#slowly altering their designs lol

[cowboycatss]

can. can i see the kobra cat.

pawty told him about how squirrels will chew up snake shed and rub that into their tails to trick other snakes. he thought the “this is to intimidate snakes so they don’t eat them” part went without saying but he doesn’t want to crush his dreams now. who knows. maybe it’ll work

[cossmoluck]

FINALLY finished this

turns out soon means one week+ in my little lizard brain, that's cool

anyways!!! meg

megalo don content,,, food

also, as a treat for making myself take so much to finish this, some of my AU lore rambling thing under the cut (warning, pretty long)

in my design, most of his exterior Nitro armor is removable, being an extension of the augument inside his body, which pumps Nitro both through his lungs and bloodstream, crossing from front to back through his torso. His tubes would be attached to certain openings around his body, which could also have 'lids' put on for safe closing. Every area where the Nitro pumps directly into his body would have 'Nitro burn'- a less proeminent glow than the one in his fueled up form. I, as many others also do, like to think that his mask actually comes off (I haven't drawn him unmaksed yet, but I'll get to that too eventually). One headcanon I have is that when you take his medallion in game, what you take is actually his mask and use it.

For his body I went for a slightly leaner strongman build, as he doesn't seem way too bulky in his non-fueled form, but he's still considerably bigger than most others. I tried to give him a 'scarred shark' look, and gave him burn scars on one arm from a misfiring Nitro Fist hit accident

also his hair look so so fluffy in game and for WHAT

(note, this is all to be taken as an AU. i am by no means well versed enough in Fortnite lore to make something close to canon or actual on point headcanons lol,,, tl;dr at the bottom!!)

i feel like the whole theory with Meg and big chuggus being somehow related is true, but not necessarily in the way others present it usually i don't think they're snapshots of each other in any way, i just think that they've been basically created 'for the same purpose', maybe in the different 'realities?' I'm not 100% sure how the zero point reset worked considering Midas was technically the same and all

so let's say Chaos had created the Slurp legends and Slurp creatures back during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict i like to think that Meg might have been created sometime during then too- a more refined variant of the technology used on big chuggus, enough for him not to end up as brain dead as big chuggus himself (sorry big chuggus)

Megalo Don could have been a fleet leader for the naval forces, as he has an overall very reoccurring military theme with his insignia and stuff. Maybe he was hired by Chaos to aid him and willingly allowing Chaos to modify him into the 'perfect leader', boosted by slurp into near perfection I believe his Oasis style would be what his 'original' look was, with Slurp coursing through his pumps instead of Nitro

so how did he turn into the Meg we know? during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict, his crew got destroyed, probably, and they somehow ended up punished to the Pandora's Box, but not dead like Midas, just punished there I like to think that there is not only one Pandora's Box, technically, and that they're basically some sort of even higher security 'prison' for things deemed disasters under certain circumstances, putting mortal beings into their own personal hell. The ones imprisoned in the Pandora's Box arent necessarily 'dead', like shade Midas in the Underworld, but they're not alive in the full sense either. This particular Nitro filled Pandora's Box sprouted there, leaving behind veins of pure Nitro in the depths of the earth through which the Box had erupted.

in the Pandora's Box, stuck in an infinite purgatory loop of fighting and dying, the slurp that fueled his crew quite literally rotted into Nitro, and Megalo Don himself basically 'rusted' from the rot. The Nitro, essence of death, in a way, compared to Slurp, slowly and surely altered Meg's brain, turning him from a calculated leader into a terrifying tyrant, with nihilistic views regarding his crew and conquest, as he saw them all die over and over again… Another case of 'rotten' slurp beings being Sludge, maybe, as he could perhaps be read as a Slurp creature gone 'bad' (slurp to nitro)

Meg's mind got clouded with the only thing he could comprehend anymore- Nitro coursing through his veins, through his ship, through anything in the living hell he experienced in the Pandora's Box. (Ultrakill flesh prison sounding aah) Obtained by conquest or murder, with destruction being the only method he could even comprehend using to get it, his very life seeming to depend on Nitro at that point, and being released into the world again brought him bo purpose than to seize back all of his Nitro and keep fighting more and more

after he and his crew escaped from the Pandora's Box, Meg had intercepted a boat droning the Island from SHADOW, which had went to scout out Helios after Midas' escape from The Underworld, unaware of the Pandora's Box opening right then, and getting caught in the sandstorm. Meg had just the luck to capture Chaos (or a snapshot), the very man who had taken away his humanity and turned him into a (now) Nitro-fueled beast. From them he also took the island plans, which helped his crew settle in as fast as they did, the Redline Rig digging for Nitro the very moment they got there and the Nitrodrome building itself over the abandoned Fencing Fields, repurposing the fizz machinery there into the dome's car destruction traps

i also like to think that Meg has a father/daughters bond with Scarr and the Machinist, with the Machinist maybe being one of the original scientists on Chaos' team, whom had helped him stabilize his new equipment at the time, and Scarr being a dedicated member of his fleet since before getting banished into the Pandora's Box. Initially, both Scarr and the Machinist would have admired him for his courageous leadership and respected him as a leader, but through their decline in the Pandora's Box, their found family bond only strengthened, with the two of them being probably his only subordinates he actually cares about

i also like to imagine that he had made most of the transmissions particularly silly in hopes of having them tune in on either patrol or at the Nitrodrome and make them laugh with the over the top commentary

tl;dr: i headcanon megalo don as an ex-slurp legend made by Chaos who had rotted to nitro in the Pandora's Box. His Oasis style is what he looked like pre-Box. Also the Mechanist and Ringmaster Scarr are his found family daughters

[wavypotatochips]

Could you maybe write an imagine with a reader being smart but shy and working in business or finance. Anyways she is in an established relationship with Kylian and doesn't fit in with a lot of the other influencer WAGs. She's a little uncomfortable at first, but slowly tries to changer herself, because she wants to be better for Kylian, but he notices and doesn't like the changes and comforts her about it. It's angst and fluff.

I totally get if it's too specific, you can change whatever. Thank You!!

𝐈 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐛𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Kylian Mbappe x Female Reader

Word Count : 1.8k

𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: Thank you so much for requesting!! Of course I can do that for you :)! And so sorry for the long wait, college had ya girl in a chokehold lol. I Hope you like how I represent your idea ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚!!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN, currently covered in college work so as of now uploads MIGHT mainly be on weekends. Thank you for your patience c’: ♥

As a highly accomplished and respected businesswoman in the finance industry, you have a commanding presence and a track record of achieving outstanding results. Your unwavering confidence in your abilities, combined with your extensive knowledge and experience, has made you a true powerhouse in the workplace. Your remarkable success is reflected in the level of compensation you receive, which is a testament to your exceptional skills and expertise. You have worked tirelessly to establish your reputation as a leader in your field, and you have never shied away from taking bold risks and making difficult decisions to drive your business forward. Your unwavering commitment to excellence, coupled with your ability to inspire and motivate others, has earned you the admiration and respect of your peers and colleagues. You are a true trailblazer, blazing a path for other women to follow and proving that anything is possible with hard work, dedication, and a little bit of grit.

However, your personal life is a different story. 

Although you exude confidence in your professional role, you are naturally introverted and reserved. You've always struggled with socializing and making friends, which has made dating difficult. That is, until you met Kylian Mbappe, a famous futebol player known for his speed and agility on the field. You and Kylian hit it off immediately and soon became inseparable. However, being in a relationship with a celebrity comes with its own challenges, and you find yourself feeling uncomfortable around some of the other influencer WAGs (Wives and Girlfriends). You felt like you didn't fit in with their flashy personalities and extravagant lifestyles, and worried that Kylian might be embarrassed by your shyness.

 Many of these women are outgoing and extroverted, always vying for attention and trying to one-up each other. They were always dressed in the latest designer fashion and wore expensive jewelry. You, on the other hand, were more comfortable in simple outfits and preferred to spend your money on experiences rather than material possessions. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious around them. 

One day you progressively began attempting to alter yourself in order to better blend in with them. You started wearing more designer clothes and going to more events and even started buying more expensive jewelry to match the other WAGs' looks, hoping that the changes will make you feel more comfortable around them. At first, it felt uncomfortable, but you thought it was worth it if it meant making Kylian happy. 

As Kylian observed your changing appearance and demeanor, he struggled to understand how to react. It was only when he noticed that your personality had started to shift that he mustered up the courage to ask if everything was okay. Despite your assurance that everything was fine, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss.

 One night, you were at a party with the other WAGs, and they were all talking about their latest shopping sprees and exotic vacations. You attempted to join in, but your voice was drowned out by their raucous laughter and non-stop chatter. You felt like a wallflower, and the isolation was beginning to take its toll on you.

As the night wore on, the sense of not belonging intensified. Normally, you'd be with Kylian, indulging in a plate of cheesy fries or some other guilty pleasure. But tonight, you found yourself stuck with the girls, sipping champagne and struggling to get a word in edgewise. Every time you opened your mouth, someone would talk over you or dismiss your words with laughter. Finally fed up, you made an excuse and slipped out of the group, stepping outside to catch your breath.

Despite being separated from Kylian for most of the evening, his gaze was fixed on you throughout the night. He was chatting with Hakimi, but he quickly excused himself when he saw you slip away from the group of girls and head outside.

As you step out of the crowded ballroom, you take a deep breath of fresh air, trying to clear your mind from the overwhelming sensations of the party. Your head is spinning with thoughts, doubts, and insecurities that you've been trying to suppress all night. You feel a sudden pang of guilt for leaving Kylian behind, but you can't bear to face him yet. You know he'll ask you what's wrong, and you're not sure you can handle that question without breaking down.

But as you turn to head back inside, you see Kylian standing by the door, his arms folded and his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He's wearing a sharp tuxedo and a hint of cologne, his black hair in waves and his brown eyes piercing. He looks like a movie star, confident and elegant, the kind of man who belongs in a place like this. And then there's you, in your simple dress and flats, with minimal makeup and jewelry. You feel like a fish out of water, like you don't belong here.

Kylian notices you and walks over, his expression softening as he approaches you. He places a hand on your shoulder and looks at you with a mixture of tenderness and frustration.

"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You avoid his gaze, feeling a lump in your throat. You don't want to burden him with your problems, but you also can't keep pretending that everything is fine.

"I'm sorry," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I just needed to...get some air. I'm fine, really."

Kylian shakes his head, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. "No, you're not. You've been acting strange all night, and you keep avoiding me. You're lying to me, and I don't like that. What's going on?"

You feel a surge of anger and frustration at his words. You want to tell him everything, to unleash all your pent-up emotions and grievances, but you're afraid of what he'll think of you. You're afraid he'll see you as weak, needy, or inferior. You're afraid he'll realize that you're not the kind of woman he deserves, the kind of woman who can keep up with his fame, fortune, and status.

But before you can say anything, Kylian steps closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours. He takes your hand and pulls you gently towards him, his other arm wrapping around your waist. You feel his warmth and strength enveloping you, and you can't help but melt into his embrace.

"Y/N, listen to me," he says, his voice firm but soothing. "I know something is bothering you, and I want you to tell me. I'm here for you, no matter what. You don't have to pretend with me, or hide your feelings. I love you, just the way you are, and nothing can change that."

You look up at him, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. You know he's right, that you can't keep lying to him, or to yourself. You take a deep breath and let it out, feeling a tear roll down your cheek.

"It's...it's just that...I feel like I don't fit in with them," you admit, your head against his chest. "The other girls, they're so...outgoing, flashy, and...perfect. And I'm not. I'm not as confident, or glamorous, or...worthy. I feel like I'm not good enough for you."

Kylian pulls back from the hug, his hand tilting your chin up so that you're looking directly into his eyes.

"Y/N, don't ever say that," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "You are more than good enough for me, and for anyone. You are smart, kind, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. You don't have to be like anyone else, or compare yourself to them. You are unique, and that's what makes you special. And I love you for who you are, not for what you wear, or how you act, or what others think of you. You are my partner, my best friend, my soulmate, and nothing can change that. So please, don't ever doubt yourself, or your worth. You are perfect, just the way you are."

You look at him, feeling a mix of emotions. You're grateful for his words, his support, his love. You're also ashamed of your insecurities, your fears, your jealousy. You know he deserves better than that, than you. You want to be better, for him, for yourself.

"I'm sorry," you say, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to...I didn't want to...disappoint you."

Kylian strokes your cheek, wiping away your tears, his eyes softening.

"You could never disappoint me," he says, his voice reassuring. "You are my everything, and I wouldn't want you to change a thing. Just be yourself, and let me love you, the way you deserve to be loved."

You nod, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders. You realize that you don't have to pretend, or hide, or be someone else. You can be yourself, and that's enough.

"Thank you," you say, your voice more confident. "For everything. For being here, for understanding, for loving me."

Kylian smiles, his lips brushing against yours.

"Always," he whispers, before kissing you tenderly.

You melt into the kiss, feeling his love and warmth enveloping you. It's like all your worries and doubts disappear, and all you can feel is the love you share with Kylian.

As you break the kiss, you look at him, feeling more at ease.

"I'm sorry again," you say, your voice apologetic. "I didn't mean to take my frustration out on you."

Kylian shakes his head, a small smile on his lips.

"It's okay," he says. "I understand. We all have our moments of insecurity and doubt. The important thing is to talk about it, and not let it fester inside. So, if you ever feel like you're not fitting in, or not good enough, just talk to me. I'm here for you, always."

You smile, feeling grateful for his support and understanding. You know that you can count on him, no matter what.

"Thank you," you say, your voice sincere. "I'm lucky to have you."

Kylian chuckles, his hand caressing your cheek.

"The feeling is mutual," he says. "I'm the lucky one to have you in my life. You make everything better, brighter, and more beautiful."

You blush, feeling your heart swell with love and joy.

"I love you," you say, your voice soft.

Kylian smiles, his eyes sparkling.

"I love you more. Now are you ready to go back inside and attack the dessert bar??? I saw they had funnel cake sticks" he says, his voice playful. You both laugh as you nod and smile, feeling happy and content.

 You know that there will be more challenges and struggles ahead, but with Kylian by your side, you feel ready to face them, and overcome them, together.

[slimey-wallz]

Info post!! (FINALLY. Should have done this months ago-)

(Welcome home is created by @partycoffin!! This is fanmade! By me!)

So what is the Slime AU???

(*dramatic music*) IN THE BEGINNING, the original world that Welcome home started off as, was starting to alter into one sustaining a slime like world, due to

(Who came from a different planet) ((Too lazy to explain lol))

And so now everything is in this "slime form". But, YOU and a few other people/animals/plants were not affected by this slime goober, and THIS plays the role of how you met the welcome home cast. You, now knowing about them, teach them about specific things, lifestyles, foods, culture, whatever is not part of the slime life style, they do the vise versa to you also, which then creates a good friendship between you and them. (Which is now the present.)

What about the neighborhood?

The neighborhood in this slime AU is basically modeled the same way as the original, just somethings are slightly different, designs of the homes and environment. This also includes Home, (Which I will in the future make a template on). All you need to do in order to make a home, is to get the assistance from one of the crew members, which will be easy, so anyone can move right into their little neighborhood! They usually love visitors/new neighbors, are really welcoming and will try and help you fit in!

How do they heal?

When a crew member is injured, Doc, (Frank Frankly), is able to heal them using the same way we in real life make slime, using the same ingredients. For instance, if they were to get cut, or lose a limb, Doc would be able to re-create that limb, or patch up that cut by creating more slime to cover it/or to replace the missing limb. But this slime is very specific, for you could not just use any other slime. It needs to be the same color, same density, and have the same stretch as the original slime crew member. Here is a visual!

What happens when they eat food?

Eating food is one major way of getting energy. The second way is sun bathing (this only works for warm colored crew members, or partially warm colored crew members, which doesn't work as efficiently but still works) When someone ingests a type of food, it absorbs into energy, letting them be active. If someone ingests something that is not food, they usually, well, vomits it out I guess lol. Like if Melly were to eat a rock (which he would) his body would reject it and spit it right out. It does not cause harm to them though, so there is no way for them to get poisoned, but if they go for a very long period without energy, they will die.

Can they melt or freeze?

If they are sustained in a boiling hot environment, they will slowly start to melt into more of a watery texture, their stretchability (yes I made that up) will decrease, preventing them from morphing or traveling. (Just think of those water slimes and that's basically how it is.) This goes the same with freezing, but instead of melting, their slime texture starts to harden and become more chunkier, making it harder for them to move. (Now just think of those ugly chunky slimes and that's how that is.) This can, and is one way, that they can die, which is why they try to avoid situations that lead to those certain outcomes.

Okay, so then what the heck is morphing?

Morphing is a very common way to show affection. Its when two or more crew members/persons join together to become this blob. They will still have their conscious, but will just have the same body. And depending on what color they are, it creates a new color. For example, if a red person were to morph with a blue person, it would create a purple blob. If one of the persons is in a melting form or freezing form, they cannot morph with them, unless they go back to their normal state. This is a very complicated subject, but you get the gist of it, person + person = one big blob person.

Traveling is when someone goes into their slime form and moves around in that form. They can travel through things that are ONLY their color of slime/slimes. Another example would be if Melly wanted to travel tree by tree, he would only be able to travel in the trees that are the same color as him. If someone were to have more than one color, they would be able to travel in those colors, but wouldn't be able to travel at a speedy rate due to the combination of colors that they have. When someone is in their slime form, their accessories or clothes dissolves into their slime form. Its still there, but just not entirely visible. Here's another visual for morphing and traveling to make this less complicated:

(I simplified their appearance so its not exact!)

Please, please, PLEASE, if you have any questions PLEASE ask me so then I can attach it to this post so other people will get the answers!!! Not sure if I really like how the AU started, but, whatever, I'm too lazy to think of another one, so i'm sticking with it. Get it? Sticking to it? Yeah okay, I need to be stopped. ANYWHO,

Here is the Ref for the little guys!

Currently, I'm trying to make new references, but this is all I have right now! (I'll add more to this post in the future!)

Okay, toodles! 💫

[cutekittenlady]

If I could inject Skyfire into the animated verse I'd make it so he and Starscream still have their shared history but it's a tad different.

Starscream starting off as some form of scientist, or researcher. A role he finds boring and is frustrated by what he perceives as a lack of respect. And Skyfire having been created/designed as a military machine (much like Omega Supreme in animated) and like Starscream he's dissatisfied with the role and dreams of being allowed to explore the stars and pursue knowledge.

This mutual dissatisfaction was the foundation of their friendship as they both felt forced into a life they didn't want and weren't "destined" for and ultimately resulted in them siding with the decepticons in order to get the lives they wanted.

Unfortunately they also shared a mutual jealousy. Skyfire being jealous that starscream had access to a wide range of knowledge, a privilege he didn't seem to appreciate. And of course Starscream was jealous of Skyfires power and the fear he could inspire in others (something Skyfires self conscious about) as well as what he perceived a skyfire wasting his potential. This would lead to a lot of built up tension between them as Skyfire would start to feel Starscream didn't take full advantage of the opportunities and choices he was given, things Skyfire would have killed to have. And of course Starscream began to perceive Skyfire as looking down on him.

Of course this friendship would eventually fall out somehow which I think would coincide with Skyfire leaving the Decepticons as he came to object to their methods and realizing that Megatron had no intention of actually giving him what he had likely been promised. That being a cybertron that would let him freely explore the universe and pursue his true passion of scientific research and development.

Now, an important aspect I'm not sure of is WHEN Skyfire betrays the decepticons and/or defects. As it would slightly alter the reasoning for why he doesnt seem to be around in series. Not by a lot but still.

Regardless of whether Skyfire openly defects, acts as a spy, leaks autobots into, etc. he winds up playing a role in winning the war and driving the decepticons from Cybertron.

Although he ultimately helped them win, I think tfa Skyfire would not stick with the autobots. Either because he winds up exiled like the rest of the decepticons (something I imaging happening if he didn't defect until the end of the war) or else he allowed himself to go into self-exile after having lost faith in Cybertron as a whole.

After all, he'd banked on the decepticons being a way to change cybertron into a more equal and free society, but they'd just turned out to be warmongering despots. And while the autobots likely do change a bit after the war, its not enough for Skyfire to gain any confidence in the government. Besides all that a requirement for his full amnesty could have been a required frame change, something skyfire rebelled against. Not because he loved having a war frame but because he viewed it as just another way the autobot government was exerting their power over his body and mind.

So Skyfire is either forced into exile or willing goes into it in order to preserve his own ideals. I imagine him finding old reports and journals and slowly teaching himself all the scientific knowledge and know how that he'd always wanted to learn and partaking in scientific experiments and explorations. All of which hes VERY satisfied to find that hes good at.

He tells himself that hes happy this way, but in reality he is crushingly lonely. He creates an assitant bot named Doc (stealing that from idw lol) and may even start keeping some organic lifeforms he finds around his lab as "pets" in order to have some form of company. Beyond the crushing loneliness though, hes also frustrated to find that despite pursuing the self education he'd always wanted hes dissatisfied as he has no one to share these discoveries with.

How exactly he comes into contact with our main cast I'm not sure. Maybe they crash land on the planet or asteroid or moon or whatever his lab is on, maybe the decepticons/autobots are both coming after him, etc.

Regardless of the exact circumstances, I really like to imagine that he develops a sorta odd friendship with Isaac Sumdac, who is someone of similar interests he can finally share his own knowledge and ideas with. Furthermore he'd probably have some VERY interesting interactions with the Jettwins (he isn't a huge fan of what was done to them, even if they seemingly enjoy the results, as it shows yet again how ready the government of cybertron is to control the forms of regular cybertronians to meet their own ends) and especially Omega Supreme who, much like Skyfire, was more or less created to be used in a war.

[zaebeecee]

To Sever a Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 8/?

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

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?

•••

[sing-me-under]

Just wanted to share some little headcanons for the Robins’ first uniforms. Here’s more:

Dan Mora’s Dick Grayson Robin. He’s exactly what I think of late teens Robin 1. Have you seen the tactical pixie boots? And the fact he added pants to his uniform after a certain event that would not have gone as terribly if he had pants to begin with lol

Dick was forced to wear black for exactly two months until he learned how to fight with a cape on to Bruce’s satisfaction. Bruce absolutely was not letting Dick run around completely unprotected so it was either wear the black tactical suit or wear a bulletproof cape.

Jason didn’t initially go by Robin until after Dick gave him explicit permission to use it. He was just wearing the only armored uniforms that fit until he designed his own.

For a good while, Gotham just thought that Robin was de-aged or it was a time travel thing.

Jason eventually changes to his own uniform when he’s 14. It’s the red jumpsuit and black cape.

Red-haired Jason Todd propaganda

Tim went out in the original Robin uniform when he was 12 to save Nightwing and Batman. Bruce reluctantly allowed him to become Robin after, sending him overseas to train for about a year. He’s 14 when he makes his official debut in a uniform designed just for him.

Gotham determined that “Robin” was actually a series of clones upon Tim’s Robin debut. No one actually knows how many Robins there have been.

Tim and Cass have always been the same size. Their wardrobes are essentially interchangeable. Cass has absolutely wore Tim’s Robin costume at least once. It’s kind of scary how identical they look when they style their hair in just the right way (even though Cass is like 3 years older)

Tim added the spikes to the metal arm bracers when he’s a little older (post-War Games).

Stephanie’s Robin is essentially just Tim’s Robin uniform of the time but altered for a taller, feminine body. I still wholly believe that Stephanie is Dick’s height. She also started the trend of colored dominoes. Her “handmade” Robin costume when she confronted Bruce was just one of Tim’s uniforms that he left at her place.

Tim’s Red Robin uniform was literally just Jason’s Red Robin.

Tim’s unternet suit. Please. DC, I beg of you. Give him back his funky beak mask.

I have a lot of opinions on Tim’s costumes.

There’s something funny about Batman’s robins debuting a little older each time, and then Dick ruins the trend with Damian.

Damian was eight when he arrived in Gotham. Before Dick gave him Robin, Damian didn’t have (nor need) a vigilante name, but he did go out in a blend of Dick’s old gear and what remained of his league uniform. Damian wore the full OG Robin uniform exactly once. Barbara is the only person in the world who has a photo of it, and it will remain in her highest security file until the end of Time.

Unpopular opinion? but I like Damian’s canon designs. He was Robin to Dick’s Batman. He shouldn’t need to be Dick Grayson.

Damian cycles through a few variations of the red-green-yellow uniform.

Dick and Damian were tall as kids. Jason and Tim were short as kids. Jason and Damian are the tallest adults. Dick is of fairly average height. Tim doesn’t stop growing (albeit very slowly) until his early 20s, and every day he thinks he’ll have a growth spurt. He levels at around 5’6” (almost 5’7”)

[cosmiclion]

An egg in the process of cracking 🥚

A design of younger Grell from my AU (she's about 20 here). I changed almost everything from her backstory since I first came up with this AU, notes (that I've been working on for months lol) under the cut.

(Also yes, I hid the hands behind the body because I didn't wanna draw them, don't mention it ☠️).

-Born in February 17th, 1863 in England, in this universe she's not a reaper but she's still not human.

-She's a werecat (I explored the concept for the first time in this post and I liked it so much that I ended up using it for my main AU). While werebeasts have a human form they are 100% nonhuman as the curse that turns someone into one fully alters their DNA. Adults are immune to the curse, which means if an adult gets bitten and survives they won't turn. However, cases of teenagers and younger surviving an attack aren't enough to properly determine up until which age a person can be affected. A child can also be born a werebeast as the curse can be passed to a fetus if a pregnant person gets bitten. The latter is Grell's case, as her mother got attacked during pregnancy.

-While she didn’t actually transform until her early teens, she did show feline traits from the beginning, such as a desire to hunt and chase small animals and moving objects, climbing trees or other structures, hiding in narrow spaces, etc.

-A homeschooled and pretty sheltered only child, with dead maternal grandparents, a dead father, an emotionally distant mother who eventually bailed on her and paternal grandparents who loved and spoiled her but didn’t really understand her on a deep level, Grell grew up angry and frustrated. She had always felt that something wasn't quite right with her, and when she slowly started to experiment to try to figure herself out she had no one to turn to. As a teenager she decided to just run away from home and leave everything behind. She knew she was leaving her grandparents to die alone but she didn’t care, she had never genuinely loved them anyway.

-She chose her own name AND surname, the first after a nickname her German grandparents often called her and the latter after a character from a book she liked.

-Struggles a lot with internalized misogyny thanks to a mix of her mother’s neglect and eventual abandonment and her grandparents only talking shit about said mother whenever they mentioned her, which greatly contributed to shape her views on motherhood and womanhood in general. Would love to have a child of her own but deep down that’s just because of her dysphoria, in reality she has very little patience for kids and is probably not the best parent material.

-Went through a phase of compulsive heterosexuality both when she thought she was a man and also after she realized she was a woman. Figuring out her orientation wasn’t any easier than figuring out her gender but she’s probably bi with a slight preference for men and masculinity in general.

-I still haven't come up with a story for what she does after leaving her home and before the main events, I only have some ideas. Like she's young when she goes out into the world, she's passionate and adventurous but also full of pent up anger. Also there's the small issue of her being a beast with a huge prey drive, being a trans girl in the middle of self discovery is harder when you're also learning about and trying to gain control of (or at least cope with) your literal wild side ☠️ I know that werebeasts' main driving force is hunger, and the longer they go without eating the more they revert back to a feral state. I'm tempted to make her go the serial killer route but in this case she doesn't have much control of her actions 🫢

-Her werecat form is based on a maine coon. When she first starts showing signs of therianthropy she doesn’t have much control of it, and transforming and becoming that big and rough looking makes her more dysphoric (even more so because “male” maine coons are bigger). Over time she starts accepting it and, as she discovers how powerful it makes her and all the things she can do with it and gains control of it, she fully embraces it as an important part of her.

-The only part of her feline form she cannot hide in human form are the teeth, no matter the form she takes she always has sharp fangs. This is a common trait of all werebeasts, some of them are self conscious about it and avoid smiling or opening their mouth at all while others are proud of it and will take any opportunity to flash their teeth at anyone (guess which one is Grell’s case lmao).

[hermesserpent-stuff]

HI spoilers for the future of stolen heir. i neeedded to write the toothless meets hiccup scene with all the little changes that occur cause this is an au lol.

Hiccup freezes in his tree as he hears a loud crash. There should not be loud crashes on their island that he was not part of. His eyes sweep the tree tops and sees them tremble to the south against the blowing of the wind. Something big. Had Dagur heard? Debatable. Dagur had taken up a hobby of cave exploring that took him both underwater and deep into the heart of their island. Now more than ever with both of them growing bored from avoiding the market for the last month since the- 

Hiccup shushes his brain. He needs to investigate. He hurries off to look for the source, soon coming across broken branches and disturbed roots. He sees blood scrapped across a tree. But the sound of footsteps makes him duck down. Multiple footsteps. There should never be multiple footsteps on their island, since it should be just his brother and he. 

He silently stares out at the passing men. Those emblems were not of the Acumens. He bites his lip and then trails them. He recalls the oath to his brother. Death to all who ventured into their land. He hated the idea of killing anyone, but the threat of Berk finding out his home island or enemies finding their home island through word of mouth terrifies him. They had not talked about what to do if/when the Acumens, or more specifically the Grimborns. Hiccup had not taken as much offense as Dagur had but… he follows his brother. And his brother had wanted to put a large pause on that particular alliance for now. 

The hunters, who he knows are of the Spiteful Scufflers tribe, follow the broken branches with increasing noises of excitement. Hiccup finds his stomach filling with bile, brain clawing at him about the last time he had been alone around members of this tribe. He then comes up with an idea and dashes ahead. He covers up the trail and alters it. Maybe he can avoid bloodshed if he can make it look like their prey escaped. He scoots up trees and marks them up with blood and broken branches, looping back around to the shore. He then hides in the underbrush nearby and hears the steps approaching. 

The hunters curse and spit and howl. 

“The Night Fury got away! DAMMIT!”

Hiccup finds his breath stalling.

“I thought I saw you hit it chief.”

One of the men offers up.

“I hit it! It must have escaped the bola. Stupid of us to trust anything made by the  Bloodwrathers.”

Hiccup feels a flash of offense but keeps silent. The men get on the boat and sail off in the direction that they thought the Nightfury went. And Hiccup scrambles back to the original path of breakage. A Nightfury!! On their island?! The child of lightning and death, that spat a type of blue flame from on high that exploded the ground. He is terrified. He cannot let such a creature live and prowl on their island. He pulls his knife from his belt to rest in his palm that is coated in what he knows now is dragon’s blood. 

He finds the downed dragon lying deathly still, perhaps killed by the fall. Hiccup flinches down and ducks down with a hiss. He recognizes the bola as one that he had designed specifically for shooting higher and faster. He steps forward hesitantly when he sees no movement from the creature. Terror slowly starts to fade. Perhaps it is already dead. The knife stays clutched in is left hand tightly as he pokes the beast with his metal foot. The dragon shifts and huffs out a breath and he flinches back, crashing into a tree with a gasp of fear. He sees arrows buried in its hide. Oh… those look… Acumen. They must have been stolen or bought from the Dragon Hunters. So dragon root. Which either needed treatment or had to be slept off. But it would mean it would be easier to stab it. He finds himself starting to babble 

“You're a threat. I can't let you hurt my brother. I can protect him. I can protect him!”

His voice gets louder as he tries to overcome his nerves. The dragon’s eyes open and Hiccup finds himself looking into one of them. Green like his. Green like his brother’s. It looks so scared. So so scared. Scared like Hiccup was when he woke alone. Scared like Dagur had been when Hiccup was being threatened. 

He raises the knife, hands shaking violently.

A hopeless fear that makes Hiccup squeeze his eyes shut in an attempt to shake off his hesitation. The dragon makes no noise. No threat, no plea. The eye had such intelligence in it and yet there was no noise. 

He looks into its eye again. And this time it is the dragon that closes its eyes, clearly resigned to its fate. Hiccup hates that. 

He cannot do this. He cannot kill the beast that was kin with those that had ruined his ex-village and snapped away his leg. He is reminded of the fear he had seen in the eyes of the monstrous nightmare and he looks back over the dragon. It is bleeding too much, the blood on his hands is evidence of this.

“I did this.”

He whimpers, looking at the bola that he knows was shot out of a weapon he made. He had made a creature feel his fear and he finds himself crumpling. He takes a few steps back. But he cannot leave the Nightfury like this. He takes a step forward and then another. And then he falls to his knees to start cutting the ropes, murmuring words to the beast as he works.

“I'm cutting the ropes. Please don't murder me to death while I'm cutting the ropes.”

The ropes start snapping as he cuts. 

And then the dragon is free!

Then the dragon rolls over and tackles him to the ground, pinning him with its weight as its wings flare out behind it. Hiccup gasps, trying to stay in the moment as his mind claws at him with memories of other times when he had been pinned. The dragon roars into his face and Hiccup whimpers and then sobs. The noise seems to startle the dragon. The wings fall down and the dragon closes his maw. A muzzle presses closer to Hiccup’s face and the nostrils flair as the dragon sniffs. Hiccup feels no air getting to his lungs and his mind is swirling. 

The dragon gives a shaky huff, pupils shifting wildly as dragon root buries into the dragon's veins. The Night Fury sniffs at his leg as Hiccup starts forcing himself to gasp through his racing heartbeat. The beast sniffs his hands and hair gives a soft warble and steps back. Hiccup shivers and whimpers as tears drip down his face. The dragon takes another shaky step back as the dizzying effects of dragon root start to flare. 

Hiccup slowly sits up and then blacks out from the lack of air and panic. He wakes up moments later to the dragon stumbling about and crashing into trees. Hiccup cannot leave him out in the open like this. His brother is far less hesitant than him. 

[69constellationsinatrenchcoat]

disabled system asks: 1-4, 10!

1. Is your disability invisible, visible or both?

Both: invisible in the way that there appears to be nothing outwardly wrong with us (as doctors kindly keep reminding me) but visible in the way that we use mobility aids almost all the time. We wear a sunflower lanyard in public, and use a mixture of a cane, crutches and a wheelchair depending on the day.

I wish to add, as someone who has looked able bodied, and disabled in various fonts.. people don’t treat disabled people better if they’re in a wheelchair or visibly ill, and some are arguably worse to young wheelchair users.

2. Do you use mobility aids? If so, what for?

We do! As said above. We have a mixture of issues (ranging from endometriosis to POTS to hEDS to fibromyalgia) that create.. well, a mixture of issues XD. We’ll use the wheelchair on bad pain and fatigue days and carry the crutches.. or, on better days, just use the crutches to take some pressure off our knees, and aid as balance. As cool as our cane looks (photos later), we stopped using it as it was giving us pretty severe hip pain on one side from the way we had to lean to get support from it (still my fav visually though).

3. Is there a specific alter/part/headmate who fronts to deal with pain? How do they manage it?

Yes, that would be me. I split when we were very young to deal with injury, particularly blood. As our chronic pain increased, so did the amount of time I spent fronting, until I slowly became our most common fronter. Sucks though, cuz that was never meant to be my job, I was supposed to stay sitting on the sidelines only appearing to deal with first aid and other protector things. Instead, I’m here, and somehow I make it everyone else’s problem.

My appearance as most common fronter got us outed as a system because I’m so drastically different from the common fronters of the time. {its a little more complicated than that but you get the idea}

I manage it with a combo of pain killers (including medicinal CBD, THC, and flower, pregabalin, panadol, ibuprofen, codeine and morphine amongst other things… happy to answer questions about any of them if you’re curious), dissociation, weaponised tears and sheer fucking willpower… I wish I could say sheer fucking will was still working, but it is not very well anymore. There’s only so much one can deal with, and our pain has been getting steadily worse for the past few years with very little support (most of our illnesses have no cure, only management). We’ve reached the point where our doctors and specialists aren’t sure what to do with us and are wondering if there’s something they have missed…but uh, our tests, bloods and results are coming back clean. Looking into that at the moment lol.

4. Do you experience pain variety based on who’s fronting?

Oh hell, do we ever. Certain members of the system *cough* Kyle *cough* have dreadful pain tolerances - I always know when one of them is cocon because our pain skyrockets into impossible levels, even if I’m trying to keep it under control. Certain other members of our sys have average pain tolerances, some age regress to cope, others just curl up in a ball and sob.. depends on the alter - and the cyclical nature of parts of our pain make it difficult to manage, and to recognise how each alter is affected. Plus, it’s hard to compare pain tolerances when each of us have no other/barely any frame of reference.

10. Do you decorate your aids?

YES. We use a combination of spray paint, cheap nail polish, stickers and in the case of the wheelchair, holders designed for prams and bikes (water bottle holder, clips, bells, reflective stripes etc).. aids start out super boring and for us, decorating them and making them prettier is the only way to make them tolerable. And political - if the government is going to make our life into a political ‘issue’, we will turn right back around and make them aware of our existence ;)

the pic doesn’t grasp it very well, but we painted the chair’s spokes rainbow (and they look super cool when we’re driving it)

Thanks to @disabled-systems for the game <33

[ghostlycoze]

i am askng about your rw ocs :eyes:

:eyes back:

you have blessed me by giving me the opportunity to ramble about these little idiots thank you very much >:D

claps hands together

So!

The lore of Ever Changing Fates is a total mess rn but it's very fun to just kind of mess with

I kinda like throwing ideas out there and just bouncing off people and seeing what they come up with lmao

The general deal is:

Fates is a newer generation iterator, probably around the same age as Pebbles. Long after the Ancients vanished, he kind of just went.

"Fuck it. Fuck all of this, I hate all of this. I hate being in a damn cage, look at that weird little cat. It looks happy. Why can't that be me? I wanna be a carefree little creature. >:(" (but in a more lighthearted joking way, as he always is.)

And then immediately proceeded to hatch the most unhinged plan and experimentation process ever.

As a result, his local group......... wasn't impressed. (I will detail more about his group later!)

He did not take the discouragement and lack of support well, and ended up isolating himself to continue his work without their constant messages trying to convince him to stop.

This totally didn't have lasting affects. Totally.

He succeeded, he managed to make alterations like the ear-like antennae casing (used to protect the fragile antennae, as well as used for communication and bonding with the scugs), and the tail (for storage of neurons and whatever else he may need).

Those went well. The removal from his can...... less so. (I do have some rough sketches of it, but I may leave it as a little surprise if I ever get around to writing a comic or little drawings as responses to asks maybe?)

Needless to say, as energetic and bouncy as this little guy is, he has some secrets he's hiding. And he probably needs to rest and take care of himself far more than he would like to admit

Lucky for him, he has his two scugs to take care of him!

They were originally designed as messengers, both with skills based on stealth to allow them to travel back and forth without having to worry about fighting predators much.

The white scug, inspired by white lizards, was created first; though after an injury, Fates created another to help; the black scug.

After seeing how dangerous the path was, he designed the black scug after a mole lizard to help it work best in a new path through the darker regions of his local area, which seemed to be less inhabited. It worked well!

And, after detaching from his can, the two sort of just became guards for him.

(They don't have names yet, but I'm slowly working on it!! Suggestions are totally welcome lol. I'm thinking "Light Refracted, Countless Hues" for the white scug? Not sure for the black scug though)

Aaand not only that, but there is another companion who joins Fates on his adventures!

So this is Silent Observation (a prototype design of them at the moment), an iterator oc my friend actually made!

For some info on them, Silent is an iterator who was not part of Fates' group, but a neighbouring one. Fates stumbled upon their can, and managed to convince them to join him. Silent isn't great at resisting curiosity.

Silent is an interesting little character, who is almost always mute after their vocal systems were damaged by a group of scavengers who tried to take over their can. Silent often uses overseers to communicate simple messages, and can still make little beeps and humming noises, but not much else. They CAN talk, and

sometimes do, though it is quite painful and tends to break and skip over itself. So, they usually let chatty Fates do the talking.

And yes. Gay robots. They're lovers and we've dubbed their little ship name as clairvoyance (yknow, perceiving (observing) the future (fate)? credit to my friend for that great name idea!)

So yeah, after Fates vanished, chaos ensued— is he dead? Is he alive? Is he hurt? Where is he???

And then the sightings began. Clusters of slugcats, rushing by. One always slightly taller than the rest, built slightly differently—with garments, clothing. Purple, in green robes.

It couldn't be...

Yeah, he became a cryptid. The talk of the town, if you will. I'm sure Unparalelled Innocence was LOVING the gossip.

Especially when reports of a second creature joined; antennae, familiar robes, familiar markings.

Imagine someone suddenly sprouts wings, teaches one other person to sprout wings, and then starts flying around in front of you.

Naturally, absolute chaos. It was like Sliver of Straw's death all over again—but instead of it being about death, ascension, it was about the opposite. Life, descension, yet freedom.

Groups were divided; Those who believed it was them, and they had found a way to free themselves. Those who did not believe it was them, but it was something to be concerned about, to investigate. And those who did not believe it was anything of note at all.

(Note: this is set in a sort of AU where they find a way to slow Pebbles' rot, to stabilize Moon to a certain degree, and the group is talking again but still. Not doing the best, panicking and trying to find ways to help the two. Fates' big background-event could be the lightbulb above one of their heads to suggest the idea of tearing Pebbles and Moon from their cans to save them from their own dying bodies. Thanks, Fates lol

This AU doesn't focus on the main group much, more just my OCs. However the idea of them interacting is very fun, and I'm sure Fates' actions reach back to the main group and begin an off-the-string streak or at least have some kind of big effects lmao)

But yeah! That's a not-so-quick rundown of the beginning of this little group's adventures. I'll probably share more and detail how their lives go, how their relationship is and dynamics and certain scenes I've written about them—if I receive more asks maybe I could even try a little interactive thing I've seen others do (though I am. not much of an artist so we'll have to see lol). Regardless, I am so grateful for the excuse to talk about them a bit and I'll probably add some more on the others in Fates' group later on >:)

[shivunin]

gently tosses you Fenris and Sebastian for the character meme

Carefully catches them both, but Fenris is kinda prickly and I fumble him a lil bit.

(Thank you for asking! c:)

(Character Ask thing)

Fenris

First impression: oh fuck did he just rip that dude's heart out through his back 😳(i am absolutely projecting this reaction onto Maria haha)

Impression now: I mean. there's no going back at this point lol. Dude altered my brain chemistry permanently. He is an asshole, he is deeply flawed, he is so hurt and angry and funny and so shockingly poetic. He is gorgeous and so unsure about anyone caring about him (platonically or romantically). He is loyal to a fault. He is still figuring out how to be his own person. He's the reason I got back into reading fic, and thus the reason I started writing fic and participating in the fandom at all. I don't even know what my opinion is anymore because that is how much I have thought about Fenris. I am rotating him in my mind at shocking speeds.

Favorite moment: It's a tie between the moment after he rips out Danarius's heart and turns to look at Hawke like 🥺-and- his final monologue. I also think his conversation w the mabari is really sweet. Or lol his "I was just glad. To see you. That's all." from the Legacy DLC

Idea for a story: *gestures to fic idea mountain* haha. But as for ones I have not written, my favorites are my "worst road trip with my future sister-in-law ever/fenris gets kidnapped" story (which i am writing very slowly rn) and one where there's some sort of double of Hawke and he has to determine which is the real her (I love this trope)

Unpopular opinion: Oh man. I have no idea. I guess that I enjoy the Bitter Pill -> Questioning Beliefs quest order version of the romance scene, but I also like the other one. There are painful pieces to both of them and that's what it's all about for me.

Favorite relationship: Fenris and Isabela. I love that they're constantly needling each other.

Favorite headcanon: The bodies in his foyer are practice dummies dressed in robes.

As funny as "Fenris lives in a literal mansion of corpses is," that level of squalor does, in fact, make you sick. Also...after six years, there are no signs of decomposition? With how many rats are sure to live in Kirkwall? I don't think so.

I like to imagine someone broke in at some point, saw the corpses on the floor, said "oh, no thank you, actually" and dipped, and Fenris went "Hmm. Now wait a moment, maybe I'm onto something."

So: that's my headcanon. The bodies are fake and he lets everyone think they're real/everyone jokes that they're real because it's a good bit. Now, does he leave his bedroom a hot hot mess always just because? Yes. But I think the bodies are fake.

Sebastian

*With the caveat that I have only started one pt with Sebastian because my console hates me (has to be plugged into an internet port directly to run the Exiled Prince DLC and there isn't one in the room with the TV) and most of my initial information was based on the fandom:

First impression: Ah, he must be the designated Religious Character for this game as a counterpoint to the dude who hates the Chantry. Got it.

Impression now: I am shaking him in a jar. He is such a wild study in contrasts?? When you do the quest in the Hahriman's mansion and one of the dudes is getting with the maid and Sebastian apologizes to Hawke for exposing them to it---I said "Excuse me, sir???" out loud. Like what? In a ~dark fantasy~ game, this guy is apologizing for you seeing some slap and tickle?

I think he wants so badly to believe that the world is black and white so he can do the right thing, and when confronted with all its variegations instead he creates exceptions. Lots of other characters do this, too (see: Fenris and Hawke/Bethany being "good" mages because they are stronger than the others and thus not tempted by demons/blood magic) but I think Sebastian particularly plays in the grey spaces in an interesting way.

Also, I think the running theme of him wanting vengeance/wanting to not want vengeance is fascinating in the light of that final scene at the Chantry. He's talked about trying to forgive before, but when it comes down to it he wants to kill Anders or march on Kirkwall if you won't let him. That is fascinating to me. I do really want to finish this playthrough with him so I can see the rest of it play out, but...we will get there.

Also, I think it's a bummer that he frequently gets left out of companion round-ups and lists. I get that he comes from a DLC, but love him or hate him he's a really interesting character in 2.

Favorite moment: I don't have a favorite, but anytime he's talking tbh. He has a really lovely voice

Idea for a story: I have a half-written thing about Sebastian and the role that faith plays in Hawke recovering from Leandra's death. A lot of it is coming to terms with the fact that Hawke doesn't really believe in Chantry doctrine...but it does genuinely help her to know that someone who shared Leandra's faith is praying for her in the way she would have wanted. He also does the service for Leandra even though Elthina offered (it was like. the only thing Hawke asked for: Sebastian has to do the service).

(A lot of this is inspired by the fact that he is one of the few companions who has lost his parents---not "never knew them" or "hated them and now they're gone" but actually lost them, complicated as their relationship was. And I think it's something that would help her in that moment)

Unpopular opinion: I liked bringing him on Anders' act 2 quest. Not only because of my own internal narrative (Maria asks Sebastian to kill her if it seems like the templars will take her because she is terrified of being made Tranquil and because she knows he'll do it if she can make him promise; all of which I find delightfully angsty) but because I think the conflict between Anders and Sebastian is exceptionally interesting if you've taken them on this quest together.

Favorite relationship: Sebastian and Fenris. I think they each challenge each other's ideas about the world and I like the way Sebastian treats Fenris. It feels nonjudgmental to me.

Favorite headcanon: Sebastian wanders Lowtown trying to help people in his off time. I refuse to believe that he actually hangs out in the Chantry all the time, and it seems like something he would find noble. I like to believe he spends time with the refugees after befriending Hawke, trying to connect them with the resources they need to find stability.

[kageokami21]

Mocha Latte the Hyena Wolf

Aghh, I love this guy sm! He's one of my very few favorites out of all the ocs that I have. His design is pretty simple, but I friggin' love him.

Mocha here is (ofc) yet another one of my old ocs re-drawn. But except for very minorly altering the design of his shoes, I really didn't change anything on him bc I liked him that much. Also, on a side note, I feel like I'm very, very slowly getting better at shading. (Very slowly, lol)

Character and artwork belongs to me

Please do not re-post without my permission

Please do not steal

[rhonuscorner]

I’m still working on updating Taerel’s whole character sheet, slowly but surely getting there. I have 7 out of 8 outfits fully finished - some only needed some altering, others need to be completely redrawn from scratch - and I finished redrawing his hair on all but 2, plus some minor detailing here and there. I still have to completely redo his Dalish gear which I’m not looking forward to lol. I hate the one I designed the last time but eh, I’ll figure something out. It’s the least important one anyway because I’ll probably never draw him in his Dalish outfit again after this... unless I give in and decide to torture myself by doing a comic of how he briefly ended up in Kirkwall as a freshly vallaslin’ed 18 year old >>;;;;

The ones teased here are, left to right, pre-Skyhold field gear, Halamshiral, post-Trespasser casual. I’ll go into more detail about them all when the whole thing is finished.

Looking at Tae’s face makes me happyyyyyy but I need a big break lol.

Lastly, semi-related: I really hate having to bring it up, but reblogs are really appreciated 👏 I need to build up my audience again and y’know... likes are nice but they don’t help me in that regard. You don’t have to if you don’t want to of course, no hard feelings or anything XD but please know that I’d really appreciate it! ❤️ Also if you’re a DA blog I’ll come check you out because I really need to find some more active people to follow ^_^

[imtrashraccoon]

Work doodle! I keep practicing and I think I'm getting better at drawing skeletons lol.

These are the main characters of my current fanfic: The Hand We've Been Dealt.

Korinna is my skeleton OC and I'm slowly finding a design I like, even if the wig is basically chicken scratch here! Otherwise, the Fell brothers belong to Underfella, I just altered Papyrus a little. I don't have a concrete design for Sans just yet since this is the second time I've drawn him ever.

[mortallycoiled]

been thinking about nulls design a lot lately and i think i want to update the hands a bit. ive been slowly altering nulls design to be more "practical" over the years since the design was originally made BEFORE the context. i wanted to make his hands more paddle/shovel-like without loosing the old silhouette entirely and without altering the finger number, which is an EXTREMELY important detail i do not want to ever change. this is a bit of doodling to figure things out

first one is a completely new design, leaning fully into the more mole-like shape. biggest problem imo was the loss of the thumb. it would be a step BACKWARDS considering it really closely resembles the shape of how i used to draw hands (which is why null specifically had 3 fingers- i used to draw hands ALWAYS with just 3 fingers, i just decided to intentionally keep it with null lol)

second one is the current hand design, three fingers with one acting as a tumb.

last is a "compromise" mix between the current and shovel designs, which i actually like a lot! connecting the pads on the palm and fingers accentuates the fingers while also making it clear that they're partially fused to make them more mole-like, while keeping the thumb. im still going to fiddle with it, but it's promising