Au idea that begins as requited murdermedia, husbands without the certificate, with rings on the wrong fingers, on necklaces, with hidden smiles and forehead kisses in the dark corners of the world. In speakeasies where people have learned not to speak. Begins with a Vincent and Alastor who are in love--queerplantonic, romantic or not, but love all the same. Friends, lovers, or just together, partners who will never look at another, because who could see the other and smile at the blood and the sadistic joy, at the small domestic things? Who could look into their eyes and say "You're mine" and their heart and soul believes it, feels safe in the knowledge of it, in the respect of their gestures and the comraderie?
Years spent between murders where they realize that the world is a little better when it’s not spent quite so alone, for all that alone didn’t factor before. Now it does, for all the problems it reveals. And that’s okay, because the world is fun and a challenge and annoying because they have to hide aspects of themselves that they know they shouldn’t have to (love, it’s love, for all they never say the words, never think them specifically.)
But then Alastor dies as per usual, as he does in a hundred different universes, and Vincent spends the rest of his time trying to summon Alastor as a demon bc Alastor mentioned Hell ONCE and that he believed it (had contacted it), so that means Vincent must, too, now that Alastor is gone.
Vincent doesn't end his life immediately (to hopefully go to Hell) bc Alastor made him promise not to. "Live for me, Vincent. Tell me of the world when we meet again. I know you'll make it a fantastic story for me." But he doesn't want to be without his husband during the rest of his human life. He doesn't want to wait to tell Alastor about how humanity grows up or down. About how many necks he wrings for being racist assholes, about how he finds himself adopting some of Alastor's targets as his own because it makes him both nostalgic and he can practically hear the way Alastor used to bristle at the insults. About how he has to temper his anger because Alastor isn’t there to remind him to be careful. How he’s just that little more reckless in a way that Alastor would absolutely scold him for.
He misses him. Like the blood he spills in his name, from the veins of victims and his own. Like the breath in his lungs.
So, summoning Alastor. He deep dives into Alastor's old research, brute forces some of the ritual magic, but what really manages to work is the pure intent. What works is intent and blood and memory.
What works is love. Connection. Oh, the irony, to summon a demon with it. The way it would have worked even if Alastor were an angel.
It doesn't happen immediately; doesn't happen for years, actually. There are a lot of little things he needs to get right before brute force could bridge the rest. Some of the symbols aren’t correct. The circles aren’t perfect. The lines don’t connect properly.
But the power grows, heavy with promise, bowing his back, his head. Vincent’s hands shake with something other than blood loss. One deep, dark midnight, he finished the circle and calls and calls and calls. He bleeds and his eyes close, and he shivers with the cold in his veins and the warmth in his gut. He pictures Alastor: his mad, bloodthirsty grin, his calculation, his natural drawl and then his transatlantic radio accent. The callouses from his preferred weapon on the hand that held Vincent’s own. Lips, slightly chapped, against the skin of his wrist. Darling, and dear, and mon cher, my love, my husband. The warm glow of the lights in brown-red eyes and on his curled brown hair and against his brown skin.
Vincent’s eyes flutter as he says Alastor’s full name, a whisper of worship and desperation, of grief and longing. Of please.
He doesn’t feel the circle’s activation; doesn’t feel how it draws on him, how it latches onto soul and blood, mind and heart with sharp, spindled claws. How threads lace him and something else together.
What he does feel is a hand so much larger, sharper, hotter than his own human hand, brushing and cradling his cheek and cupping his head in a palm. There are no callouses but something is familiar in how it cradles him. His consciousness leaves him as his soul recognizes a job well done, a goal recognized and accomplished.
“Oh, mon cher,” Alastor hums, holding the small human body against his own. The radio demon in him salivates, drools at the fresh blood and desperate, clinging soul in his grasp. Scents the salty tears of grief and relief with a humored, sharp grin. The human part, however, bridges the gaping maw of something monstrous into something less so. Ours, says the human, curling into other soul. Remember? He’s ours. Remember the laugher, the glee? The murderous planning, the teasing, the match we made? He’s ours, ours, ours.
The demon remembers, considers. Traces the salt on the man’s cheeks with a large, singular and careful claw. The thinner frame (the human hums with disapproval), the new scars from poorly healed bloodletting. Green-glinting red eyes travel around the room; spots the books and the papers and effigies, and the magic and the barely-stable power radiating from each line of body and ritual. There is potential and force in the air, in Vincent.
Ours, concludes the radio demon. He doesn’t like the thought of something—someone—else being drawn here. Of other sharp things digging into the flesh and blood and power of this single human. Vincent Whittman belongs to Alastor, the Radio Demon. He accepts the bind, the thread, the laced fingers with his own, the new ring around his heart and on the right finger this time, and curls around the other in the middle of the poorly made but sparklingly powerful ritual circle. Static fluffs his fur and hair, swishes his fluffy deer tail, sits heavy on his long, sharp tongue. But his gaze is all contented.
He’d missed this stupid, foolish, loyal man. His husband in more than name, now.
(Vincent is in for a surprise when he wakes up in the morning.)
Vincent's father brought in a boy with rumors that he is his bastard. Alastor is a quiet child who keeps to himself and Vincent feels resentful that Alastor is taking up his fathers time. He tries to be friendly, but Alastor ignores all his questions and pisses Vincent off with his superior attitude.
—
The pinecone came out of nowhere and smacked a sleeping Alastor right in the jaw, “Ow!”
Alastor rubbed his face and glared down from the tree he was perched in to see an entitled brat glaring back up at him. As per usual, Vincent wore his emotions on his sleeve, positively oozing childish rage with his hands balled up into fists and gritting his teeth.
“I know it was you, don’t even try to deny it!” Vincent hucked another pinecone, this time his aim going wide with the projectile falling harmlessly into a nearby bush.
“I have no idea what you mean,” The boy in the tree snickered, wearing his familiar mask of a grin. “Nice aim, by the way."
“Get your ass down here so I can beat it properly you fucking coward!”
“Uh, no. If you want to ‘beat my ass’ you're going to have to come up here.” Alastor adjusted his posture, so he was lying on the thick branch like a cat, his hand nestled on his chin.
“Oh, don’t think I won’t you chucklefuck!” Vincent gave the large tree a once over before deciding on a path upward. Hopping to a low branch he pulled himself up, swinging a leg over. “I'm gonna bust your teeth til it can’t talk anymore!”
Alastor watched in amusement as he wiggled his way up the tree, grumbling profanities the whole while. A bit of curiosity hit him, “Now what is it that you think I did this time?”
“THINK HAPPENED!” Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say and the boy almost fell out of the tree in affront. “You hid fathers bottle of expensive ass whiskey in my room! A servant found it and reported it, you dickwad!”
Alastor blinked, “Goodness, well as much as I'd like to take credit, that wasn't me.” His sly grin got wider, “Although I wish I had, your father take the belt to you yet?”
Growling in incoherent rage, Vincent ripped off some bark and threw it like skipping a rock. His aim was decent this time but Alastor caught it and chucked it right back, hitting him right in the forehead. Unfortunately, the brat was able to keep his balance, and was making good climbing progress.
---
I was thinking Alastor isn't actually related to Vincent. His mother pulled a fast one to give him a better life. Vincent isn't aware and, in addition to gay panic, deals with falling for his "half-brother." Separately, Alastor and Vincent are serial killers until Vincent catches Alastor in the act and loses his mind. They belong together!!
Alastor finds Vincent amusing but says this in the most hurtful way possible, "I never considered you a brother." Leaving the "Because you are my sweetheart, " unsaid.
With parenting... I can imagine Vincent's mother isn't happy with bastard Alastor suddenly appearing in her house and having to take care of the child like nothing is wrong. Vincent's father is gone more often than not, away on business.
No, Random Protagonist, you were NEVER in love with B-you could never be in love with B, for A is your One True Love.
You see, being in love with someone else before A would compromise the idea that you are only truly in love with the person you are spending the rest of your life with, and we can’t have that, can we? That is the role of the One True Love.
You have known B for years? You cared for B with all your heart? You adore B beyond what a normal crush would mean, you were friends and confidants? But now you have A, and A can be all that and more! Why would you need B, or your friends and family? Why would you need anyone else other than the One True Love?
You might have had B, or C, or D, or someone else up to Z, but none of those matter- what matters is the One True Love.
This is especially true if B did not return the feelings you had for them-this is the ultimate proof that B was not right, you know that affection actually means something only when it is returned, and that is the role of the One True Love.
And if B ends up being a horrible person, well! That was the Universe trying to scream at you the inevitable truth! How could you have been destined for the malevolent B when angelic A is around, the honest and good One True Love?
Don’t worry, Random Protagonist-you will not know love until your eyes lock with A’s. We are preserving your sentimental purity.
Radiostatic bringing people together
Im honoured to have my name attached to something dear @foolishhprince was part of :} Hope y'all love it as much as we loved making it
Here's a short comic of "What if Vincent could speak french" by giving him french canadien roots, because it actually could be a realistic possibility and i got free will.
You have no idea the amount of time i spent for Alastor's Louisiana french because I couldn't use google translate. Thank god Kouri-Vini share so much similarity with Québec french because I would have gave up. (if anyone knows Louisiana French and see any mistake, please tell me, I want to correct it and learn 🙏)
Also, big thanks and hats off to "Kill me, Kiss me, Eyes on me" author for sliding a link to a book about Louisiana French and inspiring me to use Louisiana french rather than international/Europe french.
NOT because I'm Québécoise (obviously it is but you know), but Vincent having Québec roots would work so well on him simply because we have the most colorful, extensive way of swearing. Like, I can see it:
Vincent falls after sliding on guts next to a body
Vincent: Crisse du calice du TABARNACK d'osti de mange-marde du-
Warning: repetitious flashing/pulsing lights
When the travelling theater ports in your village and the troupe’s lead thespian apparently moonlights as a male pole dancer:
"[Nina’s] PONY" - A Ginuwine/The Pirate (1948) video mashup.
Previous episodes:
Benny Benassi / Seven Brides For Seven Brothers (1954).
this fucking AU that I forgot I had and then randomly remembered LMAO
I honestly dont remember if marinette's kid had a different name but he's hard at work trying to make Doctor Adrien his Dad, trust. It's just that Dr. Agreste has zero game.
as a child being told "the moon controls the tides" with no additional explanation was like. oh okay. you want me to believe in magic? you're talking about magic right now? okay. fine
Y'all if you're American please email your politicians and senators against the parents decide act. I'm fucking begging because we're reaching a tipping point.
Quick and easy link to both find your congressmen/women and giving you a quick and easy way to copy / paste the message into it. You want to oppose. It's an act that will demand that all major OS makers integrate a direct forced age verification control into all OS.
I received a comment on this that I figured would be very helpful- it's a template for communicating with your representatives. Be sure to use it for reference
Dear Representative [Name],
I am writing to express my strong opposition to H.R. 8250 (The "Parents Decide Act"). As your constituent and a concerned citizen, I believe this bill introduces unprecedented risks to digital privacy and security.
Specifically, I am alarmed by:
SEC. 2(a)(1)(B): Requiring age verification to even use an operating system creates a mandatory "hardware lockout" that ends anonymous computing and forces users to hand over sensitive identification data to major corporations just to power on their devices.
SEC. 2(a)(3): Mandating that OS providers create a system for all app developers to access verification data is a massive security vulnerability. This effectively creates a centralized API of user identities accessible to thousands of third-party developers, many of whom may lack adequate data protection.
This bill does not protect children; it creates a centralized surveillance infrastructure at the OS level. I urge you to protect the privacy of your constituents and vote NO on H.R. 8250.
This is a hell that us down under in Australia are already living in, and it’s not even effective at what it claims to do in protecting children.
Given that, in the wake of this mandatory identification policy, my country seems to be moving to hand over its citizens biometric data, like fingerprints, Face ID files, and identification documents, over to the USA and to ICE to maintain the visa free travel (ESTA) we have, I strongly urge any US resident to send these emails, or make calls.
But if you can’t do that, the most powerful thing you can do is spread the word. Tell your friends, family, coworkers, anyone who can help.
My reach will likely be small, and so I don’t know if this will mean very much in the grand scheme of things, but I cannot stand to see this tracking happen to another population as it did to mine.
And if you think it won’t affect you, it will. All anonymity goes out the window when your accounts can be linked via your personal ID
I wish you all luck in preventing this act from going through.
Okay, but check out this video from mid-May 2022 of a Kestrel Dad who just kept piling up voles and mice beside his babies when the mom was injured/killed/mia’d by owls…but then watched one of his babies just swallow a lizard and went “OH. I can feed them small food!” and learned to tear it apart!
EDIT: There’s a not-zero percent chance that this could be the same dad???????? The source is the same–Robert E Fuller–but they could be different birds.
UPDATE: Not only has Mister Kes learned to feed his chicks all on his own…
….the three chicks who were taken out of the nest for intensive care after the mom disappeared were put back in, and he just started feeding them, too.
He’s a single father of six who does not possess the instincts to feed even one of his offspring, but he learned and adopted that behavior without difficulty and is now hunting and providing for six kids all on his own.
baratheonpilled
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