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zaebeecee · 7 months ago

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To Sever a Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 8/?

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Read on AO3

Chapter 8 art by @fletchingbrilliant

•••

I’m sorry this took forever, y’all, my autoimmune bullshit has been kicking my ass the last few days. But it’s long (lol)

CW for discussion of racism, homophobia, and medical abuse/trauma. Mild CW for the beginnings of the promised developing smut. It isn’t graphic (yet). Alastor’s POV is wordy and meandering.

My beautiful and perfect husband designed and did art of Angel Dust’s ritual outfit, and it’s right here and you should go give him love.

•••

Angel Dust arrived at Alastor’s room at precisely eight, just as instructed. Despite the fact that Alastor himself was the one who set the time, and the fact that he was aware Angel Dust had noticed his fondness for punctuality, he was still caught off guard when he heard the gentle knock on his door.

It wasn’t normal, how often the spider was able to surprise him by doing nothing more than being himself. Alastor chalked up his own altered state to the conversation with Rosie earlier that afternoon, because if his fellow overlord had only one talent, it would be pushing him off balance with very little trouble. It wasn’t really Angel Dust having some sort of profound effect on him. It was just Rosie, and the cursed mark on his arm.

Alastor knew that he could have just bade the door open on its own with his magic, or sent his shadow to do it, but he found himself crossing the room to welcome in his guest. Angel Dust stood on the other side of the wood, one set of hands clasped in front of his torso and the other set behind his back, looking… was he on edge? Nervous, perhaps? How odd.

It was common knowledge among the hotel’s residents that Angel Dust possessed the best fashion sense among them, but Alastor always found himself struck when he saw the other sinner in something he had never seen him wear before. The sheer aesthetic mastery he achieved with so little effort was frankly offensive. Tonight, it was a dress that was likely intended for galas or other evening events, elegant in its simplicity; it was a white dress—conforming perfectly to every curve on his body—with a square neckline that revealed the entire length of his clavacles and dipped low enough to expose his chest fluff, long sleeves that extended to the middle of his hands, and one slit that went all the way up to his hip. His makeup was understated, and the necklace was a simple teardrop diamond on a short, fine chain. So feminine, and yet, it would be impossible to mistake him for a woman.

Angel Dust simply looked…

“Come right in, my dear,” Alastor said, taking a step back and motioning for Angel Dust to enter, promptly silencing that line of thinking. He shut the door, locked it, and then (for good measure) cast a quick seal to double up on the usual sound proofing he kept on his personal sanctuary, should Charlie or Niffty discover what was happening and get any bright ideas about finding out more.

“Lettin’ me in yourself?” Angel Dust asked with a teasing edge to his voice, smiling at Alastor over his shoulder before he looked around the room.

“I thought you said I let you in last time.”

“You did,” Angel Dust said slowly. “But now you can’t argue with me.”

Alastor couldn’t help his soft laugh at the spider’s sheer cheek. He never passed up an opportunity to give a fellow sass, did he? “And you have no one but yourself to blame for whatever might befall you for stepping into the Radio Demon’s domain with the knowledge that he let you in himself.”

Angel Dust opened his mouth, then closed it. “…yeah. That’s fair.”

Alastor led him to the edge of the wooden flooring that had once led to nothing but a wall, but now opened into the thick and humid expanse of Louisiana bayou that he liked to bring with him wherever he went. There were two tables present: one smaller with two chairs and two place settings, and a larger one that bore the dishes he had toiled away preparing that afternoon.

“Oh! Right.” Angel Dust pulled a bottle of wine from behind his back and offered it to Alastor, his lips quirking. “Hope this is okay.”

“It’s lovely,” Alastor assured him, pulling out one of the chairs for him to sit. Angel Dust did so, looking a little proud of himself, and Alastor watched his face for a brief moment before turning away to open the wine and let it breathe. “So! I do hope you took my warning to heart, dear fellow. I’m fairly certain that many of these dishes are like nothing you’ve ever had before.”

“It smells good,” Angel Dust said, and Alastor felt those magenta eyes following him as he went to the other table. “You gonna tell me what you made?”

“After you’ve tried it.”

The meal went much better than Alastor had anticipated (even better still than he had planned). Many people had such limited palates, so often by their own choice, but Angel Dust showed a real eagerness to try things he’d never had before: Oysters Bienville with shrimp remoulade, crawfish and langoustine bisque, pompano en papillote with stuffed Mirliton, veal grillades and grits, dirty rice, and chocolate and lemon Doberge cake with café brûlot. He didn’t balk at a single offering, no matter how unfamiliar he was with any particular dish—he even giggled and applauded when Alastor lit the café brûlot on fire—and he gave a genuine compliment for each one that came only after careful consideration of a few bites. Alastor was very nearly charmed by the deep and thoughtful nature Angel Dust was revealing.

I’m afraid I truly did misjudge you, sha.

It was only over dessert and their coffee that conversation shifted from the food—what each dish was, what was in it, how it was made, when Alastor had learned to make it—when Angel Dust leaned two elbows on the table to tuck his hands under his chin and tilt his head at Alastor in curiosity.

“Hm?” Alastor picked up the bottle of wine and poured more for both of them; it didn’t exactly go with the food anymore, but Hell’s wine was strong and he wasn’t feeling particularly picky now that the presentation was over. “What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“You have something running around through that tricky little mind of yours. Don’t think I can’t see it.”

“Just thinking,” Angel Dust said thoughtfully. “Y’know… we’ve been livin’ in this hotel for a while. By now I know a fair bit of dirt on everybody who lives here… ‘cept you.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow at him. “I could easily say you know as much about me as most anyone else does.” Probably more. “I could also say there isn’t much to know.”

“I believe the first one.”

“Hah. Alright, I’ll play along. Why so curious?”

Angel Dust thought about it for a second before he picked up his wine in a third hand. “I dunno, really. I guess I find you interestin’.” Apparently, Alastor made some kind of face at that, because Angel Dust immediately laughed. “Oh, come on, you can’t think it’s that weird.”

“Interesting isn’t usually the word people use.” Alastor took a small sip of his wine, but it seemed like his dinner companion was waiting for him to elaborate, so he tilted his head and squinted his eyes. “What, precisely, would you like to know?”

“Hm. …I have an idea,” Angel Dust said, somewhat quixotically. “Y’like games, right, Smiles?”

“I don’t think I like where this is going,” Alastor said, his eyes only narrowing further.

“You will, you will,” Angel Dust said, waving one hand at him. “I know you like knowin’ shit. I don’t talk much about myself neither. So, how about this: I’ll ask you a question, and you can either answer it or refuse to. For every question you answer, I’ll answer somethin’ about me, no matter what it is. Sound fair?”

Alastor had to admit that he found himself intrigued. He was by means no expert when it came to interpersonal interactions and relationships, but he knew a proverbial brick wall when he saw one, and Angel Dust was impenetrable with his snark and his sarcasm and his deeply inappropriate comments. “…very well, I’ll accept, with the understanding that I don’t have to explain my refusal to answer.”

“Nah, y’don’t have to explain nothin’. So… you said your mother taught you how to cook, right? What was that like? I know you were born before me.”

Alastor contemplated before he set his glass down. “…it would have been… 1909 or 1910, I suppose,” he said. “My maman and I lived alone, just the two of us.”

“In… New Orleans,” Angel Dust said, like he was guessing.

Alastor was surprised to hear him pronounce it correctly, close enough to how a proper native would. “More specifically, a little village on the outside, but yes. I had no siblings and my father was… well. I have no idea!” Alastor said with a sharp and humorless grin. “Never met the man, very fortunate for him. In any case, she informed me she had no intention of doing all of the work, my ‘man of the house’ status be damned, and if I was going to be helping her with the housework then I might as well do it properly. She began teaching me how to cook her way. Quite the punishing taskmaster, I must say, but straight to the point. It was particularly fortunate, since she accurately predicted that I would never marry and I would have been quite helpless once I was on my own without her instruction.” Angel Dust was smiling at him. It was strange. Alastor took particular note of the way his cheeks pushed his eyes into the shape of a pleased cat’s. “What about you, sha? What was your little homestead like?”

Angel Dust made an irritated sound, rolling his eyes. “I was the youngest of three. My father was a mob boss, but he wasn’t, y’know, big league or anythin’. He and my mom were fuckin’ awful, always screamin’ at each other and us. And my older brother was a tool our whole childhood, up until he figured out how much our parents sucked. Only one I got along with in a regular way was my twin sister. It's no wonder I ran away from home.”

“Oh?” Alastor raised one eyebrow. “What spurred that on?”

“Pops found out I was a queer and decided the best place for me was an asylum. Y’know, to ‘get better’,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers and rolling his eyes. “And I said fuck that, so I left the state. Ended up goin’ back a year later, tho. How old were you when you started killin’ people?”

Alastor tilted his head, debating whether or not to answer. And then, to figure out which event truly qualified for the specific inquiry. “…thirteen, but that time, it was an accident. …mostly,” he amended with a wide grin. “Fifteen, the first time I did it with true intention. It was just so much fun that I kept it up until the day I died.”

“What, didja get caught?”

“Ah ah, that’s two questions,” Alastor said, shaking a finger at him. “This is your game, you know.”

“Yeah, you’re right, dammit.”

“Did your father send you to the asylum when you returned to New York?”

Angel Dust sighed. “Yeah,” he said, full of resignation. He picked up his fork and stabbed lightly at his piece of cake. “He was furious, sent me there straight away. Ended up bein’ stuck in there…” He hesitated, thinking, going a little cross-eyed in the effort. “…shit, sorry, I don’t remember it too good. Four years? Five? It was… ‘33 when I went in, and luckily they’d just discovered insulin shock therapy, so that was fun. Only had to put up with that for a bit, because they figured out cardiazol shock therapy pretty soon after.”

Alastor winced, feeling the alien pang of genuine sympathy. “How barbaric.”

Angel Dust smiled. “Well, I got released a couplea months after they heard about a fun new procedure comin’ outta Portugal.” He held his hands up and made an arc with them, like he was demonstrating a marquee. “The prefrontal lobotomy. Of course, they didn’t know what they were doin’, and they fucked it up. Went in gay, left gay and with a hole in my head, and a helluva lot meaner than I was goin’ in.”

“I see,” Alastor said thoughtfully. “That explains the…” He touched the spot under his own left eye.

“Yeah.” Angel Dust shrugged. “It was a long time ago, I’m over it. So didja get caught or what?”

Alastor sighed. “I was hoping you had forgotten your question.”

“Y’don’t have to answer, y’know.”

“I’m well aware.” Alastor contemplated just refusing, but something compelled him to speak. “Frankly it was much worse than that. I never was caught in my activities, not incarcerated once. My undoing was nothing more or less than dumb luck on the part of some buffoon of a hunter. He likely had no idea that I was there, and I doubt he ever suffered any sort of consequence.”

He bid the sound of the barking dogs to leave him be, the bitter shock that lasted less than a moment, and the desperation for a reason, rather than the suggestion that in the end, it did not matter how fiercely he took hold of his own fate.

Angel Dust tilted his head. “…I’d think even huntin’ accidents were takin’ seriously in the South.”

“Not when the one holding the gun was white.”

“Oh.” Angel Dust thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Ohhh. Shit. Creole. Right.”

Alastor’s smile was humorless. “Just another day in the shining utopia that is the home of the free.”

“Still bullshit.”

“I couldn’t agree more. You were Italian, you said? It must have been complicated for you, too, I remember hearing about the David Hennessy case.”

Angel Dust shrugged. “It was New York, it was… complicated. But I woulda stood out no matter my heritage. I was born with albinism, straight through. White hair, pale eyes, the whole thing. Woulda ended up in the circus if my family wasn’t rich.”

“So… you’re saying you haven’t changed much. Physically, I mean.”

“You got no clue how hard it was, adjusting to having four whole new arms.”

They kept on this way—Alastor granting Angel Dust comparatively minor details of his own life, and receiving something of a rant in exchange that made it sound like the spider had been dying to talk to someone about all of this—until it was surprisingly late indeed. They had moved to the chairs in front of the fireplace, Angel Dust curled up in a way that was somehow still remarkably elegant, even in that dress.

Both chairs were meant to be occupied, weren’t they? Or was the other always just a symbol, a reminder of what I may never have?

“…this isn’t related to the game, but… There is something else I am curious about,” Alastor said after a stretch of surprisingly comfortable silence. “You may, of course, refuse to answer.”

“Hm?” Angel Dust focused on him. “…okay. Hit me.”

“It’s about your work.” He saw Angel Dust stiffen, just a little, but continued on anyway. “I was wondering how someone like you, fiercely independent and outspoken as you are, ended up working for someone like Valentino, of all sinners.”

Angel Dust sighed, tilting his head against the curve of the chair and looking at the fireplace. His gaze carried them far away, the empty green glow casting his companion in an eerie light that made Alastor’s stomach turn. “…a series of bad decisions that didn’t seem unreasonable at the time,” he said. “I mostly made my way in Hell hookin’ or performin’ in skeezy clubs, when I could get gigs. Sometimes I managed to get drag shows, those were my favorite. And I always liked bein’ on stage, it wasn’t somethin’ I really got to do in life.”

He stopped for a moment, and Alastor let him think. He couldn’t help wondering if anyone else had ever spoken to him about his earliest days in Hell… besides his friend Cherri Bomb, most likely. That was the sort of thing close chums discussed, right? Or did they focus solely on the party life? Perhaps he could inquire about that later.

“…Val saw one of my shows pretty soon after he joined Vox, before they were actually the Vees. Dunno what he was even doin’ there, he was an overlord and somethin’ of a celebrity in the sex work circuit. Everybody wanted to impress him, y’know? If Valentino thinks you’re worth somethin’, you could find yourself with real, steady work, maybe even in his new porn industry. And we all wanted that, y’know? It was…” Angel Dust contemplated his words. “…it felt safer,” he amended, and though he didn’t elaborate, Alastor couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of dangers and indignities could befall someone in that career. If Valentino felt like a safer option, it had to be more foul than even Alastor had imagined. “He stayed for my show, and he wanted to talk to me after. Said it wasn’t the first time he’d seen me. Said he liked me.”

Alastor could picture it quite viscerally: Valentino using his power and influence to manipulate a weaker sinner, Angel Dust hopeful and desperate and comparatively naive. He found his dislike of the moth growing more targeted, and steadily more intense as he listened.

“He offered me a job, and it was a good offer… or, at least, better than any I’d ever had before. And I was… taken with him,” Angel Dust said, his tone caught somewhere between wistful and disgusted with himself. “He was very charmin’ in those days. I guess he knew I could have left at any time, and he wanted to make sure I didn’t do that. He bought me clothes, he gave me a beautiful bedroom, he got Fat Nuggets for me… I guess I thought I was in love with him.”

Alastor’s claws sank into the arm of his chair, popping through the cloth to dig into the stuffing and the wooden frame beneath. Angel Dust didn’t appear to notice, even as Alastor’s teeth gritted hard enough for the Radio Demon to hear it.

“I still dunno why, exactly, I signed my soul over. Thought it was a good idea at the time, but I couldn’t have given you a real reason, even back then. After that, I guess Val didn’t feel he had to behave himself anymore. I mean, he was still charmin’ as long as he was happy with me, but he didn’t have to be nice when I wasn’t doin’ what he wanted like he did before. And by the time I figured out I didn’t have a choice no more, it was way too fuckin’ late.”

Angel Dust’s silence was more final than before, and far more contemplative. He had his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in his hand as he stared at the fireplace; Alastor couldn’t remember ever seeing him so melancholy, and he was struck by the image for two reasons. First, he found it hard to believe that Angel Dust was comfortable showing that level of emotional vulnerability in front of him, of all people… and second, he didn’t like seeing Angel Dust’s sadness, and it made something deep inside him want to rip whatever was causing that sadness into a thousand bloody pieces.

“You deserve far better than him,” Alastor said quietly, his usual crackle vanishing from his voice. “You always did.”

Angel Dust exhaled sharply, the ghost of a derisive laugh. “Do I?” he asked, glancing at Alastor. Something that he saw in the Radio Demon’s face gave him pause, and he sat up a little. “…thanks. For sayin’ that, I mean,” he said in a more serious tone. “I guess you don’t know anythin’ about breakin’ out of a soul contract, do you, Smiles?”

Alastor’s smile felt more ironic on his face than it usually did. “No, sha, I do not.”

“I was afraid of that.” Angel Dust sighed, then smiled. “It’s okay. It is,” he said insistently when Alastor opened his mouth. “I don’t believe it’ll last forever. I can’t. And one day, I won’t have to worry about Val anymore.”

“I think you’re right.”

Their conversation redirected, but the topic cast a heaviness over the last few minutes before Angel Dust left. Despite the air, he thanked Alastor for the evening in a manner so sincere that Alastor couldn’t question it, and when the spider smiled, there was a gentle glow in the magenta of his eyes that told the Radio Demon that he was…

…happy?

Was Angel Dust somehow happy, even now, even after talking at such length about his boss… even while alone with Alastor in his room?

He couldn’t imagine such a thing to be possible, and he would have dismissed it as ridiculous… if not for that soft, warm glow in his eyes.

Alastor went back to his chair and sent his shadow after Angel Dust; it followed him to his door, then stopped right outside it once the spider had gone in. Through the strange channels that connected him to the shadowy form, he heard Angel Dust walking around his room, humming softly to himself—Dream A Little Dream, an old standard Alastor knew well—and telling his hellpig that he had a good time.

“Dammit, Nuggs,” Angel Dust whispered beyond the door, “what am I gonna do? He’s so—”

Alastor dismissed the shadow before he lost his self control and sent it in to properly spy on the other sinner… or worse, found out what Angel Dust was about to say he ‘was so’. Once the shadow was back where it belonged, firmly attached to his feet, he sat and picked at the loose, torn threads in the arm of his chair and wondered when it was that he started wanting so fervently to add Valentino’s voice to his unearthly radio chorus.

•••

Angel couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was, but something had shifted between him and Alastor after their dinner together.

He couldn’t tell if it was positive or negative, either, because Alastor seemed to be wrestling with how he felt about their interactions at all. Over the next two days, Angel saw Alastor three times: every single one of them, Alastor greeted him with undue enthusiasm, and then promptly remembered that he had something pressing to handle and excused himself. Even with that, Angel couldn’t believe that Alastor was mad at him, mostly because he wasn’t behaving like he was angry or even annoyed.

He also wasn’t acting like nothing had changed, so Angel didn’t know what to make of it.

“Off to work, Angel?” Vaggie asked as Angel picked up the pen to sign out in the ledger on the hotel counter. She was focused on what looked like the hotel’s books, flipping slowly through them as though she was less working and more reading.

“Yep. What can I say, it was a nice few days off,” Angel said casually, trying not to let it show just how uncomfortable he was with the idea of seeing Valentino again.

The harpy angel glanced up at him, her expression serious. Angel blinked twice, wondering if he was about to get beaten up; he and Vaggie had never really gotten along, and despite the fact that they rarely fought anymore, he never knew what to expect from her. “Are you…” She stopped herself, thought for a moment, and he could actually see her decide to go through with it. “Are you getting yourself into trouble, chico?”

“What?” Angel blinked twice at her. “Absolutely not! I ain’t doin’ shit.”

“Yeah,” Vaggie said flatly, her one eye half lidded. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that something is going on. You’re acting weird. So is Alastor. So are Husk and Niffty. And yeah, fine, you’re all always weird, but this is different.”

Angel felt his mask dropping, and fought to keep it on. “Don’t worry about me, Vags, I’m fine. I ain’t gettin’ myself into anythin’ I can’t handle.”

Vaggie rolled her eye. “I don’t think that’s ever been true, but fine. Whatever. Just…” She exhaled on a frustrated huff, stirring her bangs. “…if you need anything, or whatever… you can come talk to me.”

Angel frowned at the offer. “I’m not gonna compromise Charlie’s project. Don’t worry.”

“That isn’t why I’m offering.” Vaggie didn’t elaborate, going back to the books. “Try to have a good time at work.”

“…uh. Yeah. Right. …thanks.” Angel stared at her for another few seconds, but she didn’t look up, so he was left to wonder what the fuck that was all about as he headed out of the hotel and made his way to VoxTek.

Nothing felt different as he passed through the lobby and into a door marked ‘Employees Only’, and Angel wondered if that was proof that he was just being paranoid, or if there really was something legitimately wrong. Nobody spoke differently to him, and he returned the friendly greetings he got as he headed for the elevators and took one up to the 17th floor, which was entirely devoted to Valentino’s pornography department.

“Oh, thank fuck, you’re here,” Wire, Travis’s PA, said the instant he walked into the studio. Her depressed and ‘weight of the world’ hunch was more pronounced than usual, white hair curtained haphazardly around her face, her obsidian skin greyed from exhaustion and her white eyes somehow looking bloodshot, even with their black sclera. “Today is going to be weird and I need you, and everyone else, to please not act like it’s weird.”

“Oh, goodie,” Angel said flatly, removing his sunglasses and gesturing loosely with them. “Val in a mood today?”

“I… have no idea.” Wire tapped all fourteen of her fingers on the back of her clipboard with a rattling click like an overexcited centipede. “I… none of us have seen him today. He isn’t going to be here.”

Angel stared at her, his mind blanking for just a moment. “He’s… why?” Valentino had never not been present for one of Angel’s shoots in his entire career.

Wire shrugged, peering up through her curtain of hair. “We weren’t told. Just that Vox is standing in for him today.”

“Wha— Vox?!” Angel squeaked. “What the fuck?”

“That was our question. I have your scripts for tonight,” she said, pulling some papers off her clipboard and holding them out. “Wardrobe’s already got your stuff laid out in your dressing room, and hair and makeup is ready whenever you are. Try to make it fifteen, we’re sticking as close to schedule today as we can.”

“…yeah. Okay.”

Angel headed for his dressing room and picked up the first costume that had been laid out for him. It was very particularly placed, and immediately, Angel saw why; the black and deep crimson material was about eighty percent straps, black leather that wound up both legs to his hips and up all four arms from the middle of his hands to a few inches from his shoulders, as well as his waist. The dress wasn’t a dress, but material that went over his head and hung down his front and back with absolutely no attachments at the sides, instead held in place by the waist wrapping. Chains hung from his wrists, from a choker around his neck, and around his exposed hips, the look completed with a wide hood that hung across his exposed shoulders and held an inverted pentagram at the top that hung across his forehead.

Angel carefully pulled the black and crimson attire on—it wasn’t often that he got to wear black, let alone something this interesting, which he had to attribute to Vox and his obsession with aesthetics—and tried not to think of Alastor as he picked up the three props that had been left for him: a grimoire that contained what seemed to be his most significant lines and some fake seals and sigils with obvious sex imagery, a wicked-looking dagger with a long, curved blade, and a black dildo with a fairly simple shape. Stepping into black heeled boots, Angel picked up his script pages in his free hand and headed back into the main part of the studio.

It was colder than it usually was; Valentino insisted on keeping the studio almost sweltering for his own personal comfort, but… thinking about it, Angel wasn’t positive Vox could feel temperature. Or perhaps his machine parts would overheat? He sat in the chair that had been prepped for him and said hello to the hair and makeup team before going over the script while they worked.

It wasn’t too unusual of a scenario: sexy cultist summons otherworldly entity, uses it for his own pleasure until he loses control, entity takes over, quickest mind break in history. The dialogue was better than the usual scripts, and Angel begrudgingly attributed that to Vox as well, though he wouldn’t tell the CEO that; then again, Vox did serve as scriptwriting consultant on basically all of the company’s best-rated shows, so he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Ah, hello, Angel Dust! How are you this evening?”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

“Hey, Vox,” Angel said, turning his head enough to look up at the man himself, standing only a short distance away, wearing that smile that made him so popular among Hell’s housewife demographic. Recognizing immediately that they were playing this as chill and normal as was necessary for the company image, Angel favored him with a lazy, seductive smile. “Just goin’ over the pages for the first shoot. Yours, I take it? It’s gonna be a nice change, workin’ with one of your scripts. We don’t get to do that much here.”

“So glad to hear you approve!” Vox said with that telecaster brightness, placing his hands on his waist. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on this end of production. I’m very much looking forward to seeing Valentino’s department at work.”

Angel turned his head and tipped his face up slightly, opening his eyes and rolling them back as one of the team (he couldn’t tell who in this position) applied eyeliner to his waterline, enough that it would definitely run when he cried. “I was surprised when I heard Val wasn’t gonna be here today,” he said; he knew Vox could tell he was fishing, but he kept his flirtatious voice firmly in place regardless. “I hope he’s okay?”

“Oh, you know Val,” Vox said, which told Angel nothing. A few moments later, his hair and makeup were done, and Vox continued, “Would you ladies excuse us for a moment? I need to speak with Angel.”

The team scattered immediately, clearly glad to be out of the immediate range of Vox’s awareness. Angel didn’t blame them—he would have really liked to follow them to the other side of the studio—but he kept his seat, raising his eyes to meet Vox’s in the mirror when he felt the other sinner step up behind him.

Again.

“What’s up, Mister Boss Man?” Angel asked, glad his voice came out steady.

Vox considered him in the mirror, silently, and once again Angel was struck with the idea that Vox was evaluating him the same way he would do to a piece of art or furniture he was considering purchasing or, more accurately, one his spouse had chosen to decorate with and he hadn’t decided if he liked it or not yet. Valentino terrified Angel more than anyone had ever met, but no one—no one—had ever made Angel feel like an object more than Vox.

Vox’s face was strange in the mirror. When just looking at Vox, it was sometimes hard to remember that his face was a magical digital projection and not an actual, tangible thing; but in the reflection, Angel could see the minor artifacting on his screen, tiny pixels that flickered at the corners of his eyes when he blinked or the edge of his mouth when it moved. It was unnerving.

Vox leaned over him, placing his hands on the arm rests of his chair and functionally trapping him against the makeup station vanity. His smile was still in place, but his words and tone no longer matched it. Overhead, a fluorescent light flickered with an electric buzz, casting the two of them into odd shadows for a moment. “I’m not sure what, precisely, you did to Valentino,” he said quietly, “but I suggest you don’t do it again.”

Angel suddenly felt cold. “I… whaddya mean?”

“I mean, Valentino is currently not allowed to be in the studio with you, because I’m not positive he won’t kill you next time he sees you. He was very angry the last few times I’ve spoken with him.”

The light flickered again, more violently, and Angel swallowed painfully as he racked his brain to try and come up with what, exactly, it was that he had done wrong. “I… I don’t…”

“At the moment, my presence here is currently protection for you. If you give me a reason, any reason at all, I will rescind that protection and leave you to deal with Valentino alone. Am I clear, Angel Dust?”

“Y… yes, Vox,” Angel said weakly, tearing his eyes from the mirror to stare at the vanity’s table top. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.” Vox straightened, and out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw his hand moving to grab Angel’s shoulder with threatening, electric blue claws. Just before he made contact, the light that had been flickering on and off burst with a loud, sharp pop that sent glass and filament to the floor where it shattered further against the wood. Nearby, at the same moment, a camera short-circuited with a buzz and a few smaller pops that preceded a thin trail of smoke leaking from the metal seams of the casing.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Vox muttered under his breath, withdrawing to find someone to sweep up and fix the camera. Angel didn’t wait, sliding out of the chair and grabbing his props and script before he hurried towards the set. He only got a few steps away before he hesitated, then turned, looking back to where the camera was still smoking and a stagehand was hurriedly sweeping up the broken light.

There wasn’t anything else there, but…

Angel shook the feeling off and turned again. He needed to focus. He needed to work. He needed to make sure Vox stayed happy with him, because if whatever had soured Valentino’s mood to the point that Vox himself felt the need to intervene… well, then, their CEO was right. Valentino probably would kill him.

•••

This had been a very bad idea.

Calm down.

There was nothing for it now, of course. He had already committed, and he wasn’t about to leave now that he knew the situation.

Of course, Alastor was not—strictly speaking—actually inside VoxTek’s studio. It wasn’t that he had any compunctions about going into Vox’s territory, nor did he have any fear, but Charlie had made it quite clear what had happened the last time a resident of the hotel had shown up at Angel Dust’s place of employment and attempted to meddle with his work. Alastor had no intention of making things more difficult for the little spider; he was simply… curious.

Their conversation from two nights earlier had been going through Alastor’s mind in a way that the words of others usually didn’t. Typically, Alastor simply filed things he learned about others in the annals of his exceptional memory, only bringing those details up when they were relevant. Angel Dust, however, was proving himself to be something of a persistent little… irritant? He supposed that was the right word, because for some reason, he found himself concerned with the other sinner returning to his place of employment alone and unattended. Of course, it wasn’t completely nonsensical; the Vees were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, yes, but they were very determined, and even Alastor couldn’t deny that their methodology had become shockingly effective and efficient. If they said they would ‘fix a problem’, Alastor had no doubt that they would do their level best to be a pain in his neck, and that was an amusing little distraction that sounded neither little nor amusing.

Besides, they possessed the contract for Angel Dust’s soul, and what kind of hotelier would he be if he left the spider to fend for himself in such exceptionally unfair circumstances?

That was, in short, how Alastor found himself bidding his shadow to depart from the Hazbin Hotel and make its way to VoxTek. His physical form stayed comfortable and warm in his room, seated before his fireplace, but his mind and awareness was entirely placed within the tenebrous form that slipped from shadow to shadow until it reached the studio where Angel Dust made the lion’s share of his money.

Seeing Vox was… a surprise, to say the least; he assumed this would be beneath him, but then, assuming anything was beneath Vox was giving the other overlord too much credit. But seeing how he interacted with Angel Dust…

Alastor had thought many things about Angel Dust over the time they had known each other, but never once had he thought he would see the spider so… cowed. He looked small and frightened as Vox imposed himself over his chair with that poisoned smile and his murmured threats, and Alastor wondered: if this was the effect Vox had on him, how much worse was the hand of the one who held his leash?

Normally, such an open display of weakness would anger Alastor or, at the absolute least, frustrate him. But knowing Angel Dust the way he was beginning to, and knowing that he only feared those he had been given true reason to fear…

Alastor felt anger, yes. But it was not at Angel Dust.

The light exploding was an unfortunate mishap. The camera was slightly more intentional, mostly because it would probably be annoying and expensive to fix, but when he saw Vox about to lay his hand on the spider’s shoulder, he felt a spike of rage that he couldn’t contain. It did, at least, have the positive side effect of separating them, but the way Angel Dust turned to look back at the shadows made Alastor wonder if he’d been caught out. He briefly considered aborting this mission and returning his awareness to himself, because in truth, he wasn’t sure why he was here at all.

Then, the other sinner went to his set, and Alastor stayed. He wondered if he would regret not taking the opportunity to leave when he presented it to himself.

Stagehands scuttled about the set, getting everything ready for the shoot, and despite Alastor’s utter disdain for anything related to picture shows he could not deny an interest in the process of their creation. Most of those who made them were, after all, artists; the fact that their product was worthless did not change their capacity for creativity or their skill. When Alastor had first been getting to know the hotel’s residents, he had examined quite a number of Angel Dust’s pornographic films, and he’d found them almost unbearably dull… save one detail that seemed consistent throughout the entire catalogue: Angel Dust could act, and he could act well. Even when the script was unbearable garbage, he sold the scenario through either commitment or through playing up how absolutely absurd it was, and Alastor could tell when he was adlibbing because the dialogue suddenly improved dramatically.

Alastor wanted to see his working process. He wanted to watch him at his craft, no matter how pathetic the final product was. That was the way you got to know an artist, after all, and maybe… maybe through knowing his art, Alastor would begin to understand why Angel Dust had burrowed his way into the Radio Demon’s mind.

“Alright, everyone, let’s get focused,” Vox called to the room at large, cutting through Alastor’s thoughts in the most unpleasant way possible. He let his shadow drift closer to where Vox sat beside an avian-like sinner with black feathers and a heart-shaped iris; Travis, likely, if Alastor was remembering Angel Dust’s complaints accurately. Vox leaned closer to Travis, speaking in a low voice. “Let’s try to keep this to one take, wardrobe says the costume isn’t designed to be torn up more than once.”

Travis gave his boss the nod of the sycophant and raised his bullhorn, calling out over the studio in a strange and tinny voice. “We’re on single take mode, people! We’re down a camera, so you other three, keep that in mind when you’re covering shots! And I swear to fuck, Lars, if that boom mic shows up in one more shot I am shoving it up yer ass. Quiet on set!”

It was, admittedly, a bit fascinating to be on this side of the proceedings. The actual set seemed small for something that Alastor knew, logically, would look enough like a real outdoor location on film. The rest of the room was cast in darkness, the floor covered in heavy cables and so many people holding cameras or sound equipment, positioning lights, or just standing and watching.

The set itself looked like a night scene in the middle of a forest clearing. A large stone altar dominated the center—for the requisite fornication, Alastor presumed—with an actual fire lit in the foreground. Angel Dust knelt between the fire and the altar, the yellow-orange light of the flame casting shadows across his face and body that seemed even starker from the false silvery-blue moonlight cast by the can lights overhead. They had even managed to cast the illusion of shadowy tree branches across the floor, lending the scene an eerie sort of atmosphere that Alastor could appreciate.

“Okay, Angel baby,” Travis said, and Angel Dust looked up from the open book he held in two hands. “The lines ya got in yer book are the most important. Feel free to improv around whatever else, just give the deal-makers what they wanna see. Rocky, you ready?”

As Angel Dust nodded his acknowledgment, Alastor saw a large and furry paw rise up from behind the altar and give a thumbs up. “Ready!” a deep voice called.

“Good. Alright, people, we’re on in ten!”

As Travis counted down, Alastor watched Angel Dust close his eyes, roll his head, then let it hang, his hood covering his face with fabric and shadow. When the director called action, everything went silent in the room, save for the ambient noise of a gentle breeze rustling through tree leaves and the occasional sound of some animal out in the night.

Angel Dust kept his head down for several seconds, then slowly raised his face, his expression the somber and serious look of one who knew—or, at least, thought they knew—how dangerous the task they were about to undertake was. When he spoke, his Brooklyn accent had all but disappeared, temporarily abandoned in favor of a neutral tone that was softer and rounder but somehow still quintessentially him.

“To the Air of the North, I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the breath of Azazel in the domain of Egyn.”

The chains around Angel Dust’s wrists jingled softly, ominously, as he reached up with one hand and delicately twisted his fingers through a few strands of the hair-like fur at his crown. He pulled the strands free with a small gasp that was likely intended to spark the idea of eroticism, and Alastor could appreciate that, coupled with the brief and tiniest pinch at the corners of his eyes. He dropped the fur into the fire, where it caught with a bright blue spark and disappeared almost as quickly.

A summoning, Alastor thought, the scenario reminding him of a time quite long ago. The shadow was not his body, but even so, the realization made him feel as though a shiver passed across his skin.

“To the Fire of the South, I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the flames of Samael in the domain of Amaymon.”

Angel Dust reached into the fluff at his chest, which was apparently much thicker than Alastor had guessed, as he produced a small leather pouch tied with a cord from somewhere within it. With two hands, he opened the pouch, then tossed a pinch of whatever was inside into the fire; it caught with a spark and a loud hiss, and through the shadow, Alastor could smell saffron and ginseng.

“To the Earth of the East, I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the ground of Mahazael in the domain of Oriens.”

Now, Angel Dust’s voice was trembling, and his breath shook as he held one hand out. Slowly, he raised a curved, sharp dagger, one that looked specially designed for ritual work, and placed the blade against his open palm. He closed his fingers around it, his face losing its confidence in favor of trepidation and fear. Alastor could hear the rate of his breath increasing as he worked himself up, and then all at once, he truly did slice his hand open with a cry that was almost a high pitched moan. The black blood of the sinner, glittering with a red sheen in the firelight, poured from the wound on his palm and into the fire for a brief moment before it began to taper off. The only sounds Alastor could hear were the small, whispered hisses of the blood splattering the burning wood, and the shaken breath of the sinner as he gathered himself to finish his ritual. Angel Dust clenched his bloody hand into a fist and pressed it to his chest, smearing his chest fluff with black that gleamed red, and Alastor could not look away.

“To… the Water of the West… I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the rivers of Azrael… in the domain… of Paimon.”

Angel Dust swallowed with an audible click, then closed his eyes as he unclenched his bloody hand and held it out, his fingers wet and trembling. Alastor could see the fear and determination on his face as he braced himself, then thrust his hand into the fire. Angel Dust’s scream was a howl of pain that married with ecstasy, his fangs bared as he threw his head back and cried out to the false sky for relief that would not be granted.

It was the most beautiful sound Alastor had ever heard.

The fire turned a bright purple, then it seemed to dissipate upwards, swirling from the firewood and into the air before it vanished in a cloud of pale smoke.

Gasping with pain and the exertion of his ritual, Angel Dust clasped his now burned hand to his chest—was it an effect, or had he really hurt himself for authenticity?—and looked around with wide eyes that glowed a deep magenta in the loss of the firelight. He swallowed again, slowly gaining control over his breathing, and waited, but nothing appeared to be happening.

“…fuck,” Angel Dust whispered, turning to his book and flipping frantically through it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…! No, it was right, I know it was right…!” His voice slowly raised until he got to his feet, still holding his injured hand close to himself as he looked around with a manic sort of desperation. “Where are you…?!” he shouted at nothing. “I know you’re there, I know you can hear me! I paid your price, and you will obey me!!” His voice pitched into a scream, cracking just a little, and echoed through the studio so much the same as it would through a forest clearing.

For a moment, there was nothing but Angel Dust’s breath. Then, there was a crack, like a bone or the branch of a tree snapping, and the spider tensed. Another cracking followed, and then another, as a deep red light slowly illuminated the space behind the altar from the ground. A figure began rising up behind Angel Dust, clawed hands grabbing hold of the altar to pull a body broader and taller than the spider up from what seemed like a deep pit.

Angel Dust began turning with wide, terrified eyes as the figure continued to rise, standing to his full height and towering over the one that had summoned him. The demon stood in sharp silhouette, furred and muscular with great horns and a deep, growling pant as he stared down at Angel Dust.

“Who dares to summon me?” he asked in a deep, guttural voice, one that seemed to rattle through Angel Dust’s body by the way he shuddered.

“Your new master,” Angel Dust said, his voice gaining a confidence and bravado that began to carry into his posture. “You are now bound to me, creature, as a slave to his goddess, and you will do as I command.”

The demon laughed, a low and unnerving chuckle that would have made the fur along Alastor’s spine stand up if he truly stood in the same space. “You presume to command me?” He was slowly walking around the altar, but Angel Dust met him at the foot of it and placed his bloody and burned hand on the demon’s chest. He froze with a startled gasp, and Angel Dust smirked wide and sharp as his glowing eyes narrowed. Then, with a motion that looked graceful and delicate, he pushed the creature backwards onto the altar.

As the large demon landed on his back, Angel Dust used all the arachnid grace his body possessed to climb up onto the stone and crawl over the supine figure. His smile was growing into something different, something at once crazed and enticing and perhaps what was known as erotic, his legs spreading to straddle the larger creature’s hips and his two lower hands pressing against his chest to keep him down.

Alastor felt a sudden and alien sort of desperation to know what sort of action or word or dance could draw that smile out of Angel Dust without the compulsion of performance.

The spider leaned forward on his lower hands, arcing his back and stretching his upper set of arms over his head in a display slow and languid, his hand smearing blood along the leather strapping that hid so much of his skin and fur. “I paid your price,” Angel Dust repeated, his voice no longer a panicked scream, but a low purr that sent a strange sort of pulsing sensation along the memory of Alastor’s skin. “And now, you will service me, creature.”

Angel Dust rolled his hips in a manner that seemed too rough and violent to be typical of pornography, and the creature grunted with equal pain and pleasure. He moved as though he was going to sit up, but Angel Dust was quicker, and like a spider hunting its prey, he grabbed the creature by his horns and forced his head back down onto the stone as he bore over him in a beautiful and lithe arch. Alastor could feel the flesh around his own antlers tingling as Angel Dust, with that same smile, opened his mouth and ran his tongue along the ridges of the striped horn.

It was here that Alastor had expected to lose interest and planned to take his leave, but the sight of Angel Dust, masking such obvious fear with a guise of control and power, burned and bleeding and armed with that dagger, transfixed him. The spider rolled his hips against the beast’s pelvis again, his head falling back and his breath leaving in a slow hiss, as though he was content to take his pleasure at his own leisure.

But the demon beneath him had other plans, and Alastor’s own breath shuddered as a large and clawed hand suddenly grabbed the chain around Angel Dust’s throat and yanked. With a fluidity he should not have possessed, the creature switched their positions, now kneeling between the spider’s spread legs as he lay sprawled on the altar.

“What—?! No!” Angel Dust shouted, a note of panic in his voice as his eyes widened. “You can’t do this!”

“Then stop me, little one,” the creature growled with a low laugh. Angel Dust bared his teeth and raised his hand with the dagger, but before he could stab the beast, his wrist was caught in one of those powerful hands and slammed down onto the stone top of the altar above his head. Angel Dust cried out in unmistakable arousal, his fingers dropping the dagger over the side of the stone where it fell to the ground out of reach.

“No, stop it…!” Angel Dust’s protests were weaker now; it should have been enough to take Alastor out of the moment, and yet, he could do nothing but stare as the beast somehow attached the chains around his wrists to the altar, spreading his arms and leaving his body vulnerable. “Release me!”

“You and I both know you don’t want that.” The beast grabbed the front of Angel Dust’s robe and ripped, claws tearing the fabric to ribbons as he pulled most of it free from his body. Angel Dust cried out as he was exposed, his back arching off the stone and his head turning to the side. “You will not escape me.”

Panting, Angel Dust narrowed those glowing eyes at him, cheek still pressed to the stone. At the same time, his lips curved into that sharp, crazed smirk again.

“Do your worst.”

Alastor paid no more attention to the beast. He could not look away from Angel Dust’s face, every twitch of pain and every cry of pleasure, the way he grimaced with gritted teeth and the way he exhaled so breathily as his lips spread into a wide and wanton smile, his body shuddering with barely-controlled ecstasy as he was thrust into again and again. His cries, his screams of “yes” and “more” and “fuck me”, his desperate and agonized begging…

Alastor was barely aware that he was losing control of his grasp on his shadow until he found himself staring at the floor of his own bedroom, his claws digging new grooves into the arms of his chair and his teeth clenched so hard he could hear his jaw creak. His antlers had grown and were heavy on his hanging head, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and his entire body trembling as his shadow spasmed erratically on the floor and the wall, stretched long and misshapen, just too far from his own body to be called attached.

Alastor’s mind was a blank sheet of radio static that echoed through his bedroom, the pitch shifting wildly and sharply, one particularly high and powerful screech cracking the glass face of the clock on his mantle. Those sounds stayed on the periphery of his awareness, his mind focused on nothing but the image of Angel Dust, crazed and bloody and lost in the throes of violent passion that felt so, so much different in reality than it had on celluloid.

It took what seemed to be a small eternity for him to calm himself, his claws slowly pulling themselves from the wood frame of the chair, his antlers gradually receding to their normal size. His breathing was heavy, labored, like he had just been running for hours, his body exhausted from the foreign pressure of a restraint that he hadn’t shown in nearly a century, a thin bead of sweat running from his hairline just above his temple and trailing along his jaw.

Alastor was aware, on some level, that he had an erection. It was the third he’d ever had in his existence, and the first ever caused by anything besides a strictly physiological hormone shift.

He couldn’t think about it.

If he thought about it, he would lose himself again.

Angel Dust.

Strange little spider. Foolish, undisciplined, crude, clever, bright, silly, strange little spider.

Who are you, really?

What have you done to me?

•••

#my writing #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #radiodust #alastor x angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin vox #hazbin travis #hazbin rocky #hazbin oc #hazbin fanfic #fanfic

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year ago

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Trigun Stampede Character Thoughts: Vash

I've been putting off this write-up since I finished the show if for no other reason than whenever I go to analyze this funky little dude my entire brain just stalls and goes

✨ Hi, Vash. Hi. :) ✨

...anyways.

Here's a quick collection of thoughts on him now that I am finally more coherent! The hardest part of this was trying to make something readable with the sheer amount of things I could say about him. Geez.

(Please note that I have only watched Trigun Stampede! As of this moment, I am starting the manga and have not seen 98 Trigun. I thought it might be interesting to compare and contrast once I've read the manga. Bear with me in the meantime!)

Right off the bat, the show introduces us to who Vash is as a character - a pacifistic gunman who, while incredibly skilled, avoids confrontation when at all possible. When Meryl accuses him of running away out of fear, it's pretty quickly made apparent that, while it is out of some semblance of fear, it is not fear for himself. Rather, his concerns lie with other people's well-being first and foremost.

Or, really, his concerns lie near completely with other people's well-being. What happens to him is of very little consequence if it means everyone else is okay.

I want to talk about three different things when it comes to Vash, namely:

His incredible skill and competence

His terrible self-image

His solidly held pacifistic convictions

Skill and Competence

Ohhhh ok. So, I can't really comment on exact positions or maneuvers (I used to do martial arts pretty extensively, but it's obviously not the same kind and I know absolutely nothing about guns or marksmanship sorry), but I can sure tell you that I loved the way the animators had Vash move in episode 1 right before he pulls out his gun for the first time. I wish I knew how to make gifs properly because I would totally make one of that part. Even before Roberto's line that "acting brave is foolish" and "he's not long for this world" had finished, I was already convinced of the exact opposite. As someone who's done martial arts. Guys. The way he moves here.

It's a three step movement - he steps to the right, then to the left in an almost meandering way, shifting his body weight as he goes, before he grounds himself in a wide stance. It's slow, fluid, and calculated - a distinct contrast from his often jerky, exaggerated motions that we saw earlier. God I wish I had a gif. I don't think I can simply explain how insane it makes me. The animators could've just had him approach directly or run up to it - a lot of the times, with action heroes, there's a lot of flashy motion or jumping around, etc., which looks cool but isn't exactly something to be role modelling in an actual fight lol. But here? In the next episode, Nebraska mockingly says "this isn't the ballet" with regards to the dodging and spinning Vash does, but a lot of his motions... really are dance-like. He's damn near effortlessly shifting his center of gravity while remaining fluid in motion and completely balanced. No novice moves like that. He clearly has a lot of experience. For me watching, Roberto's line was refuted before he even finished it.

...which of course makes it even funnier when he realizes he's out of bullets. Oh, buddy. You looked so cool for a second there. Hjhdfnv

Really though, pay attention to the way he moves while fighting or shooting. He's always well-grounded, and the more serious the situation, the more fluidly and less exaggeratedly he moves. It's so, so cool. I don't know if I've quite seen that kind of motion in animation before, especially cgi (though it is possible I just haven't seen enough too...hehe...).

The episode 12 fight too! Again, Vash is balanced, even as he's being knocked backwards. He falls correctly, and allows his body to move with the gun. All his motions are precise and fluid. Contrast that to Nai, who is, uh... totally unbalanced lmao.

And then the way he tucks before he jumps out the window! The animation actually convinced me of this guy's over 100 years of experience. I actually believe it.

What's nice is that Vash, too, is aware of his own skill. He moves with a lot of confidence, and he clearly has a great degree of trust in his own ability to fight and shoot without seriously harming anyone - not once does he show the slightest bit of doubt in his abilities. One might expect, given Vash's refusal to kill, that he might be worried about accidental injuries when in the middle of a gunfight - but he isn't. Ever. The only way I can interpret this is complete confidence in his own abilities, and he most likely trained hard to specifically ensure that this would never be a concern. The trope of "character who doesn't want to fight or hurt people turns out to be really insanely skilled/strong" is always cool and fun, but in this context it's really a neat take on it, since I feel it is only because he refuses to kill that he intentionally developed such god-tier level marksmanship - I am going to go out on a limb here and assume it is much easier to accidentally inflict serious injury with a gun than it is to actively avoid doing so lol. He probably worked at being a really good fighter and gunman specifically so he could avoid killing.

I also find it kind of refreshing that he never calls his skills into question, since that does tend to happen with characters who have a poor self-image or low esteem. Which, uh, takes me to the next point.

Self-Image

Yeah, Vash's self-image is kind of in the gutter. He places the blame for all the tragedies that follow him on himself, despite the fact that he always puts in his full effort to prevent them from happening.

The majority of this ties back to his feelings of culpability for the fall. I want to direct your attention to the scene where Vash is digging the tally marks into the wall in episode 8 - it can't possibly be the number of days that have passed since we see the transition of the sun only twice and Brad looks shocked when he sees the all the tallies (which he wouldn't be if they had been there for that many days). With the way Vash's tallies look a bit like crosses and the fact that he greeted the people in cryosleep on Ship 5 by name in the first episode, suffice to say, he is probably making a tally of all the people who didn't make it through the crash - people whose deaths he feels personally responsible for.

Really, I wouldn't consider Vash even remotely responsible for any of that - he had the access codes but like. Zero intent or knowledge of what Nai was about to do with them. Regardless, Vash carries the guilt from it in the way Nai won't, because in his mind, someone needs to take accountability. Also important to remember is that the only reason any human being still lives on No Man's Land is because of Rem's sacrifice. Vash needs to maintain his belief in the capacity for human kindness and his no-killing code, because if he doesn't, her sacrifice would be in vain. He keeps her values and beliefs alive. She's in everything he does. Even hollowed out and stripped of his memories and identity, the mass of roots and flowers that engulf July take on her likeness.

So, really, in addition to Vash just being a generally compassionate soul, his staunch pacifism is a refusal to betray her beliefs and let his mother figure die a second time. I need to fucking lie down.

With all this strain he puts on himself, it's really not surprising that when tragedy inevitably strikes, he is very hard on himself, and from what we've seen this actually manifests in a set of consistent self-punishing behaviours - I am of course referring to episode 3's "I don't deserve to cry" and his refusal to eat in episode 4 (despite apparently needing to, unlike Nai). This is very similar to what we see in episode 8 with him as a kid, where he goes somewhat blank (no crying, no anger, all his negativity directed inwards and at himself) and refusing all food except what little he needs to survive because "it's a waste".

The worst part of this though, to me, is that we see from certain throwaway bits ("one bullet is two slices of pizza/two dozen donuts!", his kid self's eagerness at the sight of the birthday cake and the spread of food, his first question on seeing the geranium being to wonder if it is edible) that he not only needs to eat but also seems to enjoy eating - so his refusal to eat is not only a denial of a basic necessity but also of one of the few things he genuinely likes that he will allow himself to partake in. In the context of Rem framing food as something to share with everyone, it also makes me wonder if his self-denial is something along the lines of "I don't deserve to share this with them". In that sense, it's really important that Luida echoes a similar sentiment as Rem (implying she wants to share this food/include him, and that some of Rem's views survive in these remaining people).

I do wonder if, because food is associated with sharing to him, that it has something to do with needing to "earn a place at the table" in a way. While I think Luida was trying her best to juggle a lot on Ship 3 behind the scenes after the fall and clearly didn't want to keep Vash locked up like that, the crew only started treating him better and trusting him after he found a way to help them. The unfortunate view that Vash receives then is: "I need to earn their trust by being helpful." Vash is a chronic people pleaser - I can't think of a single point where he does something solely for his own benefit. He has no desire to scare or harm anyone (quite the opposite!) so he goes out of his way to be as helpful and non-threatening as possible - hiding his true nature as a Plant (to such an extent that he doesn't know anything about his powers and has effectively sealed them away - he's practically human), masking his facial expressions by cleverly hiding his face or letting the light reflect off his glasses, trying to laugh off his competence as luck and his scars as embarrassing.

Is it because he doesn't want to scare people? Is it because he doesn't want to feel othered from them? It's hard to say. It's probably a bit of both.

Nai accuses Vash of loneliness and desiring love, and of seeking to fill that gap by appeasing humans. While I don't think this is necessarily wrong, it can't possibly be accurate as a core motivation, since Vash doesn't seem to really... accept a lot of positive interaction. Whether out of concern for others' safety, a lack of feeling like he deserves it, being secretive about his past and identity, or some combination of the above, Vash tends to leave a lot. He leaves Jeneora Rock's celebration early, tries to walk away from Meryl even as she's calling out to him, runs away from Home when Brad and Luida listen to the recording. He throws walls up and distances himself by laughing things off, or smiling, or simply not explaining anything.

I mentioned this during my live blogging while watching episode 9, but as Independents, it's intriguing to me that both Vash and Nai exist outside the cycle of dependence we see between the Plants and the humans - both of which cannot survive without the other. Nai appears to revel in this detachment, but Vash also seems to self-impose a certain distance between himself and everyone else - for all his friendliness and inability to leave someone hanging who needs help, he practices a lot of recognizably avoidant strategies. He exists on the periphery, never staying in one place too long (he can't), and treating every interaction with a certain kind of resignation - an understanding that it is temporary. He seems to expect the inevitability of being chased out over and over. The slightest of kindnesses given to him he always feels incredibly grateful for. Perhaps he feels that kindness is more than he deserves.

I honestly dread to think how he'll react once he regains his memories of what happened to July. I trust that he'll keep pushing on, as he always does, but is he going to remember that he deserves to eat and smile?

I really hope so. Otherwise I will need Meryl and Wolfwood to bonk him on the head.

Pacifism and Conviction

The thing about Vash's pacifism is that it's very difficult to tell whether it is primarily motivated by love or guilt. Vash carries an incredible amount of survivor's guilt with him and he absolutely is doing his best to keep Rem's memory alive, but I don't think it can be denied that he isn't just acting out Rem's beliefs - he really does believe in them himself. He's also genuinely compassionate and does care and become invested in the well-being of others. In the end, I'm not sure it really matters. I don't think the guilt or love can be easily extricated from each other at this point; they are both powerful drivers of his actions and core to his identity as a person, and while this is not exactly ideal for getting him to be kind to himself, they both strongly feed into his continuous choice to be kind to others.

And it is a choice, not naivety, as pacifism is so often brushed off as. Vash's compassion is something he chooses over and over again, in spite of the way he is often treated, and the way his powers hold far more potential for destruction than even Knives. Wolfwood thinks that Vash doesn't understand harsh realities and is going to receive a rude awakening but he does understand - Vash just chooses not to accept violence as the only way forward and believes that things can change and improve, and is willing to expend that energy and extra hurt into making that a reality. Nai thinks Vash is helpless and brainwashed into his belief - note the way Vash frequently appears as his child self when Nai tampers with his Gate or his memories; the implication here is that Nai sees Vash as incapable of making choices for himself and in need of protection - but not only is this horribly demeaning to Vash's personhood, it simply isn't true. Even Meryl chews him out for what looked like running away to her early on, and Roberto thinks he's going to get himself killed sooner or later. Everyone underestimates Vash, at least at first. And well, it's easy to. He's just a silly little guy! He's a bleeding heart who tries to help everyone he comes across! He talks about nobody needing to die in a world where most everyone is starving and desperate! To the people in-universe, he would look like a total fool, and far too idealistic to last long.

Except, he has. He's around 150 years old, he's scarred to hell and back, but he's still alive and he still chooses kindness. That takes a special kind of improbable mental resilience and stubborn conviction - and that's what most of the other characters overlook. Vash is, indeed, very sensitive and emotional and an idealist - he's also much tougher and more rational than hardly anyone gives him credit for. He's an excellent judge of character too!

His ideals and that stubborn faith are everything that makes Vash who he is.

This scene in episode 12 is the only true moment of triumph in what is otherwise a tragedy all around. Nai would go as far as to destroy Vash’s very identity to get his brother back, but at the cost of losing everything that makes him Vash. These ideals are the core of “Vash the Stampede”, and no matter how foolish they may seem or how little others understand his conviction, this is an identity he has chosen for himself. It’s who he is. And this assertion, coming directly on the heels of Nai trying to erase him and remove that autonomy, is an undeniable brief triumph in the midst of it all. Nai will always be Vash’s brother, and he will always love him I’m sure, but they diverged in their persons a long, long time ago, and Vash adamantly refuses to be an extension of or accomplice to his brother’s crusade of hatred… even if that means going against him.

Vash’s kindness is so necessary to a world like the one we see in the series, on the verge of extinction and giving up. Approaching situations with understanding and communication is really the only way to help improve understanding amongst others - and this is one of his biggest strengths; it's even reflected in his use of his Plant abilities (communicating between himself and the other Plants, the way he can open a path both to and from the higher dimension unlike anyone else). In this way, Vash is something of a necessary conduit. I just wish he'd let himself feel a little more tbh. He represses a lot - he canonically won't allow himself to cry if he feels responsible, any flashes of anger are brief, he doesn't stick around to have fun really. Personally, I'd like to see him allow himself grief through tears, a little bit of genuine letting loose and celebrating, and actually expressing things like irritation and annoyance next season. Perhaps that's wishful thinking.

I don't know how to accurately summarize my thoughts on Vash well enough other than to say, in keeping with the whole Plant thing, he reminds me strongly of dandelions. Bright, cheery, grow through cracks and root where you don't expect them to ever be able to eke out a living. Regarded as a weed by many but very difficult to get rid of. Hardy, resilient, and pop back up after being beaten down. Kids make wishes on them.

Anyways. Hugs him hugs him hugs him x 60,000,000,000

#fuck this is absolute garbage but i've run out of steam and the words just aren't happening so this is what i have to offer lol #i feel like i could've expressed a LOT of these points better. alas. after days of working on this it's what i've got.#when i do the other character thoughts i'll expand on the relationship between the twins #and... whatever is going on with wolfwood (their conflicting views but also concern?)#but for now i think this will have to do i've rambled enough #storyrambles #<-sure did.#trigun #tristamp #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #tristamp meta #<-it's more a messy word collection than a meta but. sure. idk how to tag this agh #if i have referenced something incorrectly please let me know and i'll fix it!

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foxfirexo · 4 months ago

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my minecraft base on a server with a couple ppl; i am very proud of how it is turning out, the vibes are cozy and it has very organically expanded over time :3

tiny bit of story feel free to ignore and just scroll past but i feel like oversharing so fuck u (kindly <3)

ive always been pretty creative even if i spent the last decade or so telling myself i wasnt. when i was little it was lego, when i got older it was minecraft (among other things)

but being an audhd transgirl growing up in a very conservative southern baptist household (and as a PK and MK at that ;-;) and whose very existence was just fundamentally at odds with the teachings i was raised, i felt a lot of lot of pressure to suppress any self expression or identity i might have and with that went a lot of my creativity

after all, how am i supposed to be creative without expressing myself? and if ive numbed all the thoughts that i want to share bc they get me in trouble w my parents, what am i supposed to put into my art?

also being told your whole childhood that you're a guy and receiving all that lovely generational societal trauma of male gender roles and expectations really crushed the pointless wonderful meanderings of my mind. god i cringe a bit now(w compassion<3) but i used to brag about how obsessed i was with productivity, efficiency, logic, order but in hindsight i think it was 98% just feeling like i had to be a high achieving eventually bread winning "guy"

anyway as such ive had a very on again off again relationship w minecraft. it was a coping mechanism when i was young so ive put probably a good 5k+ hours into it but it became increasingly difficult to enjoy as i got older and ive gone years at a time never touching the damn game

its funny bc you could probably chart my whole healing journey and my ups and downs of my mental health by just measuring # of hrs spent in mc per month

but very recently ive been finally reaching a point (thank u therapist) that i am allowing myself the joy of self expression, that i am accepting and loving myself without the judgement of my youth holding me back, that i no longer feel like i have to hide myself away for fear of being crushed again because i have the self love to stand on my own two feet no matter what anybody else thinks

as silly as this probably sounds, joining tumblr just over a week ago has actually played a part in this too. ill probably ramble more ab that some other time whenever i feel like oversharing again but suffice it to say that this environment is incredible and everyone on this platform has made me feel so so so comfortable in my own skin being myself sharing my thoughts and feelings and just existing :3

and ya its a bit goofy but im actually seeing this milestone in how im playing minecraft. not only am i playing again (pretty regularly, too!) but im... just fucking around. no plan, no goal, if i have an idea pop into my head i just go out and do it but im equally content to just strip mine, chop trees, tend to my farms, whatever sounds good in the moment.....

and im building again too!!! no worrying about doing it "right", no stressing about wasting time bc i didnt count something right and now i have to move that wall or i changed my mind and now i have to redo all my flooring... just chipping away at it, trying out new blocks or decor ideas, enjoying it more for the process than the finished product and never needing anything to truly be finished

so ya :3 i havent felt this amazing playing minecraft since probably 2014/15 and im super proud of myself for getting to this point, its been a long journey and im by no means done but silly little things like this give me so so so sooo much hope and encouragement ^^

k thats all if u actually read all that im sorry or ur welcome lol

#minecraft #audhd #transgender #lgbtqia #neurodivergent #self love #healing journey

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angrypedestrian · 5 months ago

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It's halfway through the year! Got any favorite albums/books/tv shows/whatever to recommend?

I'm gonna be honest, I feel like I have been VERY behind on reading/watching/listening to ANYTHING this year. I've only gotten through 3 books, and have big to listen to/to watch/to play piles, but! I shall try to find something to rec.

Books/Comics I have only read 3 books this year and I hattteeee it, but at least one of them was Hanif Abdurraqib's A Little Devil In America, which I finally got around to after buying it almost 3 years ago. 1000% must read imo. I'm sitting on his new one that came out a couple months ago, and I AM going to read this year. I AM. Also, I went to go see him speak a few weeks ago and he complimented my Fireworks shirt because he is one of the few people who loves them as much as I do.

I have read a lot of comics this year though! James Tynion's The Deviant is probably the one I would recommend to you most specifically, it is VERY dark, but VERY good. It's still in progress though, but I think should be wrapped up by the end of the year. Also Jeff Lemire's Phantom Road. It's real weird, I dunno what the hell is going on with it, but I'm enjoying the ride so far. Jeff has another book running right now called Fishflies, which is more traditional Lemire, weird and sad and Canadian. Also very good, but Phantom Road is the one I'm currently enjoying more of the two if I had to pick.

TV/Movies I finally got around to watching the first season of The Terror, which I was a FOOL for missing out on when it was first released. What a fucking television program!!! But other than that, I think anything else you might be interested in that I've seen you've already watched lol. I don't know if Julio Torres' work is up your alley, but his new show Fantasmas is fucking great so far. Very in the weirdo vein of Los Espookys, or like, literally anything he has ever created.

In a weird twist I've watched a lot more movies this year than TV, which hasn't happened in perhaps ever? My biggest recommendation will be for The People's Joker, which unfortunately is not available to stream anywhere yet, I don't think, but hopefully should be soon. I also, to very much my own surprise, really enjoyed the Glenn Powell vehicle Hit Man. Richard Linklater I think can be very hit or miss, but this one was fun if bizarre.

Music I've been trying very hard not to get caught up in the FOMO of roughly 40 albums being released a week that I want to listen to. I think I've finally hit a wall of how much new music I can actually sit down and listen to and appreciate in a given week, so this year has been an exercise in letting go of the need to be on top of everything the second that it drops.

There's this band called Super American that I love, and I can't really figure out why? They're a scrappy little pop-rock-ish duo thing, and they can write hooks for days, but it's often mixed with some of the corniest shit I've ever heard. There's one track on their new record (called Gangster of Love, I fucking hate it) that has a part that sounds like a fucking LFO song. It should suck! I don't know why I don't think it sucks! So your mileage may really vary with that one, but I think baseline it's a fun and silly little summer record.

Also, I can't believe I'm saying this, but the new Story So Far album...rules? Truly did not expect it at all. Parker I am so sorry your dad died, but my god you guys wrote some of your best songs out of it. And for a left-er field rec, the new Hurray for the Riff Raff that came out earlier this year is fantastic, a kind of meandering back to some of their original sound, but in such a more realized way than those earlier records. Just a very gentle and beautiful album.

#i feel like my brain has been underwater all this year and the onslaught of stuff to try and stay of top of has been unending

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snowmaze1969 · 1 year ago

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some bug backstory and age h/c

Some timeline things: before the infection is obvi before the infection, after sesling is once hk gets sealed along with the dreamers and pk dissappears, height infection is when the infection gets worse, after the first wave of the infection appearing, right before the game is when things kinda settle down and the infection is still there and very deadly but everyone who's still alive knows what there doing, quarrel arrives during this time. During the game is obvi during the game and post game is post game, 8ll specify after what endings. Also just one note, I have no fucking clue the lifespan, aging, and time if the timeline so any year time span will just be the human equvilant cause I don't have the bainpower to figure that shit out lmao.

Myla: she was born during the peak of the infection. He dad was a miner and knew the ups and down of the peaks he was pretty hardy and knew what he was doing. Her mother was actually pretty weak and just happened to stumble upon mylas dad. If she hadn't found him, she would be dead. They dell in love and had a child (Myla). Mylas mother died after a year or two and Mylas father, heartbroken, raised Myla on his own. Mylas father succumbed to the infection after Mayla was around 13. Before he died, he showed Myla around the peaks so she knows them inside and out. Myla made a living for herself and died during the game (obvi) at around age 21.

Quirrel (my fave 🥺🥲💖):he was born during the prime of hallownest, right before the first wave of infection hit and the dreamers were sealed. His parents were really nondescript and lived vanilla lives I liked the idea of Quirrel training to be a knight in the cot before becoming monomons apprentice so I'm adopting that into my own personal hc (yeah the is from sbabl) I like to think he started knight training really young to bring some extra money in and then first started working at the archives at age 20. Times kipper but after the dreamers were sealed, Quirrel stayed around the archives a bit before leaving. Monomons last wishes said the Quirrel would become the head Archavist so once she was gone, Quirrel helped all the other scholars clear out before he was lonely for a while and then left hallonest right before height infection. Quirrel returns right before the game and then dies during the game. I'm just gonna say that I have no idea how much time passed between the sealing and the game so uh. Time magic and also Quirrels old lol.

Lemm: He was born right before the sealing to also nondescript parents. They ran and combine relecs and tea shop the Lemm helped run. His parents died during the first wave so he ran the shop at age 24. He would sell stuff to travelers and buy there spoils to help them out. Lemm is a grumpy man by the game. (Sorry I don't have much for him)

Hornet: Hornet was born when Herah was like yeah, in exchange for being a dreamer we get to fuck around to pk. Because of some God shit, Hornet is born like 3 months later (hatched). Both Herrah and pk raise Hornet but they live separately. The White Lady honestly doesn't care that they fucked because God's have weird ideas about monogamy/polyamoury. Hornet grew up along with hk and then when the dreamers were sealed she was holed up in deepness but eventually everyone died/got infected Hornet taught herself how to fight and headed out right after peak infection. I like to think the Herrah had the needle commissioned before she was sealed and gave it to the midwife to give to Hornet when the time was right. The Midwife gave it to Hornet eight before she died,and asked Hornet to cut down her infected husk with that very blade. She does and then leaves. Hornet then kinda meanders around getting good until the game.

Cloth: I don't have much on her cause honestly I have no idea even what kinda bug she is but she definitely migrated to hallownest after the peak of the infection and thought he'll yeah. I get to fight things! And then just stuck around

Tiso:grew up in an ant clony but longed for something more. Growing up with stories of Hallownest and the Coloseum he set out not realizing what had become of the kingdom and its glory.

Anyway, those are the ones I have rn, I'm tired and my fingers hurt cause I typed this out on my phone so sorry if there's any spelling mistakes. Let me know if there's any others you wanna see and I'll probably add on with my vessel oc that still doesn't have a name.

#mars shouts into the void #hollow knight #hornet hk #hk pure vessel #hk quirrel #hk hornet #quirrel #hornet #hk spoilers #hk tiso #Hk #hollow knight headcanons #the hollow knight #Hollow knight #Long post

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cobwebbedcat · 7 months ago

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Hello bro ❤️ I've never sent u an ask before and I am nervous so sorry if this is meandering or poorly written but I just got a big transgender hysterectomy a few days ago and while everything has been GREAT the one downside is that I'm on medical chastity for at least a month while the internal stitches heal and already I've been getting some very out there sexual dreams pertaining to things I wouldn't normally care for due to the #sexualneglect. So warning for sounding + incontinence + general pee and sadism

Overall whenever I have a character I dislike from a certain media or whatever I'll just ignore them but recently I had a dream that featured some sounding, and even tho I'm a big piss guy I'm not a huge fan of items in the urethra usually. But for whatever reason, maybe because I've been more starved recently, the idea really stuck and I started thinking about sounding as torture for a few different characters I otherwise dislike. In particular, I always found Lucifer rlly boooringggg... But I really like the idea of him, absolutely desperate for contact, begging for you to use him, only for you to take it as an opportunity to torture him with increasingly worrying and potentially painful/damaging instruments down his urethra. He'll start crying a little from the pain, and even a few days after it's causing him problems with his ability to control his bladder. Completely soaking his dress pants in the middle of an important meeting because he is literally, physically incapable of holding it, or drooling piss into his otherwise pristine and meticulously maintained silk underwear 24/7 because it just goes right through him, no barrier at all. And even after he's able to heal from the encounter he just comes crawling back to you, begging you to do it again to get any kind of contact from you. Lol. Lmao even

Hi!! First of all, congrats on your surgery! Glad that it sounds like it went well! I hope you recover quickly and awesomely 💖

Secondly nooo you think lucifer is boring 🥺😭 nooo

Third AAH so HOT!!!!!! I'm always a huge huge sucker for desperate and needy Lucifer. love the idea of his pride slowly slipping away from him as he admits to himself and to you how badly he wants your touch and attention- even if it's painful. He'd hold onto any part of you that you'd let him touch (and if you want him to keep his hands to himself he definitely needs to be tied up), letting out little whimpers and then crying as you stretch his urethra open and tease him. Him begging through his tears to be allowed to cum. ooughgugh his limp cock twitching with overstimulation once he finally does cum.. oh and i LOOVE him loosing control of his bladder. The idea of him leaking, being unable to hold his piss, wetting his pants etc!!!! 🤤 he'd be humiliated (ahehehe especially if you ask to check on him, and see how wet he's gotten) but he can't deny how good it feels.. how the silk sticks to his dick, how his piss feels so warm.. it'd certainly be one way to make sure he's taking care of himself, and taking bathroom breaks LOL!

#dont be nervous i love this!!!!!!#i was just thinking abt how i wanna talk abt piss rn bc im in a piss mood and then u sent this.. LOVE thank u!!!!!#and good luck w medical chastity boss🫡#meow #spice #cw piss #cw sounding

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mk-writes-stuff · 8 months ago

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WIP Questionnaire

Rules: answer as many (or as few) questions as you’d like!

Thanks @kaylinalexanderbooks and @illarian-rambling for the tags! This one seems like a lot of fun :)

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

For the Seven Stations, I created Belladonna, Cassie (although her name was actually Cass for a bit) and the general concept of “stations floating in the void” all at once chilling at a bus stop going “I want to write space fantasy.” Belladonna and Cassie were created as “stuck-up noblewoman (actually being abused) and her rude (but actually not a bad sort) bodyguard who hate each other and are in lesbians about it.” The stations came about because I went “wow I don’t want to write about planets I just want to be on a ship” so I structured the world so I could just do that.

The Pirates’ Roost is a fanfiction so I started with that. I think the first independent thing I came up with was Amelia’s wife and Malcolm’s husbands. Then Malcolm’s tragic backstory (which slowly got worse, sorry Malcolm). Then Julian and Finley as the first major OCs.

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

The Seven Stations would probably call for a custom space-opera-esque orchestral piece. Somewhere between “ball music” and “Star Trek theme song.”

The Pirates’ Roost - well the theme song I currently have for it is Sea Shanty Medley by Home Free, but the Pirates of the Caribbean theme song would also suit well.

Who are your favourite characters you’ve made? Why?

Seven Stations it has to be Stellaris. He’s the world’s sweetest most awkward autistic nobleman who’s trying really really hard and still keeps screwing it up (relatable). I love writing him - he’s so blunt - and he’s always so earnest. For later books, Septimus and Shen are two of my other favourites, but I haven’t talked about them that much.

For the Pirates’ Roost, it’s Tatum. I love them. Tatum is probably the most dysfunctional individual on Ixalan who’s been through so much shit and keeps going through so much shit and everyone hates them. They’re trying really hard but every circumstance is stacked against them and also they’re dying, so it’s not going too great.

What other pieces of media do you think would share a fanbase for your story?

Hmmm this is a hard one. I feel like “fantasy space lesbians” might grab some of the Locked Tomb fans for Seven Stations but I know they’re pretty different outside of that. I’m not entirely sure yet?

The Pirates’ Roost is fanfiction so I’d hope some of the Magic: the Gathering fanbase would be interested :). Also the Our Flag Means Death fandom might get some interest because gay pirates

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Honestly, with the Seven Stations, mostly actually writing the thing. That and trying to keep the story aligned to an actual plot and not just meandering to do all the cool things and forgetting why I’m here. I think I’ve done a pretty good job :)

With the Pirates’ Roost, pinning down some of the characterization has been surprisingly hard. Malcolm was difficult to get consistent. Also figuring out how to post it in something readable - I still don’t know if I’ve achieved that.

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

The Seven Stations have bees. That’s literally the only animal on the stations. They’re exclusively used for farming. They’re absolutely vital to the stations’ ecosystem but they are not plot relevant lol.

The Pirates’ Roost has a lot of animals - there’s a side arc about a kid who, among other things, really wants a pet dinosaur - but I have to focus on Francisco. Francisco is a very intelligent Ixalani Black parrot who was rescued from the hold of a smuggling ship by Malcolm. He’s basically Malcolm’s therapy animal - Malcolm lavishes affection and attention on Francisco as a way of coping with his own neglect and abuse over the years. He also inadvertently trains Francisco to spy for him by teaching him the question, “Who said that?” There is an incident where a deckhand cuts Francisco’s primaries and Malcolm sneaks into their room and shaves them bald, including their eyebrows.

How do your characters get around?

On the Seven Stations, within stations, they get around through walking and elevators. They travel between stations and ship cargo via shuttles. There is also a generation ship they encounter briefly but it quickly gets stranded.

In the Pirates’ Roost, other than walking (or flying if you’re Malcolm), it’s pretty much all ships. Sailing ships are the only practical long-distance travel. The Sun Empire rides dinosaurs sometimes though!

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

Draft 1/1.5 of book 1 of the Seven Station Chronicles! I always do one quick editing pass immediately after I finish a scene so drafts 1 and 1.5 kind of happen at the same time.

The Pirates’ Roost is on the backburner but I’m currently posting what I have! Hoping to post Tatum’s first focus short very soon for anyone who’s interested :)

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

For the Seven Stations, I’m hoping the novelty of it being all on space stations will get some attention. Also I have a lot of representation in the series, so I’m hoping that’ll catch a few eyes. Besides that, we have enemies/annoyances to lovers, lots of space politics, and cool regency space aesthetics.

For the Pirates’ Roost, well - pirates! Also dinosaurs. Again, lots of representation. Found family, chaos adventures, the world’s most cinnamon roll protagonist, his grumpy but loving boyfriend, and his deeply deeply traumatized friend (whoops they’re all deeply traumatized actually).

What are your hopes for your WIP?

I want people to read and enjoy it! For both of them - I would absolutely love to get even a handful of excited fans, that would be the dream for me. Even for Seven Station, I think I’ll be going down the online self-publishing route but I’d hope to get a few really excited readers! I just want to share my creations with the world and have people like them :)

This was a fun game! @elsie-writes @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @finickyfelix y’all want to try this one out? Questions are below:

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

Who are your favourite characters you’ve made? Why?

What other pieces of media do you think would share a fanbase for your story?

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

How do your characters get around?

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

#writeblr #tag game #seven station chronicles #the pirates’ roost

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incesthemes · 11 months ago

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Your jopzier scorbutic nostalgia post goes sooo fucking crazy and just blew a hole in my brain. You’re so real and correct for that one + I’ve never seen that connection before!!

Do you have any other resources on scorbutic nostalgia you could link? It’s very interesting to me. Thank you and have a lovely day :)

hi, thank you! i have not been able to stop thinking about jopzier since i learned about the hallucinations. dear god

(sorry this is late, i posted the horrible thing and then disappeared for half a week to a convention lol)

i had to go down one hell of a rabbit hole to find any information about scurvy beyond the initial symptoms and treatment options because apparently that's the only free information about scurvy on the internet, oh my god. but i found this article about scurvy on national geographic (which i had to relinquish my email address to read so i would argue it's not actually free) which interviews a professor of humanities named jonathan lamb about his book, scurvy: the disease of discovery. his work looks at how scurvy (and other 18th century diseases) shape and influence literature, so rather than being about the science of scurvy, he researches how it's used in literature and the i guess emotional effects of it on culture? he's basically the only modern-day person talking about scurvy, though i was able to find a few research papers (also locked behind paywalls) that seemed to support his research. i wouldn't know though. can't access them </3

i was able to find another paper by lamb on scorbutic nostalgia which talks about thomas trotter's studies on scurvy back in the late 18th century. of course the paper cost $50 to rent (or, as of today, it's not even accessible even with payment, lmfao) so i could only look at the abstract for it.

anyway his book has a whopping 2.6 stars on amazon and scathing reviews about how dense and meandering it is, so i nabbed myself a Convenient Digital Copy instead to scan through. my primary goal was to see if mr. lamb had hard evidence of hallucinations as a symptom of scurvy, since i couldn't find anything (for free, online) that wasn't penned by jonathan lamb about these hallucinations. turns out his meandering, dense writing worked in my favor, because this guy LOVES quotes and about half of the book is just that. so i found the section about scorbutic nostalgia and discovered a veritable trove of contemporary journals and letters from sailors describing their vivid dreams. i marked up a bunch of stuff, so i'll share some of what i read under the cut through so you can avoid having to witness the book proper if you so choose. highlighting is my own, obviously.

hopefully this helps! finding resources about scurvy is actually so frustratingly difficult.

#the terror #jopzier #ask #.txt #scurvy posting #trying to learn about scurvy is just like. you can't #pay 1 million dollars and build a time machine to go back to the 18th century or you get nothing

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makeste · 2 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 340: Now Where Were We

Previously on BnHA: Deku and Iida were all “hey Mei, I know you don’t have a lot of spare time in between constantly launching yourself at people boob-first, and singlehandedly MacGuyvering U.A. into the fucking Death Star, but we were wondering if you could lend us a hand in fixing our costumes.” Mei was all, “sure thing, here’s an upgraded pair of Movie 1 Gloves for you, anyways off you go and have fun saving the world!” Mt. Lady was all, “can you kids keep a secret?? so uh, just between you and me, I’m not a real teacher, and I’m not actually sure what I’m doing here hanging out with you guys right now.” Class 1-A was all, “don’t worry, your secret is safe with us Mt. Lady, well anyways time to assemble our CLASS 1-A SEARCH SQUAD!” The chapter ended with A BUNCH OF DIFFERENT PEOPLE getting ready to DO and/or TALK about A BUNCH OF DIFFERENT THINGS. Classic cliffhanger ending. lol this chapter really did not hold up on a re-read. I’m so sorry BnHA 339. You meandered so that future chapters could hopefully get to the damn point already.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “time to reveal our shocking and completely unpredictable battle plan of splitting up all the villains for more easily digestible mini-boss battles, using our newly acquired trump card, the handy dandy U.A. traitor!” Aizawa is all, “[cracks knuckles] time to drop some motherfucking love and compassion onto my traumatized student in order to talk him into doing this INSANELY DANGEROUS TASK for us, except that somehow I manage to do it in a way that’s genuinely moving and heartfelt and somehow not manipulative at all lol.” Shinsou is all, “hello, it’s me, making my miraculous return after three whole years of plot inactivity, so anyway what have I missed.” Well shit. Glad I’m not the only one, Shinsou.

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(just a handful of quick notes here since it’s been a while! (1) as always, these are my completely blind first-time-reading reactions to the chapter. (2) as of today, I am very much NOT caught up with the manga, but will keep you posted on my progress. currently I have read up to chapter 340, a.k.a. this chapter right here lol. and (3), I have been spoiled about one major thing (explained more in depth here) which will happen later in the series, and while there are no detailed references to said spoiler in this post, there ARE a couple of vague throwaway lines because I have absolutely no self-control. so just giving you guys a heads up for that! if you absolutely don’t want to risk getting spoiled, I would highly recommend catching up with the manga first before reading any further.

anyways, onward!)

OH MY GOSH IT’S SOME BUILDINGS!!!

WHAT A THRILLING WAY TO KICK OFF MY FIRST NEW CHAPTER OF BNHA IN ELEVEN MONTHS. TRULY HIT THE GROUND RUNNING

lol they literally just thumbtacked a handwritten “LOV/PLF COUNTER-FORCE HQ” sign on a wrinkled piece of paper next to the door. how far we have fallen from the days where the heroes were holding their war councils in huge NASA ground control rooms filled with hundreds of TV screens

okay good, at least they went out and recruited Hawks to be one of the people presumably planning this whole thing

one of only two people (the other being Momo) whom I actually trust to be able to come up with a reliably smart plan. fingers crossed this turns out better than his last big Ultimate Hero Final Battle Plan, though!

interesting! I assume they do still know about the whole Aoyama situation though, seeing as they even told Mt. flippin’ Lady lol

OH MY GOSH, RAGDOLL? heck yeah. great to see her finally back in the thick of things again. even if she can’t participate in the actual battle, she’s still a fucking hero goddammit

wow this entire next page sure is something

“every pre-cat-ion” breaking news, we’ve just been informed that there is a warrant out for Caleb Cook’s arrest

MEOW

MYEAH?

NOT YOU TOO, HAWKS

EVIL MEOW

I know that last part is just her randomly tacking her cute dattebayoisms onto the end of this entirely unrelated sentence, but unfortunately the damage has already been done. now all I can think about is the League of Villains out there rampaging in the streets and meowing menacingly at people

anyway, so on to the planning and stuff

lmao wait, what

DID YOU PAINT THESE BY HAND, ALL MIGHT?? DID YOU BUY THEM LAST MINUTE ON ETSY AND PAY A FORTUNE IN EXPEDITED SHIPPING. surely it must be the latter. but can you just imagine All Might sitting at his kitchen table at 3am, hand-painting a refrigerator magnet to look like an adorable chibified version of HIS MOST HATED ENEMY

hmmmmmmmmmmmm

I’m actually on the fence about this lol. I mean, it makes sense on paper. lord knows they had enough trouble taking on just one massively overpowered final villain, so who even knows what would happen if they added a second one to the mix

but the problem with the “just take them down separately” plan is that it means they’ll also have to split up their OWN forces, which are already heavily depleted. not to mention that the BnHA heroes are always at their best when they’re all fighting together. so anyways, yeah, I’m not too sure about this

so blah blah blah, Tomura is now stronger than crusty!potato!AFO, big surprise. and they’ve also figured out that the two AFOs can communicate with each other via radio waves or whatever. okay yeah, but doesn’t that mean that even if you do split them up, they’ll still have a big advantage? unless you figured out some way of jamming their telepathy somehow

“should they attack together, we have no hope of victory” lol if you say so. I’m pretty sure all of the U.A. kids combined with all of the remaining A-list heroes could hold their ground fairly well, but clearly I’m not supposed to be questioning the authority of this statement so ALL RIGHT THEN

OKAY BUT DOESN’T THIS JUST PROVE MY POINT THOUGH

“if they’re so powerful together then why didn’t they team up against S&S?” “because they definitely would have definitely lost.” ????????

anyway so now All Might is saying that they need to separate TomurAFO and Potato AFO (PotAFO, if you will) by at least 10km. so is that the max range of their telepathy or something then? that’s so oddly specific though

“oh and we also need to split up Dabi from them as well” ah okay lol, I see where this is going. it’s finally time for the final battle, meaning we need to assign each of the main characters to their personal final villain, yeah? great. awesome. except that they only JUST got reunited all together as a class again sob. you’re really going to do this to me again now?? just like that?? goddammit

LMAO I completely forgot that Nao’s right hand man is an actual literal fucking cat

oh my god. what I wouldn’t give to have seen his reaction to all of those puns and MEOW shenanigans from a few minutes earlier. just standing there in the corner with a disapproving frown. “I’ll have you know I find this all very demeaning and culturally insensitive” sorry about that Sansa

anyway so now All Might is all “YEAH EXACTLY, WE HAVE TO DIVIDE AND CONQUER ALL OF THE VILLAINS ONE ON ONE! WHAT DO YOU THINK WE SPENT ALL THAT TIME PAINSTAKINGLY BUILDING THEM UP FOR?? IT’S THE FINAL BATTLE FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU HAVE US DO, MAKESTE” okay okay fine I’ll shut up now, geez

oh shit lol

somehow I momentarily forgot all about Aoyama. possibly because I haven’t seen him in eleven months!! so this is where we’re finally going to get into the nitty gritty of that “let’s use Aoyama to set a trap” plan that Aizawa shamelessly stole from Kaminari all those moons ago

All Might is all “it’s actually pretty messed up of us to be using this poor boy when he’s already basically spent his entire life being exploited and manipulated by people” and he’s not wrong though, damn

but Nao is all “very true, but to be fair this is the literal apocalypse, and he did technically make his own bed, and also our backs are REALLY against the goddamn wall here,” which is also true. still leaning more toward All Might’s side in spite of that, though. poor Yuuga

OH SHIT, SPEAKING OF???

OH DANG

do they really have to keep him tied up like that?? he’s just a kid for fuck’s sake. and it’s not like they aren’t capable of handling things if he does try to escape, I mean this is Aoyama we’re talking about here, he’s not exactly an all-powerful criminal mastermind

man they both look so fucking sad. Yuuga looks so ashamed. this is every 1-A child’s worst fear. they can go toe to toe with the scariest villains out there and not be fazed. but a disappointed dad??? have mercy, sweet jesus

“so after going back and forth on it a bunch, we finally decided that he’s probably not going to blow up.” thanks for the update, doc. meanwhile I just had a completely unrelated thought about certain spoiler related things, oh fuck. but now is not the time to start speculating about that! not when we have the world’s saddest detention session unfolding right before our eyes

Aizawa Shouta is sitting here wearing an eyepatch and a hospital gown and probably hasn’t showered in like three days, and despite all this he is STILL somehow the hottest character in BnHA and it’s not even close

okay but there are like a thousand reasons why the threat of imminent murder would be infinitely more useful than an actual murder, though. like this doesn’t really make any sense. “why would AFO bother to threaten Aoyama if he could simply blow him up if and when he betrayed him?” uh, gee, maybe because he would much prefer if Aoyama didn’t actually betray him in the first place?? what, do you think U.A. traitors are so fucking easy to come by? in this economy??

awwww

I mean, of course he is? :( man, and now I’m wondering if there’s been a single day since his enrollment at U.A. that Aoyama has not spent being constantly terrified about a whole damn slew of things. this poor fucking kid. Horikoshi please be kind to him oh my god

oh my god, yes, exactly

he’s afraid that deep down he’s a bad person. he’s afraid that AFO will kill him. but interestingly, what he’s most afraid of, is BEING afraid. he’s afraid that if the others put their trust in him again, that when push comes to shove he’ll still be too cowardly to do what’s right

talk about ironic though. because to me, that’s a sentiment that basically confirms that he does have the heart of a hero deep down. I’m telling you guys, every single time you show me a character who is flawed and afraid, but is trying so hard to overcome their fears, and trying with all their might to become better, you will reel me in hook, line, and sinker every. single. time. seriously, how could you possibly not root for this kid now

OH MY GOD YUUGA NO

holy shit. hey Horikoshi, this is me, a certified angst-lover, asking you to tone it down just a little here, goddamn. yes we get it, he is tormented by years’ worth of accumulated fears and regrets and feelings of worthlessness and he doesn’t see any way that things can possibly get better, holy shit, we get it okay??? THIS IS MY FIRST CHAPTER IN ELEVEN MONTHS! THIS SHOULD BE AN OCCASION OF TRIUMPH, SO WHY THE HELL ARE YOU OUT HERE MAKING ME CRY

HOLY SHIT

somehow I forgot just how utterly ruthless this man is capable of being for the sake of his students. this is a dude who literally expels kids on a regular basis just to put the fear of god into them. also he is seriously so goddamn hot. it’s straight up ridiculous

oh wow this whole page just came straight for my heart

Yuuga’s fear as he tries to talk himself into what he fully believes is a suicide mission. Aizawa’s blunt assessment of the heroes being no less ruthless than the villains when their backs are to the wall. but then the way he just HITS him with that “you’re still my student and I’m still your teacher” line, and how he says it with such finality. and then the face Aoyama makes in response!!

OKAY, WOW

ABSOLUTELY NONE OF THIS IS FAIR YOU KNOW!! YOU CAN’T JUST HIT ME WITH THIS BRUTALLY SIMPLE PANEL OF THE TWO OF THEM JUST SITTING THERE WITH ALL OF THE OTHER VISUALS STRIPPED AWAY SO THE FOCUS IS ENTIRELY JUST ON THEM, AND WITH THE WALL BETWEEN THEM ALSO SYMBOLICALLY REMOVED JUST LIKE THAT

AND YUUGA BEING SO SMALL. AND AIZAWA BEING SO STRONG AND SAFE AND STABLE AND FIRM, AND HIM HAVING SUCH UNCONDITIONAL LOVE AND COMPASSION FOR HIS STUDENT DESPITE EVERYTHING. “FUCK THAT, YOU’RE GONNA HAVE A HAPPY ENDING BECAUSE I FUCKING SAID SO AND I’M YOUR SENSEI AND THAT’S FINAL.” okay yep. tears coming now. thanks a lot, Horikoshi. wow. just wow

lol I truly believe that if Horikoshi ever did truly try to kill off one of the 1-A kids, Aizawa would literally come to life and emerge from the pages and straight up murder him

welp. there you have it. absolutely no room for argument there. SENSEI SAID YOU’RE GONNA LIVE, YUUGA, SO I GUESS YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT!

fsdljkf

yep. that’s right. deal with it. dlfkj don’t mind me I’m just gonna sit here dissolving into sobs again

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS WARM FOND EXPRESSION GODDAMMIT

I AM ALREADY A PILE OF MUSH, HOLY HECK!! CAN I LIVE. CAN YOU JUST LEAVE ME BE HERE ALREADY HOLY SHIT

wait what

uh. the path of “none of you problem children are allowed to die on my watch, are we fucking clear on that”? that path?? or the path of marching headfirst into very real danger because they have no other choice, because they’re one of the lynchpins in the heroes’ desperate plan? because that latter path is one that I’d prefer to have as few children walk as possible, ngl

-- OH MY GOD

“HELLO, SHINSOU HERE” UH, EXCUSE ME, MISTER, DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY TO ME? AFTER BEING MIA FOR LIKE A HUNDRED AND TWENTY CHAPTERS AND FOUR AND A HALF ARCS?? YOU’RE JUST GONNA HANG HERE FROM THIS FUCKING TREE ALL NONCHALANT, WITH YOUR FANCY NEW HERO COSTUME AND YOUR SPIDER-MAN POSE THAT YOU STRAIGHT UP RIPPED OFF FROM YOUR DAD?? WHILE SAID DAD SITS THERE CHUCKLING OVER HIS “NEVER FEAR, WE’RE TOTALLY PUTTING SHINSOU IN AMPLE DANGER AS WELL” REVEAL? “DON’T WORRY AOYAMA, WE’RE NOT JUST RISKING YOUR LIFE, WE’RE RISKING MULTIPLE CHILDREN’S LIVES, BUT WE’RE DOING IT ALL TOGETHER AS A FAMILY” truly the most heartwarming of sentiments lmao

well damn. that hype and anticipation is definitely starting to build now. I am so damn fearful for all of these fictional kids’ safety, especially now that I’m watching the War arc play out again in the anime and remembering just how brutal it was. but at the same time I can’t deny that I’m super excited to see the culmination of everything. like, this is IT, though. this is THE moment, THE battle. no more safety arcs. no more training. we are done holding back, and that is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. I am so not ready for any of this, but IT IS HAPPENING WHETHER I LIKE IT OR NOT, so I guess I’ll just do my best to enjoy the ride

-- oh and lastly, I almost forgot. before we wrap up, there’s just one last thing I wanted to add here...

so it begins.

#bnha 340 #aoyama yuuga #aizawa shouta #shinsou hitoshi #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #pleasantly surprised to see that tumblr's image limit is still generous enough to allow me to do my thing here #'preciate it tumblr

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steverogrers · 1 year ago

Text

Freefall | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Ch. 4

Ch. 3 | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You're officially on the run with Bucky, and both of you struggle with the gravity of the situation.

WARNING: Blood and an absurd amount of fluff (also sorry this is one is longer than I meant lol)

Being out of practice was really kicking your ass.

Bucky ran, of course, like a beast. No sign of exhaustion or decline as his arms pumped at his sides to match the lighting speed of his legs. Murky puddles in alleyways splashed up against his boots and against your shoes, and you were sure your legs were about to give up.

But, he held your hand the entire run, ensuring you were right at his side. So, when he noticed you were beginning to falter the slightest bit, he turned a sharp corner out of the alleys.

"I'm not built for this," You whined out quietly as he pulled you into his side, and directed you onto the sidewalk.

"I can tell." Bucky hissed out, but not with malice, more so concern, "We need to get you cleaned up, and we need to figure out our next move."

Bucky's grip on your hand didn't loosen the slightest bit as you both held a brisk walk, heads hung low in unison.

Luckily, New York City, the city that never sleeps, was very much wide awake still. Though you'd run a couple miles in the span of a few minutes, you didn't have much time before your walk would be traced.

Macdougal Street was moving with night crawlers. Groups of drunken men and women loitered about, screaming or playing around. Good. It was good to keep attention off of you and Bucky.

Then, down the corner, you spotted a small convenience store.

Fernando's Convenience Store 24/7

It was a mom-and-pop shop, and you'd only been there religiously when you used to spend drunken nights at Macdougal before being recruited years ago.

"Follow me," You piped up, hope in your voice, as you quickened your steps and pulled Bucky to follow along.

As you both approached the convenience store, Bucky pulled you back slightly and motioned for you to stay behind him. The bright lights from the store immediately flooded your vision as Bucky pushed the door open, and stepped in.

His presence was all-impressive, for the elder man at the counter just stared at him in immediate scrutiny. But then, when he saw you emerge from behind Bucky's huge silhouette, the man blinked once, twice, and then frowned.

He shot Bucky a glare this time. And, much to your amusement, Bucky returned one of his own. You elbowed him and smiled at how quickly he wiped it off.

"Are you okay?" The old man questioned, concerned, as he rounded the counter. He clearly recognized you immediately.

But, of course, the last time he saw you you were maybe a bit younger, and definitely not covered in blood.

"I'm fine, Mr. Fernando," You reassured the man.

"It has been so long..."He eyed your face and reached out to rub your shoulder, "What have you gotten yourself into?"

At this, Bucky began to chew on the insides of his cheek and you watched as he meandered off, probably to assess the store itself and make sure no one was wandering around or lurking.

"Fernando," You started calmly, offering a smile, "It's...my boyfriend and I just got into a bit of a brawl at one of the bars down the block."

The old man cocked a brow at you and appeared amused at your solid grin. Your hands were coated in dried blood, chin and cheeks splattered in red, and your hoodie too. Your image didn't resemble results of a simple brawl.

Though you were trying your best to appear innocent, you were sure you looked like a serial killer on the loose.

"And, I need to use your bathroom so I can clean up. Please?"

The older man offered an unsure sigh and shook his head, "You better not bring any trouble in here. Hurry."

He nodded over his shoulder, and your smile grew empathetic, "Thank you, Fernando. Really, I owe you."

You watched as Fernando walked towards the shop door and locked it, a wave of immediate gratitude rushing over you as you turned on your heel and sped off towards Bucky. He was busying himself in the snack aisle, but you'd felt him watching you from above the shelves.

Bucky wasn't the kind to just walk off and not keep an eye out.

"Checked the perimeter, everything's clear. We're gonna need to be quick."

He spoke with purpose as he abandoned his interest in the candies and followed closely behind you toward the bathroom in the back.

The hallway towards the bathroom was dimly lit, and the lights overhead flickered slightly. As you opened the bathroom door, a foul stench overwhelmed you immediately. Even Bucky huffed in disagreement behind you and muttered a quiet Jesus under his breath.

Just as you were about to close the bathroom door behind you, you realized there was a large body in the way. A large, confused body.

You shot Bucky a questionable glance over your shoulder, "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" He retaliated with a frown.

"I have to clean up..."

"Yeah, I know, let me in."

He pushed the door open slightly with the toe of his boot and slithered in through the cracked door before he pushed it shut again with his back.

The bathroom was a little too stuffy for two people, especially when one of them was a supersized supersoldier.

You groaned and gave him a glare, "I'm claustrophobic."

You weren't.

"Then this is our first round of exposure therapy."

Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the door, pushing himself as further back into it as he could to afford you more space.

You shook your head and took the few steps it took to reach the lavatory sink in the corner, and you watched yourself in the mirror for a second. Your hair was, luckily, intact as you preferred to don a neat pony at all times, but your face and hoodie was covered in an innocent boy's death.

You swiftly stripped yourself from your favorite hoodie, the Stanford University logo now ruined. You dropped it to the floor, and congratulated yourself for having elected to wear an old Henley underneath.

Still, you shivered and frowned, reaching for the soap dispenser on the wall. You pushed once and checked your hand. There was no soap. You tried again. And again.

The dispenser creaked as you pushed aggressively, and nothing came out.

"What the fuck!"

At the expletive and sound of slight distress, Bucky tore his gaze from his boot and up towards you. You heard the slight huff, like he was trying not to laugh.

"You're gonna break it," Bucky's voice came up behind you, and his chest was only inches away from you as he reached over you a bit and gripped the face of the metallic dispenser. He pulled it off in one quick motion, exposing the plastic re-fill container. Then, he pulled that off too, and motioned for you to turn your hands over for him.

"I'll make sure to tell him you broke that," You snorted in slight amusement as you cupped your hands together and turned them towards Bucky. He held the crushed plastic container over your hands and squeezed, the container crinkling and crying as it broke down in his death grip.

You watched as the clear gel fell into a mountain in the palms of your hands, and you reached for the faucet, but Bucky had beaten you to it. He turned the knob for you, and you couldn't help but thank him quietly for it as you slipped your hands under the lukewarm water.

Bucky retreated to lean against the wall behind you after trying to shove the container back into the dispenser and putting the cover back on. It was sloppy, but he tried.

As he stood against the door, he watched you through the mirror. He noticed the intense attention you were placing on your cleansing of the blood. And then, noticed that you were swallowing repeatedly.

The blood on your hands was hardened, but you'd luckily been able to get it off the harder you scrubbed your hands together. The water in the sink was a murky brownish red, and the smell of the soap wouldn't be enough to cover the iron, but at least it cleaned the color off.

As you watched the blood come off, you'd caught yourself swallowing the lump in your throat several times, as it would return as soon as you rid yourself of it. Oh, how you wished you were just back home, no dead kid on the couch, and a nice glass of wine in hand.

Once the blood was off your hands, you looked back up into the mirror with the intention to inspect your face and get to washing the blood off of that next.

But, you met Bucky's eyes in the mirror.

You offered a small smile, "Creep."

"You can cry in front of me." He spoke quietly, and empathetically. The comment caught you off guard.

Your smile fell and you returned your attention back to your face.

It was stupid to think Bucky couldn't read the emotion in your visage.

Immersing your face down into the palms of your hands, filled with water, you did. As you scrubbed your face with the water, the tears spilled, but you didn't let yourself get too carried away.

Death came for all, whether prepared or not. But, there was something haunting about the fact that you didn't know the boy's name, and he died for something he didn't quite understand. He couldn't have been more than 16.

Bucky stood still, gaze lowering away from your reflection in the mirror. He inspected the ground, understanding all too well what emotions were overwhelming you.

He hadn't had the chance to really look at the boy, the one now bled out on your couch back home, but he'd heard the wheezing and crying in the background as his fists pummeled into the boy's killer.

You, however, were the one who had pressed your hands against his throat to try to ease the flooding of thick blood, uselessly, really. You were the one to shush the boy as he suffocated and drowned in his own blood, and had pressed a comforting touch to his forehead before having to leave his dead body.

He was but a child.

Bucky reverted his attention back to you when you turned the knob and the water stopped running. You grabbed a paper towel from the counter and rubbed your face into it, messily but efficiently. You turned to face him and leaned back against the sink. He could see the pink and red tell-tale signs of crying in your eyes, and the fat tears threatening to spill once more blurred your eyes. It was the baby-like quivering of your lower lip that leant him a wave of truly mutual anguish.

His boots were heavy on the ground as he approached you in two swift steps, and his arms were strong around you.

You melted rather quickly, and the tears that had been threatening to spill over fell immediately as he pressed your face into his chest, holding the back of your head steady as your arms wrapped around his waist.

You breathed quietly into him, overworking yourself to remain quiet, and holding in the sobs and ugly hiccups. But you knew he could feel your body trembling, threatening to release emotion at every pore.

The large hand on your back moved carefully up and down your spine, rubbing comfort right into you.

If there was one thing you weren't expecting Bucky to be, it was a good hugger.

And so, you relished in the warmth and concreteness of his stature as it brought your trembling body stability. The hug was prolonged, and Bucky was unwavering and didn't loosen his grip for a single second. He waited to do so, waiting until you showed signs that you were ready to be released.

"I can't breathe."

That was his queue.

As you pulled away from his chest, slightly embarrassed at the wet spot glistening on his jacket, you smiled up at him.

"I'm fine," You cleared your throat, rubbing the sleeve of your hoodie against the leather of his jacket to wipe off the puddle of tears, "Sorry."

"'s fine," Bucky offered a small smile of his own, grabbing your wrist gently to stop you from rubbing at the wet spot, "They caught us off guard, and you did what you could to save him. This falls on me...not you. I should've left earlier. I didn't, and I put you and that boy in danger. Don't blame yourself for what happened to him."

You wanted to disagree...but you both knew there was some truth in his admission.

Yes, if Bucky had left days earlier, none of this would've happened. But, if he had left earlier, you also wouldn't have learned how much of a hugger he was, or how good he was at comforting others.

You sniffled and shook your head, willing yourself to rid yourself of any emotion that would continue to get in the way of progress. You reached into the back pocket of your jeans and retrieved a small burner phone that you'd managed to grab as you climbed out the window earlier.

You waved it in the air at Bucky, "I'm going to call in a favor. You should clean up too," You nodded at Bucky's silver hand, for it had collected small specks of blood when he had held your hand.

"Right."

As Bucky moved to the sink, you leaned against the door, just like he had done so prior, and brought the phone up to your ear.

The phone rang once, twice, thrice, and you were afraid your colleague wouldn't pick up. It was nearing midnight, but you were holding onto hope.

Then, just as you began to groan dramatically, the line picked up.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was light, and all too familiar.

"Bobbi?"

There was a slight second of silence, you presumed she was piecing together your voice from years-old memories. Then, there was a humorous scoff on the other end, "You up partying or something? It's past your bedtime."

"Ha ha." You spoke sarcastically into the phone, just quiet enough that only you and Bucky could hear, in case Fernando was waiting outside the bathroom door, "I need a favor."

Then, Bobbi went silent on the call for another few moments. You could hear her moving around, possibly finding a corner of privacy wherever she was, "What do you need?"

You sighed in relief as Bucky approached you, watching you intently as you spoke into the phone, "I need a car. Preferably tinted windows...maybe some clothes, glasses, hats, anything that can help us hide in plain daylight if needed."

"Who're you with?"

You looked up at Bucky, slightly unnerved at how good he was at staring, "I'm with Barnes."

"Barnes? What the fuck is happening over there? I thought he was pardoned?"

"He was, but...Hydra attacked my place. They're looking for Bucky, and now me too. We need a car to get us at least across a few states."

Bucky stood in front of you the entire conversation and lowered his head to press his ear against the burner phone a couple times, to which you swatted him away.

"What would be your ETA?"

You looked at the time on the burner phone before bringing it back up to your ear, "We're on MacDougal Street, so...I'm about an hour away if you're still in the Bronx."

The woman hummed on the other end of the phone before she spoke up, "Don't worry about it, I'm not there anymore. I'll meet you at Madison Square. Sound good?"

Thank God, that was only a 30-minute walk. And, knowing the speed at which you and Bucky could keep, that could easily be cut in half.

You were definitely going to make him drive after this.

You agreed to Bobbi's terms, and she bid you farewell and quick be safe.

Just as there was a knock at the bathroom door, the call had ended and you shoved the phone back into your back pocket before Bucky nodded at you and opened the door.

Fernando gave you both a puzzled look, fist mid-air as he was about to knock again, "Just making sure you guys are okay..."

"We're fine," Bucky gave him a tight-lipped smile, one that made you want to laugh, and he grabbed your hand, "Thanks for letting us use your restroom, Mr. Fernando."

Bucky walked you away from Fernando and towards the front door of the shop, his smile falling immediately.

"Wait!" Fernando called out from the back, and he walked quickly towards you and Bucky as he reached for a key in his pants, "Let me open the door for you."

You thanked him once more, knowing he had locked the door to make sure that no one walked in while you and Bucky were there. You weren't sure if he did it to protect you, or if he did it to protect his image. No one would want to be in a store with some woman covered in blood, and a super soldier with a slight staring problem.

And, when he opened the front door to let you and Bucky out, Bucky took lead. Of course.

As soon as you and Bucky dipped out of the shop, heads low once more, a sea of people flooded in. You remember the shop being quite busy this time of night, especially on Fridays and Saturdays.

"Madison Square isn't too far," Bucky spoke up quietly, still careful to make sure no one was close behind or hiding in dark corners of the street, "Just keep your head low and stay close."

You found it a bit endearing that Bucky was walking you through how to stay hidden in the open, as if you hadn't been a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative and part-time Avenger stand in for nearly a decade.

Lucky for your knees and stamina, the density of bar-lined streets allowed you and Bucky to shield yourselves when cars rode by, or when shady hooded people walked by across the sidewalks.

But, to blend in, you'd both had the mutual idea of shielding each other, blending in with the some of the drunk couples or insomniacs.

Bucky had gone as far as wrapping an arm over your shoulder and pulling you to his side, keeping his head low and wishing he had worn a hoodie like you had elected to.

The night air was fresh, and the breeze was a symptom of on-coming Fall. It was nice.

Still, he was eager to get that car and get on the road, far away from New York City. And, though he'd wished it wasn't the case, he was content knowing he wasn't alone.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #fanfic #marvel

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narrators-journal · 2 months ago

Note

hello happy kinktober! is it possible for ryoji x minato 29 with a bit of bondage

This one’s another one that I’m not the PROUDEST of, but I’m happier with it than I was with the last one, lol. So, I’m not actually that mad, even if I’m realizing now that I accidentally swapped the dynamic. Woops... Though! I hope you can enjoy it regardless, sorry I swapped em, I tend to forget that a lot of the fandom seems to think of Ryoji as more of a top. That, or I mixed this up with the previous request, either way, my bad.

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: A slightly weird form of bondage? I may have gotten too creative, but I technically count it lol. Dubcon, semi-public sex since Minato’s outside, sort of? Crossdressing? Ryoji wears a skirt and thigh highs.

Free from his part-time job, Minato Arisato’s day was effectively done. School had ended hours ago, Ryoji had been drug off by Kenji and the other social butterflies, and Minato’s club activities had ceased for the season. So, until The Dark Hour hit, the midnight-haired man was left to wander the streets of Tatsumi port. Left to slowly make his way back to the Iwatodai dormitory at his own pace.

Which, took him a while to do, between stops for snacks, window shopping, or simply drinking in the bliss of no Junpei or Ryoji to yap at him until a migraine formed, but he did eventually meander towards his dormitory. An impressively large, dark-stoned, multi-floored building that had enough space within it to house at least thirty students, but, in reality only housed the nine current members of the SEES.

Yet, an odd noise from the side of the fancy building upon approach made the emo pause to listen. Do we get raccoons at this time of year? He asked himself as he snuck closer to the corner to listen again to the noise. The sound of wood squeaking and jostling, it turns out, so that confirmed for the blue-haired man that it wasn’t a raccoon. An intruder then? His internal voice suggested next while he peeked into the sideyard of the dorm. Only to be greeted by the sight of a set of hips dressed in a pink schoolgirl’s skirt with black thigh-high socks on the legs attached.

Judging from the way the person’s body wasn’t in view, and the noise, Minato could see that whoever it was, was stuck in one of the windows. Who the hell would break in like this? Robbers don’t wear fucking skirts, so...is this one of Aki’s fangirls? Minato asked himself as he crept closer to try and discern any other details in the thick darkness of the cold night. Which, was when Minato heard Ryoji’s familiar voice from the other side of the jammed window.

“Ryoji, what are you doing there?” Minato asked, stealth forgotten now as he approached the window with a small, slightly mischievous smile on his lips. “How the hell did you know it’s me, funeral lily? You can only see my lower half, did you somehow recognize me by my ass?” The brunette asked, and while his words were muffled by the fact that his front half was in one of the dormitory’s sitting rooms or living rooms, his slightly panicked teasing was still very audible. Even through the window and stone between them. “Because you’re the only person who would try to break into the dorms like this, especially in a skirt.” The man pointed out, his eyes stuck on the swish of the pink plaid in the darkness of the night. “I-!…” Ryoji’s attempt to argue fell flat before he even crafted it. “Damn, am I seriously the only one?” He ended up asking instead, more surprised at the fact he was the only one likely to break in than Minato’s actual accusation. Then, the brunette continued to chatter. Even though, the sound of his voice was quick to turn into little more than white noise for the shaggy-haired senior who let his mind begin to wander into...creative corners of imagination as he drank in the view.

With his body trapped beneath a jammed window, all that was visible on the outside of the dormitory was the pleated, pink plaid skirt and cat-themed thigh-high socks. Why he was in the outfit, Minato didn’t care to guess, but, he did know that the brunette wore it very well. And I bet he wears panties with it too. Ryoji’s the type to. A dark voice in his head mused. Which, Minato found himself able to agree with, so, he reached over and lifted the skirt to check. Almost as if he’d slipped into autopilot while his fantasies began to form.

“-Funeral lily?!” Ryoji squawked, his, likely, explanation of how he ended up in the window interrupted by the surprise that yanked the emo back to reality. “What? You’ve been trying to sleep with me for two straight weeks, yet you’re gonna be prudish when you’re in a skirt?” Minato asked with a small, slightly cold snort. His nonchalance and dark curiosity probably clear, even through the pane of glass between the two. Because Ryoji couldn’t seem to articulate an argument while the wildcard admired the black, lace-trimmed panties that the brunette did in fact wear with his skirt. Knew it.

Though, while the fact Ryoji wore panties to match his outfit wasn’t a surprise, the way his bulge seemed to twitch under Minato’s gaze. Which, made the blue-haired wildcard’s dick give his own twitch. Which, seemed to awaken some buried, dark side to the wildcard. “Ryoji, is there any particular reason that you’re wearing panties?” He asked, his voice purposely kept flat in case Ryoji truly was uncomfortable. “Oh, because my boxers poked out from beneath the skirt, and it felt very exposing to let my dick, y’know, just kinda hang there? In a skirt.” The brunette explained, and, as the wildcard had assumed, his indignation from Minato’sinitial peekcompletely gone. Little more than a flash-in-the-pan reaction that was snuffed out by his desire, it seemed. So, the shaggy-haired man let his hand wander beneath the pleated skirt to feel over the curve of the man’s ass cheek and the soft fabric of the panties.

The simple touch of his hand against Ryoji’s pale skin was enough to make the stuck man shudder slightly beneath his palm. Which, only further amused the wildcard as he pulled his hand away and let the skirt fall back over Ryoji’s plump ass. Though, he didn’t move to free the captive brunette. Instead, he simply slipped his hand into his school bag to fish out a small bottle of lube that he had originally packed for a rendezvous when Kenji grew a bit curious. “Um, do you mind maybe helping me out of here now, Mina?” Ryoji asked to break the silence that had settled between them. Suspicious curiosity was evident in his words, but, the wildcard didn’t bother to verbally reply. Instead, he slipped his hand back beneath the fabric of the skirt to hook his fingers to pull the lace-trimmed panties down. “Hey?! Funeral lily, the hell are you up to now?!” the brunette squawked, tense surprise now thick in his voice along with a hint of fear that the wildcard caught, though all he got in response was a flat, “That should be pretty clear.” that didn’t at all show the spark of dark enjoyment that bit of fear gave while Minato dripped a bit of lube onto his fingers and spread it over his digits.

Then, he slowly pushed them into the captive brunette’s asshole. That dark spark in his chest seeming to grow stronger when he got a startled, half snap of, “Funeral lily!” while Ryoji squirmed. And, if the emo hadn’t known just how hard Ryoji tried to get him into bed, he would’ve assumed his startled anger was real. But, he did know how desperate the man was for him, so his attempt at anger just made him grin again. “Ryoji.” He snorted back as he curled his fingers to massage the brunette’s inner walls. The minimal amount of friction all it took to make the stuck transfer student’s argument devolve into barely contained moans and whines.

And, Minato made sure he stayed in that thoughtless state of pleasure with deep, slow thrusts that continued to drag his fingers over the sensitive flesh. Though, even with how easily the tall transfer student had crumbled beneath the pleasurable friction, he couldn’t seem to resist the chance to purr, “And look at that, you’re taking my fingers so well. I could almost think you got stuck like this solely to let me do this.” to make the man tighten around his fingers in a barely repressed needy shudder before he pulled his fingers out completely.

Though, the blue-haired man made sure that Ryoji didn’t stay empty for too long. That would’ve risked his coherent thoughts being able to return, so he made quick work of his belt and pants so that he could line himself up and push into the brunette’s ass. A moan allowed to escape into the chilled night air to match Ryoji’s lascivious whine.

And, after a brief moment to let the man adjust, the wildcard was quick to set a rough, quick pace. “Ah! Fuck, M-Mina!” The brunette gasped, his voice mangled by melancholic moans and small whines from the sudden burst of friction and stimulation. However, he seemed to swiftly remember his position through the haze of sudden pleasure and muffled his noises. So, Minato just gave a small grunt and grabbed onto his hips with a grip that was sure to bruise.

Though, if the brunette cared about the ache of his hold, Minato didn’t hear him say anything over the sound of his hips against the soft meat of the taller man’s ass. So, he happily continued to pound into him at his relentless pace. “Mmmina!” Ryoji whined, need nowthick in his breathy, lust-filled voice as the wildcard tried to simultaneously chase the high, and savor the slick warmth that almost felt as if it would strangle his cock. But, the emo was still quick to hiss, “Keep your voice down, Mochizuki. If we get caught, I’ll have to stop.” as he tightened his hold on the brunette’s hips so that he wouldn’t jostle the window too much and cause more noise than the captive transfer student already was.

And, thankfully, that simple hiss and maybe a painful squeeze to his hips seemed to be the only reminders needed to quiet the boy back down. Granted, it wasn’t by a whole lot, but it still allowed the wildcard to focus back in on the rhythmic plap, plap, plap of his hips against Ryoji’s ass and the delicious friction of the man’s hole around his dick. The only sounds that slipped through the jammed window were muffled, choked-down moans and whines that fed the bonfire that simmered Minato’s blood.

His own lewd noises slipped out pretty freely into the cool night air, but Minato made sure to keep his volume low and his attention at least slightly on the noises around them to be sure nobody found him. “God, you’re tight as hell…” He muttered, more to himself than his partner, since Ryoji likely hadn’t even heard him through his moans and the window between them. But, his words were still true. The way that the brunette’s ass squeezed him was almost maddening, especially when paired with the lewd sound of Minato’s hips against the captive man’s ass.

But, he had to fight down the stew of stimulants just a bit. Easy, not too soon, Arisato. He scolded himself with an unsteady breath, You can’t cum too soon, you’ve gotta savor this. He continued to think, even though the squeeze around his member seemed to slowly eat away at that resolve. With each rapid shlick or plap of skin on skin a push to his back to inch him closer to the edge. But, he did his best to vent the desire that burned the oxygen from his lungs with deep breaths that expanded his ribs and granted him just a moment longer of stamina.

However, it was only a few moment's extension. Because, no matter how Minato pushed his orgasm away, it continued to build in his belly. Continued to make the man’s thrusts sloppier, and sloppier. Each lewd moan that the brunette let slip another strike to the wildcard’s mental dam.

Until, against the midnight-haired persona user’s wishes, euphoria swept him away. The waves of warmth overwhelming, and the shudders of bliss strong enough to give the man a belly ache until they finally began to ebb. Which, felt as if it took an hour, even though Minato knew it only took at most three minutes for his senses to return.

When that moment came, Minato slid himself free of Ryoji’s ass before the warm constriction became painful. Much to the annoyance of the stuck man, but his whine and curses were ignored. Instead, Minato righted his pants and pried the window back up so that the taller male could get free and glare at him. “Are you really just- are you…” That time, the annoyance in the brunette’s voice was palpable in the chilly night’s air, so he had to take a moment to compose himself enough to get out, “Is that it?!” “Yeah, kinda.” the wildcard said flatly with a simple shrug while Ryoji finally remembered to right his panties. “I don’t like overstimulation, I’m not going to continue if I cum first. You can jerk yourself off.” “That is such a selfish thing to do!” He snapped, but the wildcard just laughed his glare off and turned to go. “And it’s kinda fucked up to break into my dorm, so, we’re kinda even.”

With that, the dark-haired man headed back for the front door before Ryoji could recover from that point. The last thing Minato heard from the brunette was the sound of his spoiled whines and claims of never speaking to him again. But, they both knew how shallow that claim was.

#persona 3 #Ryomina #persona #ask #scenario #spicy #not sfw #Ryoji Mochizuki #lemon #Makoto Yuki x Ryoji Mochizuki #male!persona 3 protagonist x Ryoji Mochizuki #Makoto Yuki #Minato Arisato #Minto Arisato x Ryoji Mochizuki #male!persona 3 protagonist #minors do not interact #kinktober 2024 #mdni #kinktober

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