Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.
I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.
Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?
How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"
And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.
So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.
So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.
And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.
-
And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.
Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.
And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.
So you sail away in a boat together.
And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.
But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.
But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.
You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.
And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-
-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.
You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.
-
And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.
It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.
And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.
70 notes
·
View notes
Referencing one of the fics I talked about here, the "this was supposed to be about Redemption. it isn't." Vox-centric rape aftermath one, which will now be going behind a readmore with that description as your warning
I need to talk about this forever but I am not close to publishing anything yet. But I do have a lot of it plotted out (with no ending in sight though, unfortunately).
Vox, at his core, wants to be liked. Where other Overlords lean into the fear their power inspires, Vox softens himself and puts on a friendly smile. He needs public approval. He yearns for their affection, their eyes, their obsession. He made an AI assistant modeled and named after himself on all of their phones/watches/devices.
But Vox still is an Overlord, and you don't get power in Hell without making people hate you.
The Vees have a hold not just on media, but on drugs, real estate, construction, data centers, manufacturing, the entire electrical grid and fiber optic lines, the list goes on and on. Vox's empire touches every corner of their city; no one is free from his influence unless they shun modernity entirely.
It's the drugs that cause an issue this time.
Valentino has been beefing with The Alchemist since that mutt first made a name for himself. His aesthetic was ancient to match the name, but the Alchemist is a new sinner, some lowlife who thought that because he knew how to make lean in life, he could make a name for himself here and branch out into all sorts of new, hellish drugs. Thing is, addicts are the easiest soul contract you'll ever make. Promise to supply their addiction, and as long as you can, you'll collect souls as quickly as you can make Deals. The Alchemist getting to new Sinners before the Vees get a chance to becomes a problem.
Valentino has plenty of enforcers to take care of uppity wannabe Overlords encroaching on their turf though. The problem should be short-lived.
It isn't.
Vox hasn't been paying much attention to it. These things come and go, as gangsters die and Valentino forces them into submission. Val may focus more on his Porn Studio now, but he got his Overlord status through taking out the old families and cartels, the mobs and mafias running Pentagram City, taking over their drug trafficking and brothels. So Vox didn't worry about it. Val might need direction when dealing with his public persona, didn't know when to tone himself down for polite company, but when the situation called for Val's brand of violence? Vox let him handle it.
He realized, after the drinks at his investor meeting led to him collapsing dizzily to the floor, reaching out blindly for the now non-existent electrical grid and realizing that the building's power had been cut off, that he should have paid more attention to who might have it out for The Vees right now, and which investors weren't in Valentino's pocket.
... He escapes eventually. They may have been smart enough to keep him away from electrical wires, but one finally made the mistake of not putting his phone on airplane mode while recording their captive Overlord, and Vox used it as a jump point.
The damage had already been done.
Val is still ranting about his typical inane drama, and Vox wants nothing more than to look at his phone. He can't do that. Not until his algorithm cleans up any mention of. Himself. In compromising situations. It's being posted faster than the bots can take it down, but at least Vox has turned off any direct messages, blocked the usual pings alerting him every time he's mentioned, and filtered emails to only show what is absolutely and immediately necessary for the continued running of VoxTek. Even that decision has also been posted about online, people making fun of him for not being able to handle the backlash. He used to have a language model AI answering comments and DMs, a personal touch for his fans. It had responded to far too many messages about how good he looked in his latest broadcast with the standard thanks and appreciation for their support, before he disabled it. Vox was sure screenshots of those responses were also still going around.
The Vee's retribution on the other Overlord is to torture him and his inner circle on live video. The Alchemist posted several recordings of Vox's rape online to further humiliate him, so the Vees will pay back like with like, making use of Val's stash of angelic bullets to slowly kill off everyone who touched Vox. Until the Alchemist begs for mercy, tells them he'll give them anything, everything, offering up everything to them, his soul, his territory, all of his Contracts...
Velvette takes the deal. "I'll give you anything," was the phrase they agreed on, "my Contracts, yours. Money, apothecaries, everything, please." They shook on those terms, the Alchemist too out of it at this point to realize that he didn't ask for anything in return for all that he just handed over. Vox shoots him.
His death, his defeat, it doesn't fix anything.
It was supposed to. It was supposed to make everyone stop talking about Vox like he's the new most popular porn star - or at least focus on him when he's in control of the situation. Wasn't that hotter? Filmed professionally by Valentino's best director instead of on a handheld shaking cell phone and. It was supposed to show everyone that you can't mess with The Vees. Wins against them are only temporary. They'll come out on top in the end. But everyone was still talking about old news.
Anyway. Many more thoughts but this is long enough lmao. A huge focus of this multi series wip is how other characters react to it, not just Vox. Like: Valentino has so many issues of his own and he is projecting them onto Vox. Valentino escaped victimhood long ago, and he is no longer the kind of person who can be targeted by abusers or bigots. Vox was his equal. Vox was his.
"Hey! Vox!"
There's hands on him and he reels back, but there's nowhere to go. His shoulders are wrenched out of place, arms bound by his own bowtie, nowhere to run. This isn't happening. There's something in his mouth— no there's not?— Bite me and I'll knock out your teeth,* a gruff voice is saying. Vox, they mock, Vox, they ask if he likes hearing his name chanted during. No, Vox! He puts his name on everything, should they brand him with his own logo? Would he like that?
He screams when they grab his antenna and wrench his head to the side. "Vox!
"You're not listening to me!" Val's expression clears as Vox blinks to awareness. His glare melts into a on of concern. "Are you seriously still thinking about that gangbanger?" Val scoffs. Frowns. Thinks of something with a smile growing across his face.
One hand is on Vox's chest, another two on his hips, he guides Vox back, gently.
Vox stumbles when he hits the arm of the couch, falling, flailing, landing on his back with an oomf
Val crawls over top of him. "Stop thinking about them, Voxxy. You know I can show you a much better time."
Vox flinches when Val's hand trails lower onto his thigh, trying to wiggle away for the first time, and Val's brows furrow. "I didn't think you were hurt there," he mutters.
"Skin graft," Vox squeaks, breathless. He hated feeling breathless. He didn't even need to breathe.
Velvette, well. She was the person Vox teleported to. He manifested out of her phone and knocked them both to the ground, passing out on top of her. She got the first look at him before any of his technicians were called in to fix things. He came to her. And she can't help but feel responsible for him.
In the video, they fucked him like he was a toy. No, not even that. They treated him with less regard than anyone fucked even a FizzBot. It wasn't a good video. These weren't porn directors. They weren't sex workers who had trained to make this art. It was brutal and it was vulgar and it didn't even look good. Bad angles and shaky camera, but shared tens of thousands of times and the number was still growing.
The original had been removed. She made sure of that. But that hadn't stopped its spread, couldn't do anything when people downloaded the video as quickly as they could to reupload it, far too many reposts to track down, especially with Vox still. Offline. She couldn't exactly plug herself into his supercomputer.
Velvette was the Social Media Queen. She was the Online Overlord. She was meant to be in charge of The Vees' images online, currating how they presented themselves to that hungry audience. This wasn't supposed to get out of her control.
——
But she had posted about Vox in the afteraffects of Val's venom, doped to his gills on the thing she had recreated into Love Potion. She had tagged it for a free promo of her own products. Vox was funny when his tongue was loose and his affection and attention freely given. And Vox thought humanizing himself was important, some twisted idea leftover from life about being "robotic" that dictated his body in the afterlife and left him desperate to be understood as a living, albeit no longer breathing human being. He softened himself to be less of a monster to anyone looking, dressed himself like he wasn't a threat, smiled and laughed and and.
It was her idea to capitalize on Val and Vox's relationship. Well, Val was the one who first callously posted about breaking Vox's screen, but it was her idea to turn it into a running joke. It was funny when Val punched Vox and threw things at him and broke his fucking face. It was funny, because unlike bruises and bloody noses, Vox's screen was easily replaceable glass. It broke so easily, anyone who managed to get a lucky hit on him while fighting could no longer feel satisfied by that when Vox's boyfriend did more damage than a rival Overlord could ever manage to. Glass was easy to break. Vox didn't like fighting back, but it was funny, was barely even violence. It meant nothing more than rolled eyes and a swiftly scheduled appointment with a technician to switch out screens.
No one was supposed to look at the image she created and come to the conclusion that Vox was easy to subdue.
It wasn't supposed to make Vox look weak. It was supposed to make him impossible to hurt, because any damage done was so easy to fix that it was no big deal at all.
But. His face was so easy to break. He was so loose limbed and pliant on Love Potion. He might have claws, but he preferred not to use them, hiding behind cameras and screens all day.
What the fuck were people supposed to take from that?
Other characters have thoughts too. Alastor isn't online, doesn't know the backstory, but Vox makes his picture shows impossible to miss with displays all over the city. Vox has become unrecognizable. Alastor is disgusted that they used to be acquaintances.
Cherri gleefully sends Angel every vindictive meme about Vox she sees. She wishes it had happened to Valentino instead, but Vox is also profiting off of her bestie's abuse, so he absolutely deserves everything that happened to him and more.
Angel laughed about it at first, but... It doesn't feel right to celebrate anyone's rape. And some of Cherri's comments... Angel has been used to sell this lifestyle to the new talent Valentino wants to make Deals with. He's responsible for ruining so many lives, hanging off Val's arm and telling people how great it is to work for him. And long before that, Angel was involved in the Mafia and, well, like Val himself, they didn't just make money on drugs, did they? Angel wonders if his best friend would be so supportive of him if she knew all this. He wonders of she'd think he deserves his fate too.
Carmilla, like Alastor, is not very online. She hears from her daughters that there's a reason The Vees are doing this, but the girls aren't sharing any details, and don't stay to watch the broadcast Vox has forced onto their TV. She watches The Vees make a Deal with a Sinner and immediately turn around and kill him with one of her weapons. Overlords are meant to protect the Souls that have been entrusted to them. Souls are valuable, the most valuable thing you have to offer anyone. What message is Vox spreading, making mockery of Deals this way, acting like Souls are worthless and can be thrown away. The Vees are just making Sinners less likely to sell themselves to anyone.
Carmilla had scheduled a meeting for fellow Overlords to talk about saving as many Sinners as possible in the upcoming Exterminations. The Vees were meant to attend, but obviously, they are uninterested in keeping the Sinners entrusted to their care alive. She uninvites them. (Vox is still filtering out his emails. He doesn't get this one. The Vees show up anyway.)
Charlie thinks about violence a lot. It's inescapable. She doesn't use her phone much, but she learns what happened to Vox and nearly cries. She makes a post about how violence shouldn't be celebrated and wishes Vox well in his recovery. Days later, she watches Vox take over the television and the three Vees torture the people who tortured him, and she thinks about what will happen when she has the opportunity to reach out to two Sinners who hurt each other. She wants to think they can all be redeemed, that her hotel should be open to anyone. She watches the screen through her fingers, unable to look away as Vox kills the Sinner on his knees before him, cackling. She watches The Vees kiss each other over the dead body, tender and loving, the broadcast ending as Vox rests his screen against Velvette's hair and Valentino wraps all of his arms around the two. And she thinks about forgiveness, and she wonders what she would do if someone hurt Vaggie.
10 notes
·
View notes