#this one hurts guys

[butdaddyilovehim99]

Summer Kisses, Winter Tears

Chapter Four - German Fields and Wilted Peace Lilies

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18+

Summary - Thorpe Abbotts experiences their worst missions to date and Winnie loses more than most while gaining something special.

Warnings - This is very angsty, vague mentions of death/wanting death, John is a little aggressive?

Author’s Note - I have to add that my music inspiration was My Fault by Shaboozy; it’s very Winnie and John coded in my mind as John is losing himself while Winnie is worried for him. And Just a Dream by Carrie Underwood, I feel like this one is pretty self explanatory lol

Winnie wakes with excitement thrumming in her belly. John will be off for London this morning and when Gale returns from his mission, he is hers for the rest of the weekend. No skirting around John, no lies, just Winnie and Gale doing as they please.

She showers and readies herself; she wears one of Gale’s favorite blue dresses and leaves her hair down. Winnie pulls on her coat and slips her feet into her heels right as the other women begin to stir. She leaves the barrack and walks towards the equipment building. She knows John will more than likely say his goodbye to Gale at the airfield, so she’s taking her moment now.

Winnie doesn’t even jump when a hand wraps around her elbow and leads her away between two buildings. She smiles up at Gale once they stop; he’s not in his flight gear yet, just his flight suit and sheepskin with his flight scarf tied into place.

“Good morning,” she manages to say before he kisses her. He tastes of toothpaste and black coffee; while she doesn’t drink coffee, it’s a taste she’s come to enjoy because it’s Gale.

“Morning, darling.” He smiles as he pulls his lips away. Her fingers reach up and fiddle with his scarf as his hands settle on her waist. “I’m taking you out tonight.”

“Are you?” Winnie’s cheeks flush before she feels anxious. “But—?”

Gale shakes his head and cuts her off. “No buts. Don’t worry about anything, okay?” He cups her cheek and gives her a soft look that makes her nod in agreement. Gale gives her another kiss, this one longer. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Winnie smiles, nods again, and then watches Gale walk to the equipment building. She waits a moment, wondering where he could possibly take her before she walks to the officer’s mess. Her stomach becomes queasy at the smell of the food. She only gets toast and a hot cup of tea. She feels her heart squeeze in longing as she hears the forts taking off in the distance—it is her routine to watch John and Gale fly off, and not witnessing it today feels wrong.

She sighs to herself and takes a bite of toast; as if on cue John arrives with a grin. Winnie smiles as she watches him—almost forgetting his behavior at the party. He only gets a cup of coffee and she wants to scold him. Tell him he can’t survive off of black coffee and whiskey, but she doesn’t.

“Looks like you’re ready to have a good time in London.” She remarks when he sits across from her, and his grin grows even wider, making his eyes squint at her.

“Oh, I’m going to live it up, Bunny!” John boosts and sips his coffee. “Going to hop from pub to pub until they kick me out of the city!”

Winnie snorts and shakes her head. “Do not get deported, John. I don’t think Colonel LeMay would pull any favors for you after your demotion.” John rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair. “I’m serious; stay away from anyone in an RAF uniform. Do whatever you need to do,” Winnie’s face is stoic when she looks into his eyes and says quietly, “Then get your shit together when you come back on base, Johnny. You are a Major; act like it.”

She barely takes a second to register the surprise flicker in John’s eyes before she stands up and leaves him at the table. Winnie hopes her acknowledgment of his behavior and her tone are enough for him to nip it in the bud. They’ve had a silent agreement since arrival for Winnie, not to mention the drinking and sleeping around, but John had a better handle on his actions on base then. He’s lost it recently; she worries for him and the repercussions he could face if he keeps going on like this. One crazy weekend in London, and then he needs to get his head in order. Winnie had wanted to see him off at the train station, but this would have to serve as their goodbye and his warning. No sweet goodbye, just a harsh reminder of his position and obligations.

Winnie spends the day helping around the infirmary; she pushes John from her mind as she knows he really will be up to no good in London. Instead, she focuses on Gale and daydreams about all the things they can get up to during the weekend. She wouldn’t mind spending the whole time wrapped up in his arms—kissing and letting their hands roam each other.

She can’t help the way her heart races when she eventually hears the forts arriving overhead. She has learned not to go racing off anymore—the forts need to taxi, the men need to go to interrogation and then shower. She knows Gale will find her when he’s ready to go, so she continues stocking the triage area for the men who will no doubt be here soon for treatment.

Winnie takes a mental note of what else is needed and heads into the supply room, humming a tune to herself as she grabs a few suture kits. She sets them aside and pushes some of her hair back from her face before reaching up. Winnie stands on her tippy toes with her arm stretched high above her head—trying to grab the sterile gauze from the top shelf. She hears footsteps and glances over at Jack and Colonel Harding. She grins and huffs out a laugh as she settles flat on her feet, "Do you mind helping, Jack? You're tall enough." Her eyes flick back up to the unreachable packages, and she waves her hand to them before putting her arm down and looking back at the men.

Her smile slowly falls as Jack doesn't make a move to help. Their eyes are sad—they both look devastated. Dread settles in her stomach, and her heart begins to race. Jack wouldn't come to her with Harding unless something terrible happened. Had John drunk too much and gotten into a fight? Into some sort of accident?

Winnie looks at Jack, then Harding, and then back to Jack, silently pleading with him to tell her what happened. She watches as a muscle in his jaw jumps.

"Winifred, we need you to call Major Egan. Have him come back early." It's Harding who finally speaks. She takes in a breath; the knowledge that this isn't about John being hurt or in trouble is comforting—but dread still tickles her spine, and she fights a shudder.

She glances between them again, letting out a hesitant chuckle and giving a half smile that doesn't meet her eyes. "I don't understand; why does Johnny need to come back early? You gave him a weekend pass, sir." She reminds him that he didn't sign the pass himself. Winnie watches both men like a hawk. Jack is stoic as always, with his hands clasped behind his back, but he won't meet her eyes directly while Harding rubs a hand over his jaw.

"Major Egan needs to return to base because, well—" Harding shakes his head and lets out a sigh. Winnie can hear her heart pounding in her ears as she waits and stares at him. His voice is thick with emotion but softer when he finishes, "We lost Buck today. We need you to get Bucky back to base so we can tell him."

Winnie’s ears start ringing, and she closes her eyes. She takes a step back as her stomach rolls—her mouth filling with saliva; she is going to be sick. Winnie opens her tear-filled eyes, and she tries to swallow the feeling down. She shakes her head while turning away. "No."

Winnie barely makes it one step away before she lets out a choked sob and tries to draw in a breath, but it's as if no air will enter her lungs. She reaches out to a random shelf—toppling supplies onto the floor—and grips it to keep herself upright. Her vision spins, and she squeezes her eyes closed as she loses her breakfast all over the floor.

Winnie still can't catch her breath as she places a hand on her chest, gasping for air, but she can't draw in a proper breath. Her vision tunnels, and her knees give out; her body crumples to the ground in a heap. The back of her head makes a sickening crack on the floor.

Jack's concerned voice is in her ear as he reaches her and rolls her over, "Jesus, Winnie, are you okay? You gotta stay awake—oh god, Chick, she's bleeding pretty bad." He sounds as if he's getting farther and farther away. Winnie still feels her lungs burning as if she won't breathe ever again. As she fades from consciousness, she thinks that maybe it would be okay if she stops breathing and is with Gale.

-

Winnie’s head aches and feels fuzzy as she comes to in an infirmary cot. She reaches for the back of her head and feels bandages. At the same time, she hears Jack’s voice, “Hey, hey. Don’t touch that, Winnie. You got some stitches.”

Her eyes slowly move over to him, he’s sitting in a chair and Blakely is sitting in the other. They both look so sad. She feels her stomach roll again as she remembers why. She lays her head back against the pillow and closes her eyes. “Is John back?” Winnie barely asks as her lip wobbles. She bites it hard, not wanting to cry in front of Jack and Ev.

“Red told him this morning, he’s on his way back.” Ev tells her. She was unconscious all night—she’d still rather be with Gale.

“Winnie, now that you’re awake, I have to ask some questions.” Maggie’s gentle voice from the doorway makes Winnie open her eyes. Jack and Ev excuse themselves and say they’ll be back, but Winnie doesn’t care.

She feels like her earth has stopped spinning; how could it have gone on without Gale? She hardly hears Maggie’s questions about prior concussions or broken bones, simply stares at the ceiling and gives one word answers until Maggie asks one question that gets Winnie’s attention. “What was the date of your last monthly?”

Winnie blinks from the ceiling to Maggie; she’s absolutely dumbfounded at the question. “What?”

Maggie offers her a soft smile, but she doesn’t understand Winnie’s shock. How could she? “The date of your last menstrual cycle.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Winnie mutters and begins sitting up. Maggie rushes to give her a bedpan, but she only dry heaves into it—nothing in her stomach.

Maggie holds her hair back and rubs her back through it, then gets a glass of water. Winnie takes a little sip before setting the glass down. The heaving made her head throb, but her mind is reeling. She finally says,

“It was August 15th.”

Winnie watches as Maggie does the mental math before she asks quietly, “Have you been sexually active?” Winnie only looks away in shame as an answer, and Maggie sighs, “Okay, I’ll talk with the doctor and see what we need to do.”

Maggie stays with her for a moment, then leaves to talk with Doc Stover, and Winnie goes back to staring at the ceiling. This must be a nightmare; it has to be. She cannot be pregnant with Gale’s baby. Gale cannot be gone. Winnie closes her eyes to fight back tears. She would rather be with Gale anywhere but here.

Winnie spends the rest of the day refusing visitors; she only wants Gale but she doesn’t say that. She says she will only see John when he gets back, no one else. But John doesn’t come, not even when it’s dark and the tears become harder to fight the longer she is alone.

She gets out of the bed, ignoring the way her head pounds and puts on her dress from the day before. Her mind whispers that she needs to wear it when Gale arrives so that he’ll recognize her, but in the same breath—screams at her that he won’t be coming back. Winnie pushes aside the thought and walks out of the infirmary—she doesn’t even need to sneak out as the nurse on duty is asleep at her desk.

Winnie ignores the bitter October chill on her bare legs and arms as she walks. She knows where she is going, but it still hurts to see—Gale’s empty hardstand. Her hands tremble from the cold by the time she stands in the middle of the concrete—her eyes are teary, but she still fights them back.

Flashes of fire and twisted metal, as a fort falls from the sky, fill her mind. An image of Gale’s pale skin and blue lips as his body lay in the smoldering wreckage. As if the world is punishing Winnie, it begins to rain, and really, she shouldn’t be surprised. It rains almost every day here, but this downpour feels like a personal touch from God. Maybe she should have confessed months ago; she definitely shouldn’t have continued sleeping with Gale.

Winnie barely registers when the crews begin readying the forts on the other hardstands; she doesn’t look at Kenny when he cautiously walks up to her. She thinks he’s asking her if she’s okay, but how do you answer that when you know you are not okay—when you should be okay when no one knows about the love you’ve lost? So Winnie says nothing, staring through the rain into the dark distance. Kenny puts his coat around her shoulders before he leaves her be.

Winnie can’t even process how long she has been standing in the same spot in solitude. She knows she is cold and wet, that her nose and fingers went numb long ago. The sun has begun to rise, brightening the sky and clouds. The sun also brings more activity to the tarmac and the transport trucks, with crews ready to board the forts and fly off to their targets.

She feels sick to her stomach again, breathing picking up slightly. Gale is not back yet—he is the leader of the 350th; they can’t fly without him. Her mind whispers little lies about him returning while her heart races and her eyes jump between hard stands and the men's movements.

She catches sight of Brady, giving her a sad look before he lifts himself into his fort. Winnie can feel the first wisps of anger burgeoning deep inside herself. How dare he look at her like that—Brady doesn’t know anything. No one does. Her eyes land on a jeep stopping at Our Baby’s hardstand, even if Our Baby had been left in Algeria and replaced with Phartzac. John is jumping out before it stops and grabs his aviator’s kit bag.

The tears she has been fighting all night threaten to come up. She bites her lip to keep it from trembling as he approaches her. Kenny must’ve got him to come to talk some sense into her, she reasons. Winnie’s brain processing information much slower after the concussion, along with a leak of food and water.

Her lips part as she wants to say something; Gale was John’s friend first, long before she met Gale. She’s the one who snuck in and took him for herself. Winnie hesitates as her eyes finally take him in, her brain finally taking in what she sees. Her eyebrows furrow as she sees John in his flight gear, but most confusing to her is the brown leather jacket he is wearing. She knows every piece of clothing John Egan owns; half are in her wardrobe. John is always in his pinks and greens or flight suit, so she has always had a habit of stealing his sweaters. He has never owned one of the leather flight jackets; it has always been his white sheepskin.

Winnie can also see the anger he radiates; his shoulders are set stiffly, and his eyes are burning. It takes her aback. She figured he was here to get her back to base and get some comfort for himself. His bullish attitude is gone.

“Get back to base, Winifred. You should be in the infirmary.” John hooks his thumb over his shoulder, motioning for her to go—dismissing her. His tone unnerves her—his use of her full name blows on the low flame of her anger in her belly. That’s all the concern she gets—does he give a damn? She split open her head, and this is what she gets: an angry John.

Winnie stares up at him, unmoving. She didn’t move for the rain nor Kenny all morning; she will not move even for John. John is not unique just because he’s her older brother, not because he has raised her for longer than their parents.

His nostrils flare as he sets his mouth, and his jaw works before his hands shoot out, grabbing her biceps tight and causing her to flinch slightly. John has never grabbed or touched her in any way other than playful or protective.

She remembers that John used to toss her over his shoulder before jumping into the lake near their house once she was finally a good enough swimmer. He would tickle her until she couldn’t breathe, both red in the face with laughter. John taught her to swing a bat, pitch, and slide into the base. He would scoop her up and cradle her to his chest when she missed their parents so profoundly she felt like the world was collapsing. He used to let her sleep in his bed when she had a night terror or during a thunderstorm.

She knows the dynamics of their relationship have been changing as she has grown older—but this John, this angry man grabbing her, is not someone she knows.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” He demands, giving her a slight shake. His eyes flick around where they stand—Our Baby’s hardstand. His mouth works as he swallows. Winnie sees the moment it clicks in his head that she is on Gale’s hardstand and has been here all morning as she is soaking wet. His eyes slowly move back to hers, and she feels her blood run cold. Winnie has never seen such a fury in his eyes before. Sure, she can irritate and annoy him, but she has always listened and behaved for him.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, John.” She doesn’t know precisely what she means by this, but it still spills out of her mouth. Winnie knows that it’s an egregious mistake. She has half a mind to blush at the connotation of her words, but he has lost it. John’s grip on her biceps is unbearable, and Winnie starts fighting to pull away from him. She knows rationally that it’s pointless, but he is undoubtedly bruising her.

He gives her a shake as he speaks again. “Is this what you’ve been doing with your free time? Sneaking around behind my back with my best friend?” He seethes down at her, disgust in his eyes.

If his grip wasn’t so firm, she swears she would collapse under his gaze, his disappointment. Her anger is almost at a fever pitch, though. “It’s not like that. We love each other, John. He loves me.” She tilts her chin up defiantly, showing more strength than she genuinely has in this moment.

Winnie can tell the men hurrying all around, completing their tasks, and can hear them, even over the commotion of forts starting up and men yelling back and forth. She knows they are being polite by averting their eyes. John’s voice carries under normal circumstances, and he has raised his voice considerably by the time he speaks again. “Our mother is rolling in her grave because of you. Whoring yourself. Sleeping with a taken man before marriage.” He spits.

“It’s not my fault Gale doesn’t love you the way you love him.” Winnie doesn’t mean for the words to spill out of her mouth, but her anger and his grip force them out. She sees the shock on his face for a split second before one of his hands reaches out lightning fast—snatching her mother’s cross necklace from the place it has rested since the day of the funeral. Winnie sucks in a soft gasp as she feels the clasp give way and places her hand in the place where it rested just a moment before, with wide, teary eyes. She takes a slow, shaky breath and comes to three realizations.

First, John is hurting, too. He and Gale have been best friends since the first day of basic training. John has probably been in love with Gale since that very first day; Winnie has always known her brother is different from other men. The way he looks at Gale is enough to know the truth, and Winnie just slapped him in the face with it.

Second, John is hurting her, but he will always be her big brother—he will always be the best big brother, even if she wants to hit him. Winnie owes John for everything she is and has. She is positive it couldn’t have been easy to suddenly take on raising your eight-year-old sister at 18 and a college student, but he did it. He never complained. He eventually joined the USAAF for a steady career because he wanted to be a pilot. No one could have imagined this war, that America would join the conflict, and that John would continue to be sent into frequent battles over Europe. He has always done what he thinks will be good for them.

And third, it finally clicks that John is leaving on this mission. He hasn’t come out to get her; it’s obvious to her now—he’s going to be with Gale. Winnie knows that John and Gale are two halves that make a whole; where one goes, the other goes.

The fire of anger finally flares through her body in a fury that matches John’s, only quieter, more dangerous. She is more likely to overstep and burn everything around her down. She steps closer to him, tilting her head back to keep looking him in the eye.

Winnie glares up at him, matching his disgusted expression, all eloquence gone from her mind. “I know you, John. I know you better than anyone on this base, better than you know yourself right now. I’ve watched for months as you turn into a shell of yourself. You drink like your life depends on it; you reek of whiskey right now.” She seethes, wrinkling her nose slightly at his scent.

“Where were you when he was already shot down somewhere in a German field? Drunk out of your mind and sleeping with some random woman in London? I’m sure of it—you are predictable. You can’t have him, so you do whatever you can to forget him. You pulled that stunt with Colonel Harding the other night, and we all just looked the other way, pretend we didn’t see it. But I saw it; I see all of you, John. You are purposefully detrimental to yourself, absolutely destructive.” She pokes a finger into his chest as she spits the words venomously—her voice rising with every word, angry tears threatening to slip down her cheeks.

“You won’t say it aloud; maybe you won’t even admit it to yourself, but this is some sick revenge mission. If you go up today, I know you’re not coming back to me. You’ve already made that decision, haven’t you? Better to be with Gale in death than live without him. I’ll collect the flag from your coffin and return to that empty house in Manitowoc. Go ahead, leave me completely alone in this world! He was supposed to come back to me! Not you, me!” She shoves his chest with all her might; he doesn’t even sway on his feet. The tears finally spill over, running down her cheeks. He stares down at her with his angry eyes, lips pressed together.

“Go on, John! Die in Germany! Go die like Curt and Gale! Go be with him!” She screams, shoving his chest again. She knows it won’t break through to him; he’s been numb for weeks. She still hopes her words will galvanize him, change his mind, and make him stay with her. Nevertheless, it's not a surprise when he turns around and stalks to Brady’s fort, but more of a stab in the chest.

She hiccups out a choked sob and barely has the fortitude to move her feet a few steps after him. “John, don’t leave me! You can’t leave me, too! Please,” she cries after him and hesitates for a brief second before she sobs, “John, I’m pregnant!”

Winnie watches as he tenses, unmoving—frozen in place. Her heart squeezes with the hope that she broke through to him—but John shakes his head before he tosses his gear inside the fort. He easily lifts himself inside. “John!” She screams after him, the hatch swings closed—a resolute visual of his choice to leave.

Her shoulders shake with her quiet sobs. She calms herself down as she begins to go through the preflight checklist in her head, just as John and Brady should be doing. It brings her a small piece of comfort to go through the list—the logistics and protocols are familiar and make sense. Her breathing is almost normal as the sounds of the engines begin to roar to life when she reaches the end of the checklist, right on time.

Tears roll silently down her cheeks as she watches the forts begin to roll forward off the hard stands, taxiing to the main runway. She wipes the tears off her cheek. She is still angry with John but mainly heartbroken. Winnie watches as each plane takes off in their practiced, orderly fashion. Her heart aches in her chest as John and Brady take off in M’lle Zig Zig.

She doesn’t pray this time as she usually would; John stole her last piece of comfort from around her neck. Though maybe it was for the best, as it did nothing for Gale—she realizes it did nothing to bring him back.

Kenny doesn’t wait too long before he checks on her, bringing food and water. He removes his coat from her shoulders and replaces it with a warm wool blanket. She reverts to her unmoving form, staring after the long-gone forts. Her stomach aches from the grief she feels. In his softest voice, Kenny explains that the mission is to Munster and should be pretty quick—that they will be back soon. He points out the food and water before leaving her, going to work on a fort.

Winnie feels his eyes on her throughout the day, though. She feels a lot of eyes on her throughout the day. She can’t find the strength to care. She feels hollow and drained. She’s sure it’s from a lack of food, water, and sleep, but again she doesn’t care.

The men all begin checking their watches when the estimated return time comes and goes. She doesn’t know, but Harding, Jack, and Crosby worry for her in the tower; they’ve been keeping an eye on her from their spot, talking amongst themselves.

One fort eventually comes into view, and she feels a lump forming in her throat. Her breaths come quicker as her eyes frantically search the sky for more planes, eyes going back to the landing plane. She quickly discerns that it’s not the 100th, and her blood is like ice in her veins. Her throat feels like it’s closing up, her lungs on fire, a visceral reaction to the shock she is experiencing.

Winnie barely registers the blanket falling from her shoulders as she takes two steps forward. Kenny is already heading from his spot on a nearby hardstand. She hears another fort, eyes flicking up to it as the siren sounds, indicating wounded on board. She recognizes it as one of the new replacement ships. Winnie lets herself feel the slightest relief that they are finally arriving, that they must be pretty scattered, and that they took a beating like usual.

The fort is incredibly damaged; she doesn’t know how it got back, as there is a hole in the wing. She watches as it lands and ignores the paved runways and tarmac to get closer to the crews. The hatches burst open with activity as the crews move into action. She can barely make out the yelling and shouting between men. She looks back to the sky, searching for the rest of the planes. She still feels like she can’t get a breath. She looks back to the chaos in front of her, and from afar, her eyes meet Rosie’s. They are too soft, full of sympathy for anything other than the truth she already knows.

She feels like she’s underwater, in a daze. The world spins around her. She takes a couple of steps, seeing Kenny reaching out for her. She turns as if to walk away, to brush him off. “They’re both gone.” She chokes out as Kenny reaches her. His arms are around her, and she realizes her knees gave out. “They’re gone.” It’s a broken sob, and she feels someone else putting their arms around her. She looks up at Rosie and entirely breaks down—sobbing into his chest as he holds her.

She doesn’t ask when and how John went down—if there were any chutes. Winnie can’t—she wouldn’t be able to handle the worst scenario. Rosie needs to get to interrogation, but it seems that everyone on base is on the same page and lets Rosie have this moment when Winnie. She clings to him as her head pounds and throbs; Winnie barely registers when he gets her into a jeep, and they are driven back to base. She lets herself drift out of consciousness during the drive—still thinking it would be better to be with Gale and perhaps John would be wherever they end up.

[void-occupation]

Wish I Could Love You

HA, you though that just because the last thing I posted was fluff, that I'd ease off the angst train??? Well April Fools bitches, I'm back with even more angst than before!!!!!

Here's the Ao3 link

TW for some serious acephobia (internalized and otherwise) and references to conversion therapy. Also a bit of self-harm at the end, because Alastor has trichotillomania in canon (as seen during his meltdown). If you want to avoid that, it starts at "Crimson claws" and ends at "tears". It's just one sentence, so you won't miss much. There is also a brief non-con kiss. I just wanted to vent the aroace pain from close friends confessing romantic feelings, and I almost made myself cry at work, so fun times

(PS: this does not mean I think ships with Alastor are not valid. I myself am in a happy long-term relationship. Asexuality and Aromanticism are part of a spectrum which means there are many ways for it to be interpreted by those who identify with the terms. There are a few ships with Alastor that I love, but the people writing them have to be careful to consider his identity while doing so)

ANYWAYS, I'll stop rambling now and let you read the fic

An evening spent with Vox was always guaranteed to be interesting. That was part of what had drawn Alastor to him in the first place after all, the Radio Demon forever seeking entertainment. However, after twenty years of friendship even Alastor could admit he was no longer in it for the entertainment factor. Even through his lifetime of severe emotional repression, Alastor was smart enough to see that he had grown to genuinely care about the TV demon - which had led to quite the emotional meltdown on his part, embarrassingly enough.

All of that was besides the point. The point was that even though they were just having dinner in Vox’s apartment as they did at least once a week, things still had yet to become dull, which was quite the accomplishment for someone whose attention was as flighty as Alastor’s. 

As Vox rambled about this new guy he had met - Mateo? Stephano? No, that wasn’t it - Valentino! As Vox rambled about this Valentino character, Alastor mused on the relationship he had with the TV demon. The red-head had never had a positive relationship with another man before, besides Husker of course. That hardly counted though, considering he owned the former overlord’s soul. Vox was truly a novelty. 

“Hey, Alastor?” The deer demon was pulled from his thoughts by his friend’s slightly hesitant tone. He focused back in on Vox’s face, and was a bit confused by the way Vox’s gaze was darting around the room. It looked like he wanted to look at Alastor but was too flustered to do so, a slight red glow lighting up the lower portion of his screen where his cheeks would be.

“What is it?” Alastor asked, slightly wary of the strange atmosphere that had filled the air around the couch they had chosen to share. His ears pinning back was the only outward sign of his unease. 

Vox finally seemed to get over whatever was keeping him from making eye contact, but Alastor couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t. He didn’t know how to process the unbearably soft way the other was looking at him. His stomach lurched unpleasantly, as though he had missed a stair. 

Vox reached over and gently took Alastor’s hands in his own, and Alastor suddenly found himself wishing he hadn’t set his plate on the coffee table - it would have given him an excuse to avoid this soft contact that felt far too intimate, even with their long-term friendship.

“I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while, but it never felt like the right time.” Vox shifted one hand so that it gently cradled Alastor’s cheek, and as he continued, Alastor’s smile shrunk to the smallest it had been since he had been forced to maintain it - unable to turn downwards, but begging to reflect the dread blooming in his chest.

“But, I’m tired of waiting for ‘the right time’. So, I’m just gonna come out and say it.”

“Vox…please,” Alastor begged, voice refusing to rise above a whisper, and static mangling his words. Internally, he was screaming, begging on his knees for Vox to stop before he said something he couldn’t take back. Vox either didn’t hear him or didn’t understand what he meant, because the TV demon continued forward.

“I love you, Alastor. I have for a long time, and I want to spend the rest of my afterlife loving you. We’ve been friends for such a long time, and I want to move to the next step in our relationship.” Vox was positively beaming, warm love and sincere affection in his eyes as he peered deep into Alastor’s soul - unable to see the pain he had wrought with those three words.

Alastor was crushed. His throat closed up and it felt like a clawed fist had clenched around his chest, his heart aching and lungs unable to draw breath. He tried to choke words past his constricted throat, but couldn’t force anything out. His brows lowered as his scarlet eyes widened, burning with hurt and shock.

Vox’s own brows furrowed in concern at Alastor’s silence. “Alastor?”

Alastor could barely hear him over his rushing thoughts. He felt so…used. How long had their friendship been based around Vox’s desire to get into his pants? What parts of their relationship had been genuine friendship rather than a furthering of Vox’s goals for a romantic partner? Was this Alastor’s fault? Had he done something to encourage this?

The worst part was the guilt. Alastor couldn’t say it about very many people, either in the living world or in Hell, but he truly loved Vox. He loved him as he loved Rosie, and he saw the other demon as the brother he’d never had in life, but that was the problem. He could never give Vox what he wanted. Alastor knew he was broken - the doctors had confirmed as much while he was alive, and the medications and more aggressive treatments he had received for his dysfunction had never worked as intended. 

Vox deserved so much better.

His eyes burned and his stomach clenched with nausea, and Alastor fought back tears that hadn’t fallen since his mother’s passing. Alastor wanted to love Vox that way, if only to spare his feelings, but he just couldn’t. 

Vox leaned forward, taking Alastor’s silence as a positive answer, and as he guided Alastor’s face in for a gentle kiss, the deer demon panicked. He lurched back as their lips connected, accidentally throwing himself off the couch to lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Vox looked startled as he took in Alastor’s panicked expression, and made to stand as Alastor scrambled to his feet. 

“Alastor, what - ?” he started, reaching for the shorter demon’s hand. Alastor jerked back as though he’d been burned.

“Don’t,” he hissed defensively, clutching his hands to his chest like he was afraid to be within touching distance of the other demon. “Don’t touch me!”

Vox looked crushed. Alastor felt as though a spear had stabbed through his heart: he caused that expression on Vox’s face. 

“I won’t - I can’t - !” Alastor growled in pain and frustration, unable to articulate his thoughts. He tried to think of something, anything that could salvage their relationship before things got out of hand, but the rage growing in Vox’s expression burned that possibility into mere ashes. The anger masked the hurt that had been there previously.

“Are you kidding me?!” Vox didn’t quite shout, but to Alastor, he might as well have screamed through a megaphone. The deer demon took two steps back for every advance Vox made, feeling uncharacteristically like prey. He was used to having control over every interaction, but this had quickly spiraled into something monstrous.

“Twenty years of friendship all for you to get pissed when I say I want to progress things like a normal person would?! I waited, wanting you to be comfortable because I know you need time to adjust to people, but you still don’t care about me enough to even consider it?! If you never wanted me, why did you lead me on? Why did you pretend to enjoy my company if you knew you would reject me? Is my pain really that funny to you? Fuck, Alastor - can’t you see how hard I’m trying?” Vox had backed Alastor into a corner, and the deer demon was reminded violently of his youth - long hours spent cowering beneath someone who wanted nothing more than to make Alastor wish he was never born.

Alastor hadn’t felt this small since he had made his deal, and he had never assumed he would feel that way around Vox. The Radio Demon was so overwhelmed with emotion, that he did the one thing he had promised himself he would never do again.

He ran.

As Alastor fled into his shadows, he felt Vox’s arms try to wrap around him and prevent his escape, and heard the TV demon’s frustrated and agonized cry as he slipped under the door. He didn’t stop until he reached his radio tower, and reverted back to his more solid form once he was safely inside.

Alastor backed away from the door until his back hit the wall, and he slowly slid down it until he was sitting on the floor with his knees curled to his chest. A soft, staticky whimper forced its way past his lips before he could silence it, and the tears he’d been fighting finally burned fiery tracks down his cheeks. Alastor’s breath hitched, and he buried his face in his knees, wrapping his arms around his head and legs in a futile attempt to muffle the choked hiccups.

Sobs tore out of his throat from a place deep within his chest, wracking his whole body with the force of them. Stitches pulled at the corners of his mouth, forcing him to grin through his tears, and he had never wished so strongly for the ability to stop smiling. Crimson claws fisted in his hair, scratching at his scalp in his panic and sending small rivulets of blood down his face to merge with the tears.

Alastor had just destroyed one of his closest relationships because he was so broken that he couldn’t even reciprocate affection normally. It was all his fault, and the guilt tore at him in ways he hadn’t felt in decades.

Drowning in grief for the bridge he’d set ablaze, Alastor couldn’t stop thinking about how - outside of his treatment plans - Vox had stolen his first kiss.

[spiralingdowwn]

I sincerely hope everyone has been reading this because wow i think it might be one of the most beautiful fics I’ve ever read

[vitamiiiiins]

the girls' words for icchan are breaking my heart 😭😭

[pangur-and-grim]

I think he likes me

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF game Vanessa is starting to control Glitchtrap,,

[zillychu]

me? redrawing my old shit?? its more likely than u think

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[christadeguchi]

you think YOU had a bad day at work?

bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera

[tubbytarchia]

Missed drawing these two too

Bonuses

[hinamie]

just looking at these hand poses was enough to give me carpal tunnel and that's how u know they're prime megu material

[lucabyte]

Perceptive kid, I wonder just how much they pretend not to overhear.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

oh noooo or whatever

bonus aka The Real Motive Behind This:

SURPRISE double bonus. textless ver of the first pic under the cut

[ballad-of-the-lamb]

What are the Lamb's thoughts as they went through their cult life? How does a day in their cult go? (Love the art so much! Hope you have a lovely day!)

[intotheelliwoods]

FUSION FIGHT FUSION FIGHT! <- <-

@dianagj-art The fusions are fighting!!! Because hey funny story, their first meeting does not go to well 😌It was SUPPOSED to be a friendly spar.. more details in my tags vvv

[mellosdrawings]

Oh love your losers forever number 2 group doodles. Seeing the doodles, I realized Leona and Vil are together longer than with Jamil.

Well, even on the off-chance that they weren't already dating before, they've still known each other for a while longer, while Jamil was off in his corner pretending to be mid and trying not to attract attention.

In both cases, Leona and Vil would already have their own habits/banter and Jamil, who is barely getting used to standing out and competing against "higher status" people, would take more time to feel comfortable.

(I have paragraphs of potential dynamics between those three, I could talk about them for hours haha)