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@aracniss
『 🕸️ 』 ⸻ 𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐬. an essay on 𝕬𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖘 of 𝙷𝙰𝚉𝙱𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙻 && the 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴. private . low activity . mutuals only . minors dni. ( 25 , she/her or they/them ) .
𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟: being tangled in someone else’s web, the American dream, the prodigal son, never being quite enough, hacking up blood, never talking, and gunpowder under your nails.
𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 . # @heavenom .
𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 . ⸻⸻ ₁. | bio. ₂. | playlist .
( rules . ) 𝐈𝐥 𝐭𝐮𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐢 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫à.
idk I wrote up this whole big rant about how arackniss isn’t a villain and I don’t really like him being treated as such butI worry about it being tone deaf or rude so like.
brain is struggling. all I want is fluff or hurt/comfort or slice of life right now.
would've loved to have been a father. he'd already half-raised the twins ... though, look how well that turned out.
missing my OC Alice today …… mourning her, almost
I need arackniss being wheedled into pda. holding hands. a scandalous kiss or two. perhaps a brief cuddle, even …
arackniss’ day has consisted of waking up at the crack of dawn to his dad bellowing about nothing in particular and “helping” his old man with Christmas dinner ( he chopped two onions and some garlic and drank half a bottle of schnapps while doing it )
husk can't help but watch the rising pile of cherry stems accumulate next to the spider, making a quiet mental note of the clear level of SKILL the other possessed. an ear twitch occurred, and eyes darted from the pile back to the other as he began speaking once more.
he was dimly reminded of his own feelings regarding his situation, discounting the idea of time off and holidays as something unique to the other. he couldn't personally understand that aspect ----- his form of WORK was more of a consistent song and dance, one that he didn't get to pull the strings to. or even pick the music.
husker took a swig of his own glass before tapping on his coaster, signifying to the bartender for ANOTHER ROUND. by the sound of it, this conversation would likely be easier with a few more drinks inhabiting his liver, and his consciousness.
"different kind of WORK, but yeah, i get it." the bartender drops off his drink, and husk takes a sip, allowing his throat to burn like fire as the liquor paints his insides.
"but being able to get up the next day is a blessing and a curse, least for me. blessing in the sense that the fucker pullin' my strings doesn't snap and finally off me. and shit, the curse? same fuckin' thing." he shakes his own head a bit before tossing back the rest of his drink, pulling his right thumb and middle finger up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he places the glass back on the coaster. he releases his bridge.
"it'd be easier, i think." he plucks one of the knotted cherry stems from the pile, lifting it to be parallel with his field of vision, twirling it around his fingertips to inspect it.
"being TIED to somethin' in this place is the biggest curse of 'em all, though. whether it be some bullshit job that never ends, or another person. a fuckin' scam that we die only to do this shit all over again. just forever, and worse." he allows himself to get lost for a moment in the knot, brain symbolizing it as a metaphor for both of their own situations. he drops it back down on the bar.
"sorry. you probably don't want to hear me preachin' to the choir. what's stoppin' you from getting out of that joint, kid? soul tied to it, or just nothin' better to do?"
arackniss didn’t usually enjoy talking about work - even bitching about it like he was was enough to remind him how hopeless his situation was. sure, he wasn’t being dangled by a chain or forced to play monkey for some lunatic, but … well. he might as well have been.
people didn’t get his situation, which was fair enough ; in a reality where your soul could get snatched off you, familial bonds were the least of most people’s concerns. they didn’t get the hold his father had on him. pops had his grip on everything - niss’ work, his paycheck, his housing, his free time, his fucking meals, for Christ’s sake. he felt like a child, still hiding in daddy’s long shadow, but what could he do? where could he go? when would it stop?
the worst was the way people looked at him when he confessed. for some, it wasn’t just not getting it, it was judgement. disgust. presumed cowardice. implied weakness. some looked at him with pity, like he was a ditzy little lamb in need of saving - something they could fix.
he’d quit opening up, after awhile.
nodding along to the cat’s words became second nature, even when he’d stopped truly listening. the more he riled himself up, the more he felt the heat rise underneath his skin, a distracting flush to his features that had been lacking a few moments before. god, he was getting drunk. good. ❝ forever and worse, ❞ he muttered to himself, like some sort of twisted toast. to health and wellness ; to shit never getting any better . arackniss took another hearty swig. ❝ … s’complicated, ❞ he answered in turn. was tonight the night to test boundaries with a complete stranger? he might’ve just been sloshed enough for it. ❝ the family business followed me down here - blood’s thicker and all that. I can’t just up’n quit on them. ❞
❝ bah. humbug. ❞
husk was a bit more social, the more the liquor graced his muzzle. it painted his insides like picasso, the booze like fumes of paint going to his head to make him light - headed. but he spoke with flushed cheeks and a slight, unintentionally charming slur to his words, like he was lost in melody.
"fire? i'd fuckin' KILL the motherfucker if i could." he takes a swig of his mead, adding another coating to his throat. it wasn't his usual liquor, but he wanted something POTENT to aid in getting to where he wanted to be, i.e., shitface drunk, faster.
"if i had the choice, that sonofabitch would have been dead a long time ago." well, it's certainly a good thing for alastor that he doesn't HAVE a choice..
"deal me in with what you're getting at, kid."
arackniss can’t help it ; he laughs, boisterously, at the pretty kitty’s enthusiasm. maybe if his day had gone a little smoother he’d have shared that degree of disdain, but for now, the fight had been ripped out of him - the most he could do is imagine a life with his father’s grip loosened, never eliminated altogether.
his laugher peters off into something a bit more mournful than he’d like, stirring his cherry around his glass like a child dragging reluctant feet. after a few moments, he popped it into his mouth as well, tongue stalled by sloppy attempts to tie the stem. anything to give him more time to think.
another swig. another pause. arackniss plucked the knot from his mouth and added it to the growing collection on the napkin beside him. ❝ s’just shit work, ❞ he sighs, massaging between his eyes with tired fingers, ❝ y’know ? no breaks, no holidays, compensation is shit, boss is shit, it’s just - ❞ he cut himself off with a shake of his head, nursing his drink with a newfound grimace. ❝ … just ain’t worth getting up for in a day. ❞
arackniss is the cheetah who needs an emotional support dog in captivity or else he’ll go so fucking insane.
migraine . migraine . migraine .
𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫. anonymous asked : Does your muse prefer to be shorter, taller, or the same as their partner?
while arackniss does love the little thrill of being taller than someone in a world full of giants, it doesn’t matter too much to him ! his preference is to at least be able to make eye contact with his partner, whether he has to strain his neck to do so or not.
𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫. anonymous asked : Are there specific scents that your muse is attracted to? Do they like people who wear fragrances?
both of arackniss’ parents were heavily perfumed people - he grew up drowning in a cloud of his father’s cologne, and has fond memories of his mother spritzing herself at her vanity with all sorts of decadent smells. as an adult, he can’t turn down a good cologne himself. he loves fragrances on people, and his partner wearing a good scent is far up on his list of attractions. even higher up is the idea of his partner wearing his scent - a perfume they only wear around him, specifically for him.
𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫. @hazb1nz asked : “ what the hell did you do? ”
❝ what I had to, ❞ comes his crackling response, emboldened and bittered by the mess at his feet.
arackniss isn’t one for hand-to-hand. even now, in a body more able than willing, he kept his nose clean and his pistol hot. his father, bless his filthy rotten heart, had hammered that into his skull - you’re no LaMotta. you’re a skinny bastard with a shitty left hook. play smart, play dirty, or play dead.
it had worked for him then, taking potshots out of high rise windows ; it worked for him now.
even the best-laid plans had expiration dates, and luck ran out faster than sweet wine. he was facing five-to-one odds in the backend of pride, greed sharks with little pinprick eyes staring black holes into him, circling in on easy prey. niss wasn’t one for hand-to-hand, but he could more than hold his own when his life was on the line. he didn’t stop until every clip was empty. until the masses quit teeming. until his clarity of his own injuries came to him in flashes of pain and burning lungs, and a single, aghast voice came ringing through clear : what the hell had he done? he’d survived. a cough broke through his facade ; then another, and another, crippling little deaths hidden behind emasculating gasps of air. arackniss nearly tripped over one of the bodies in his wake, staggering like a drunk amidst the carnage. spent, his shoulder found the nearest wall : all eyes focused on crimson.
𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫. @demondrank asked : “You keep drinking like you’re trying to forget something. Or someone.”
maybe he is. maybe he’s just here to drown himself. he isn’t sure.
booze tastes sweeter the deeper you drink. arackniss watches the block of ice cloud his amaretto - not the first nor the last of the night - before taking a drink, savoring it like his last supper. the velvety sweetness lingers long after he swallows, giving him time to massage his eyes between long pulls, and it’s between those drinks that the hazy pulse of intoxication finally seems to sink in.
he’s alone. he’s drunk. he’s tired. finding a decent bridge to jump off of is on his short list of things to do tonight - or would be, if this damn cat wouldn’t stop chattering. arackniss can’t decide if it’s charming or infuriating, and neither can his expression, betraying him thoroughly in the backhanded glances he’s giving out. ❝ long day, ❞ he finally rasps, and gestures for a top-off. whether he’s granted one or not, arackniss sips away. like gauze in a wound, it tampers down everything bubbling to the surface. like a knife in the gut, it turns his stomach over. reluctantly, he pinches a few of the nuts on the bar, popping them like aspirin to appease his inner workings. ❝ … you ever wish you could fire your boss? ❞
