cyanidesunday
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Summary
“Stay,” is the only thing he says, spoken with deathly seriousness despite how absolutely wasted he is.
“Alastor, I have to go home.” Why is he begging for his freedom?
“No!” Alastor’s voice only grows more insistent. “‘S too cold outside! Ice on the roads! ‘S not safe.”
Alastor gets wasted at the studio Christmas party. Vincent has to take him home, and totally doesn't panic over the fact that Alastor makes them cuddle.
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“What do you mean?” Angel questions, his voice coming out sharper than he intends. If Alastor is cowed, he doesn’t show it, humming and shrugging.
“I mean that what happened is no fault of your own, of course,” Alastor replies. “It’s not as if you asked politely to be hypnotized and unwittingly spy on everyone you call a friend, invading the place you thought was your sanctuary.”
After everything settles down at the hotel, Angel and Alastor have a talk about what they both experienced at Vox's hand.
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He can’t remember exactly when he stumbled upon this Alastor. The real Alastor—the one before Hell. Just that, many years ago, Vox and Alastor got too wasted for their own good and talked all about their lives, and Vox did some digging afterwards. Pulled some records, snatched a few old newspapers, until he stumbled upon him. An angel wrought in silver and onyx. Alastor in his purest form, stripped of teeth and claws and pretense.
Vox has the same old dream, over and over again. But it's never right. Alastor can never die right.
Series
- Part 2 of cyanidesunday's Whumptober 2025
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Fleeing the memories of his father, teenage Alastor and his mother move into the heart of New Orleans. But the idea of anything being painless the Big Easy is a farce, a façade, and as Alastor struggles to claw himself from its darkest depths and find his place in the world, who knows what he'll become—or how long it will take him to fall.
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He can’t stop coughing. Once again he is possessed, chest tightening and searing, convulsing with every hack that tears itself from his mouth; his visions blurs and warps and all he can hear is coughing, coughing, air rattling in his lungs as he gasps desperately for breath. Each cough is a bolt of pain, oxygen he doesn’t have forced out, and he collapses against the counter, pressing a hand to his mouth.
He can’t breathe.
Alastor's wound from Adam has become infected, and everyone knows that's what makes angelic wounds fatal.
Series
- Part 1 of cyanidesunday's Whumptober 2025
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- Words:
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Summary
The misadventures of Adèle and Vox, the finest ladies to hit the air!
(Genderbent AU)
- Words:
- 2,048
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- 1
- Bookmarks:
- 1
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Summary
They meet in fragments - behind radio wire and through the hum of static, between trench runs and stolen cigarettes.
In echoes of code, they become something whole.
The war ends. Not everything returns.
But their signal keeps echoing, long after it should have gone quiet.(WWI AU. Alastor and Vox meet during the war. Something is lost. Something remains. And the frequency never fades.)
Bookmarked by cyanidesunday
10 Jun 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
absolutely beautiful. the sweetest qpr i've ever read.