouldn’t be surprised, the main actress and the writer have been at each other’s throats since the pilot. I’m so sick of these fucking sitcoms, but they do numbers. You should hear the stupid ass story they wrote, so unrealistic!”

Alastor couldn’t get a single word in at this point. Not to offer Vox anything, not to concur or refute, he just had to sit beside him. Watch him flail around wildly while he progressively seemed to get more angry and exhausted.

It was only then that Alastor noticed what should have been the most obvious change. Vox did look different, having switched monitors. It looked… delicate. As if the slightest thing could snap it. It was oddly beautiful, in a fragile way. The colors were bright and vibrant, but there was sparking underneath the screen. Whether that was intentional or not didn’t matter, it still was concerning. Alastor moved to touch it, to see it better, feel it on his hands.

Vox pulled away.

He didn’t notice, Alastor told himself. Still in the throes of a one-sided conversation about something he seemed to have lost faith in before it even began.

The stitches were beginning to pull.

“So we got a hold of this pilot, right? With the promise of a six episode season, but this asshole writes a cliffhanger. It’s not even a good one! She just tells some guy who’s not her husband that she loves him! And the producer in charge—outside of me, of course—tells him it’s unacceptable. Good, great. But he won’t hear it unless it comes from me.”

It was hard to keep track of the situation, with Vox talking over himself, thinking in so many directions at once. Not that Alastor would be able to respond, either way.

“And I’m down the hall, fighting with the advertisers. They’re demanding a full three second shot for these diet pills—which I’m 90% sure are just rat droppings coated in pink paint—but it ruins the whole sequence! It’s an ugly shot to begin with, having to focus on the way she holds her hands, but I can deal with that. We adjusted the set and everything just to make it look halfway decent, but for three seconds? They’re in the middle of an argument! This isn’t a commercial, and breaking down the composition is bad enough, but I refuse to break the flow of the—you don’t care about this, sorry, but—”

“I—”

“—he’s supposed to be the best in the business. Even if he’s a pain in the ass, his stuff does numbers. I had to offer him so much money just to have him demanding to hear it from me.”

Had… had Vox just cut himself off from discussing something he genuinely cared about just to rant further about something so trivial? He had stopped running between topics, thinking over himself for the quickest of seconds. Smoothly talking about the cinematography only to put words in Alastor’s mouth.

And he was wrong. Alastor didn’t fully grasp the importance of the shot, or even the sequence, but hearing it in Vox’s words made him listen. He knew the words by now, knew some of the rules that mattered during production, all because of Vox. He would have gladly heard him talk about that for eternity, but Vox spoke over him, assigned meaning to nonexistent words.

The stitches were beginning to ache.

“Vox, I—”

“—there’s just no excuse for his entitled—”

“Vox!”

Alastor snapped, finally. His expression so strained that he might as well have been fuming. But he wasn’t angry, not really. Frustrated, certainly. Upset, most definitely. Afraid? Maybe.

“What is all of this?” His thoughts were more even now, he had managed to calm himself before he spoke along the waves. Gesturing at Vox like it explained more than words could give him at the moment.

“Oh, right. You haven’t seen me in a while, have you?” Vox was nervously laughing, a hesitation along the frequency that must have been from Alastor’s outburst. “It’s a newer model, something that hasn’t even hit the market yet and I—”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Well, not all of it, at least. Alastor refused to be talked over now. This was his frequency too. And he had more control over it than Vox did. He wouldn’t go unheard now.

“What… what do you mean?”

Alastor and Vox sat there for a solid twenty-six seconds. Alastor searching for the right words as his irritation itself spilled into the frequency between them. Vox’s anxiety came through to match it. The silence had returned once again, save for little emotions peeking through.

It was horrifying.

To be so close, and yet hear nothing.

Even the sound of the house settling was now drowning out anything else. Distracting Alastor from the pieces he wanted to put together. His microphone was rustling through static, growing louder to fill the space. How long had his left hand been trembling?

“I mean all of it.”

“Alastor, I don’t know—”

“All of this. Your insistence on becoming—”

A ringing in the air. Alastor’s head dropped into his hands. The shrill tone of his own home phone ripping through the static and quieting him completely. Vox, for a split second, seemed to reach out in some way or another, but the noise just continued. The call would drop and pick up again in a way it never did. Well, it clearly wasn’t a call for him.

It was rare that someone tried for Vox on this phone these days, but it still happened. And Alastor would let it go every time. It was usually obvious when the call was meant for him. Alastor waved Vox to pick it up, if for no other reason than to make the noise stop.

A move he would regret in less than a minute.

Vox greeted the call with some level of irritation, yet his voice hid his actual demeanor. Speaking out loud had such a different quality to it for both of them. Vox’s careful persona betrayed only by the slight cracks along private radio waves. 

Only to be snapped completely the more the call progressed.

If Alastor wasn’t putting so much effort into cutting out the outside world, maybe he would have heard the contents. Maybe he would have understood why Vox’s emotions were suddenly everywhere.

“No, that’s not—I’m telling you it’s impossible! Why wouldn’t the—slow down. No, I’m coming now. I said I’m coming now!”

The phone hit the receiver with a snap, and Alastor winced.

“You can’t go now.”

“I have to.” While Alastor had switched back over to the frequency, Vox had not. “I—”

“You can’t.”

His own voice was the only thing he could hear along the channel, and it was making everything so much worse. Being excluded in a way that had never happened before… Vox could think, could speak, but had decided Alastor was shut out entirely.

The stitches were beginning to tear.

He was on his feet as Vox started to walk. And all Vox was doing was repeating the same words out loud.

“I have to go.”

Alastor grabbed Vox hard by the arm, trying to force him to turn around. Which he did. Tired, anxious eyes met Alastor’s wild and desperate ones.

“You can’t. Whatever it is can wait—”

“It can’t wait!” This time the frequency was used, a blunt instrument to knock Alastor back. “I’m sorry.” But that was the last time he heard anything from Vox that night.

Even as the scene continued, as he withdrew his hand from Vox, took a step back.

“Vox, please.”

Even as he begged. Vox was silent. Watching him move suddenly, disappearing into his network in the street. Alastor slammed the door behind him, stewing in the silence after the sound of the air had calmed.

Static bubbled up around him, drowning him in something less overwhelming. But it didn’t slow down his breathing.

When did this happen? When did Vox start speaking for him, over him, in spite of him? What was the exact moment Alastor stopped being a factor in his life? Searching, scanning through times in the last seven years, last twenty, last seventy. There had to be a sign. Somewhere, there had to be a sign. There had to be. This didn’t just happen. When did Vox stop hearing him? Respecting him? Caring about him?

It was agonizing to think about.

Scrubbing through any recording, any memory that would make this make sense. Looking for a pattern that refused to show. Thinking through every smile, every word, every touch. Vox was a performer. He had been in life, in death, everything. Was this a performance that went unnoticed? Was Vox that good of an actor that he could be flipped like a switch and turn it off?

Was any of it real?

That train of thought broke through the stitches along the edges of his smile. And Alastor started laughing. The backside of the door immediately took damage, nails raking into the wood before they flew up to his own face.

The magic that went into the stitching was rudimentary. Sealing pieces that held wear of almost a century. In the beginning it was about maintaining an image, something simple and observable. Slowly it became apparent that the façade could never be dropped, not anywhere, for any reason. Until…

No.

Not anywhere.

Not to anyone.

Even here, in the comfort of his own space, he felt eyes on him. Well, perhaps it wasn’t really his space. It was infected. Vox had become a parasite on his home, in his brain, in his blackened heart. Wormed his way through the ranks, using Alastor as a prop until he was content to take the reins for himself.

Oh, Alastor had been right.

Letting someone in had been poisonous, ruinous. And now the contamination was everywhere. And he couldn’t rid himself of it internally, so he took it out on the space around him.

There would be no quiet now, with the crashing and breaking and smashing and destruction. The damned phone took it the worst, being ripped apart almost methodically, piece by piece. Seeing each wire fray under his fingers gave him comfort where nothing else would. The electricity crackling and causing his skin to blacken. The pain was almost good. It gave him something else to focus on.

Something other than the ripping in his face.

When the world had settled back into silence, it was all he could feel. And Alastor tried to ignore it. He tried. He tried. But a finger snaked into the frazzled loops. And when he pulled back…

He felt his skin tearing at the seams.

And he couldn’t stop now. No. Take them all out, leave his face mangled and bloody. Only then could he start fresh. New stitches, sturdier ones. A heavier mask, one that wouldn’t be so easy to break through. A stronger front, then he would never have the need for defense again.

Cutting out Vox would be hard.

Like pulling a tree up from its roots. It would damage the ground underneath. It would take so long for the soil to settle. So long.

… He could cut it.

The frequency, he could cut it.

He held the channel with the greatest hold he’d ever had on anything. Ready to snap it, ready to break the connection that Vox was so happy to ignore. But…

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Alastor.”

“You’ll never have to, I swear. No matter what, I will be right here.”

He just couldn’t. Vox could abandon him, but Alastor couldn’t. Even if Vox left him with nothing, Alastor would be there. He would keep his promise. Maybe that would wake Vox up someday. Seeing him refuse to give up on their connection.

It would be different. It would be distant.

It would be quiet.

But it would be there.

In the wake of the destruction, both to the room and Alastor, there was just one thing left. The fear that went unfinished, unsaid, all because of the now shattered phone in background.

Your insistence on becoming someone unrecognizable.

[staticintone]

tag drop ;;

ooc: 《 𐰢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 ;; 𝚘𝚘𝚌 》 《 𐰢 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 ;; 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 》 《 𐰢 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 ;; 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚘 》 《 𐰢 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛 ;; 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚘 》 《 𐰢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚢? ;; 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 》 《 𐰢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ;; 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 》

ic: 《 ☩ 𝚒'𝚖 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 && 𝚒'𝚖 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 ;; 𝚒𝚌 》 《 ☩ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 ;; 𝚊𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 》 《 ☩ 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚜 ;; 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 》 《 ☩ 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚞𝚕𝚕 ;; 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 》 《 ☩ 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 ;; 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 》 《 ☩ 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 ;; 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 》 《 ☩ 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎 ;; 𝚍𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 》 《 ☩ 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 ;; 𝚊𝚜𝚔 》 《 ☩ 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 ;; 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 》 《 ☩ 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 ;; 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚞𝚎 》 《 ☩ 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚠 ;; 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 》

drabbles: 《 ▶ 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 ;; 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 》 《 ▶ 𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 ;; 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟸 》 《 ▶ 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 ;; 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗'𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 》 《 ▶ 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 ;; 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚎 && 𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 》

verses: 《 𓇣 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 ;; 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 》 《 𓇣 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 ;; 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 》 《 𓇣 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 ;; 𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 》 《 𓇣 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 ;; 𝚍𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 》 《 𓇣 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 ;; 𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 ;; 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ;; 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 ;; 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔-𝚞𝚙 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 ;; 𝚘𝚙 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 ;; 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ;; 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚙 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢 ;; 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚖𝚛. 𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 ;; 𝚓𝚒𝚐𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 ;; 𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚙𝚜 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚒 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ;; 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚍 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜 && 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚎) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 ;; 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚞𝚕𝚒) 𓇣 》 《 𓇣 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ;; 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 (𝚑𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍) 𓇣 》

blog events: 《 𓇣 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ;; 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚎𝚜 (𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝) 𓇣 》

character relationships: 《 ◈ 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 ;; 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 ;; 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕'𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 ;; 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 ;; 𝚟𝚘𝚡 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 ;; 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚔 (𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚔𝚔𝚎𝚛) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚘 ;; 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚎 (𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚋����𝚕𝚡𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 ;; 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚔 (𝚝𝚘𝚙-𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ;; 𝚟𝚘𝚡 (𝚟𝚘𝚡𝚞𝚕𝚒) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 ;; 𝚍𝚘𝚟𝚎 (𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 ;; 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 (𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚎) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ;; 𝚟𝚘𝚡 (𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚜𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚚𝚞𝚒 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜 ;; 𝚕𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚑 (𝚑𝚌𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 ;; 𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 (𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚜) ◈ 》 《 ◈ 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 ;; 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 (𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎) ◈ 》

[staticintone]

hes really going to be yours soon once you have his head

“That’s not how his head works.”

Idiots.

[staticintone]

@voxxisms && cont. from here && here

Had anyone ever missed the point so blatantly?

All of Alastor’s dark thoughts spelled out one clear and consistent message. A pure and unbridled desire to control the narrative. The only thought of violence a false one, when the ability to remove his tongue came from Vox himself.

And yet, here they were. Having a conversation as if Alastor had been sincere in his vitriol. It wasn’t untrue, but exaggerated and brutal and callous.

“Have some dignity, some self-respect. This is weakness talking. This is pathetic.”

The viciousness of the words had slipped into contempt. Something that had always existed in spurts over the last thirty-odd years, but now was front and center.

“You were worth something, once. You know that. You have no use to me under my thumb. I told you once and I will tell you again. I do not need you.”

… Not anymore, at least.

“My answer is no.”

[staticintone]

✘ if i offered my soul to fix things, would that work, would you accept that?

“I thought about it.”

It was only a passing thought at first. Something that came and went in high times of emotion. There was only one time he actually considered it.

“I realized after a few years how foolish and ignorant it was.”

The vitriol spoke for him and against him. Even here, in their frequency, he wasn’t safe. It made the words sloppy and the delivery sloppier.

“A surface level solution. Keeping you close, controlling your tongue and your actions is not enough. It will never be enough.”

“Our problems lie so much deeper. In ways I will never be able to control. You want something I cannot give you. If I could, I would have already. But I am a stepping stone in your story, aren’t I?”

Fury gave way to resignation.

… “I want you to want what I can give. I can’t contract you into that.”

[staticintone]

✨️

“In general, or just… present tense?”

… “There were a lot of things I could have said. Spoke about your passion, your vivacity, your sharp eye…”

“But now?”

“It’s funny, how I considered you permanent. By all accounts, you still are. An itch I can’t be rid of. A ringing in my ear, an ache in my core… But still a part of me, nonetheless.”

“Somehow I’d rather have you there, as an irritant, than not at all.”

[staticintone]

"today is national hug a deer day. bring it in." he's pulling alastor in for a hug, sorry buddy.

He’s rolling his eyes, but not putting up much of a fight.

“You just wanted an excuse, didn’t you?”

[staticintone]

"so! we should start with a tour, i think!" (vees blog event)

Great, perfect.

A tour of a building he hadn't seen in several years, and frankly wanted nothing to do with. He held onto the fact that this curse was temporary; he wouldn't have to pretend for long.

"Lead the way, old friend."

He still had to play nice, which meant that the sarcasm in his tone fell flat.

"Show me where I'll be working in the meantime, that's about all I'll need."

[staticintone]

"Would you kindly be nice to me?"

What did that mean?

As if he wasn't already? Only as nice as Vox had been first, at least. But the contract was what it was, for whatever reason, and he couldn't respond with the snark he wanted to.

"Whatever you say, Vox."

[staticintone]

🕯️

Sometimes I swear the cameras follow me.

Perhaps that’s a narcissistic way of thinking. His only interest comes from his incessant need to outgrow me.

He never will.

Not while he relies on so many others. It might not be me anymore, but it’s certainly someone. My replacements are embarrassing. The doll has no decorum, and the moth is gauche. If those are his preferred companions, fine. There hasn’t been a place for me in a long time.

There it goes again. Another camera swiveling.

I’m getting fed up. I should start planting bugs in his space. Forcefully invade and stalk him right back. Listen in on every private conversation he’s ever had.

No.

The whole point of putting distance between us was to move on. He certainly has. So why can’t I?

Love is a sick, twisted joke.

[staticintone]

some of these are older habits, or he's unsure if you'd agree.

“Are you sure about ninety-percent of this?”

He definitely doesn’t believe you.