#you can pinpoint the exact moment i start spiraling fr fr

[pennedinblood]

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 5: Rain (Part I)

“Don’t look so smug,” Vox growls, because there it is again, so blatantly obvious on his face.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Alastor grins, and wow, okay. The fucker really is gloating.

Alastor might think it’s funny to watch him squirm, but for Vox this is more than just a nuisance. The few drops that manage to slip between his casing elicit small shocks from his body, and he’s sure that beneath the sound of all that thunder there’s a sizzling of copper wire as his insides fry themselves like scrambled eggs.

“You’re a dick, you know that, right?”

It's at that moment, of course, that the quiet creaking of one of the large, thin branches above him sounds out.