#No. The Entire Volume 1 without some parts! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryredstars · 19 days

Note

Hi Cherry!

Could you do a part 2 to fear (f)or lust? There something about mean dom miguel that makes me ✨️tingle✨️

Maybe sprinkle some fluff at the end?

You are an amazing writer ❤️ Love everything you do!

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Mean!Miguel, Penetrative Sex, Bruising, Face Slapping, Creampie, Cum-Stained Panties (LMAO)

Summary: He still has one last thing to prove.

A/N: Hihi, love!! Thank you!!

Not Edited

Part 1

It's been a week.

Far too long for Miguel's taste, if it wasn't evident from how much harsher he's been on the field lately. His mood is effectively soured from your disappearance lately. It's partly to do with you avoiding him and the fact you're at some nerdy competition for the school. You had told him in text the day before you left, and his mood has been getting worse ever since. His life has become surprisingly dull without you around to scare and stuff his fingers into. He hates to say it, but he missed his little Bambi.

But his suffering finally comes to an end when he's walking the halls and the familiar tweeting of your voice passes him. He looks up from his phone, turning his head the same time you turn yours, his threatening eyes meeting your shiny ones. He gives you a smirk before you're pushed away by the crowd of students, continuing his path forward as he presses a few buttons on his phone. He wished you were in front of him so you can squeak at the door look on his face when you pick up the phone.

"Can't hide from me forever, Bambi."

---------------------------------------------------

The scene looks familiar as you stand outside his door, the only difference this time is he's not wearing a shirt or sweats. He leans comfortably against the frame of his door, acting as if he isn't just in a pair of black boxer briefs. His hair is a bit limp over his forehead, beads of water still clinging to his tanned skin. He must have just gotten out of the shower, remembering vaguely that he had practice today so you knew to avoid taking any outside paths that pass by the field. You try your best to not stare at his muscular chest, but you find it hard to meet his eyes too. They always have that dark, hungry look in them. You opt to stare at his ear, your cheeks flaming.

Miguel on the other hand, doesn't care if you watch him take you in. His brow is quirked up, looking at the slight changes you think he wouldn't have noticed. You're wearing a bit more makeup than you usually do, your lips glossier and more colored than they usually are. The top you're wearing is tighter than what you're more comfortable wearing, different from the slightly baggy shirts you like to wear for tutoring sessions. He hopes for your sake you wore it specifically for him and you didn't come from something as silly as a date.

He moves slightly out of the doorway, leaving just enough room for you to squeeze through. You eye the empty space, something bubbling in your stomach as you slowly walk forward and squeeze yourself through. Your entire side brushes against Miguel's front, and his skin is burning hot against yours. You avoid looking at him at all costs, praying in your head to keep yourself together. You're so lost in throught that you yelp when Miguel suddenly grabs your arm, pulling you back into him.

You finally look him directly in the face, your eyes wide as he smirks down at you. Your eyes squeeze shut when he leans down, warning bells sounding at top volume in your head. You really regret closing your eyes because you're unprepared when you're suddenly lifted off the ground, a large and startled gasp leaving your lips as your eyes are snapped open. Your stare meets the ground, and Miguel's muscular shoulder digs into your stomach. His arm is wrapped around the back of your knees, and it's the only precaution he's taking to make sure you don't fall. You almost feel like crying when he purposely jolts you on his shoulder, loosening his grip slightly so you slide forward a bit. He laughs darkly as you claw at his back, having nothing to hold onto.

You can feel every step he takes as he takes you away from the front door, walking down a wall until you both enter a room. It smells so heavily of Miguel, and the air is slightly thick from the shower's steam that flows into the room. It makes your head dizzy, and it doesn't help when Miguel throws you off his shoulder and onto his bed. You bounce from the force as you land on the bed, landing partially on the towel he used to dry his hair before answering the door.

He looks so menacing standing over you, his body blocking the light from the hallway from entering his dark room. It makes him glow, like some dark angel that is determined to take you with him. He movements are slow and predatory as he walks to you, the faint light doing just enough to show how his muscles shift. He forces his large frame between your legs, his rough hands grabbing your calves and spreading them wider to accommodate him. The stretch slightly hurts, and you wince slightly when he forces his body forward so he can be face to face with you. Your legs rest on either side of his waist as he rests his hands on either side of your head, one of his hands rubbing at your cheek.

"You're so silly," He chuckles, he red eyes appearing to be glowing down at you. "Want to hide f'me, but then y'come here all dolled up."

You open your mouth to protest, but Miguel sticks his thumb through your parted lips, pressed down on your tongue. You gag around the finger in surprise, eyes widening as a distressed sound leaves your mouth. Miguel's thumb presses harder on your tongue, and he quirks his head to the side.

"No need to lie. I know it was all for me." He smiles. His other hand snakes down your body, stopping until the heel of his palm presses against your cunt through your pants.

You squirm in his hold, trying to pull away from him. It only makes a dull pleasure shoot up your body, and you buck your hips harder with a whine. Miguel shakes his head at your foolishness, pulling his soaked thumb out of your mouth and wiping the saliva across your trembling bottom lip. He gives your face two soft pats, causing your pulse to jump as you remember the last time he slapped your face. He seems to know what you're thinking about as he coos down at you, reassuring you that he isn't going to slap you. Not unless you give him a reason too.

The promise- or is it a threat?- causes your body to flame, and you try to look away from his face. He scowls, his hand squeezing your cheeks together, puckering your lips as he forces you to face him. His brows are furrowed in distaste, and his other hand begins to undo your pants. He leans down, your noses almost bumping as he glares down at you.

"Who told you to look away? It sure as hell wasn't me."

You try to mumble an apology through your puckered lips, but barely any sound comes out besides incoherent hums. Miguel roughly throws your head to the side as he lets go, moving his hand down to get rid of your pants. He does it without your assistance, pressing your hips up himself to slide them off your legs and throwing them to the side. He hums as he spots the dark patch in your underwear, his fingers pressing on it and letting it sink into your hole. Your hips jolt, the uncomfortable wetness making you squirm. Miguel chuckles, moving the panties to the side, to see the way your entrance pulsates in an need to be filled.

He hums darkly at the pleasant sight, his fingers circling your hole. The stimulation distracts you for only a moment before Miguel harshly yanks your panties to the side, gasping in pain as you feel the fabric rub and snap around the crease of your thigh. The useless fabric is tossed to the side, and Miguel starts fishing his leaking cock out of his boxers. Your eyes widen at how large he is, and you try to push yourself away from him. Miguel tuts in annoyance, grabbing your thigh and roughly pulling you back into place. You gasp when his heavy dick slaps against your cunt, his angry tip pushing against your puffy clit. You freeze under him, finally learning that squirming gets you nowhere.

Miguel finally seems pleased for once, liking the way you've wordlessly submitted to him as you try to relax your body. He slowly moves his hips back and forth, sliding his cock through your glossy folds. You whimper slightly at the feeling, your body caving in on itself as your cheeks flame. Miguel pays you no mind, his eyes trained on where he slides through you as he lets out a low groan in approval. The underside of his cock is getting sticky from your arousal, and his tip catches against your entrance every now and then.

The teasing makes you ache for more. You open your mouth, only for a loud scream to escape as you're suddenly full. The stretch is quick and painful as Miguel unexpectedly thrusts inside of you, filling you to the brim in one move. You can feel him pressed against your cervix, and you let out choked breaths as your cunt squeezes around him. Miguel moans lowly at the feeling, gritting his teeth as he tries to pull out. Your cunt makes it almost impossible with how desperately your walls cling to him, but with some effort he begins to thrust into you.

You make pathetic little noises every time he bottoms out inside of you, his thrusts rough and fast as the sound of skin hitting skin echoes in his room. You already know the back of your thighs will be red and aching by the time he's done. You squirm on his dick, your shaky hands pressing on his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him off of you. He finds it to be a stupid move on your part as he gathers your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head as he ruts into you. Your hands clench in his hold, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan.

"Y'know, I was thinking about how easy it would be to fold you. Wanna test it out?"

Miguel's eyes are concentrated as he stares at where his cock penetrates you, watching the slight shine that coats his length and tuning his ears in on the squelching of your pussy. He groans as you clench around him, his hands coming to your thighs as he moves your legs to rest over his shoulders. You whine at the movement, his cock seeming to hit deeper inside of you. If you thought your thighs ached before, they burn now as the tops of your thighs press against your chest. Miguel ruts rougher into you, his teeth gritted as your cunt pulsates around him. You can feel that tight ball in your stomach, and you squeal when Miguel starts toying with your clit.

Your body trembles under him, the heels of your feet beating down on his muscular back as the onslaught of pleasure makes you're mind dumb. He's sure he'll get bruises from how hard your heels are hitting his back, but it doesn't deter him from fucking into you. Your nails dig crescents into your palms as you explode, your body twisting in an attempt to escape Miguel's consistent thrusts as you gush around his cock. Miguel groans as your cunt milks him, sweat beading on his forehead as he tries to find his release as you convulse.

He gives your cunt a few more brutal thrusts before his hips slow, slowly fucking his cum into your abused pussy. You mewl up at him as his hand releases your wrists, his hips finally stopping. Your chest rises and falls with quick breaths as you calm down, your body already feeling sore as Miguel moves your legs off his shoulders. His chest isn't moving as rapidly as yours is from his years spent on the field, his heart used to the hard physical demands Miguel puts his body through. But he does let out a slightly shaky sigh as his large hands softly knead your thighs. It makes the ache fade slightly, and he reaches besides you to grab the towel he used before. You jolt slightly when he wipes down your sticky cunt, hesitating a bit as he watches the glob of cum leak from your hole.

When your breaths start to regulate, you lift yourself slightly up. Your eyes catch the outline of your ruined panties on the floor, and your brows furrow as you wonder how you'll get home without any underwear. Miguel follows your line of sight, eyebrow raised as he takes in the tattered fabric. He crawls off you, walking to one of his dressers and rummaging through it. You expect him to pull out a pair of boxers, but what he pulls out is much too small for him to fit. Miguel throws them at you, and you pick them up hesitantly. Miguel can't help but chuckle as you gasp, staring wide-eyed at the stiffened pair of panties at the end of your fingers.

You feel like crying thinking about the prevented things he must have done to your poor panties.

438 notes · View notes

radio-writes · 2 months

Text

I Don't Know if I'm Real Without You

— Part 2 of 2 (Read Part 1 here: What is Left of Me Without You)

Synopsis: He didn't love you, but he needed you—that's what he said, at least. He needed you to show him just how deep your devotion to him really was.

Warnings: abusive relationships, power imbalance, some misogyny, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, murder and violence, physical injury to reader, major character death(s), angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader

MDNI

"Why, just the other day a green fuzzy caught sight of another stiff by the river! Poor green egg went green in the face!" A laugh track followed the voice on the radio.

Alastor sat on the couch as he riffled through his briefcase, making sure he had everything he needed today.

"What poor taste," You commented absentmindedly from behind him. "Is that really any way to start off a Sunday morning?"

Alastor let out a distracted hum at your words. He hadn't really been paying you much mind. A lazy smile simply played on his face.

Just one body? Seems they missed the other two friends it had in there.

"Well, it takes talent to entertain, my dear. Something these hacks clearly lack," He said casually, waving a hand at the radio's direction.

"And speaking of stiffs! We've got a fresh one today, folks—" The host's voice was chipper as it came from the radio.

Alastor sat a little straighter, as if on instinct.

"Darling, do you mind fetching my script?" Your husband spoke over the hack radio host. "Seems I might have forgotten it in our bedroom."

"Not a problem, dear," You replied almost instantaneously. Your hand landed on his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze before you left the room.

Alastor stood up, cooly making his way towards the radio as he turned the volume down slowly.

"Glue stuffed in his mouth, chilled off, and absolutely tattered by nails, people! Brutal new body found behind the local—not so secret—juice joint!" The radio continued, but Alastor's smile remained calm despite the gruesome news.

His eyes stayed at the doorway you left through, making sure you had actually gone.

There was no need to sully your little ears with useless chatter like this. You were much more use to him all oblivious and naive, so he'd prefer to keep you that way.

When the radio host finally finished talking about his the most latest victim, Alastor turned the volume back up to how it was. He made his way back to the couch, hands gathering his script neatly into his hands from the top of his briefcase.

He chuckled to himself before calling out to you. "Never mind, dear! The little bugger was at the bottom of my case this entire time!"

He wasn't the type to forget these things. He was always so organized, sometimes to a fault.

And you knew that.

And Alastor knew that you knew that.

But he wasn't worried. You'd never doubt him. Whatever pesky little thought you had related to him, you'll just brush off easily.

He'd made sure of that.

Alastor heard you playfully scold him, your soft laughter rung through his home.

"—I guess you can say he really nailed that Chicago overcoat!" The annoying little shit on the radio joked just as you entered the room.

Alastor spared it one quick glare before his sight fell on you once more. You didn't seem to care for the joke much, but your eyes did linger on the dials of the radio for a second too long Alastor thought.

"Does the radio seem a bit louder to you, Al?" You asked him.

Ah, he must have turned it back a tad bit too far.

He looked at you with faux confusion. "'fraid I don't know what you mean, dear. Why would it be louder?" He stood up, closing the briefcase in front of him and straightening out his collar. "But I do have to split now, darling, or the ol' big cheese would have my head."

Your eyes met his warm chestnut ones. Alastor could practically see the way you brushed away your silly concerns in your head, a soft smile once again gracing your lips.

He knew you were confused as to why his boss supposedly needed him at work on a Sunday.

He knew you wanted to ask why.

He knew that, at least some part of you, didn't fully believe that he was headed off to the radio station.

If you were smart you'd have listened to it.

But you were his wife.

So you simply nodded in understanding, moving closer to where Alastor stood. You made to grab for the suit jacket that still hung on his arm but the tall man was quick to pull it high above your reach.

"Not so fast there, darling." He teased, smiling down at you.

"It's cold out, dear. I'll help you put your coat on," You insisted, small, delicate hands reached up for the jacket.

Alastor stepped back from you, briefly tapping his fingertip against your nose. "And who said I was in any hurry to cover up this lovely new shirt my wife got for me?" He teased, snapping the suspenders he wore against the crisp white shirt.

He simply adored it when he made heat color your soft cheeks. He loved seeing proof of his effect on you.

His eyes drifted to the clock behind you, his smile straining just a tiny bit when he realized what time it was.

He'd miss his mark if he wasted any more time here.

"In any case, darling, I really do have to dash," He smiled back at you, already heading towards the door before you could say anything else. "But do keep yourself free, baby. I'll be back before you know it." He shot a wink at you.

He grabbed his hat from the coat rack and plopped it neatly on his head, then he was out the door in a second.

Alastor let out a short, tired breath.

Sometimes, he did find your love to be a bit tiring. But he supposed, at the moment, it was still worth much more than the hassle it caused him.

He hurriedly strolled down the street, smiling and greeting everyone that passed by him politely. His ego stroked just a little bit with every flustered dame.

He didn't care for any of them, but he never grew tired of knowing the charming effect he had on people.

Alastor tried to clear his head of you as he hopped into a taxi. He laughed as the cabby recognized him almost immediately, but he didn't pay the man any mind as he yapped about how much of a fan he was.

Instead, he found that his thoughts have annoyingly strayed back to you. He's found that you've been so persistently present in his mind lately.

One would think that sounded so romantic, that he was a cold man finally falling for a sweet little thing.

But in reality he was weighing his options.

You've always been so behaved, so meek.

He found you endearing, that much was true.

You were great company, after all. You loved the same music he did, kept up with his dancing, and sang so beautifully along whenever he tickled the ivory keys.

You dressed up to compliment his style, even if it wasn't to your comfort. Smiled at all the wretched people, even as they gossiped behind your back. Perfectly prepared and happily ate every dish he liked, even stranger ones you found hard to stomach.

Because you shaped yourself to be his partner. You did everything and anything that you could to gain his approval.

And that was indeed endearing. The lengths you went to, just to hear a simple praise from him.

Alastor used to wonder if there was ever a limit to it, but as the times flew by he realized you were just too happy to rewrite even your own logic just to stay by his side.

And it was also true that you were a brilliant cover.

As a taken man, there were much less people prying into his life as opposed to when he was an eligible bachelor. And no odd rumors ever spread about him thanks to how behaved you were.

People saw him as soft, gentle, caring. Because a violent, murderous, psycho could never keep a delicate little thing like you as his wife, could he?

Yes, you definitely had your perks. That much he already knew.

But you've been so restless lately. So oddly, insistent on being by his side more.

He'd tried to talk it out of you. Whispered how he was so lucky that you weren't like other wives. How you trusted him and respected his space. How you didn't nag him like a terrible partner would.

And it worked...for a while.

Until you've been fixated on getting the darn basement door open, at least. Somehow, you had it stuck in your brain that opening that stupid lock would have proved your worth to him.

You've been visiting that mug of a shopkeep at the locksmiths so often that Alastor just simply had to get rid of him already. He returned the useless tools he sold you last time too of course. He didn't quite like others making a fool out of what was his.

Only he could do that.

The cab stopped by a rather classy bar, the driver letting out a low whistle, going on about how they also wished that they could live up the big life.

Alastor tipped him generously, bidding him a great day as he stepped out.

He tossed his jacket on quickly before he adjusted his bowtie in the reflective glass window of the building. This was, he thought, his second favorite part of it all.

For such a detached man, Alastor loved many things.

He loved meeting his victims for the first time in person. The thrill of so many eyes on him as he clasped their clammy palms in greeting.

He loved talking to them, watching their eyes light up as he mentioned what they wanted the most. That moment where he knew he had hit the nail on the head and found out exactly what made these scum tick.

He loved using it against them, luring them to a false sense of security.

And, his absolute favorite part, he loved dragging the sharp edge of his knife against the skin of their necks. The lovely shade of red bleeding down their stiffening bodies.

He just can't help but love—

"My darling?" A voice—your voice—rung out in the dark alley.

There wasn't time. There was no time to hide the body, toss the knife, flee from the scene.

There was no time to come up a with a story, a lie, a cover.

Because you were right there, standing in the alley with him. His blood stained hands and the corpse by his feet plainly in your view.

Even with the blood smudged on the lenses of his glasses, he could see the fear in your eyes, the gears turning in your head as you tried to process the scene in front of you.

It's a real shame. Earlier today he had decided that you still had more purpose to serve him. That he could still put up with you. That he would still be able to stomp out whatever stubborn will riled you up lately.

Clearly that wasn't the case anymore.

"Now, now, dearest," He started, hand reaching out to you as he held the knife still in his hand.

Your feet moved, but to Alastor's shock you ran to him.

Your panicked eyes took in the violent red that stained the pristine white shirt as you took his outstretched hand in both of yours.

"We should go," You hurriedly whispered, fearful eyes met his confused ones. "You can't be seen here."

You tugged him along the streets, careful to keep yourself in front of him as you tried to hide most parts of him stained with red.

Alastor's eyes were wide, his long legs working on their own as he tried to understand what exactly was happening.

"Dearest?" He whispered to catch your attention. "I just chopped off a man, you know that, right?"

Your steps didn't falter as you hurried along, but you didn't turn your head to look at him either.

"Yes," You responded. The tight knot against your throat kept you from saying anything more.

"I sliced his throat open," Alastor continued to prod more. "His blood is all over me, in fact."

You whip your head around in urgency. You meant to shut him up. You meant to warn him not to talk so loud, that you couldn't be too sure who could be around to overhear.

But when your fearful eyes met his calm, warm, sweet, ones you ended up swallowing against your dry throat. Adorning a shaky smile instead.

"And I'm sure you did it to keep yourself safe, dear." You said, although it seemed as though you were trying to convince yourself of that.

It was as if a light bulb lit up in Alastor's head. He finally understood what was happening. He fought against his own body to keep himself from smiling as he stared into your uncertain eyes.

"I knew you'd understand," He feigned a sigh. His hand, that was previously unresponsive in yours, curled its fingers to hold onto you. "I knew I would be safe with you, my darling wife."

Alastor noted the way your stiff shoulders slacked at his words. As if you were waiting for his praise; as if you were waiting for that little bit of confirmation to fully push away all those pesky, silly, little doubts you held.

As if you were begging to have the slightest bit of reason to cling onto, to prove that there was no cause to leave your spot beside him.

"If anyone asks," You said softly, your hand reached out to wipe away the little bit of blood on his cheek. "I'll tell them you came home early to me. You did promise that you would come back quickly, anyway."

Alastor smiled down at you, letting himself lean into your touch as you seemed to love it when he does. "I am so lucky that you love me, doll."

You continued to lead him down the streets, sticking to less lit areas as you did so.

Alastor couldn't stop the grin from spreading widely across his face.

Because you did love him. You loved Alastor with all your sanity it seemed, but he was, unfortunately, far too happy to take advantage of that.

It was a huge weight off his shoulders really.

Alastor enjoyed the hunt, the kill, but the clean up? Not so much.

While yes, he did enjoy tricking people into eating up his stories, misdirecting them this way and that, silently mocking how clueless they were. It was still such a pain to have to constantly make sure his stories were air tight.

He didn't have to do that anymore, though. Not when all his darling wife had to do was smile shyly at people and hint that he was back home all night busy with more usual pleasures.

It wasn't even that hard to convince you to let him stay out late, hunt to his heart's content.

It was all just bad, terrible people. Scum of the earth. Dangers that could hurt you, or others. And Alastor, the dashing, selfless, secret knight in shinning armor was willing to dirty his hands if it meant keeping people safe. He'd taken on the burden so everyone else didn't have to.

Your husband, a great, tragic hero.

And besides, it's not like he asked you to kill someone. All you had to do was lie a little. Nothing grand, nothing elaborate—he wasn't so sure you'd be able to handle it after all—just smile, and hint, and spread a few insignificant white lies.

It was easy enough, wasn't it?

And your little love for him did everything else. Your own lovesick mind fought your instincts without Alastor even doing much of anything else.

You convinced yourself so quickly that all this blood, all this violence, all this murder, just made your husband an even greater man.

Ah, he truly did love the way you loved him.

You were with him now down in the basement—Alastor conveniently finally figured out how to open the stubborn padlock—and if he was being honest, he never really imagined you joining him here.

Well, not alive anyway.

You watched him as he neatly packed the most latest body into a bag and burn the gloves he used during the act. Going through his simple routine to make sure he could continue to get away scot-free.

Alastor noticed how your eyes always averted from the corpses, insistent on staying on his form instead. He didn't really mind it, but oh did he enjoy that little spark of fear you worked hard to stomp down whenever your glance landed on a limb or two.

He heaved the bag over his shoulder, before finally fully turning to you. "Well, let's get a move on, shall we, darling?" He smiled cheerfully, motioning with his arm for you to head up the stairs first.

You were glad to do so it seemed, you always were. You didn't have to watch your husband dispose of bodies, but Alastor found it rather cathartic how you've now started to cringe away from the basement door, after weeks of pestering him over opening it.

A little lesson, he thought. Well deserved.

And look how behaved you were now again.

The walk to the nearby woods was uneventful. Silent. Routine.

Unlike the first time around he dragged you along. You kept wondering and wondering until you finally asked out loud how Alastor knew the streets so well. How he knew where to go where no one would see him. The man you saw him kill was the first one, wasn't he?

He laughed at your unsure smile, brushing your worries off with the flimsiest excuses. How he'd been home late so many times already because of work. How he just preferred to take the quieter roads so as to decompress from all his adoring fans—fans who weren't you.

And it was enough.

Because you foolishly trusted him. You wanted to believe him, and so you did.

Alastor hummed cheerfully as he continued to shovel dirt over his most recent victim. He was certainly far enough into the woods not to care too much about being overheard, anyway.

A sudden soft beeping noise joined his melody, and he looked down at his—rather expensive—watch.

"Would you look at the time! I hadn't realized it was already so late. Time surely flies when you're saving the world, right, darling?" He looked over his shoulder at your unsure form.

You stood hunched over, your back against a tree, and your arms wrapped around yourself, a fair distance from the man burying a body.

Your eyes avoided the hole in the dirt as you painted a strained smile on your face.

Saving the world.

Alastor could practically see the way you tried to remind yourself that that is what your husband was doing.

"It's hard to keep track when you've got a lot do," You vaguely answer, choosing your words carefully.

It's not that you worried Alastor would do anything to you. But you were, unknowingly, cautious of any single thing that could trigger any more silly concerns within yourself.

Alastor hummed in response, his eyes staring at the mangled corpse he threw in the ditch. "They'll be looking for me at work if I don't show up soon, though." He thought out loud. "But I can't exactly leave this rotten stiff like this, can I?"

He sounded troubled. He looked troubled, with that wrinkle between his brow.

A good wife would soothe him.

A good wife wouldn't stand around watching her spouse do all the hard work.

He didn't need to say it though, not that he had any mind to. You heard his voice in your head regardless.

Your timid, unsure voice spoke up. "I...I could stay behind and continue burying it?" It sounded like a question.

One that it seemed like you hoped the answer was no.

Except you'd be a horrible wife for thinking that. You should be praying that he'd say yes.

After all, a good wife would do anything to help her husband.

Alastor froze for a second, his eyes catching yours from above his glasses before he adjusted them up his nose.

Then you were rewarded with a smile.

"My darling wife, always so helpful," He cooed, walking towards you. He dropped the shovel to the ground and wrapped his arms around your waist, almost lovingly.

Alastor could feel how fast your heart beat in your chest, almost fighting to get out. "But I could never ask a lovely doll like you to do such a dirty job like this." He tsked as he looked down at you.

"I can handle it, my dear," You responded, eyes bright with stars at his praises. It was almost as if you'd forgotten what exactly it was you were agreeing to.

Alastor pretended to think for a moment, but his eyes caught sight of the watch on his wrist and decided he didn't exactly have time to enjoy playing with you more.

"Only if you promise not to get caught, my darling." He smiled down at you, and you quickly nodded, promising you'll do a good job and meet him at home.

He pressed his cold lips chastely against your forehead, and left you with a corpse in the woods to bury.

But it's just that, anyway. Nothing too much to ask for.

It's not like you killed him.

And he was probably a horrible person to begin with.

Right?

You brushed away the heavy, gnawing feeling, as you met the glassy unseeing eyes of the corpse in the ground.

Alastor surely knew what he was doing. And you loved him enough to do this simple thing to help with that.

Just as you shoveled in one patch of dirt to cover the man's eyes, you heard a loud gun shot echo through the early morning woods.

You jumped out of your skin, cold hands gripping the shovel as the sound rung out.

Your heart was at your throat as goosebumps littered your skin.

Alastor.

You ran. You barely registered your own body moving until you felt the cold air whipping against your face as your legs carried you to where your husband went.

Worry. It all but consumed you, as your blood rushed loudly in your ears and your heart pounded.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Please—

You didn't know what you were doing. You didn't recall it. You didn't feel any of it.

You remembered seeing your husband's body collapsed and bloodied on the forest floor.

You remembered seeing someone with a gun standing panicked over him.

But no, you didn't remember when you ran at the culprit.

You didn't remember the feeling of stabbing the shovel into their side, nor the warmth of their blood as it splashed on your cold skin.

You didn't remember bashing the steel against their skull with all your might; the metal dented and morphed as it disfigured the man's face.

You didn't remember screaming until your throat was raw. You didn't remember the tears scrolling down your bloodied cheeks. You didn't remember the horrible, unbearably cold, ache in your chest.

You didn't remember staring down the barrel of a shaky gun.

You didn't remember dying.

All you remembered, was the feeling of Alastor's warm arms embracing you as he pressed his welcoming lips to your forehead.

And how you knew you'd never feel it again.

At least, you didn't think you would.

You blinked in confusion as you stared up the man—thing?—that caught you in their arms like a bride.

"I guess someone ought to rewrite those wedding vows because death didn't seem to do us part!" It laughed. Its voice sounded as if you were merely listening to it from a radio.

No, wait. Sure the thing that caught you also laughed, but you could have sworn you heard a whole crowd do so as well. Strangely, almost like a laugh track.

It's sharp yellow teeth showed proudly as it grinned down on you, and you couldn't help but cringe away a tiny bit from fear.

What are you? You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to be blunt.

You wouldn't want those nasty paper folk to catch wind of Alastor's little wife being rude—

Except. Were you still his wife? Where was he anyway? Where were you?

The thing that held you laughed cheerfully as it gently set you down onto your own feet. "Darling, I will never get enough of how easy you are to read," The thing said, twirling it's cane—microphone?—in it's hand before it leaned on it to study you.

You got a strangely familiar heavy feeling in your gut, but before you could think much of it, your arm was looped through its as it pulled you along to a shop window.

"It seems you're a tiny bit confused, my darling," It said with a bright smile. "It's alright, you weren't always the brightest bulb in the room, but you certainly made up for it with your passion." It chuckled, once again a laugh track following its words from seemingly nowhere.

You felt the tip of its microphone at your chin, tilting it so that you'd turn your gaze from him to the shop window.

You almost jumped away, like an animal not recognizing itself in the mirror.

It took you a minute to realize that you looked at your own reflection.

You even waved your hands around and tilted your head to make sure it followed your movements. To make sure this was real.

You looked nothing like yourself. Hell, you looked nothing human.

"Truthfully, I'm a little offended, dear." The thing beside you spoke up, now turning to his own reflection as he adjusted his bowtie and dusted off his red pinstriped suit. Something oddly familiar.

"It took me less than a second to recognize you, and you still seem to not even know who I am." It said, glancing at you from the corner of its bright red eyes.

Your gaze trailed up to the top of its red hair, seeing two small horns—at least that's what you thought they were.

"The devil?" You asked cautiously, still confused. "Am I in Hell?"

It let out a hum at your response. "One of two. I suppose it's one of your better shots, my dear." It said.

It turned to face you, suddenly leaning down close, so as to have it's mouth right by your ear. Your body freezes on instinct as it spoke.

"Must I really bed you again for you to remember me, darling? Or would watching me bury another body be enough to jog your memory?"

You leaned back, only enough to catch a look at the thing's face. The knowing eyes that seemed so warm, so inviting, so charming, despite how monstrous they looked. The smile that seemed incapable of falling.

The familiar feeling that brewed in your gut.

"Alastor?" You asked, your now clawed hands reached up to caress his cheeks, and the thing—your husband—leaned into it. His eyes briefly closed.

"Took you long enough, really." He said, a joking exasperation in his tone.

The thing—your husband, you had to remind yourself again—abruptly pulled away, his tone bright and cheery as he began to drag you along the streets with a heavy clawed hand on the small of your back. "Now enough of that! Time for more important business, darling!"

"Wait, Alastor? How? What?" You stammered, attempting to pull away to take a second to breathe and clear your head.

The hand that guided you slid to the side of your waist, pulling you tightly against it's Alastor's side. "Ah, my darling thing. Always so slow on the uptake." He shook his head as if he found it adorable. "We're in Hell, dear!"

The words rang loudly in your ears, your heart sinking to your stomach.

"And we have important business to take care of, yes indeed!" Alastor continued, not letting you process a single thought. "And for this, I'll need a partner I can trust! I'll need a partner who I can rely on! I'll need someone absolutely devoted to me." His eyes met yours but he saw how the alarm still outweighed his words.

His eyes narrowed, lowering his face abruptly to yours, to the point where you could feel his breath on your skin. He wanted your attention, all of it, and didn't really care all that much about what else you had to think about.

"Hellooo? Anybody home?" He joked, tilting his head as he saw your eyes come back to focus on him. "Ah, there you are, dear. Thought I lost you for a moment."

You supposed you could think things through later. Even if Alastor looked terribly different now, this was still your caring husband after all. And he needed something.

A devoted parter? Was that what he said?

"Well, you know I'm always here for you, Al. Whatever this plan of yours is." You tried to paint a smile on your lips as you always have.

"Oh, but how exactly do I know that?" Alastor stood back up to his full height, his head tilting as he smiled down at you.

Your brows furrow. You don't quite know how to tell him that. You swore you've done so much for this man, and yet when trying to think of an example, none came to mind.

You cooked and cleaned and looked pretty for him? Spent time with him? Loved him? Lie for him? Hide a body for him? That's just what a good wife would do.

But you supposed—you think—you killed for him.

"I avenged you?" It came out more of a question than an answer. "I killed for you."

Alastor didn't blink as he responded. "Then do it again."

Your mouth ran dry.

Had you heard him correctly? Was it a joke?

You waited for the laugh track to play but none came.

"What do you mean...exactly?" You asked with a nervous laugh, your lips straining to keep the smile.

"Kill for me again," Alastor casually said. He turned, eyes locking onto a random demon further down the street you walked along on. He raised his microphone to point at them, turning his head—unnaturally—to face you again.

"Like that one. I suppose he'll do." His tone was still as cheerful as ever.

You follow to where he pointed, eyes hesitantly looking at the creature.

You quickly looked back up to meet your husband's gaze. That feeling was there again.

And you weren't sure if it was the fact that you just died, or the sheer lunacy of the request, but you finally realized what it was.

Doubt.

You doubted Alastor.

"Why?" Your voice was small. "Is he a bad person too?"

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Hell, if I know dear. I've only just seen him now. But we are in Hell, you know?" His shoulders casually shrugged as if he didn't really care. "So, maybe?"

You tried to hide the tremble in your voice. Tried to hide how you doubted him. "But I already killed for you. Why do I need to prove my devotion even more?"

"You killed out of passion, darling. It hardly counts." He laughed, as if you were being so silly.

You're left with even more questions when Alastor grabbed your wrist, and you melted into shadows before re-appearing right in front of your supposed victim.

"What the fuck?" They exclaimed, jumping back.

"Good day, good fellow! The name's Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" Your darling husband stepped in front and forcibly shook the confused sinner's hand.

Alastor waved a hand in your direction to showcase you. "This right here is the Mrs., and she'll be killing you now."

You flinched as Alastor's voice further distorted.

Black tentacles wrapped around the now thrashing demon. And to your horror, you realized they came from your still-grinning husband's back.

His red eyes now consumed by black as he looked down at you expectantly.

"I...I don't have a knife." You avoided his eyes and looked away.

Alastor's head tilted. "You have claws now, dear."

You felt bile raise to your throat at the idea of ripping some stranger apart with your own hands.

"It'd be terribly difficult if these clothes get stained. Who knows where I could get new ones in...Hell." You had to spit the word out. "A-and, we're out in the open. Anyone can see us, there might be police here o-or their friends and family."

"You won't do it." Alastor cut off your rambling, more of a statement than a question.

You didn't meet his eyes.

You heard him sigh in dismay. "Well, it's alright, my dear. I suppose I knew your love for me had its limits."

Your eyes widen in shock, head whipping to look at him in panic. There was disappointment in his gaze as he looked away from you. Even as his smile remained painted on his lips, you could see how he seemed to shrink away from you.

"That's not true!" You half yelled, ignoring the struggling demon still held off the ground. "I'd go to the ends of the earth for you. I'd give up my life for you. I followed you to Hell, even! How could you even think that my love for you isn't boundless, Alastor?"

"Because it isn't." He sighed, his clawed hand gripped his microphone tight as he started to walk around you. "You say you'd do anything for me, that you'd give everything up for me. But I'm asking you for something so simple, and you couldn't even do that."

Your shoulders stiffen, you try to turn your head to follow him around. "This is not simple, Alastor." You said, a tinge of hysteria creeping into your voice. "You're asking me to kill someone for you, again."

"Wrong." Your husband said in a rather, sing-song manner. A jarring buzzer effect played at his words.

"I'm asking you to kill someone who is already dead." Alastor explained, barely paying mind to the sinner who now just looked very uncomfortable. "And you're already in Hell."

He looked at you as if you were stupid not to have put this together yourself. "He won't lose anything. You won't lose anything. There is nothing to give up with this tiny request of mine."

He stopped walking in front of you, but a greater deal of distance away now than when he started.

"And yet you can't even do that, my love."

You glanced down at your hands—your claws—in uncertainty.

That persistent feeling—doubt—swallowed you whole as you stood there willing your body not to move.

You should stop.

Run.

Never look back.

But instead your body moved toward the sinner; sharp, shaking, hands hesitatingly sinking into their flesh.

Once. Twice. Thrice. You couldn't be useless to your husband.

Their muffled screams sounded so far away from you, even as they yelled right by your ears.

You felt it.

Their skin giving way and the blood dampening your clothes each and every time you sank your soft, delicate, clawed hands into him.

The feeling of your long claws coming into contact and tearing through whatever bone or muscle stood in their way.

The awful, gut wrenching, guilt that swallowed your chest.

You hated it.

Alastor's hand clasps affectionately at your shoulder as he watched you cheerfully. Enjoying the conflict in your eyes as your heart died with every drop of blood that spilled from your hands.

"I think I may have just fallen so deeply in love with you, my dear wife." He cooed into your ear.

And your chest didn't flutter, or grow, or skip a beat like you had thought it would at those words.

But it's probably just the guilt, right?

It's just because so much has happened that you couldn't process anything.

Because you still loved Alastor, didn't you?

You loved him with your very soul, but he was a liar, and you may have finally started to see it.

Taglist @lil-bexie / @mizukikyong / @amurtan / @fokrilove / @fairyv-ice

#tw: murder and violence #tw: physical harm to reader #tw: major character death #tw: heavy manipulation #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #vien writes #Finding the right amount of old timey phrases to toss in without it sounded so cheesy is always such a challenge #Also this got out of hand I swore this fic was not meant to be this long or even in two parts #but here we are

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greenglowinspooks · 7 months

Text

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

—

Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

—

Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That your new look?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Derringer is named after a type of gun #dw he isn’t the focus forever #I just felt like Danny could use like. a single person who isn’t trying to manipulate him #also I think he would get along very well with the goons :)#aside from. yknow. the whole target thing HDJDNDND #also there IS a lore related reason that his vocal chords can’t recover but the rest of his body can #you just gotta wait to see what it is >:3 #anyways. Arkham time next chapter #Awwawaw

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

6 to 1 | lando norris (part 2)

paring: lando norris x leclerlc!reader part 2 in the 6 to 1 series (read part 1 here)

you're a bit of a flirt, the drivers understand that even if charles doesn't and recently you've been a little less careful about your interactions in the paddock. you'd think that would deter lando, but he's still committed to moving up your ranking, no matter what it takes

word count: 6.1k tags: established friendships, minor social media au aspects, poorly translated French

“What’s it going to take for you to love me?”

Lando practically forced you away from your brother and Carlos as you walked behind them. You were staring down at your phone and didn’t even see the McLaren driver headed your way so it was safe to say you were startled when he grabbed your wrist to pull you aside.

You pushed your sunglasses up to your head, “Excuse me?”

Lando sighed, as if having to repeat himself was such an inconvenience. “What’s it going to take for you to love me?”

At this point, Carlos and Charles had noticed you stopped following them and were making their way back to you. Carlos was amused at your interaction whereas Charles was uncertain. He couldn’t tell what Lando’s motives were or if they went beyond moving up your driver ranking.

You pretended to think about it for a second and Lando looked hopeful, as if there were genuine steps he could take to get you to like him more.

You counted on your fingers, “Be about four inches taller, for starters,” You held out a second finger, “Have darker features and…” a third finger, “Don’t be a Formula 1 driver.”

Lando wasn’t impressed with your answers, mostly because they didn’t help at all and you weren’t being the least bit serious. Instead of trying to get some real information out of you, he reacted like a child and yanked your sunglasses off your head before turning and running down the paddock.

You cupped your hands around your mouth to help with the volume of your voice, “This is why you’re fifth on my ranking!”

Carlos waited until you rejoined him and Charles before asking about the sudden change, “I thought he was sixth?”

“Oh, I mean-” you waved your hand outwards, “yeah he worked his way up, I guess. By default.”

“By default?” Charles asked. You weren’t making any sense, but you also weren’t about to explain why Lando was now fifth, nor did you know how to explain why Pierre had been dropped without coming clean about hooking up with him.

Your shoulders tensed, “Yeah, I-”

“Hold on,” Charles came to a sudden halt. He pulled his sunglasses off his face and looked back and forth between you and Carlos. Neither of you knew what he was doing, but you felt obligated to freeze until he opened his mouth again. “Is Carlos your ideal man?”

It took you a second to figure out how Charles came to that conclusion, but you did say to Lando if he was four inches taller and had dark features, you’d love him. Which practically described Carlos. The only thing was, Charles was missing an important detail.

“Carlos is a Formula 1 driver. I don't date drivers.” you pointed out, starting your walk to the garage again. Carlos moved at your pace, draping his arm over your shoulder as Charles tagged along behind you two.

“What if I wasn’t a driver?” Carlos asked, a playful smile on his lips.

You smacked his chest, “No.”

“No,” Charles repeated, much louder. “Y/N, I am going to take away your paddock access if you don’t stop flirting with the grid.”

You held up your hand and stuck up your middle finger, a beaming grin on your face knowing Charles was staring at it with betrayal. Carlos laughed, tugging you into his side as you continued walking, leaving Charles to mutter a string of complaints the entire way down the paddock.

“So Lando made it to your top five?” Carlos asked, reaching for a pair of Ferrari headphones to hand to you.

“Unfortunately.”

“And where am I on this list?”

You slid the bright red headset over your ears, rolling your eyes, “Bold of you to assume you’re in my top five.”

“Of course I am,” there was a glint in his eye as he walked you to the visitor booth at the back of the garage. He waited until you stepped up to lean against the barrier, crossing his arms over it as he looked up at you. “Charles is probably first, which means I am second, no?”

You didn’t confirm or deny where the Ferrari driver stood, deciding to just press your palm to his forehead to push him away from the booth. Carlos laughed and before he could gear up to get into his car, you wished him good luck for the qualifying session.

You caught that faint sliver of a smile he sent you before sliding his helmet on and it took most of your attention that you flinched when you noticed Charles standing next to you. As you placed your hand on your chest to steady your heart, you couldn’t help but notice his scowl.

“What is your problem?” You asked, dropping the headset to rest around your neck. You wanted Charles to know that he had all of your attention because clearly something was bothering him. And if he performed poorly during qualifying because of it, he’d blame you.

“I don’t like it,” his gaze was stuck on his teammate, watching as Carlos chatted with the employee assisting him with his helmet strap.

But you weren’t following. Your brother seemed to be referring to a made up scenario he came up with that involved yourself and Carlos and the thought alone made you laugh. As in, tip your head back and cackle so loud that people turned over their shoulders to see what sort of animal just wandered into the garage.

Even Carlos looked at you. Through his helmet and with his faint head tilt, you could tell he was wondering what was so funny. You did your best to get your humorous expression under control and turned back to Charles.

“I don’t actually like Carlos, you know that right?” He had to have known that. Charles made it clear time and time again that he would figure out a way to kick you out of the Leclerc family if you started dating a driver, hence why you were so on edge about Pierre running his mouth around the paddock.

“You flirt with him a lot,” was his only reasoning.

“I think you’re looking for a reason to be annoyed with me.”

“Well I mean-” Charles shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t know, Y/N, tone it down a bit, is all.”

“Just get in the car and focus on qualifying,” you pushed on his shoulder right as someone handed him his helmet.

Charles definitely looked like he had more he wanted to say, but now was not the time to get into it. You gave him a thumbs up before he turned around, making the smart decision to put his focus into the upcoming sessions than to worry about you.

A friend of yours sent you the twitter thread after qualifying had ended and you thought that replying to it would not only be funny, but put some rumours to rest.

You definitely did post Carlos a lot, but you were with him a lot. It was just something that happened.

But you had no idea how the photos of you and each of the drivers surfaced. You tried to be careful and not be outwardly flirtatious or cross any lines, even as a joke, in public, but it seemed like some fans were starting to get suspicious.

You stepped into the paddock, water bottle in your grasp, your hand acting as a shield from the rare Montreal sun seeing as everyone expected this weekend to be a wet one.

“You look like you could use some sunglasses.”

Lando’s little tease had you stopping in your tracks. Your arm fell to your side as you turned on your heels and watched as the McLaren driver pushed himself away from a flag pole to walk towards you. How long had he been standing there? His racing suit undone and hung horribly low on his hips as his black fireproof long sleeve clung to his body.

“Don’t you have media to do or something?” You pestered, eyeing your sunglasses that he tucked into his collar, looking extremely out of place compared to the rest of his driving attire.

Lando stepped forward and you flinched when he raised a single finger up to your forehead, tracing his fingertip over the lines above your eyebrows, “You shouldn’t squint, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Maybe if I had my sunglasses-” you reached for the accessory but Lando’s reaction time had you beat by miles. He jumped back and his laughter rang through your ears.

He adjusted them on his collar and when you realised you weren’t going to win this battle, you figured it wasn’t even worth it to fight.

And if he held onto them for the rest of the day, he’d have an excuse to find you later to give them back.

Not that you wanted that.

But you also didn’t not want that.

You didn’t know what you wanted, all you knew was that Lando confused you and each time you saw him this weekend so far, you held your breath or rolled your eyes or sometimes both.

Right now it was both as he sauntered to your side, draping his arm over your shoulder casually, as if you weren’t surrounded by people with cameras and smartphones with the ability to pick up on this little exchange and ultimately spin a story out of it.

Lando didn’t care, he had something else on his mind.

“Did you see where I placed?”

“Place what?”

He knew that you knew what he was talking about and the fact that you were making him work for it was, purposely, annoying. He tugged harshly on a handful of your hair which resulted in you pinching his side as retaliation. Lando knocked your water bottle out of your hand and jumped back to put space between you before you could yank on his driver suit, which you were trying to do.

You were children, essentially. Anyone walking by would see a couple of twenty-something year olds play fighting. You with a glare on your face and Lando with a cheeky grin because you picked up your water bottle and tried to throw it at him and the fucker managed to catch it like it was nothing.

“Qualifying, you little shit,” Lando finally clarified when he sensed you had given up on this immature battle. He tossed the bottle up and caught it with ease, still wearing that same smile. “I start fifth tomorrow.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

He winded his arm back and pretended to throw the bottle at you. Automatically, you held your hand up in defence and squinted, bracing yourself for an impact that never came. Instead, Lando stepped forward and grabbed your hand to lower it, a non verbal assurance that he wouldn't actually throw a water bottle at you…this time.

You noticed that his fingers lingered on yours longer than they should have. Lando did too and he handed over your drink, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck to play off whatever that little gesture was.

“Lance starts tenth,” he pointed out.

Just to piss him off, you clenched your hand to your chest and sighed dreamily, “My Canadian hero.”

“He starts tenth!” Lando repeated himself, much louder this time. “Come on, Y/N, this has to move me up your ranking.”

“Qualifying higher doesn’t mean you get points,” you weren’t about to let him get his hopes up. “Finish ahead of Lance tomorrow and I’ll see about bumping you up to fourth.”

“You are cruel.”

“You sound funny when you say that,” the corner of your lips curled upwards when his British accent made the ‘r’ sound in cruel come across more like crool.

“You sound funny.”

“Good burn, you really got me,” your words were layered with heavy sarcasm and you watched as Lando rolled his eyes. You two could probably set a world record for the amount of time eye rolls are exchanged in a single conversation.

“I don’t actually mean that,” Lando suddenly flipped a switch, his cheekiness being replaced by a bashful smile. “I like your accent. I like when you speak French, even if I don’t understand it.”

You could have thanked him for the compliment, if it could have even been considered one, but that wasn’t the type of friendship you had with Lando. You liked making his life difficult and in return, he liked to annoy you.

So you stepped up to him until there was only a few inches between your bodies. He seemed confused when you placed your hand on the side of his cheek, a soft gesture, one to purposely mislead him.

“Oh Lando,” you whispered, your smile growing warm. “Tu as le QI d'une huitre.”

You watched as Lando tried to piece together what you had just told him and he definitely was hoping it was polite because the way your voice sounded like silk made him think you were giving him a compliment. But Lando knew you, so he wasn’t counting on it.

“Tu as..” he mumbled to himself as you laughed. “Huitre? What is that? What’s that mean?”

You patted his cheek, deciding it was best to let him figure it out on his own. He probably wouldn’t have, let’s be honest here, but as luck would have it, Lando spotted one of the two French drivers on the grid headed in their direction.

Lando waved him over and you watched as Pierre slid his phone into his pocket, figuring that the conversation he was about to walk into was much more entertaining than whatever his phone could offer him.

Much like Lando, Pierre still wore his driver's suit, the upper half unzipped and hanging loose around his hips. He greeted Lando with a fist bump and congratulated him on his P5 starting position, and then he turned to you.

Your relationship with Pierre wasn’t awkward, but this was the first time you’ve seen him since finding out he told half the grid you slept together. In his eyes, nothing was wrong but you were uneasy around him. He gave your arm a gentle squeeze, something he often did when he walked past and just had time for a quick hello, something that you used to love because it told you that Pierre wasn’t disregarding you, he cared about you. And now you found yourself tensing, just for a moment, but you simply didn’t want him touching you.

You thought that you putting on a good poker face and acting normally, but Lando noticed right away how apprehensive you were about Pierre's gesture. Instead of allowing there to be a lull in conversation for Pierre to also notice and call you out on it, Lando acted fast. He draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you closer to his side, creating a bigger gap between you and Pierre.

“Gasly can you translate something for me?” Lando asked him. “Little Leclerc here said ‘tu as le huitre’ what the hell does that mean?”

“Tu as le que huitre…” Pierre shook his head seeing as Lando was missing a few words. “That doesn’t make any- oh, tu as le QI d'une huitre.” He looked at you, a smile curling up on his lips as he continued talking to you in French, “Oui? C'est ce que vous avez dit?” That’s what you said?

You nodded, but part of you hated that Lando couldn’t understand your words. You didn’t want to be able to have a private conversation with Pierre, you didn’t even want to talk to him right now. Lando being left out left you open to a sense of vulnerability with Pierre.

So you switched back to English, “He told me he liked when I spoke French.”

Pierre chuckled, “I don’t think that’s what he had in mind.”

Lando tightened his arm around you, putting you in a headlock for a second, “Will someone please tell me-”

“You have the IQ of an oyster, mate,” Pierre interjected, ending the translation with laughter. “That’s what Y/N said.”

Lando tilted his chin to look down at you, brows pinched, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together tighter. He was definitely taking back that compliment right about now and all you could do was offer him a guilty smile.

“I’m a lot smarter than an oyster,”

“Okay.”

“Why are you so cruel to me?”

“Why do you pronounce cruel like crool?”

Lando squinted at you, not able to come up with a suitable answer. And because you were finally within reach, you took this opportunity to snatch your sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and slide them on your face.

“Am I missing something here?” Pierre suddenly asked. Both you and the McLaren driver turned to him. Pierre was wagging his finger between the two of you, looking as if he was trying to solve a puzzle and somewhere between the close contact of you and Lando he'd find the last piece.

You shook Lando’s arm off of you, “What do you mean?”

“You’re-” he stopped short, licking his lips before changing his choice of wording. “I don’t know, Y/N, you don’t usually flirt out in the open like this.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Excuse me?”

Pierre held up a hand defensively and tried to play the observation off with a breath of laughter, “I’m not wrong. It’s entertaining, for sure, but you’re always so worried about Charles seeing, are you not?”

Were you flirting?

Every once and a while you’d flirt with Carlos, just for fun because you both knew it meant nothing.

But even Charles called you out on it earlier, for flirting with his teammate. Maybe you weren’t as subtle or maybe you just didn’t care if Charles was a witness to it anymore.

And Lando…honestly you weren’t even aware you were doing anything. You were just having fun, trying to get on his nerves while simultaneously hoping to make him smile. That wasn’t flirting, was it?

Or maybe Pierre was projecting. You never flirted publicly with him, he was your brother's best friend for christ's sake. Charles would find a way to ban you from the paddock if he caught wind of you two becoming a little too friendly.

You went with that option. It was easier than admitting that you were in fact being careless.

“I think you’re a little jealous,” the corner of your lip twitched into a smirk. Even Lando tried to hide his snicker, probably having thought the same thing.

As soon as you said it though, you regretted it. You recognized the mischievous glint in Pierre’s eye, one that practically screamed he had no reason to be jealous of Lando. Lando wasn’t the one you slept with. Lando never saw you the way he did.

And even though all three of you knew what took place, Pierre wasn’t going to say anything, still under the impression you were thinking he had kept it a secret.

You didn’t want him getting away with it. You wanted to slap that arrogant expression right off his face. The last thing you wanted was for Pierre to be able to walk away from this conversation with a higher sense of self than he already had.

But you also weren’t going to cause a scene in the paddock. Whatever conversation you wanted to have with Pierre, could wait.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you told him, forcing the wish through gritted teeth. You turned to Lando, “Where are you headed?”

“Where- what?” Lando repeated.

“Where are you going right now?” You asked. “I’ll walk with you.”

Pierre got the hint. You were purposely ignoring him and making an effort to not include him in the paddock. Your body faced Lando’s, a physical barrier between you and Pierre and you had the feeling he would call you out on it later. He too wasn’t going to get into any of this in the middle of the paddock.

“McLaren motorhome,” Lando finally answered. He nodded his head towards Pierre, “I’ll see you later, mate.”

Pierre seemed a little annoyed, but said nothing as he turned around. You waited until he was out of earshot before releasing a heavy breath.

“I just don’t want to be around Pierre.”

“Yeah I think that was pretty obvious.”

He then nudged his elbow against yours, wanting you to uncross your arms and loosen up a little. You did, reluctantly, but it was easy to push Pierre out of your head when Lando was giving you one of his classic grins.

You started to back up, “I won’t actually walk with you, you’ve probably got-”

“I want you to walk with me, though,” he cut you off, starting off in the McLaren motorhome direction. “Just don’t call me an oyster.”

“I didn’t call you an Oyster.”

“Fine, don’t compare me to one.”

You glanced around, wondering if continuing on your walk with Lando was really the best idea right now. You enjoyed his company, but you didn’t want people to get the wrong idea. The more you accompanied him, the more likely people would be coming to their own conclusions.

But with Lando’s encouraging head nod beckoning you to walk with him, followed by a smile you really couldn’t say no to, you found yourself at his side, on the way to the motorhome.

You tapped his arm with the back of his hand, “You know that this-” you gestured between yourself and him. “-we, you know, this whole thing it’s not- it’s not real, Lando.”

Lando seemed unaffected by your words, yet another rejection he was going to ignore, “What’s not real?”

“Like if I flirt with you, it doesn’t mean anything,” you clarified.

He nodded once. And then again a few seconds later as if it really sunk in.

“Well, maybe if you let me take you out on a real date-”

You pushed your shoulder into his, shoving him towards the middle of the paddock as he laughed, the last of his sentence fading into the air.

“Okay fine,” Lando cleared his throat, strolling back towards you after adjusting the suit on his hips. “What if I get a podium?”

“I’m not following.”

“Will you go on a date with me, a real one, if I land a podium tomorrow?”

You actually laughed at the thought. Lando rolled his eyes, trying not to be personally offended by your reaction.

“Lando, just focus on your race,” you said, trying to mask your amusement by scratching the corner of your lip. “If you do better than Lance, maybe you’ll move up the ranking. A date isn’t going to do anything to help you.”

He shrugged innocently, “What if I just want to go on a date with you?”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated back, quite loudly might you add. You both looked around you but no one was paying either of you any attention, “Y/N come on, why wouldn’t I want to go on a date with you? You’re-” he took in a sharp inhale, “I mean, you’re stunning, for starters.”

“That’s it?” You raised your eyebrows. “My appearance? That’s all I have going for me?” You swiftly turned on your heels, “See ya’ later, Norris.”

“Hey, no, come on now.”

Lando was quick to grab hold of your wrist and tug you back. The sudden turn made you stumble over your own feet and you fell directly into his chest. Lando’s hand slid up your arm to help you regain your balance, but he didn’t let go of you once you were upright again.

He took a breath.

“When I see you during race weekends, my mood instantly improves,” Lando said, but he didn’t say it in a way that told you this was a sudden realisation. This was something he had known for a while, but never shared with you. “You’re so fun. I can be myself around you and you also grew up around motorsport so you’re familiar with this lifestyle. And I love talking to you, Y/N, even if it's just for a few minutes before I have to go to qualifying or- or now as we walk down the paddock and then go our separate ways. Your looks are- well they're definitely a plus, but they're not why I like you. I promise.”

You were speechless.

Genuinely, not a single word came to mind. Lando wasn’t one to just spurt out a string of compliments, let alone to you.

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I want to go on a date because I just like spending time with you?”

“But the-” your mouth felt dry. “My ranking?”

Lando shrugged, “Well if I move up then that’s just an added bonus.”

Still, you were hesitant. His words were heartwarming, probably the nicest things you’ve heard in a long time, but you couldn’t just casually agree to go out with him.

The only upside was, Lando scoring a podium in his McLaren was extremely rare. He had yet to so far this season, it was unlikely one would come for him tomorrow.

“Fine,” you nodded firmly. “If you get a podium, I’ll go out with you.”

Lando seemed taken aback, like he didn’t think you’d actually say yes. Any other day, you wouldn’t have. But the podium ultimatum and his strangely out of pocket compliments pushed you towards possibly giving him a chance.

“What if I win?”

“Don’t push it.”

Lando’s head tipped back as he chuckled, “Come on, what if I win?”

Your arms flailed out to your side as you thought of something on the spot, “I don’t know, Lando. I’ll sleep with you.”

Lando’s eyes widened more than you thought possible and his jaw fell open. His grip on your arm loosened, probably because he couldn’t focus on anything other than staring right at you, completely frozen.

You lifted your hand to his chin to gently close his mouth, “I was joking.”

“But- you-” Lando sputtered, having trouble forming a coherent thought. “You can’t just say that. For Christ's sake, how am I supposed to do anything for the rest of the day?”

“Again, it was a joke,” you felt the need to repeat yourself so Lando didn’t get any hopes up. He was a guy. And like most guys, they thought with their dicks 9 out of 10 times. “Just focus on the race, okay?”

Lando’s head fell backwards and he looked up to the clear sky, looking for some sort of higher figure that could give him the answers he wanted. You patted his cheek before playfully pushing him in the direction of the McLaren motorhome.

“I’m going to go find Charles,” you said, using his silence as a reason to part ways.

You barely got a few feet away from Lando when he snapped out of his little daze and called after you, “But you weren’t joking about the date, right?”

“Focus on the race, Lando!” You called back, cupping the side of your mouth. You watched as he gave you one last eye roll and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice him trying to subtly adjust himself through his racing suit.

When you left to go find your brother, you had no idea that Lando would be replaying your words in his head for the remainder of the day.

If you get a podium, I’ll go out with you.

And if I win?

I’ll sleep with you.

He knew it was a joke, the sleeping with him part, but that didn’t mean it didn’t motivate him.

You were clueless to the fact that Lando paid more attention than normal during his post qualifying debrief. He usually gave the team anywhere from 90-95% of full focus, discussing his results, the strategies for tomorrow and everything in between. But today, it was 110%. Asking more questions and repeating them back for clarification. He wanted to get the most out of the car tomorrow, he wanted the date with you.

When you were sitting in the hotel lobby, chatting with a member of the Ferrari team, you weren’t paying attention when Lando walked through the doors. Up until now, neither of you were aware you were even in the same hotel, but Lando spotted you quickly. How could he not? Your captivating eyes and bold smile lit up the lobby at the end of a busy day. He was tired and ready for bed, but if you had noticed him and invited him to sit down, he would have happily nestled onto the couch next to you.

And Lando didn’t know that when someone called his name, you heard it. A faint ‘Lando’ echoed through your ear and momentarily pulled you away from your conversation. You weren’t trying to be rude when you looked over your shoulder and away from the team member, but you wanted to know if Lando was really in the room.

Sure enough, the second you found him leaning against the corner in the elevator, the doors slowly started to shut. He was looking down at his phone and hadn’t been watching you, but you didn’t know that he had been watching you up until he stepped into that steel box.

If you had caught his eye a second earlier, you probably would have ended your conversation and caught up with him to join him on the ride up. Just so you could have a few extra seconds to chat with him, see if you could an eye roll or two out of him before going your separate ways again.

Because for some reason, you really fucking liked talking to him too. He annoyed you at times, but in a way where you couldn’t actually stay mad and found some joy between his teasing. You could be yourself around him too, there weren’t any guards up around Lando.

You could admit you hung around outside the doors of the Ferrari motorhome longer than normal on Sunday, just in case Lando walked by. Was it so wrong that you wanted to wish him well before the race?

But as luck would have it, Lando wasn’t the driver to walk by and grab your attention. You looked up from your phone just in time to see Pierre making his way up the bright red steps.

“Can we talk?” He asked, but he only phrased it as a question for show. He wasn’t going to give you an option to walk away. Pierre leaned against the railing opposite of you.

“About?” You slid your phone into your pocket, head tilted innocently at the French driver.

“Yesterday,” he said. “There was just a bit of tension, Y/N, and don’t tell me there wasn’t any. I just want to know if we’re okay.”

You played dumb, “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well I-”

“Because I was under the impression we would act as though what happened at Christmas didn’t happen,” you interjected sharply, a hint of sarcasm in your voice as you let Pierre piece together what you knew. “I sort of assumed that we would move on and be friends and that we wouldn’t tell anyone. So unless…something changed…why would there be tension, Pierre?”

You practically spelled it out for him. Something had in fact changed. Pierre didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

He dragged his hand over his face, “What did Lando say?”

“It doesn’t matter what Lando said!” You exclaimed with a bitter laugh. “We agreed to not say anything and yet you’ve gone and told half the grid!”

“Half the grid is a bit of a stretch.”

“I’ve told no one.”

“Well it’s different for you.”

“You’re such an ass,” you scoffed. “I don’t want Charles finding out, Pierre.”

“He won’t!”

“He will if you don’t stop talking to people about what happened six months ago,” you started to ascend up the stairs, having had enough of this conversation.

You had just reached for the handle when Pierre suddenly yelled out, “I’m sorry.”

All you could do was glance over your shoulder, “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it, Pierre. We both knew sleeping together was a mistake but I didn’t regret it,” you paused, releasing a soft breath. “Now I do.”

You walked into the motorhome without giving him another chance to apologise and you stayed there until it was time to head down to the garage. All hopes of seeing Lando had now vanished, you didn’t want to step outside and see anyone.

Was Lando disappointed when he walked past Ferrari and didn’t see you anywhere? A little, but he wouldn’t admit it. He thought maybe he’d catch you before the race, most drivers headed towards the garages at the same time anyway.

And when that time came, he spotted the bright red attire of Carlos and Charles, but you weren’t anywhere to be found. He even went the long way to the McLaren garage just to try and sneak a glance into Ferrari and see you in the visitor booth, but you weren’t there.

You didn’t show up until minutes before the cars were wheeled out towards the grid. You wished Charles good luck and grabbed a headset, finding a spot in the booth beside the VIP guests and family members.

When you glanced at the screen, your eyes landed on Lando sitting in fifth.

You would always root for a Ferrari 1-2, but what if Lando found himself on the podium today?

There were no words exchanged since you left him in the paddock yesterday. You doubted the date idea was forgotten about, but you wondered how serious Lando was about using it as motivation.

Not wanting to think too much about it, you focused on the race, something you've been telling the drivers to do for the last 24 hours.

The first ten laps, nothing happened. Charles kept his second place position, Lando dropped down to seventh.

By lap 11, George, who was in third, spun out, taking himself out of the race and Checo as well.

The safety car helped Lando catch up and because two cars were officially retired, he found himself in fifth, fighting for fourth.

A close call from Max earned him a five second grid penalty and when he went into the pits, his team unintentionally screwed him over. The wrong tyre was grabbed and his pit stop, that shouldn’t have been any longer than 8 seconds, ended up being almost twenty. Equivalent to an hour during a race.

Suddenly Lando was in fourth.

Charles led the race, Carlos behind, Lewis in third.

There was no way Lando had better pace than Lewis, not in that shitbox of a McLaren that seemed to provide horrible results week after week.

But then Lewis started struggling with degradation and Lando was catching up.

It was nearing lap 67 by the time Lando was within DRS range. You held your breath each time he activated it, letting his rear wing open. Each corner brought him closer and closer to Lewis.

And you had no idea what his end result was. When it became clear that the team was going to get a Ferrari 1-2, the crowd of you ran towards the gates to be able to celebrate with the drivers when they parked. As much as you wanted to see the battle between Lewis and Lando, you had to be there for your brother.

So you ran with the team, screaming in excitement when the chequered flag was waved at the end of lap 70. Charles taking home a win, Carlos close behind. They parked their cars in front of the banners labelled 1 and 2 and shared a congratulatory hug after stepping out of the cockpits.

But who got third?

Your view was blocked, you genuinely had no idea who crossed the line after Carlos. You wouldn’t know until the third place car finished their cool down lap and pulled in, which should be happening any second now.

You gave your brother a hug, squeezing his arms, all while keeping an eye at the end of the lane.

And then your question was answered.

The bright orange car drove up and came to a sudden halt in front of the third place banner. The McLaren crew crowded the barrier next to everyone from Ferrari, ready to congratulate the British driver.

Time froze for you as he climbed out of the car, fisting pumping the air. This was his first podium this season. He was overjoyed, he was walking on air, he was on top of the fucking world.

And then he took his helmet off and spotted you.

Lando should have gone directly for his team. He should have jumped into their arms and celebrated with them, but he used Carlos as an excuse to be near you. He patted Carlos on the back, the two of them sharing the same level of excitement, before he turned to you.

You held your breath as he leaned in, a wicked smile on his face, he didn’t even care that he was surrounded by a sea of red or that his team was waiting for him or that the media was definitely catching how you were the first person he approached after landing himself a podium.

You barely caught his eye before he dipped his face towards your ear, speaking only loud enough for you to catch his words.

“You free tonight?"

All you could do was nod.

Lando pulled away, but not before brushing his hand over your arm, sending a chill down your spine.

"Perfect."

masterlist here | part 3 in the series here taglist: @moneymasnn @thotd-f1 @masonspulisic

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man3at3r-mp4 · 3 months

Text

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖇 𝖍𝖍 𝖝 𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 Ⅱ - 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆

Prologue Chapter 3.5

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Charlie = underlined

Y/n = normal

Both = italics

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞

𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

It's been 3 hours and you're already exhausted...okay well maybe not exhausted, but you were definitely bored.

You sighed, leaning your chin on your palm, as you listened to Liam go on about something, probably about how late you both were? You don't know, you stopped listening.

You glanced out the window, to see the 'busy' streets of Heaven. You were able to see what seemed to be a group of friends, laughing and talking with one another. You frowned, you wish you could be enjoying smoothies with Miko, Elijah, and Molly. They were really your only friends.

Yeah, despite being the prince of Heaven, you didn't have many friends. Part of that due, to Sera's insistence of not letting your travel far without super vision. But I suppose, trying to sneak out of heaven every chance you get to go outside is worthy of such a consequence. Well, maybe when you were younger it was an okay punishment, but you're an adult now. You don't need to be supervised like a child.

But like I said, that's only part of the reason. The second being, the friends you tried, or rather Sera forced you to try and make...felt fake. Not to say, they were twisted or two faced. They probably weren't, most likely just some overly excited heavenly resistance being able to meet the famous prince of heaven. However, that didn't mean it didn't get annoying. Whether they had good intentions or not, they made you feel an object..something pretty to ogle and admire. Like an expensive piece of art, a middle class soccer mom would buy, and hang up in the parlor to "impress" her friends, when it really it was to make them envious she was able to afford something so priceless.

It all felt fake, artificial whatever. You've grown accustomed to it, people want to be your friend but they don't want to be your friend. You've come to realize that soon enough, so your feelings wouldn't be so hurt and eventually they didn't and you've came to terms with that.

Everybody loves you, but nobody likes you.

As you were wallowing in your own self pity, you failed to notice Liam, who was desperately trying to get your attention.

"y/n.....y/n!....Y/N!!!!" You finally snapped out of it, the loud volume of Liam's voice effectively spooking you as your entire body went rigid, before you flopped to the floor like a fish.

"Oh dear! Your highness, are you alright?" The Angel cried, as he rushed to your side. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you!" He says, clealry panicking as he helped you stand up.

You rubbed the sore spot on your forehead as you mustered a pained smile, "I'm fine Liam, no need to worry about me" you patted him lightly on the shoulder to reassure him before taking a seat back on the chair.

"But I caused you harm!"

"It was an accident, Liam you're fine! I'm not about to damn your soul to hell" you say sarcastically. You were clealry joking, but apparently Liam didn't think it was very funny, as he looked genuinely distressed.

You frowned, deadpanning,"im joking"

"Oh...well it's not very funny, your highness we don't joke about those sorts of things"

"Me, Miko and Elijah do.." you huffed under your breath, unfortunately it seemed like the other angel heard you.

"Oh do they now?" He asks, if he had eyebrows he would raising them. "They're the hairdresser and the seamstress correct?". You perked up, a bit confused.

"Yeah why?"

"Well it makes sense why you're so snappy lately, I knew thsoe two were a bad influence" he says, arrogantly. Oh, yeah that pissed you off. You weren't one to get frustrated, at least publicly but this was ridiculous. He's blaming your only friends for the reason why you having a sense of humor? You frowned, crossing your arms. You knew if you snapped at him, you would have just confirmed his suspicions and you're sure he would tell Sera, then you'd probably never see Elijah or Miko again.

"Let's just move on, Liam. We still have a shi-" a sharp look from Liam caused you to reword your sentence. "Stupendous amount of work to do" you corrected yourself, causing the other male to relax as he nodded.

"Very well, next we have your astronomy lessons" he says, as he leads you down one of the many halls of the palace.

The grimy streets of hell, the bright, obnoxious neon signs advertising drugs or porn studios, and the stink of death. All things Charlie has grown accustomed to as the princess of hell. One would think, with such an intimidating title as Princess of hell. You'd expect her to be terrifying, cold, and power hungry creature, when in reality Charlie is more comparable to a puppy...or rather a kid.

Charlie was someone you'd least expect to be the princess of Hell. She's sweet, kind, got a big heart, and she's got a passion for singing. She's literally a wannabe Disney princess, just lacking the animal side kick...well unless you count Razzle and Dazzle. But on a serious note, it's unexpected to have someone so happy go lucky as literal he'll born royalty. But what's even more shocking is the fact she started up a hotel to rehabilitate sinners. The reaction to the hotel...was less than positive. But she simply doesn't know when to quit despite being publicly humiliated on tv that her only tenant was involved with a turf war.

But like I said, Charlie has never given up. She simply doesn't know when to quit. Which leads us to now.

The princess of Hell, sitting in the lobby of the hotel, planning out another presentation about her hotel, to potential customers....the presentation really consisted of colorful messy drawings Charlie enthusiastically put together.

the room was quiet , but Charlie could swear she'd be able to hear some radio static every now and then. Which she supposed made sense? Alastor was weird, she wasn't even sure if he slept. Like at all. She shrugged going back to finishing her drawings. "Oo! Oo! Almost finished! I just need pink! Ooo where's the pink!" She said, cheerfully as she scavenged around for her pink marker. Once she found the plastic tube. She quickly uncapped it and scribbled in some doodles and a stripe of pink on her rainbow, and she was finished.

The blonde stepped back, as she held up her masterpiece in the air. "This looks great! I cant wait to show Vaggie!" She grinned, though something caught her attention in the corner of her eye; her phone was on and the Lock Screen showed a picture of her, her father, and her mother. A small frown made its way onto her face, as she glanced back at the messy child like drawings she made. She sighed, placing the papers down on the table as she picked up her phone. She sunk down into the cushions of the couch as she stared at the screen, they were so happy back then....what happened?

"Cmon Charlie, happy thoughts happy thoughts!" She tried to encourage herself. "You've got a hotel to run and sinners to redeem!"

'That is if you get any actual clients' a small voice in the back of her head, spoke but she tried to shake it away. Sure, advertising the hotel on the news wasn't the best choice. Charlie could remember getting into a fight with Katie, and the absolute humiliation of having Angel dust being shown in participating in a turf war. And sure, they haven't had much success, no other demons have joined besides Husk, Niffty and Alastor but they were all employees that were literally forced to be here.

No, she couldn't give up now. Despite the crippling self doubt. She wouldn't give up. "There's got to be someone out there who believes in this hotel as much as I do, there's just gotta be.." she whispered, as she turned to look out the window.

"There's gotta be."

Back in heaven, you were being poked with pins and needles, biting your lip as you desperately tried not to flinch away from the pointed ends.

"Ow!" You finally yelped, as the needle pricked your skin. A small droplet of golden blood dripped from your forearm, staining the white gown you wore being fitted into.

"That wouldn't have happened if you would have stayed still, your highness" the Angel fitting you said, her voice in deep concentration as she clenched another pair of pins in between her teeth.

"I'm trying to!" You pouted, trying your best to stay still. "Why am I even being fitted? Elijah is the one who picks all my clothes! Also this looks like extremely formal attire!"

"Happy you finally noticed, your highness" Liam spoke up, "you're being fitted for wedding" he stated, casually.

"WHAT?!??" You screeched, your eyes as wide as saucers. "Wedding? Wh-what?! When? How- WHy?!?" You stammered over your words.

"Your highness, please stay still.." the female Angel said once more, as she placed another pin into your outfit. You whimpered a soft 'Ow' as you felt it nick you again.

Liam smiled, "ah yes, I forgot, Sera did not tell you." He says nervously. "You're being wed! Congratulations your highness!" He summoned a scroll, this one with a picture of who you assumed would be your future spouse. Before you, you saw a beautiful woman, she had dark skin, and light purple tinted hair, styled in braids, her hair was long, length wise it could rival Rapunzels! Her eyes were gorgeous, siren shaped and a rich color of brown, or well one of them was, the other was a shade of green. You could also notice her dimples. She was beautiful, ethereal even. But you didn't know her! You didn't want to get married to a stranger.

"No!" You screamed, causing everyone to fall silent and look at you in surprise from your outburst. "I-I mean! Yes!" You stuttered over your words to try and save yourself. "She is, sh-she's beautiful but I don't know her!"

Liam looked confused, "she?" He then noticed his mistake. "Oh silly me, this is the wrong picture, you're not getting married to her, Aurora is your wedding planner.."

You jaw would have been on the floor, if it weren't literally attached to your skull.

" Why am I even getting married?! Sera told me none of us could since our life had to be devoted into making heaven and earth a better place! And romance would get on the way?"

"Well, she's changed her mind. Or rather the humans on earth did, you are the Angel to represent us down in the mortal realm y'know? And you know humans and their romances! They think it's be a good idea!" Liam explained. So what? This was just a big PR stunt? For the fucking humans?!?

"But- don't-"

"Do not being up Adam and Eve, y'know he and Eve were far from the perfect couple no matter how hard the mortals try to make it seem they were"

You sighed, "yeah..." you couldn't fight that, the fact Adam doesn't even fucking speak abt Eve, is already enough to know that even the humans on earth could see they weren't a great couple. Though, they blamed most of it on Eve.

Misogynistic pigs.

"Don't worry, Prince Y/n. Everything has already accepted and he's more than happy to be married to you! He even sent engagement gifts!" Liam snapped his fingers, and a hoard of angels came in carrying gifts. Placing them neatly in the corner before exiting the room.

You were too stunned to say anything, Gifts?!? Really?!? They sent you gifts?!? luckily your fitting was over. The Angel fitting you pulled out all the pins, making you sigh in relief, as she went to speak to Liam.

"We'll have to shrink it down to a medium, and we need to adjust the waistline, the Prince has surprisingly wide hips for a man." They both glanced at you, as you blushed in embarrassment, shrinking back as you placed your hands in your hips, and felt around.

'Damn I guess I do have those Kim kardashian hips...' you thought. Though you couldn't really tell if that's a good or a bad thing. While you were in your thoughts, you failed to notice that Liam pulled out your to do list for today. "Oh, we're late, late, late. We have twenty, maximum twenty-two minutes for your royal fitting. And then it's move, move, move to your speech at the Angelic Society. After that, we have to rush, and I mean rush, to the Heavenly Society Tea. And then there's your math lessons, your geography lessons, your science lessons..."

You sighed, as Liam began to go on and on, tuning him out as you focused your attention to look out the window. You noticed a butterfly, you're not sure how it got here, but you wished you could fly away like they could, "All my life, I've always wanted to have one day just for me. Nothing to do, and for once, nowhere I need to be" you placed your face in your palm.

"With no lessons, lords or lunches Or to-do list in the way" as you went on, your voice grew a bit louder to drown out Liam's rambling as you snuck away, desperately trying to loosen the tightness of the outfit you wore.

"No one to say when to eat or read or leave or stay" you made your way to the balcony as you continued on, you held out your pointer finger, as the (f/c) colored, butterfly landed on your finger.

"That would be the day"

"All my life, I've always wanted to have one day for myself. Not waking up with a pile of work on every shelf" Charlie sang, as she brushed her suit jacket off, as she stood up from her spot on the couch.

"With no father in need of impressing. And no hotel in disarray" she stepped over the scattered markers on the floor as she saw something catch her attention out of the corner of her eyes. It was a butterfly, that intrigued her. You didn't see butterflies in hell. But it was a beautiful shade of cherry red, it matched her eyes.

"No hell with thousands of sinners to save" she opened the window, gently to not spook the winged creature. It eagerly flew inside, spooking KeeKee a bit. Charlie chuckled, as she held out her finger as she watched it gently land on it. "And no extermination in the way".

Her smile fell a bit as she watched the butterfly fly off her finger, as all the weight and self doubt creeped in again. "What would it be like to be..."

You watched as the butterfly flew off your finger, "What would it be like to be free?"

"Free?"

"Free to try crazy things" you looked up at the sky, dreamily with a cheeky smile on your face.

"Free from endless IOUs" the red eyed demon, cooed, as she leaned against the wall of the hotel.

"Free to fly" your ears flicked, as you watched the butterfly flutter past you and out towards the balcony.

"Free to sing"

"And marry whom I choose" you sang bitterly, as you remembered your arranged engagement you own fucking sister didn't tell you about.

"Cmon your highness, don't be so upset. This is for the greater good, you both will be an adorable couple! Helping bring hope to humans for centuries to come!" Liam said enthusiastically.

"I guess ..." you grumbled bitterly, "it's my duty..."

"Oh look! Another engagement gift!" He cooed, as another Angel sent down a gift on the growing pile. You rose a brow, a bit skeptical. "You would think that I'm so lucky that I have so many things" you crouched down to grab one of the presents, it was wrapped in your favorite color with a golden ribbon on the top. "I'm realizing that every present comes with strings" you looked at the gift solemnly, as you fiddled with the string.

"Though I know I have so little, my determination's strong" Charlie, glanced around the slightly ramshackled walls of the hotel, nervously. Before putting on a determined grin, "People will gather around the 7 rings to hear my song!" The blonde twirled, as she thrusted her arms up enthusiastically into the air.

"Now I fear I'll never be..."

"Soon, I will forever be..."

"Free"

You and Charlie both made your way back to your balconies, as you both sang in harmony. " I close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away". You both gripped the railing as you both overlooked your kingdoms; Your sunny blue clear skies and Charlie's dark and dingy horizon. "I could take flight, but would it be right?" You both glanced up at the colored butterflies fluttering around you. "My conscience tells me, "Stay"

"I'll remain forever royal" you sighed, as you closed your eyes.

"I won't give up on these sinners yet!" Charlie declared determinedly.

"Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret"

"But I'll never stop believing" Charlie cooed softly, as she looked up in the sky dreamily. She was sure there was someone up there in heaven who'd take her seriously

"She can never stop my schemes" you rolled your eyes playfully, as you leaned against the railing. Sure, Sera could try and tie you down with marriage but you weren't about to roll over and take it.

"There's more to living than gloves and gowns and threads and seams" You both sang into the empty sky, as y'all watched the butterflies finally soar away from the balcony

"In my dreams, I'll be free"

"Nice singing twink" a familiar voice snapped you out of your perfect harmony, causing you to freeze. You turned around bashfully, as heat began to rush to your face. You were NOT expecting to be caught. You were met with the familiar sight of Adam's exterminator mask, you sighed. "Good afternoon Adam..." you noticed Lute standing not far from him. "Good afternoon Lute"

"Afternoon, your highness" she replied, professionally, nodding her head in a slight bowed.

"Uh? You don't sound pleased to see me? Which is fucking crazy, since I'm ADAM y'know the-" you cut him off swiftly.

"The original dick? Yeah, I know Adam..." you huffed, crossing your arms. "What do you want anyways?" You asked, as you fiddled with the collar of your shirt.

"What a guy can't see the cute little twink he's about to put a ring on?" He asked smugly.

Your eyes widened, at those words, your form stiffening, as you processed what he had just said. Adam...is the Angel you're marrying.

Adam.....marriage you.

Adam is marrying you.

You couldn't help but let out the screech you've been holding in. Fuck that entire Disney princess ass song you sang about follwing your duty for the greater good that was when you thoughts you were marrying literally anybody else except literally FUCKING ADAM.

"OH YOU MOTHERFU-"

-... ..- - / .-- .. - .... / - .... . / .--. .-. . -.-. .. --- ..- ... / -... .-.. --- --- -.. / --- ..-. / -.-. .... .-. .. ... - --..-- / .- / .-.. .- -- -... / .-- .. - .... --- ..- - / -... .-.. . -- .. ... .... / --- .-. / -.. . ..-. . -.-. - .-.-.- .---- / .--. . - . .-. / .---- ---... .---- ----.

@mixplara @lukerycyja-reblogs

Hey y'all, how y'all doin *nervous smile*. I'm sorry this took so fucking long, the or I am dox got deleted and then I keep rewriting the chapter cause I didn't like it and honestly I'm not not even sure if I like this version of it. Let me know if you thought the addition of the song was corny, I had very mixed feelings towards it. Cause I thought it would

Also from now updates will be every Friday, any other updates in between the week will me deciding to be a motivated bitch out of literally nowhere. <333 anyways bye pookies

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vivzieverse #vivziepop #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #adam x reader #angel dust #x male reader #charlie morningstar #adam hazbin hotel #x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel charlie #blood of the lamb #man3at3r.mp4 writes

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silencedrowns · 11 months

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hi I’m a very long time cosplayer (20+ years experience) who has chronic headache and migraine problems and this is a post about how to prevent your cosplay wigs from giving you painful headaches! Nobody likes wandering around the con in blinding pain and so hopefully this post will help you reduce the chances of this happening.

1. If your wig is way too tight, don’t use it. Get something with a bigger cap. tbh I often wear slightly too big wigs to reduce the pressure! Find out what brands and sellers sell wigs that are comfy on your head and prioritize buying wigs from them! I made a big master list of cosplay wig sellers a while back so here’s a few you might not have known about. Arda (and its Canadian and European sites) sells by far the biggest wigs, but I personally find Classe the most comfortable for my specific head. It’s all very YMMV and it’s totally possible for a wig to not actually be too small but fit your head in an uncomfortable way (Blue Beard on taobao does this to me every time), so just don’t buy from suppliers that do that. Also consider resizing wigs to be larger! For wig clients with extra large heads I like to nip the edge of the wig right behind the ear where your ear and hair from above will cover it and add in a little godet of elastic.

2. Reduce weight! A heavy wig will make head pain much more likely, so here’s a few tips on wig weight reduction!

A) if your wig doesn’t need a ton of volume and is already very dense, rip out some wefts in the bottom half. Anything on the part of your head from the ridge where your head starts going in towards your neck won’t really show unless your wig is very short and it’ll obviously reduce weight instantly! You can replace any missing volume with light crimping or light heat and tease, or leave the wig as is for a natural and silky look without the unnatural volume of a cosplay wig.

B) if you need more volume in your wig, instead of going straight to adding wefts for more volume, see first if combining crimping with heat and tease at the roots will give you the extra volume you need! Crimping or heat and tease adds volume and if you straight up destroy the fiber in the first two inches from the scalp by doing both repeatedly, it’ll add huge volume without you needing to add extra hair! When I do this I like to heat the fiber near the roots, tease it, let it cool, crimp the teased part, let THAT cool, and then brush it out. You can flat out double the perceived volume in the back of the wig this way!

C) if your character has a high ponytail or high pigtails, consider using clip on ponytails that you can easily remove if you need the weight off your head right the fuck now. here’s two tutorials I swear by for making a short wig + clip on combination look more natural! They’re in Japanese but easily comprehensible if you use machine translation thanks to the clear photography. They also help with spreading out the weight on the wig itself, and if your hair is long enough, using a clip on with a fishnet wig cap and clipping through the wig and into your real hair will also he lp make it more secure and distribute weight more evenly.

if your character has high pigtails

if your character has a high ponytail

D) when you need extra wefts, opt for sewing in wefts rather than gluing whenever possible. Glue doesn’t seem heavy but enough of it can make a wig get real heavy REAL fast.

E) redirecting the weight to your entire head and not just the front hairline will feel lighter and give you less forehead tension, which is one of the biggest causes of wig headache. Toupee clips sewn evenly around the edges and a Wig Fix https://therenatural.com (the name brand one, the knockoffs genuinely don’t work half as well) can help with doing this. A Wig Fix will also let you use fewer pins to keep your wig on, which is another cause of wig headache. Can’t suggest trying those enough. There are also some velvet wig grips out there but I find those don’t work quite as well, but they’re by far better than nothing.

3) make sure your wig is easy to remove. A lot of characters have horns or veils or other head things on top of the wig so make sure those can easily come off if you need a wig break! I’m a big proponent of using wig glue or double stick tape to glue strands (face framing layers etc) to your face for a more natural and more flattering look, but if you get headaches from wigs, keep that glue or tape in your bag so if you have to de-wig for a bit, you can get it back on!

4) take the ibuprofen or whatever BEFORE you put the wig on, and not when your wig is already making your head miserable! It’s like taking the ibuprofen before you wear the horrible shoes for a special event; it’s more effective in advance.

5) what are your normal headache triggers? Make sure you’re doing the work to EXTRA avoid them before wearing a cosplay wig. Stay hydrated. Keep up with your electrolytes. If you have any food triggers, make sure you’re managing them properly.

6) try multiple types of wig cap before deciding which ones to use! I’m a big fan of the fishnet kind because I’m in agony every time I try to use the stocking kind. Some people find relief in doing pin curls under their cap, and @/battleangelgif on twitter suggested doing this with damp hair the night before you wear the wig. There are tons of methods! Stretching out fishnet caps can be done more effectively when they’re slightly damp and that’ll make them pinch less. Experiment with what you like best to keep your irl hair in place and once you find a method you like, go for it! Make that your go-to!

7) always remember: wearing a short wig is less miserable than wearing a wig to your ankles. consider very carefully whether or not you can actually handle that wig that’s as long as you are tall. sometimes you just can’t and that’s okay! reduce the length of any super long haired character to hip length and it’ll be FINE. I swear. It’ll still read as super long and it won’t be as terrible.

8) always remember you can just. take the entire wig and cosplay off if you’re in agony. it’s not worth it. don’t do that to yourself. If the migraine hits anyway, just take it off.

Hope some of this might help you out! Focusing on reducing and redistributing weight is what helps me out the most 😌 feel free to reply or reblog or message with questions and I’ll try and get back to you ASAP!

#cosplay #cosplay tutorial #wigs #wig tutorial #cosplay tips #reducing wig weight #I just want to save everyone from blinding cosplay wig induced migraine #nobody likes head pain at the con #hope I was clear enough hhhhhh #yes this is an expansion of a twitter thread I wrote #y’all get the better version

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manikas-whims · 1 year

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Reasons I despise Shadow and Bone

• Inej Ghafa in the books was an SA survivor and a girl who despite all that she went through, held hope close to her chest. Book Inej was so scared of the menagerie, she couldn't walk past it without the fear of being recaptured. She finally moved on from this fear when she choked Heleen at the Ice Court, stole her diamond choker and ran, calling her silks feathers. And finally believing that she was free after facing her fear, her abuser head on. So seeing the show Inej casually walk into the menagerie as well as merely shrugging upon hearing of Heleen's death this season, was not just extremely ooc but disrespectful and had zero depth.

• Kaz Brekker's disability was basically neglected this entire season and his cane treated like an accessory. Not only that they butchered the entire Kaz-Nikolai meeting in CK. Kaz would've immediately recognized Nikolai, like that was such a downgrade. Not to mention Nikolai threatening Kaz (and Jesper). Kaz wouldn't be threatened. Instead he'd make negotiations with Nikolai on his terms. Oh and most importantly, his entire backstory was rushed and played off like it was nothing serious. That intensity of two innocent small-town boys being tricked by an adult with agency and power, I couldn't feel it as much as I felt reading the books.

• Jesper Fahey's backstory is very emotional and beautiful. The memories with his mother and his coversations later on with his father, all lead up to him slowly accepting his grisha side more and embracing it. Embracing being a zowa. The show speed-ran through it and well, it lost its depth.

More importantly none of the backstory material makes much sense and lacks so much depth because there was nothing that lead to that development. The books, whatever transpires in SoC is what leads to and triggers their individual character developments. So any backstories stuffed in the show made no sense.

• Nina Zenik's bisexuality is completely erased by the show. Its like netflix is allergic to sapphics 😭

• Now Kanej! We got so much Kanej content we should be happy right? I agree. The scenes did give me a momentary high because those are some of my favorite parts of the books and its a blessing to be able to see them adapted on screen. Except, none of those scenes made sense, especially since season 1 barely hinted about some chemistry between the two and then season suddenly escalated all that slow burn into significant moments badly stashed into the show plot. I mean ofc we got the chapel scene and all but.. The whole wound patching-up scene was a pivotal moment in their relationship and it was completely downplayed in the show. And then there was also Kaz getting mad at Inej freeing some children from slavers? Like ofcourse even book Kaz would be slightly miffed but he wouldn't outright reprimand Inej and tell her she's off the team due to it, but thats what show Kaz did. And then after everything that happens, the sudden drop of “how will you have me” and the “without armor” dialogue completely did dirty to that moment. Like ofc she says “gloves on, fully clothed, head turned away so our lips never meet”. But in the books, Inej utters those words because of all the secrecy and lack of effort for pursuing a proper relationship between them. The “no armor” Inej says is addressed towards wanting him to be more open about himself (since Kaz knows basically everything about her, from her full name to how she was captured and ended up in Ketterdam) but Inej knows nothing about him, not even if Kaz Brekker is his real name. But the show made the “no armor” dialogue so bad. Its made Inej look so shallow as if she is merely speaking in terms of her physical wants.

Ohh and I did mention this in another post but everybody fucking knowing about Kaz's backstory? Everyone but Inej? The only person he actually tells in the books. Him even telling the fraction of stuff he tells Inej spoke volumes about their bond and how he trusted her enough to reveal this truth about himself. Show Kaz's past is revealed to Nina and Jesper casually walking in and listening??? WTF was that? And no Inej in thaf moment. Call it nitpicking but it was WRONG.

• Wesper has been reduced to the token gay couple of the show. Their sweet first encounter has been completely eradicated and they're turned into this typical trope of people who had a one night stand and accidentally met again. Their romance is so sexualised in the show, as many tend to do with queer ships (which is extremely disgusting imo). More importantly, we'll most likely never see the “no, not just girls” in that possible spin-off 🙂

• Ketterdam: the show has given no proper insight on Ketterdam. I bet most of the show only people don't understand much about the city and the gangs. I wonder if many even know whats a Dime Lion. And Pekka randomly having the stadwatch in cahoots with him was so shitty writing?

And these are just a few that i can remember right now. Also i don't want this post to get too long.

–» If you're one of those sheep fans, don't comment shit like “creators already told us its different from the books, so you shouldn't be mad” 🤪 cause I'll definitely delete your comment.

If you are one of those, scroll past this post. Cause what do y'all even mean? People can't freely discuss or criticize a piece of media now? STFU!

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ageless-aislynn · 3 months

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Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#master chief x reader #x reader #john-117 x reader #fic: 15 minutes #series: how to date a spartan without even trying #ageless aislynn #aislynn's fics #aislynn's fic

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bluntblade · 2 months

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I've got a theory about why this happened, and I think the other Mandoverse shows support it, especially Mando S3. Basically, these shows have over-committed to using the Volume to the point that it hurts their action scenes. Not just in terms of how they look and feel, but what can even be put in front of the camera.

As Greig Fraser (the brilliant DoP who worked on early Mando as well as Rogue One, Dune and The Batman, and first got the Volume to work) has said, the Volume comes with pretty steep limitations. Spielberg has managed to do some things with it that Fraser hadn't thought possible, but for the most part it restricts what angles you can shoot at and also what movement you can have. Film Crit Hulk talks about it in more detail re Mando back in 2020:

Note HOW MANY times they’re standing relatively flat and the camera angle is directly parallel to a ground so that it puts the horizon in the same 1/3 of the frame spot behind them. They do this because if they raise the camera higher (as many shots should and would) it would reveal the “boxy” angle of the stage. It may seem small, but it REALLY de-emphasizes the natural surrounding and I’m worried it’s hurting the overall look of the show.

And it occurs to me that arguably the best-shot action of that series is probably the one where they went out and just filmed in the California hills. Note how Boba gets to tower over that one Stormtrooper and how there's a real sense of wham when he lands.

youtube

If you're shooting everything in a context where nothing can move all that fast, though, it really hurts your most kinetic characters. When Kelleran Beq gets his showcase in Mando S3, the camera can't move to add oomph to his strikes or give him a hero shot (in Kenobi you see them trying this with Vader, but they have to stop short of an angle which will actually give the image punch). If you've seen Dune Part Two, think of how the camera races along with Paul and Chani in some of their fights with the Harkonnens. That's wholly missing here.

And this also impacts the old jet packs (and Jedi acrobatics, for the most part). Whereas Jango could rocket around merrily, it's notable that the Children and the Nite Owls alike only really use their packs for dedicated aerial scenes. In the pirate fight, you can easily imagine them boosting from rooftop to rooftop and sparking even more "high ground" memes, but instead they conduct the fight entirely at a walking pace and on the ground.

And all of this hurts Sabine in particular, because like Ahsoka, she originated in animation and has previously been depicted in a really kinetic way. Even without a jetpack, she's a very acrobatic fighter in Rebels, and it's one of the things which makes her a really fun character. But in the process of moving to live-action, Filoni and co opted to change the characters to fit the Mandoverse style, instead of changing the style to fit the characters. The result is that lots of the things that first made Sabine so cool and fun just aren't really possible now.

#Sabine Wren #Ahsoka show #Ahsoka critical #Mandoverse critical #Youtube

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snapscube · 1 year

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Hiya Penny! I've heard you mention your voice effects on stream, but I have no idea what they are and can't tell the difference! What voice processing stuff do you use?

I have a whole chain of voice effects on my stream microphone (set up through Wave Link) that make the overall sound a lot better for streaming and easier on the ears as well as easier to mix. This is the primary effects chain

In order: 1. Acon Digital DeVerberate 3 is a VST plugin that straight up almost MAGICALLY reduces reverb from a vocal track. I have never personally used a reverb reduction effect or software that works better than this one. Of course, ideally if you are recording for professional purposes this is not the kind of thing you want to rely on. For professional vocal work I have another microphone in my office closet where the space is treated to PHYSICALLY reduce unwanted sound reflection before it even hits the mic. But since my stream microphone is at my desk, and I don't have a lot of soft furniture in my hardwood flooring office, this plugin is pretty necessary and works wonders. Here is an example of the difference with literally not a SINGLE other bit of processing added:

Everything else on the list, save for maybe compression, is gonna be a bit more subtle and harder to hear individually especially once game audio is drowning it out a bit. But it all makes a difference and it's all very important to my stream's sound profile and I can not STAND when Wave Link bugs out and removes these things without me knowing lmao.

2. "GATE" is the ReaGate VST from Reaper (actually all of the remaining effects are Reaper VSTs and are entirely free jsyk!) and is mainly just there to make sure that quiet sounds unimportant to my commentary like rustling, shuffling, bumps, air conditioning, and/or voices leaking from other rooms doesn't appear on my stream's audio. Or at least as little of it as possible!

3. "EQ1" is a ReaEQ VST and it's my primary equalizer that reduces some of my voice's harsher frequencies, like harsh "s" sounds for example, and boosts some of the nicer sounding ones!

4. "COMPRESSION" is ReaComp and it helps level the overall volume and tone of my voice to give it a bit of that nice "radio" sound people like to hear in streams and podcasts, as well as keeping shouts and exclamations from being too overwhelming and whispers from being too inaudible. This is absolutely the effect other than deverberate that does the most to my stream's sound profile and is extremely important for a stream that sounds easy on the ears.

5. "EQ2" is just another instance of the same ReaEQ plugin from before but the changes it makes are a LOTTT more subtle. Really just meant to touch up the sound profile post-compression. It's absolutely the least vital effect here but I like having it haha.

Anyway, if you want to hear the difference I'd encourage you to listen to the first part of that previous DeVerberate audio example and then compare it to my voice fully processed in a clip like this!

Me just explaining all this maybe won't help you hear more of the difference in action if you don't really have an ear for this sort of thing but I hope it was helpful or at least interesting!

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qxldnya · 1 year

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ENEMIES TO LOVERS

Part 1

Jude Bellingham x baller!reader

(ongoing series)

Sypnosis; it is clear that you and jude aren't very fond of eachother but what happens when both of you need to make a mutual deal?

Wc: 500

Warning: swearing, wall pinning:), jerk jude? (ik he is a sweartheart irl)

A/n: there's unfortunately a lack of enemies to lovers fics on jude so i decided to take matters in my own hands, yw;)

It had all started with one stupid mistake that snowballed into a complete catastrophe.

Because, you know, it seemed like that was the common trend with your life nowadays. You'd been in the common area, sketching a few mindless doodles after training when your mom had called.

For a brief moment, staring at your vibrating phone with a scathing hatred, you'd considered just letting it go straight to voicemail.

This would mark the... seventh? Eighth time this week? That she'd called to ask about the same fucking topic.

It was never, "Hi sweetie! How's it going at the club?" or "Honey! Are you feeling ok?"

Picking up the phone, you're met with the same line you've grown to memorize over the course of the past month or so.

"Have you found a plus-one to the wedding yet?"

The question has you pondering whether or not it would really be a bad idea to just discreetly smash your phone into the brick wall next to you. Repeatedly. So you can't take any calls for the rest of the month.

So fucking tempting. Instead, you just turn the volume up, pressing the small buttons a bit too hard in your small fit of annoyance. It's just quiet enough to not disturb the other students across the room, but loud enough so you can continue to sketch comfortably without having to put the phone to your ear.

Plus, no one's sitting close enough to hear you anyways. The cause of this whole plus-one fiasco was a result of your Aunt Sylvie's wedding.

Had it been under normal circumstances, you'd have merely taken a Friday off for classes and driven down to the chosen venue, had a grand time, and been back by midnight.

These were not normal circumstances.

Because your aunt has never affiliated with anything that could be filed under "normal circumstances."

Why? She's loaded. Like. "Vacation homes in Peru" loaded. Oh, and famous, too. One of the most successful football managers in your country, to be precise.

An elite coach, she got you to step a foot in the football world at a young age and teached you everything you know. And you commended her for it, you truly did.

The occasional "gift" of joining almost any club you wanted was always proved to be a welcome perk of being her sole niece.

And she was truly a good aunt to you; overall, a very sweet woman with some fat stacks of cash. And maybe a bit of a controlling streak.

So it wasn't too surprising that she got engaged soon after her rise to fame, to another baller. Nor was it very surprising when they'd announced their wedding details: a fully paid wedding destination trip to none other than the Bahamas.

For an entire week. At first, you'd been absolutely psyched. College loans meant vacations of any sort were always out of the question, so this was some sort of god-sent miracle to rest your fatigued brain.

She'd reserved rooms for all the guests at one of the most luxurious resorts, planned numerous exciting activities and events throughout the week such as snorkeling and jet-skiing, prepared top-tier food accommodations - everything. Quite literally the experience of a lifetime. And you were certain the wedding ceremony was going to be absolutely beautiful as well.

There was only one catch. Every guest needed a plus-one

As in a romantic partner plus-one. Some bullshit about couples activities, photo symmetry, and singles proving to be too costly by taking up more rooms - apparently even the filthy rich needed to worry about budgeting sometimes.

To be honest, you didn't completely understand it. But hurrah! Your mother had come to save the day! By trying to set you up with fucking Tom. The son of a long-time family friend, whom you'd quickly grown to despise.

He was just... not it. At all. If you had to use one adjective to describe him, it would be slippery. Because he's as greasy as he is deceiving, you think to yourself sourly as you tighten your grip on your phone.

You'd had one too many bad encounters with him that just teetered on the edge of being socially unacceptable enough to warrant him a ban from family events.

But he was smart enough to take note of that, and often just barely toed the line around you, hence why your parents didn't see anything wrong with trying to get you two together for the wedding.

Despite your numerous protests and refusals, of course. Your mother's voice in your ear reminds you that you've forgotten to respond, and you just sigh, pinching your brow.

You'd tried getting a plus one! You really had! But it seemed like despite the whole "all expenses paid vacation" bait you'd used to keep any potential candidates on the hook, no one really felt like coming along as your romantic partner.

Especially not after one date. With a girl they met on Tinder. Fuck! There's a good chance you've been placed on a list for suspected organ traffickers at this point.

"Honey?!! Your mom asked again.

You don't want to cancel on a luxurious trip like this, but also, the thought of having to share a room with Tom, let alone act like his date, is enough to make you reconsider. Who knows what that creep would try to pull?

And then the doors to the common room open and in walks the infamous quartet that seems to be known everywhere across camp: James Reece, Trent Alexander Arnold, Phil foden, and of course, Jude. Your training partner for the upcoming World Cup.

"Honey? Did you find someone to be your plus one??" Her pitch rises a few octaves with excitement. For some reason, you're not really paying attention, just looking at the group, and specifically, Jude.

Man, fuck that guy.

"Uhh..." is all you can respond with, still distracted. And to be honest, you're not sure why.

He seems to be in a foul mood like always, teeth grit as he lets out a slew of insults towards his friends, who merely laugh good-naturedly in response.

And for a brief moment, he turns towards you. Your eyes meet, his crimson irises seemingly studying you intently, before he just curls his lip and turns away. Bitch. You scowl back at him. Out of everyone you could've been partnered up with, it had to be him.

Despite your best efforts or admittedly, failures he'd - turned down any prospect of friendship, or even a simple truce between the two of you, which had made this past season difficult.

Especially with partner duality as we call it where we basically have you compete with our partner. Those were awful to deal with. A small voice reminds you that although you did try to be nice, you kind of stuck your foot in your mouth and made a pretty awful first impression at the beginning of the season You bash the small voice with the one who held a grudge.

And for some reason, whether it be the frustration with the whole wedding situation, or because you just really hate seeing his face, you begin to sort of angrily fixate on him, as if you're silently blaming him for all of your current problems right now.

And so, not by your own accord though, your mind wanders. That fucking look he gave you. Like you were nothing but an insect for him to regard with absolute disgust. You knew being the only women to play with men would backlash. Even though you earned your spot and worked hard to get to your position despite your aunt being who she is.

You imagine confronting him someday, asking why he has to be such a complete jerk to everyone he encounters in his miserable life.

"What's his name?" Her question doesn't fully register, and to be honest, you've completely forgotten what she's talking about.

You're too absorbed in your own thoughts about your asshole of a teammate, and in this moment, the question seems to relate to just that. And so, you make a horrible mistake.

A truly, truly horrible mistake.

"Jude," you mumble with a glare, still focused on the retreating form of the brunette. There's silence. The four men exit the room.

"You found a plus one!" Comes the shriek of celebration, and you're immediately startled out of your stupor and almost drop your phone onto the floor.

"Jude, huh? Is that his first name or his surname? How long have you known him? Is he nice? Wait, you need to tell me the details later, I have to go call your aunt and tell her the good news! Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

What?

"Wait, WAIT!" You try to interrupt, your notebook almost falling out of your lap as you lurch forward to bring the phone to your ear, but she hangs up before you can explain, leaving you with nothing but a dead line.

At first, you're too stunned to process what just happened. And when the realization finally dawns on you, the only rational decision seems to be: freak the fuck out. You try to call her back repeatedly, but the line is busy, and you assume that she's probably too busy gushing to your aunt about your "brand new boyfriend."

Oh, fuck. You bury your face into your hands, mortified that your mother now thinks you're taking Jude, of all people, as your stupid plus-one. And now she's gone and told your aunt. Fuck. You now have to tell them both the truth before this all gets too out of hand...

...And you'd rather do that from within the privacy of your own apartment. With a quick glance around the front of the room, you're pleased to note that nobody's looking at you funny or whispering to themselves, like you'd feared.

Maybe using speakerphone hadn't been the best decision, but the commotion that surrounds you has gone on like normal, and nobody even bothers to give you a second glance as you get up to leave.

Thank god nobody heard that, you think shamefully to yourself, snatching up your bag and hurrying out of the room.

Declan Rise finally turns around from the seat directly behind you to watch you leave, mouth agape in pure shock as he silently mumbles a "no wayyy-" And then, he whips his phone out and begins texting.

It takes about two hours before you're able to get ahold of your aunt. And she gives you the exact same treatment your mother did, if not worse.

"Darling!" She exclaims as soon as she picks up. "I am so overjoyed to hear you'll be able to attend the wedding! You're my only niece you know, and I was afraid you'd cancel on me! I just simply couldn't have dealt with that. The bridesmaid coordinations would've been thrown off entirely!"

"Actually," you begin with an awkward laugh, but she cuts you off. "Well, in other good news, you were actually the last person we needed to RSVP so the fiancé and I have officially booked everything! I'll have your ticket details sent to you within the next few hours. And I am so looking forward to meeting Jude, he is an excellent player! Even though I'm not that keen over you dating a fellow college who am I to stand in the way of true love! Just don't tell the rest of the world just yet I do not think they would take it that well. But you will have to tell me what he's like."

You try to speak again, starting to explain the situation, but she doesn't respond. There's a muffled voice from somewhere in the background, and she's silent for a few more moments before she clears her throat and giggles.

"I have to run, darling. I'm going to a meeting. But I'm just- I'm so excited! I'll see you in three weeks~" She hangs up. And you're left to sit on your bed, absolutely dumbstruck, because it seems that literally NOBODY is willing to let you get a single word in today. But now, there's a real problem.

She has reserved you and your NOT-boyfriend Jude spots at her wedding. Her ultra-expensive vacation resort wedding. And you sure as fuck can't pay her back for all of that if you decide to drop out last second.

Not that you think she'd charge you, but you'd assume it would be the most respectful thing to do in such a scenario

However, it's that... or go with Tom. You crash face first into your pillows and scream.

The universe is probably laughing in response. First day of the world cup training. You were really looking forward to it since it was theoretical and noy out on the field just yet. Today we were just taking it easy and just start out with a game plan on the board.

Each row sat two people, and you absent-mindedly wondered who you'd be paired up with. And as it turned out, you didn't have to wonder for long.

So here you are, standing awkwardly by your desk and trying not to full on gawk at Trent who's supposed to be sitting next to you for the rest of the season. Holy, shit. He looks like a fucking model, with his perfectly tanned skin and sharp crimson eyes that regard you without a single hint of interest.

His shoulders are broad, as well as his chest, and you can't help but let your eyes linger on his lips- Internally slapping yourself, you try your best to smile in a not-creepy way, forcing yourself to go back to a more normal headspace as you stick your hand out in greeting.

What you meant to say was "Hi," and then introduce yourself with a little, "hey?" But for some reason, you can't help but fumble your words like an idiot. So instead, you decided to just keep quiet anf not embarrass yourself even more.

You wake up the next day, groggy and disoriented. You'd been up all night trying to figure out how the hell you were going to get out of this, because if you tell your mom now, she's definitely going to guilt trip you into going with Tom. And speak of the devil, she sent you a text.

From: Mom

Hi honey! Good morning! I hope you're having a good day. And you better tell me all about this Jude guy soon

At least she's actually sending you good morning texts now instead of suspicious download links to dating websites! So, maybe paying your auntie back isn't such a bad option. At least less than 5,000$, right?

She messages you again. You groan, and pointedly ignore the text, along with a few others from your best friend mason who instantly clicked with you since you first started your career at the National team, tossing your phone off to the side as you roll out of bed to get ready for your first training.

You'll read them all later. And hopefully you'll get all of this bullshit sorted out later too, but for now, you just really need a coffee. Your cat jumps onto the bed with a loud purr, reminding you that it is, in fact, breakfast time.

At least for her, anyways. You stroke your fingers through her soft fur, smiling as she keens into your touch. Perhaps it won't be so bad. You'll get through this, no matter the outcome.

But something's off today, you note, as you make your way to the rest of the team forty minutes later. For some reason, it feels like a lot more people are looking at you than normal. Not a huge change, but you can feel a few lingering gazes that make you more than a bit uneasy

You quicken your pace. The attention - or more likely your own paranoia - only worsens as you make your way towards training, trying your best to keep calm.

Ok, something is up. Is there a hole in your shorts? An embarrassing stain you hadn't noticed? Fuck, you'll have to ask Mason when you see him. You swear if it's something along those lines, you're going to lose it. As if shit isn't already stressful enough for you. The group of people working at the camp start thinning out as everyone rushes to there oh so important planning for the upcoming World Cup, and you feel like you can finally breathe normally again.

The pitch is right up ahead, and you make a beeline for it, ready to find out if you really did publicly humiliate yourself in front of half of the team just by walking to training. But you never actually make it into the pitch

Because right as you're about to go outside through the doorway, someone yanks you to the side and against the wall beside it. You yelp, wincing at the sudden motion. It didn't hurt but it sure did startle the shit out of you.

Jude's eyes are boring right into yours, only inches from your face as he towers over you. Oh come on. You try to move away from him with a glare, but he keeps you firmly in place.

"What the hell are you doing?" You hiss, indignantly staring up at him. He doesn't respond. On any normal day, you would've shoved him off with a parting gift of some choice words and maybe even the middle finger as a garnish on top.

But this feels... much different from the usual spats you both have. You flinch away as he snarls at you with a scathing venom that drips from his every word.

"Why the FUCK am I hearing that we're dating?"

#jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham x fotballer reader #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #trent alexander arnold x reader

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sunnysunsins · 2 months

Text

Since recently everything here has been taken over by dipshits who lack media literacy, i will come back here to say - RWBY is a good show. It is good. It has good story and good writing and good characters. Does it have stumbles and limitations? Of course, like everything else ever created. Is it the real reason yall are dedicating your lives to religiously following and picking apart every detail to find something, anything, to hate on and make it your whole personality? Nah.

Yall are just pissy your hc wasn't canon. And i'm only half-joking.

Yall are just stuck in the expectation of "cute girls in school fighting monsters and baddies", which it hasn't been for almost a decade. Let Beacon fucking die already, it was the most boring part of the story anyway. If you like it so much, watch.. idk, high guardian spice. Or maybe my hero academia, it has godawful writing too with your favorite Adam-like and Ironwood-like archetypes you adore so much.

And if you didn't click off already in hissy rage, and want to challenge me on the writing point:

Yall are complaining about pacing, characterization lacking, skipped development, insert some other reason, how "show went to shit after volume 3". Well, newsflash, look back at volume 1. REALLY look at it, without your nostalgia boner.

How, in what actually can fit into 3.5 full-length episodes, it skips a whole semester with only a few moments shown in like 3-8 minutes. Notice how Ruby and Pyrrha interacted like 2 times in 3 volumes total. Ruby and Penny? Yeah, they barely interacted too. Ren hasn't talked to rwby girls at all aside from ensemble scenes.

Too many characters in later volumes? Honey, 1-3 had SO many pointless grunts and you ate them up. The whole Vytal festival was filled with them.

Can you tell me the plot of volume 2 from the top of your head? Yeah, me neither. If i think maybe i can remember there was a mecha fight, a dance and a train, but beyond that what was the point of that entire volume again?

Your favorite, pedestalled, volume 3, most of which is fighty-fighty filler and the only stuff you actually remember when jizzing your pants about it is last 3 episodes.

Most character interactions and development happened after Beacon arc. Most actual plot and bigger story happened after it too. Yall are stuck circlejerking to *filler*, setup, which only purpose was to show the status quo to later destroy it and start to show the real picture.

Do you know why v4 and 5 feel so empty and missing something? Sure, juggling multiple plots gave it's pacing issues too, but it felt empty because there were no side characters to fill out the world and make it feel alive. V5 cast was so tiny it felt like nobody interacted at all. Because there were none of those "extras" yall hate on so much. The extras make the world feel real. Which is why Atlas feels alive when Mistral wasn't.

The most complaints about later volumes are chucked down to lack of media literacy and nuanced reading of situations and characters. Translated for your easier understanding: the writing was too nuanced for your "cute girls go fighty fighty brrr" brain to comprehend. Sometimes things require you to put the situation into character perspectives. Sometimes their decisions are made under stress + personality + influence of events and interactions. But i guess yall don't want to think, yall just want to watch "girl go brrr killy killy monster"

I can continue writing down all these other points, but i'm hungry and should get up so i won't. Bottom text: RWBY is a good show with good story and good writing and good characters. It has struggles and fumbles like every other piece of media. But for some reason, because it's indie, it's held to a much higher standard and everyone feels entitled to pick apart every detail of it to make themselves feel justified for feeling sad over their dead headcanons, even though they'd never do the same picking for big production popular series with much *much* worse writing than even the worst of RWBY's fumbles.

If you made it this far and are a member of rwde, congratulations, you still have a reasonable bone or few. Most others i guess clicked off at first point and blocked me after sending me some kinda death threat, idk, i haven't posted this yet after all.

So yeah, feel free to leave your takes and death threats below, i'll happily discuss further later

#rwby #rwby analysis #rwby is good #rwde #anti rwde #greenlight volume 10 #crwby #save crwby

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nirvanawrites111 · 1 year

Text

May I Have Your Attention Please Part 2

(Sub!Seonghwa x Reader, Sub!Hongjoong x Reader)

Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader, Hongjoong x Reader

Fem Reader, She/her pronouns

Word Count: 2749

Tw: Spanking Hwa receiving, mention of drug dealing/Gangteez life, mentions of killing, thinking about killing hwa, but trust me you won’t.

oral (fem receiving)

Part 1 Here

Smut below the cut!

A/n: Also I start writing this after I published Part 1 last night. So, shoutout to Anon for your suggestion. I think this is becoming a series. Lets see how my ADHD works lol

“It’s been a few weeks since we last saw each other. How’s everything going?” Seonghwa asks you, taking a sip of his martini.

You scan his body language and he has some nerve to try to be all concerned and formal like he’s not a damn snitch.

You know the street code anyone who crosses you got to go. You reach into your purse and grip the cool metal inside of your bag. You could kill so quick and clean up the body without hesitation.

“I want to know how you know Hongjoong?” You skip the pleasantries and small talk about your life. You need to know why he decided to have such loose lips around him.

“Oh.” Seonghwa talks another sip of his drink, but this time he finishes the entire glass and places it in front of him. He toys with his ring on his finger and avoids eye contact with me.

“Eyes on me, Hwa.” Your tone is solid and firm. This isn’t the time to go soft on him.

Thankfully, you are in a private dining room in a fancy restaurant. The many perks of domming a billionaire. Money and access aren’t an issue.

Seonghwa’s eyes flicker up to you and he visibly swallows hard. “A childhood friend. Why do you bring him up?”

“Cut the bullshit. Hongjoong seemed to be aware of our arrangement.”

Seonghwa’s fingers stroke the flute of his martini glass. “We were drinking and it slipped out.”

“How did it come up?”

“I don’t know. He asked me if I was seeing anyone, and I told him about you. Which led to me sharing how you dominate me. I shouldn’t have spilled that information. Y/n, I’m really sorry.”

You let go of the trigger and release your gun from my hand.

Seonghwa is the least bit wiser of your consideration of killing him.

As you recline comfortably in your plush chair, you observe the person before you, their body language speaking volumes. It becomes evident that a tinge of remorse tugs at their demeanor, seemingly regretful for the words that flowed unchecked from their lips moments ago.

Seonghwa’s eyes, once brimming with confidence, now betray a subtle hint of contrition, as if they wish they could retract the spoken utterances.

A flicker of vulnerability dances across their face, accentuated by a slight downturn at the corners of their mouth.

Plus, you enjoy being with Seonghwa and if it wasn’t for him you wouldn’t had Hongjoong curious about you. Which you still can’t get that thought out of your head.

Your night with Hongjoong was intense. You can still see him naked on that hotel bed. The way he looked all innocent and shy while you were pounding his ass.

Your business is afloat again and you have product moving on the streets as you speak. You don’t have to worry about losing anymore money.

Sure, you could have asked Seonghwa for the money. But, you don’t like him funding your business. You want to keep him away from this lifestyle as much as possible.

He’s your safe haven outside of the dangerous street life. This isn’t meant for everyone to experience. You want to keep him as pure as possible.

But, you are still not sure why he’s associating with Hongjoong.

“Yes, you’re sorry. But, that was fucked up, Hwa. You know you owe me for that.”

“Yes, goddess. I do. I’ll do anything to make up for it.”

“Or, you’re going to do anything. But, I will let you know how you can repay me.”

“Gladly. It won’t happen again.”

“So, why are you hanging around a drug dealer anyways? You’re not funding his business, right?”

“Of course. You told me to stay away from your lifestyle. We just catch up sometimes. He was the only Korean at my pre-school so we’ve always bonded over that.”

“Hwa stand up and drop your pants.”

You reach into your bag and grab your paddle. There is no way you are going to let him off the hook that easy.

Seonghwa does what you say and assumes the position. He places his hands on the table.

You come behind him. “Hwa, you know we can’t have loose lips like that. If I adhere to street code I would have had to drop you, baby. I don’t want to do that, right?”

You wack his ass with your wooden paddle engraved with “Daddy’s Bitch”.

Seonghwa jolts a bit, but it’s not enough for your liking. You need him to feel it. “Right, I’m sorry.”

You wack him again because you need him to understand the nature of your relationship with you. “You’re sorry, who?”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

“Good, you always learn quick. Listen, I’m going light on you because I have something to do. But, don’t make that mistake again.”

“Yes, daddy.”

You rub his ass and kiss where it’s visibly red. “Now, I know you miss having my tongue in your ass. But, I can’t give that type of affection to a snitch. Right?”

“Yes, daddy. It will not happen again.”

You stand up and toss your paddle into your bag. You toss your purse onto your shoulder. “Listen, I gotta run. But, we will see each other soon.”

“I look forward to it,” Seonghwa speaks and pulls up his pants.

You play it cool and put on your sunglasses. You exit out of the dining room and head for the door. Your driver is waiting for you and he opens the back door for you.

You look at your phone and Hongjoong’s number flash across the screen. You groan at the site of his name coming into your current vision.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Hi, Y/n. I just want to confirm that the product was enough to hold you over. Have you found a distributor yet?”

“My business operations are not any of your concern, Hongjoong.”

“You know I can’t get you out of my head from the other night.”

You always try to act like you are such a tough cookie. But, the truth is you can’t either. There was something so sexy about being with Hongjoong. Sure, you two have always been in competition with each other. But, now things seem different.

You are starting to dip into the personal side of things and it scared the shit out of you.

“Is that so?” You humor him for a bit. You need to see where his head is.

“Yes. Have dinner with me tonight, Y/n.”

No. You cannot get yourself caught up with Kim Hongjoong. Next thing you know you’ll be his weekly eye candy on his arm until he gets tired of you. You know how he gets down.

A different chick on his arm everytime you see him. You like to live discreet. You don’t want anyone knowing who are choose to sleep with. He’s trying to distract you.

“I’m busy, tonight.”

“C’mon, Y/n. I make a mean spaghetti. I know it’s your favorite.”

“Who told you that?”

“Don’t worry about that. Let me make you dinner to thank you for that amazing night.”

“Joong, it was business. That’s it and that’s all.”

“I know. But, this isn’t a date. It’s a business dinner. That’s all.”

“Fine. Where do you live?”

“I’ll come pick you up. I have manners y’know?”

“Okay.”

***

The doorbell rings and you open the door to see Hongjoong standing there with your favorite flowers in hand. His blonde hair is slicked back and he’s wearing an open white dress shirt with lacy see-through sleeves. A Cuban link adorns his neck and his usual jeans are replaced by slacks.

“Hi,” Hongjoong says sweetly and blushes.

“Hi,” you reply. The two of you are staring at each other for a few moments. You can’t believe how good he looks and how much effort he’s put into this.

“Uh, sorry,” Hongjoong snaps out of whatever trace you have him and he shakes head. “These are for you. I got you a vase, too. I didn’t know if you had one.”

“Uh, thank you.” You grab the flowers and say, “You can come in.”

Hongjoong follows you into your home and you place the flowers on the living room table. The two of you sit down on your couch.

“I forgot to ask did you have any food allergies?”

“Nope. I can eat anything.”

“Good.”

“Well, let’s go back to my place and enjoy that meal I promised you.”

You stand up and you have an urge to straddle him. Slip your tongue into his mouth and make him scream your name. But, you remember this is just a thank you dinner. Nothing more and nothing less.

***

Hongjoong opens the passenger door of his corvette for you. “Your chariot awaits.”

Hongjoong curses himself inside of his head. He glares at you to see if you’ll respond to his comment, but you just laugh at it.

He watches you get in and closes the door behind you. He hops into the driver’s seat and drives off to his place.

The car ride is silent but Hongjoong decides to break the ice.

“So, do you need me to help you find a distributor?”

“I got one, but thanks for the offer.”

“Do you want those corner boys back?”

“Hell no. If they will leave me so easily then they were never loyal to me. Plus, I replaced them anyways.”

“Yeah, I mean that’s the easy part. The hard part is ensure they are loyal.”

“Oh, I know they are loyal. So, I’m not worried.”

Once the two of you arrive at his place he gets out of the car and opens the door for you. Hongjoong helps you out of the car.

“Nice home.”

“I know it’s a lot for a single person.”

“Yeah, I get it. That’s why I enjoy my apartment. But, one day I will get a house once I leave this life.”

“Oh, you want to leave the game?”

“Yeah, I can’t do this forever. I want kids and a partner. What about you?”

Hongjoong had no idea you wanted those things. It doesn’t make it any better than he’s been dreaming about how all those things with you since you took hooked up.

“Uh, the streets is all I know. But, I think for the right person I could give it all up.”

“Exactly. I know you didn’t get this house for just yourself. You’re not scared in here by yourself?” You walk around his place exploring.

For a split second Hongjoong can picture you in this house as if it’s also yours. With little children following behind you.

But, before that he would love to be collared and walked all over his marble floors trailing behind you. The fact that you tower over him doesn’t make it any better.

Hongjoong snaps out of his thoughts and heads to the kitchen. He’s already prepped and washed everything for tonight. He grabs everything out of his fridge and place it on the counter.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Wine, please.”

Hongjoong grabs it out of the wine chiller and opens it with the automatic open. He grabs two glasses and places it in front of you. You are sitting in a high top chair at the kitchen island.

“Coming right up,” Hongjoong replies.

Hongjoong pours wine into your glass and his. He hands you your glass and you both cling your glasses together. “Cheers to new beginnings,” Hongjoong says.

“Cheers.”

Hongjoong can’t help but admire how beautiful you look tonight. Your hair is in full curls just like the other night with a red lip. Your makeup is light, but still makes a statement to enhance your natural beauty.

You are the perfect one for him. You are beautiful, smart, and one of the biggest drugpins in the game.

So, he doesn’t have to pretend he’s someone he’s not to appeal to you. You can understand him in ways that no one else can understand.

***

Hongjoong begins cooking and you sip more on your wine. You walk around his massive kitchen. You look all how neat and organized everything is.

The two of you have engaged in conversations about the street life, relationships, friendships, food, and so much more. You never realized how deep this man is.

“I like a man that cooks,” You stand next to him at the stove. You are amazed at how he knows his way around the kitchen. Everything is fresh and smells so good. You don’t remember if you’ve ever had a man cook for you.

“I like a woman who is dominant.”

That for whatever reason sends a signal to your center and you want nothing more than to have him again. This attraction to him is foreign, but you can’t deny you are having fun with him.

You hear Hongjoong cut off the burner and you sit on the counter behind him. You lift your dress to your hips and spread your legs.

Hongjoong turns around and immediately freezes in place.

“You want to thank you.. eat my pussy, slut,” You command. You are tired of playing games with him and dancing over the fact that are attracted to him.

Hongjoong doesn’t even blink he charges in between your legs and laps away at your already wet pussy. His desire to please you is so obvious. He lovingly serves you with so much ease and precision.

“Fuck, I’ve waited so long for this,” Hongjoong moans against your cunt and you gush a little. You’ve been trying to hold back all night. But, you knew from the moment he walked into your apartment with the flowers you wanted his head between your legs.

Your hand caresses the back of his head. “Your tongue is so good, Joongie. How would your crew Gangteez feel if they knew that your tongue was deep inside of their enemy? Where is your loyalty, Joongie?”

“With you.. all I want to do is serve and please you,” Hongjoong whimpers and give your clit slow licks.

“Oh, really?” You grab Hongjoong’s hair and pulls him away from your center. The lust has darkened his eyes and your juice all dripping off his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this.

“Yes, I can’t stay away from you. Gangteez doesn’t know what happened and I want to keep it that way.”

“Not even your right hand in command, Mingi?” You question.

“No.” He shakes his head. “My personal life is off limits to them.”

You bury his face back against your pussy and this time he drills his tongue inside of you while he massaging circles against your clit. The combination is enough to make everything around you blurry as fuck. You love how skillful his tongue is.

But, you love that he’s not going around telling anyone about what happened the other night. But, you will fact check with Seonghwa soon enough to ensure he’s really telling the truth.

You work your hips to match his tongue fucking you. You still can’t get over that you have one of the biggest drug dealers in your city between your legs professing their loyalty to you.

It’s a power that makes you feel so empowered. But, truthfully you want nothing more to slide down on his dick and fuck in your favorite position, amazon.

But, you are strategic. You can’t give him all of you so easily and fast. He has to earn in. To be inside of you completely is a privilege. So, you will table that opportunity for another time.

You stroke Hongjoong’s hair while your body shakes on his marble countertops. You wrap your legs around his head.

“Fuck, Joongie. I’m going to come,” you growl.

“Please come for me..mistress.”

You lose it when he whines for the arrival of your release. You give him what he’s asking for and let yourself experience that euphoria that you love chasing.

Hongjoong laps all it up. He cleans you out and you release your legs from around his head. You sit up catching your breath.

“Damn, Joongie. You did such a good job.” He looks even more beautiful with your juices glistening on his face.

You grab his with both hands by his shirt and pull him into a kiss. Your tongue swirl together and you savor the taste of your release on his tongue.

“Will you stay the night?” Hongjoong ask.

“Yes, if you agree to stay away from Seonghwa.”

Part 3

#sub!seonghwa #sub!hongjoong #kpop smut #sub!kpop #sub! idol #sub!idol x reader #dom!reader #sub!idol #ateez smut #sub!ateez #sub!idol x dom!reader #seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa x black reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x black reader

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hamaonoverdrive · 3 months

Text

How to get into Hokuto no Ken, A Guide

Hokuto no Ken, localized as Fist of the North Star, is the wildly popular and influential series penned by Buronson and drawn by Hara starting in 1983. It is a timeless tragedy about the power of love that taps into imagery from both Catholicism and Buddhism, while also being an homage to a variety of western 80's pop culture from Mad Max to Blade Runner to Rocky.

In the current anime fanscape, HnK is perhaps best known for being one of the key influences behind Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and Berserk, however it should be known that the series' influence permeates the entire Shonen genre. Traces of the tropes and dynamics that it popularized can be seen throughout Shonen today, from Naruto's drive for love and friendship that contrasts with Sasuke's rejection of the idea and desire to sever any bonds of love, to the implementation of Haki in One Piece.

So with all that in mind, let's get into the specifics.

The place to start with this franchise is very straightforward: read the original manga or watch the anime adaptation. There are a number of movies that retell parts of the original story, but they all have different downsides and cut important aspects of the source material and thus are a bad place to start.

This primary canon is broken down into two (three) parts, as follows:

HnK or "HnK1" is the core of the series, starting at the Shin arc through the originally intended ending at chapter 136/episode 108. Most of the time if someone is referring to HnK, this is what they are talking about. The beginning of the series is a bit of a slow start, bouncing between villains of the week before actually kicking off the primary conflict (especially in the anime, more on this later). This is somewhat typical for the era-- these early arcs were written while the authors had no idea if they were going to get dropped from Shonen Jump. For this reason, I highly recommend sticking with the series until the Fang Clan Chieftain and Jagi arcs even if the beginning hasn't clicked with you yet.

HnK2 is the continuation of the series, where the authors were pressured to continue working on the series because of the money it was raking in. This naming convention comes from the title of the anime for this portion of the story, chapters 136-210/episodes 110-152. Quite frankly, the fact that this is past the originally intended ending is very evident; Buronson has been quoted as never re-reading it after publication.[1] It's very much worth checking out at least once if you enjoyed HnK1-- there are absolutely memorable characters and fights, as well as some of the best art in the series-- but be prepared for a general drop in writing quality.

"Post-Kaioh HnK" or "HnK3" is the last leg of the original manga, which has never been adapted elsewhere. Chapters 211-245.

Content Warnings

Explicit Sexual Assault

The elephant in the room when discussing this series is that some social aspects of it are very of-the-era. There are two instances of explicit sexual assault, which get dismissed as "well the perpetrator didn't have the best execution, but he did have the right idea..." The pages/timestamps to avoid this are:

Manga volume 02 pages 287-289; volume 03, pages 063-066 (Ultimate Edition numbering)

Anime episode 24, 13:04-13:53; episode 26 08:29-09:22

Mild Gore

I almost feel like it goes without saying, but this is famously the series where the protagonist makes baddies heads explode. While this is never depicted in graphic detail, HnK as a whole is going to be a bad fit if this distresses you in any way.

An early example of the aforementioned head asplosions.

Photosensitivity

The anime makes period-typical use of flashing lights in nearly every episode. If you are photosensitive (and can't take measures to mitigate the flashing), you should read the manga instead.

If you want to read the manga...

The manga is the way that I personally recommend getting into the series due to Hara's absolutely gorgeous art.

The manga is also generally seen as the true 'canon'; For example, colorschemes used in subsequent works typically draw from colored chapter/volume covers rather than the Toei anime. For this reason, this version of the series is what the Japanese audience usually thinks of when they think of HnK.

I know some people are very passionate about redhead Mamiya and crest toothpaste-head Rei, but the Toei colors functionally exist in their own separate continuity.

Reading the manga in English is far better now than it was even three years ago, as there are multiple English versions now available.

The official VIZ release is the defacto highest quality out there (support the print copies if you can). While there are a few odd translation choices and the SFX have been replaced with English ones, it has the highest fidelity copies of the original art and even has the original color pages that have not been published since the original Shonen Jump release.

To think that these wonderful colored pages were completely inaccessible, even to JP audiences, until Viz started rolling out the English volumes.

However, the Viz release is ongoing and only covers until volume 11 at the time of writing. If you want to read the rest of HnK2 (or highly value the original SFX and a smoother translation), you should seek out the official eOneBook release. This is sometimes labelled as "Digital - 2018" and is a rip of an official English translation that was released for a specialized eReader, copies of which been floating around online since about 2020.

There is also an older set of scanlations out there, which I would not recommend reading; The image quality is low-resolution and muddy, and there are a number of edgy translation choices such as inserting a homophobic slur that was not in the original text. I only mention this translation because it's the one on many online manga sites. Please love yourself and look elsewhere if you realize that you are reading these scans.

(left) English-language scanlations (right) Viz release from 2022. I distinctly remember first reading these pages and then immediately scouring the web to find a version of it that didn't have the contrast blown out, only to discover that this quality was all that available. Now, newcomers to the series don't have to worry about this at all.

There are two different versions of the complete manga, the original tankobons (27 total volumes) and the Ultimate Edition (17 volumes).[2] Both the Viz release and the eOnebook release are derived from the Ultimate Editions while the old scanlations are from the original tankobons, so this can be an easy way to identify which version you are reading.

As to what makes these versions different aside from chapters per volume, the Ultimate Editions clean up some of the art in the last few volumes and also includes "Last Piece", a one-shot by Buronson and Hara inserted between HnK1 and HnK2. This was written as a part of the 30th anniversary celebration, and Hara's art looks quite different 30 years down the road, making the abrupt change in style rather jarring-- consider this your heads-up.

TL;DR Read the Viz version for volumes 1-11, and the eOnebook rips for the rest.

If you want to watch the anime...

The 1984 anime adaptation of HnK is an all-time classic. It's often what western fans will think of first, between the manga being legally inaccessible in English until very recently and constant anime reruns in some markets (especially parts of Italy and France).

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Toei has a tendency to copyright-strike anime clips on Youtube, so hopefully this clip of the opening will stand the test of time.

The anime genuinely excels in a few departments, namely: music, sound design, and voice acting. Even if you don't decide to watch the anime, I highly recommend looking up the OPs/EDs and putting on the OST while reading the manga.

That said, there are definitely some downsides to the anime, a lot of which were typical for Toei animations of the era. Character models and direction are all over the place, some of the animation itself aged like milk, flashing light effects make the series difficult to get through for photosensitive viewers, and stock footage gets reused many times. There also isn't a complete English dub of the show, as it got cancelled after episode 36.

And the biggest caveat to the anime: Filler episodes. Oooooh boy, early HnK filler episodes are baaaad. They don't match the rest of the series tonally and completely botch any sense of pacing. Remember how earlier I said that the series takes a while to get its footing because of early bad-guy-of-the-week format? The anime drags this out for about twice as long by adding new bad guys of the week.

The infamous "Nanto Cannonball Fist", where users are launched from a cannon and descend on their opponents with a sword. Yeah, I don't know how this counts as a school of martial arts, either. [img source]

For a first watch through, I highly recommend following a filler episode guide to skip these episodes in the Shin arc and get a better feel for what the series is about. Post Shin-arc filler tends to be a lot better, as these episodes match the manga's original tone and often fix pacing problems in the source material rather than worsening them.

That said, there are a few early filler episodes that are well-liked by fans for one reason or another, which I will detail here.

Episode 17: A (non-canonical) view into the internal politics of Shin's army.

Episode 18: In which Kenshiro fights a tank.

Episode 19: The goofiest of the goofy filler episodes. If you want to watch one filler episode to get a sense of what they are like, watch this one.[3]

Episode 21: A continuation of some of the conflicts from episode 17.

Episode 38: Features one of the best-written woman martial artists you'll see in this franchise. (This is after Shin arc, but I had to point her out. Watch this one.)

Rage Quitter 87's fansite also has an excellent episode-by-episode guide covering anime and manga differences, which can be very useful for highlighting some of the more subtle differences between the two.

An anime remake that more closely follows the manga has been announced, but we have no further details on it at the time of writing. (I wouldn't hold my breath for this, it could be several years before we know more.)

TL;DR skip the episodes listed here under "Shin arc".

So I got through the main canon, what next?

The sheer amount of secondary content for HnK out there can be overwhelming. It's one of the most profitable IPs of all time, with the bulk of those profits coming from pachinko machines that will never make it to the west outside Youtube phone clips and asset-flip games (more on this later). When the series isn't being used to sell soap, there are a number of supplemental works that are absolutely worth checking out. In this guide I will focus on works that are currently available in English.

The Official Gaidens

A series of manga with different protagonists and created with different creative teams, the Hokuto side-stories fill in some of the gaps in the primary canon. Most of them are very loving additions to the continuity and are a good place to go after finishing the primary material.

Toki Gaiden: Silvery Savior follows Toki starting from the founding of the Village of Miracles and ends after his climactic final fight, providing his lens on the events of the series and his relationship with Raoh. This gaiden does a good job of understanding what fans like about the series, and has a lot of secondary character interactions that were missing in the original work such as conversations between different Ken-oh underlings.

Jagi Gaiden: Flower of Carnage follows Jagi through his childhood, interspersed with the events of canon. This gaiden does a lot to explain why Jagi ended up the way he did, provides additional context to what the Hokuto children's training looked like, and how the world changed when the apocalypse happened. cw: rape

Yuria Gaiden: The Affectionate Mother Star follows Yuria before the apocalypse happens, giving us a snapshot of domesticity with Kenshiro, a better understanding of her abilities, and illustrating how her life was always influenced by those who had fallen for her.

Juza Gaiden: The Wandering Clouds follows Juza as meanders around canonical events, giving insight into what he was like as he shifted from wandering without drive or purpose to becoming a sworn guardian to the Last Nanto General.

Rei Gaiden: Bloody Wolf's Darkness is one that I wish I could leave off of this list, but that I will include for completeness' sake. It follows Rei before his appearance in HnK as he goes through the exact same character arc that he has in canon. The city that he wanders into has a setup directly out of a porn plot, thoroughly justifying the manga's ecchi genre-tag. cw: sexual assault. repeatedly.

Souten no Ken and Souten no Ken: Regenesis

Souten no Ken, otherwise known as Fist of the Blue Sky, is a prequel series that follows Kenshiro Kasumi, 62nd successor to Hokuto Shinken and uncle to the Kenshiro from HnK, as he has martial arts adventures and tumbles with gangsters in 1930's Shanghai. The series revisits many of the character archetypes from HnK and plays around with the same plot points in different contexts, ultimately dealing with themes of friendship and fate.

Souten no Ken is a complete manga, drawn by Tetsuo Hara with plot supervised by Buronson. Souten no Ken: Regenesis is a direct sequel that is currently ongoing, drawn by Hideki Tsuji and written by Hiroyuki Yatsu. Regenesis has been on hiatus since 2020 due to Hideki Tsuji's ongoing health problems.

While there are animes with both of these names, here I am referring specifically to the manga-- neither anime is worth your time.

There. Now you've seen the only things that matter from both animes.

Fist of the North Star: Lost Paradise

Released in Japan as "Hokuto ga Gotoku" (Like a Big Dipper), Lost Paradise is an action-adventure game from the studio behind the Yakuza/Like a Dragon/Ryu ga Gotoku series. Fans of the RGG franchise will immediately recognize the game structure and mechanics, which balance advancing the main story thread with a semi-open world where the player can stumble into comedic sidestories and play assorted minigames.

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Bartending is just one of the jobs that Kenshiro can take up in Lost Paradise.

The core story of the game features an entirely original cast, but most of the main characters of HnK show up for just long enough to have fights and cutscenes full of loving references to the source material. It's pure fanservice, in the non-horny sense of the word.

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Team RGG really knows how to nail dynamic fight intros and epic QTEs.

Fist of the North Star: Ken's Rage and Ken's Rage 2

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Even though some of the character design choices for this game are painfully mid-aughties (looking at you, tribal tattoo pattern Ken), this intro still goes hard.

For many years the Ken's Rage series were the definitive HnK games, and with good reason. A Musou game much like the Warriors series, you can play as most main characters from the series and mow down waves upon waves of bandits. Some may find the gameplay repetitive, but it can also be relaxing depending on how you look at it. (If you've played a Warriors game before, you know what you're getting into.)

Ken's Rage 2 in particular brings "Dream Mode" to the table, which is a "what if" story mode told from the POV of each playable character. This gives us a lot of interactions that we didn't get to see in canon (such as the delightfully shippy Jagi story featuring Amiba) and also expanding on some characters that should have gotten more screentime in the original material.

Hokuto no Ken (1986 animated movie)

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It's the movie produced by (largely) the same team as the anime, created simultaneously to the show. If you want to know what the anime would look like if it wasn't trying to stretch every yen as thin as it could, this is your ticket.

That said, there are some odd choices made to carve a 110 minute long arc out of the early manga. The movie starts with Ken receiving his iconic scars, and ends with the first confrontation with Ken-oh.

DD HnK

This officially kicks off the "HnK comedy series" part of this list. I feel like comedy in particular can be subject to personal tastes, so keep in mind that each of these projects approaches the series from a different angle and that some may resonate better than others.

DD HnK is a comedic take on what the Hokutobros would get up to if the world didn't end. They end up working at a convenience store managed by Ryuken (voiced by Akira Kamiya, the original VA for Kenshiro), where hijinks ensue when other characters from the series show up.

It's worth noting that there are two animes and a manga with this name. The first anime is a Flash-based ONA (which is hard to find nowadays, for understandable reasons) and the second anime is the TV anime; Both of these series as well as the manga are very largely different. All series are complete, although the English fan translation for the manga is ongoing.

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DD stands for "Design Deformation", evidently.

Ichigo Aji (Strawberry Flavor)

An average day with the Holy Emperor.

Ichigo Aji follows Souther on his quest to make some good friends. :) No really, that's more or less the premise of this spinoff.

While there are animated IA shorts at the end of every episode of DD HnK2, the meat and potatoes of this series are in the manga. The manga is ongoing (albeit on long-term hiatus) and the English fantranslation is currently incomplete (also on hiatus). Each volume of the manga also has a serious chapter following different characters from the series, serving as "mini gaidens" of sorts.

Genius Amiba's Other World Overlord Legend - Even If I Go to Another World, I Am a Genius!! Huh? Was I Mistaken...

In what originally started as an April Fool's Joke, the Amiba Isekai is perhaps one of the most unexpected additions to this franchise. The story begins after Amiba's death at Kenshiro's hands, where he finds himself transported to a fantasy realm where magic and creatures like dragons are real. He decides to use his self-proclaimed "genius" to learn magic in lieu of the martial arts that he studied earlier.

This manga series started in 2021 and is is still ongoing, although the English fantranslation is incomplete and has been on hiatus.

End of the Century's Drama Shooting Arc

The End of the Century's Drama Shooting Arc, more colloquially known as the Actor AU, is a retelling of the series as though it was a live-action TV show, covering the efforts and foibles of the actors and production crew as they struggle to produce the series.

The manga for this series started in 2021 alongside the Amiba Isekai and is ongoing, although the English fan translation is currently incomplete (Noticing a reoccurring trend here? a12 and Sakura Leaves, if you're out there, we really miss your work 🥹). If you can navigate the points system (new chapters are free within a few days of release) and use Google Lens, you can get a rough translation from the official Comics Zenon website.

The Winckler Dub

While not intentionally a comedy spinoff, I'm including the Winckler Dub in this section. There are apocryphal stories about this dub being produced as a means to teach Japanese schoolchildren basic English, interviews point to this dub being a sincere project to create a version of this series palatable to an English-speaking audience.

Please, just unmute this series of clips.

The only editing I did here was to append the files. They just. Speak with pauses like that.

With several downright bizarre directing decisions (Raoh is a pirate now, evidently?) and some of the strangest line-reads I've heard in an anime, this relic of an older localization industry can easily fall under "so bad it's good". Watch this with a group of friends after having a few drinks or late night at an anime convention, ideally.

The dub does not cover the whole series, instead bundling sets of 4 episodes into a series of 6 movie-length "sagas": Shin, Ray (sic), Souther, Toki, Raoh, and Kaioh.

Hokuto no Ken: Legends ReVIVE

I feel like it would be a bit disingenuous to finish this list without mentioning Legends ReVIVE, the current ongoing gacha for the franchise. (Worth noting: I am the admin for the unofficial discord server for this game, which is also the largest and most active English-speaking community for HnK.[4])

This game is possibly one of the biggest lovenotes to the franchise as a whole, with character releases that reach into the most obscure pieces of fiction, from Last Piece to (formerly) Pachinko-only Gento practitioners. Early character models and story cutscenes were entirely asset-flips from pachinko models, but things have grown far past that in the game's past 4.5 years.

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As a part of the 40th anniversary celebration for the manga, it was mentioned that there would be a new continuation of the manga's plot featured in-game, but at the time of writing we have little elaboration on this.

For a gacha, the game is relatively F2P friendly and doesn't ask much of your time on a day-to-day basis. But at the end of the day, it is a gacha that relies on predatory monetization and exploitation of gambling addictions. Caveat emptor.

But what about [x]...?

Legend of the True Savior: this movie series is another adaptation of the manga's plot, but this one doesn't really bring anything novel to the table. The same caveats about making a movie out of the manga apply, in that some odd choices get made to get arcs to fit in a movie timespan. It's there I guess, if you can stomach the artstyle.

Shin HnK/New Fist of the North Star: is victim-blamey rape apologia. There really isn't any reason I can recommend watching it, outside maybe looking up the final fight (where Junichi Hayama's direction really stands out) and the closing song (Oasis by Gackt).

Animated Gaidens (ex Ten no Haoh, Kenshiro Den, etc): these are one of the few things I haven't seen, and for the most part they don't come up in discussion. They're probably fine, but I just don't have the knowledge to comment on them.

Live Action Movie: don't. It's not even so-bad-it's-good, just don't.

In Conclusion

I hope this guide helped take the edge off of trying to figure out how to navigate such a sprawling series, and that it was genuinely informative about both what each work entails and the general context around it. This franchise is something I've really enjoyed digging into over the years and I did my best to convey that love and enthusiasm in this guide.

I may write more meta about HnK in the future, because I absolutely have a lot more to say. There's a lot for me to go on about regarding what the series means to me and why more people should pick it up, as well as putting together standalone character analyses from assorted ramblings on Discord.

Thanks for reading!

References

[1] From running the provided link through DeepL:

Buronson: By the way, I don't read much when a work is published in book form. As far as Fist of the North Star is concerned, the second part has never been published. Interviewer: What? Not even once? You didn't read it at all? Buronson: That's right. But I read the whole book from the beginning the other day.

[2] Not to be confused with the unrelated Master Edition, which was the first attempt to bring the manga to the English market. This version is a full-color version of the original tankobon release, of which only the first 9 volumes were completed. It can be a neat novelty to check out once you're familiar with the series, but the non-Hara colorings can be a mixed bag.

[3] There is a story that this episode was so goofy that it made Hara and Buronson visit Toei in person and tell them to cut that shit out. This claim comes from the book "Our Favorite Fist of the North Star" , which is a fanbook that featured some interviews with members of the anime studio staff, with absolutely zero input from Hara and Buronson themselves. Between the fact that Hara and Buronson were both stated to have been incredibly busy with producing HnK and did not have time to watch the anime and the fact that this claim directly contradicts how they barely met in-person during the production of the series, it seems likely that this bit was made up as a gaff and/or hyperbole by the interviewee.

[4] There are also smaller, more fandom oriented, centers for discussion-- but I'm not about to link them on a post that gets recirculated publicly.

Special Thanks

@/KiliHito (discord) for helping me source the interviews, digging into the truth about the fabled Nanto Cannonball episode, and giving me context for some of HnK's influence in modern shonen.

@takis-breathing-dragon for having the Winckler Dub clips on hand and spotting some typos.

#hokuto no ken #fist of the north star #anime #manga #hnk #anime and manga #retro anime #if I've ever rambled about HnK in your direction or caught your eye with HnK posts on the dash #I'd really appreciate a rb <3

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theferrarieffect · 2 months

Text

all this, just to say goodbye (soy lago - part 2)

masterlist

part 1 here! also readable standalone tho

lando x carlos (carlando)

summary: After Carlos breaks the news to Lando that he's leaving McLaren, things haven't been the same. On an Instagram livestream for McLaren, Carlos impulsively invites Lando to visit him, and when Lando shows up, it makes Carlos realize that he's been more than a little bit blind for a long, long time.

warning(s): bit of angst, okay maybe a lot of angst

all this, just to say goodbye

June 5, 2020

Carlos rolled the drawstring of his hoodie between his thumb and pointer finger, over and over, feeling the cord beginning to fray in his grasp. A bottle of Estrella Galicia—the non-alcoholic beer McLaren was having them promote—was sitting in front of him. Waiting for him and Lando to go live on Instagram.

It was the first time he would’ve seen Lando in weeks; or, more accurately, one month and four days. But who was counting?

Carlos. Carlos was counting. Ever since the first day of May, Carlos had replayed their walk at the MTC in his mind at least several times a day. When Carlos had told Lando about his contract, and impending move, to Ferrari. Meaning he was leaving McLaren, and leaving Lando.

For weeks, the British driver’s expression of shock, which quickly morphed into horror, haunted Carlos’ dreams. He’d expected some sadness and disappointment—of course. Even for teammates, they were close friends. But not this. Not “soy lago”, instead of a smile, not Lando turning tail and all but sprinting back to his car.

They’d texted since then, and Lando had both apologized for his reaction and told Carlos he was genuinely excited for him, and that he deserved to drive in the fastest car the grid had to offer. But Carlos was still nervous about the prospect of seeing him again, even if on video. In front of an online audience, no less.

He slid the bottle of Estrella towards himself, angling his phone so that the label was in full view. And hit the button to go live.

“Hi everyone,” he said. He pressed the volume up button a few times. “I’m gonna wait a bit, until everyone joins...”

This truly never got easier. Carlos didn’t know how streamers—like Lando—or influencers did it. He was painfully aware of how clueless he looked as he walked around his kitchen in search of something to prop his phone up against. If Lando didn’t show up soon...

Right on cue, his screen split, the bottom half now almost entirely occupied by Lando’s face. He was wearing a baseball cap backwards, hands pressed against the sides of his head.

“Oh no—” Carlos started.

“Oh!” squeaked Lando, laughing in embarrassment. Then he threw his hands up, indignantly. “Oh no? What was that?”

Despite the trepidation Carlos had felt about the call, seeing Lando’s face again somehow calmed him down. “Why were you so close to the camera, man?” he teased.

Carlos could tell Lando was panicking. “I was just, I dunno,” he fumbled. “I dunno.” Lando scooted back in his chair so that his head finally appeared an appropriate size. “How are you?” he asked, a little stiffly, fidgeting in his seat.

Carlos told him (and the several hundred people who had joined the livestream by this point) that he was back in the UK. He asked Lando whether he’d been running. Lando grimaced in response.

“I went for a run yesterday,” Carlos couldn’t help but boast.

They exchanged more pleasantries, talked about the weather, their quarantine haircuts. Lando whipped off his cap, and Carlos saw that the curls had slowly begun to climb back over his forehead after he’d shaved his head back in April. Lando poured his Estrella into a stout little glass.

A little awkward, Carlos thought, but not as bad as I was afraid it might be.

Lando was smiling, fingering the stem of his glass. Carlos was so preoccupied with the way his eyes were crinkled at the corners that he said, almost without thinking, “When are you gonna come to see me? When are we gonna see each other?”

Lando’s icy blue eyes flared wide open. Carlos immediately realized that he fucked up, big time.

“Uh,” Lando said, much quieter than his normal boisterous tone. Carlos watched him push his glass away from him, put his hands behind his head, which Carlos knew he did when he got an uncomfortable interview question from a reporter. Started looking down at his desk. Not at Carlos.

Carlos thought that now would be the perfect time to be smited by a meteor or something. He’d settle for a spontaneous alien abduction, too.

“Are you allowed? Are we even allowed to meet in the UK?” he valiantly attempted to backtrack.

Lando’s gaze remained askew, hands still behind his head. “Um...” He ran his tongue across his top lip.

“Maybe it’s a strange topic to have,” Carlos muttered. “Especially in front of 7,679 people.”

Lando finally looked up, giggling at the unnecessary figure. “I don’t know yet,” he said, suddenly serious. He started fiddling with the beer again. “I’d need to look at the rules.”

“For example, we could go for a run. Or not?” Carlos wasn’t sure when he’d stop shooting himself in the foot. Or through his brain at this point.

“I don’t think so...”

Mercifully, Lando changed the topic back to the sponsor. The rest of the livestream was uneventful, but Carlos couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking pathetic he must’ve sounded, practically begging Lando to visit him. And for what? To assuage his guilt about going to Ferrari?

What an ass. If anything, Lando probably resented him, and this—publicly pressuring him to travel during a global pandemic—just gave him another good reason to.

Carlos poured the now flat beer slowly down his sink drain, shedding his jacket and folding it neatly over a chair. He’d planned to hit the gym for a bit, if you could call the old bench and scattered dumbbells in his basement a gym, and he was halfway down the stairs when his phone buzzed against his leg.

Lando looked up the rules lockdown starts on the 8th so tbh i could swing by but it’s the 5th today so have to be soon

Whoa. Carlos didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. He quickly typed up a response, cringed, and carefully formulated a less pitiful one.

Me Omg! If you’re okay with that please come I don’t have any plans. If it works with you and you actually want to visit, feel free

The three dots that indicated Lando was typing felt like they were boring into Carlos’ eyeballs.

Lando okk see u on the 6th then prob like 4ish can i stay the night?

Carlos felt his heart jump into his throat. He swallowed stubbornly against the lump.

Me Yes, of course

Well, that settled it. The next 24 hours would just have to be one big cleaning rampage.

The next day, Carlos surveyed his tidy flat with satisfaction. He thought to himself that had he been like some of the other guys who had a penchant for massive homes, he would’ve been screwed. Not that Carlos was a messy guy by any means—he’d heard plenty of horror stories from Lando about Charles’ disaster of a bedroom, with all manner of red polos and hoodies strewn over the floor, tangled bracelets and rings covering his nightstand visible on his stream. Not here. All the surfaces in the living room were dusted, the bathroom sink and tub shone, and Carlos had even tidied up his art corner. He’d picked up painting during quarantine and liked to think he was pretty decent at it, and he’d hung up some of his favorites around the house. A still life of his McLaren racing suit. His dog, Piñón, leaping to catch a tennis ball. A portrait of him and Lando, laughing together over a plate of sushi. More accurately—Carlos brandishing a pair of chopsticks with a cucumber roll in between them (“Lando, it has no fish this one, look!”) while Lando giggled in protest (“It’s NEAR a fish!”).

It was perhaps one of their last truly carefree moments in the McLaren motorhome. Carlos frowned at the painting, carefully unhooked it from its spot on the wall, and leaned it against the shoe rack in his closet. Lando would probably be weirded out if he saw it, he told himself.

The doorbell rang right when Carlos expected it to. After all, he’d pressed his nose against the sliding glass door of his bedroom, watched the Rolls-Royce Wraith glide into his driveway, saw Lando climb out and sling an orange duffel over his shoulder and slowly make his way up to the house.

Carlos forced himself to wait the requisite three seconds before opening the front door.

For perhaps the longest moment of his life, the two drivers stood face to face, saying nothing. Carlos could practically hear the blood pounding in his ears.

Then Lando’s face broke out into his usual, easy grin. “Carlito!”

“Ay, Lando,” Carlos said gruffly. They clapped each other on the back, and only then did Carlos notice that his palms were sweating.

“Come in.” He waved Lando through the door. “Welcome to mi casa.”

Carlos realized that Lando had only really seen his house once or twice, and even then, Lando had met him in the yard for a run, never stepping foot indoors. He made a mental note to host more often.

Piñón, having detected a foreign presence, raced up to Lando and pawed at him with his front legs, tail wagging furiously. Lando squealed in delight, scratching him behind his ears. The muppet laugh. Carlos hadn’t realized how—quiet—life was without it.

Carlos snapped his fingers. “Abajo, pup.” He loosened a treat from a jar on the counter and offered it to the enthusiastic dog, who quickly snapped it up.

Lando walked slowly around the living room. Carlos watched his eyes roam over the floating wooden shelves of trophies and helmets, the shaggy white beanbag that Carlos had bought for himself but had since become Piñón’s turf, the floor-to-ceiling windows. Carlos liked windows. He figured he was part plant, the way he absolutely needed natural light to flood every space he was in.

Then Lando stopped short in front of a long canvas, the one Carlos had painted his race suit onto. “Whoa,” he said. “Where’d you get this? I want one!”

Carlos shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll make one for you, if you want.”

Lando gaped at the canvas, astonished. “You paint?”

“Lockdown hobby.”

“Mate,” Lando said, staring reverently at the suit, “that is not a hobby. That is the other job you could’ve had if you weren’t an F1 driver.”

Carlos blushed, pleased at Lando’s praise. “You think it’s good?”

Lando tore his gaze away from the painting and raised an eyebrow at Carlos. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were fishing for compliments. It’s absolutely bonkers. Some people, I swear,” he muttered under his breath. “They’re just good at everything.”

Carlos cuffed Lando gently on the shoulder. “Stop that right now.”

“Did you do this one too?” Lando pointed at the image of Piñón hanging beside the one of the fireproofs.

Carlos nodded, and Lando let out a low whistle. “Do you have any more?” he asked eagerly.

“Um.” Carlos instantly thought of the portrait in the closet. “Ah, no, not any that I have out here.”

He avoided Lando’s disappointed look, clearing his throat. “Dinner. I can cook for us something?” He gestured for Lando to follow him to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.

Carlos pulled out a pink filet from the fridge. “How about a nice grilled salmon?” he smirked.

Lando rolled his eyes. “That’s just not even funny.” But Carlos saw a laugh threaten to escape the corners of his lips.

Carlos replaced the salmon with two dark red steaks, and Lando nodded approvingly.

“You can, ah...how do you call it...amuse yourself, while I’m cooking.” Carlos instantly knew he’d unknowingly made some kind of innuendo as Lando howled in laughter and walked out of the kitchen.

Carlos wiped his forehead as he triumphantly slid the perfectly seared steaks onto the cutting board to rest. Lando had been drifting in and out of the kitchen, playing around with various knickknacks Carlos had in the living room area, but he was gone now. Presumably snooping around in the bedroom. Carlos decided it might be fun to sneak up on him; he tiptoed down the hallway and saw only the dim light from the closet casting onto the bedroom floor. Huh. He crept into the bedroom, craned his neck so he could see into the closet.

Lando was kneeling on the floor, right in front of the painting of Carlos and Lando. The British driver’s face was an expressionless mask.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Carlos wanted to kill himself for not telling Lando to stay out of his closet. He waited in dread for Lando to cringe at the picture.

But Lando just reached out with one trembling finger, running it down Carlos’ painted cheek in a way that could only be described as tender.

Lando’s bottom lip quivered. A single tear slid down his cheek. And then he grasped the canvas ever so carefully, and hugged it to his chest.

Carlos suddenly felt like he was completely invading Lando’s privacy. As if he’d walked in on him having a serious conversation with Zak Brown, or kissing someone passionately, or getting broken up with. And for some reason, a little part of him wanted to cry, too.

He quickly retreated back to the kitchen, sliced up the steaks, pouring the pan sauce over them. Then he practically stomped back down the hallway, so that Lando would know he was coming.

“Landooo,” he called. “I am done with the dinner.”

Carlos couldn’t stop staring at Lando the entire time they ate, searching for any indication of Lando acknowledging the painting. But he was a much better actor than Carlos had given him credit for. As they cut up their steaks and speared their salad greens with their forks, Lando seemed nothing but chipper as he regaled Carlos with stories about the antics he’d gotten into with Charles, George, and Alex on Twitch.

“He was like, ‘Oh my goodness, zis is impressive! Now I’m—I’m coming on your cam-a-ra, mate.’ I almost died,” Lando snickered, mimicking Charles’ French accent. “He tried to blame it on his bad English. Oh, and Alex just screams George’s name every time the prat plows him from behind.”

Carlos felt like he was in a bit of a daze, only half-listening to Lando’s tales. He raised his glass to his lips, wincing as a bit of wine accidentally sloshed over his upper lip. At this point, him imagining the entire scene in the closet seemed to be a very real possibility.

“Earth to Carlos.” Lando’s voice suddenly broke his reverie.

“Huh? What?”

“I said,” Lando rolled his eyes. “If you wanted to go on a run. Tomorrow morning before I leave.”

“Oh. Huh. Yeah. Let’s run.”

Blue eyes narrowed at Carlos. “Are you okay? You’re acting a little...spacey.”

His heart pounded. “Yeah. Just tired.” He gestured to the glass of red. “Maybe this wine is getting to me.”

Lando looked suspicious, but shrugged. And let out a massive yawn. “So am I. D’you have somewhere I can sleep?”

“Ah,” Carlos said. He must have been the only driver on the grid who didn’t have a guest room. “Yeah. In my room.”

“What?” Lando yelped. “Why? Don’t you have an extra bed?”

“I drive a Golf,” Carlos deadpanned. His frugality was well known, at least as far as their vehicles were concerned. “I don’t know what you would expect.”

Lando chuckled, although it sounded strained. “You have a couch at least, I can sleep there.”

“What? No. Just sleep on the bed. You are the guest. And honestly,” Carlos continued, “I don’t think it’s that weird if we just shared it, unless you do...”

There it was again—the wide open eyes, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, just as they were when Carlos first asked him to visit.

“No,” Lando said slowly. “I’m okay with that.”

Carlos was brushing his molars when Lando waltzed into the bathroom, naked to the waist. He almost choked on his toothpaste.

Lando stuck his own toothbrush in his mouth. Then he pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket, and a very, very familiar beat started to echo off the walls...

Movin’ up and down, side to side, like a rollercoaster.

Almost telepathically, they started to headbang perfectly in sync. Well, started to. Lando giggled through a mouthful of foam as Carlos immediately began to drift off the beat.

He spit into the sink, cackling with laughter. Lando clutched his stomach, shoulders shaking, trying and failing not to spray the mirror with toothpaste.

Movin’ up and down, side to side, like a rollercoaster.

Carlos felt like he was back at Red Bull Ring, flying down the longest straightaway of the season. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so...light. Weightless. Happy. George had said, that one time—cloud nine. Carlos wasn’t sure why there specifically had to be nine clouds involved, but there, standing in his bathroom with Lando, dancing and laughing like idiots, he felt like he finally understood what the Brit had meant.

Stripes of silvery moonlight filtered through Carlos’ blinds. He tried hard not to fidget, but he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the closet, watching Lando weep at the painting of the two of them...

Carlos saw Lando’s eyelids flutter. He knew he was only pretending to sleep, as well.

“Carlos,” Lando whispered, startling him.

“What?”

Lando opened his eyes, staring directly into Carlos’ soul for all he knew.

“Can you hold me?”

Carlos laughed in disbelief. “Hold you?”

But Lando’s expression was so serious, so...anguished, that Carlos felt his stomach drop.

So he inched closer, and extended one arm in the direction of Lando’s neck. Lando lifted his head to let Carlos slide his arm under him. The other, Carlos draped gingerly around Lando’s bare stomach. Lando felt so...small. Vulnerable. Even though he was hardly two centimeters shorter than Carlos, as that hilarious Grill The Grid episode had exposed.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

He felt Lando’s chin nod against his chest.

And Carlos was scared. Scared at how...right this felt. How comforting. Scared that he had laughed, joked around, bickered with Lando for how long...and had never once thought that they could be this way. Then he wondered, with a pang, how long Lando had waited for this.

A drop of moisture seeped through Carlos’ shirt. Lando’s shoulders shook, and Carlos knew he was crying and trying his very best to suppress it. His heart ached; he thought of something, anything, to say to make him feel better.

But no words came.

He sighed, feeling tears prick dangerously at the corners of his own eyes, and pulled Lando a little bit closer. Eventually, both of their breathing slowed, as they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Carlos stirred to sunlight scorching his eyelids. Sometime during the night, they’d separated, and Lando was now sleeping facedown, head buried between two pillows. As if nothing had ever happened at all.

He thought for sure that Lando would say something when he finally woke up. But Lando simply greeted him with a casual “good morning” and walked off to the bathroom. When he came back, he was wearing running shorts and a light t-shirt.

“A jog, as promised.”

Hopefully, Carlos thought, we can have a chat while we run.

But as they wound their way through sidewalks that turned into gravel that eventually turned into a dirt trail, they talked about the McLaren car, the remaining races, the goddamned weather. They didn’t talk about Ferrari. They didn’t talk about how they’d cried and cuddled and how Lando might love Carlos and Carlos might just love Lando, and not in the way he loved his other teammates. Carlos felt like he was going to explode from the frustration, the tension that was so palpable and yet, neither of them were doing anything about it.

“Alright, Lando,” Carlos finally said at the crest of a hill, unable to take it anymore. “Do you think maybe we need to have a talk?”

Lando stopped, hunched over as he caught his breath. He didn’t turn to face Carlos. “No,” he panted. “What is there to talk about?”

“I dunno, us? Last night?”

A few chirping birds were the only sounds that filled the silence.

Carlos took a deep breath, steeling himself. “And I saw you...with the painting,” he admitted at last.

Lando whirled around so abruptly that Carlos took an instinctive step back. Icy blue eyes blazed with...anger? Panic? Carlos wasn’t sure.

But then, as quickly as it came, the fervent expression melted off his face, only to be replaced by one of deep sadness.

“That...it...it was nothing. I’m sorry for touching the painting.”

“No, Lando,” Carlos pleaded. “That’s not what this is about. You know that.”

“What does it matter?” asked Lando woodenly. “At the end of the year, we’re both going to say our goodbyes, and move on. We’re both going to just—move on. So let’s just do that, okay?”

What could Carlos say? He was a fool not to have...known...Lando. Known Lando well enough to see his turmoil. Known himself well enough to acknowledge his own feelings.

And now, it was too late.

“Okay,” Carlos said quietly.

They turned around and ran back down the hill, back to the house, where all there would be left for them was to say goodbye.

Lando made quick work of stuffing his clothes, his towel, his toothbrush, into his duffel. He didn’t ignore Carlos, exactly, but was certainly not his joking self either. Carlos watched him warily as he donned the bag and slowly walked towards the front door. Lando turned around, looked steadily at him.

“Thanks for letting me visit.”

Suddenly, Carlos was hit by a deep sense of loss. As if Lando was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do about it anymore. Carlos couldn’t help but think that by choosing the scarlet suit, he’d lost something precious in return. Something even a Ferrari contract couldn’t replace.

“Lando,” Carlos said, vaguely aware of how desperate he sounded. “Promise me you will still be my muppet friend. For the rest of the season, and even when I go...”

There was no trace of laughter on Lando’s normally cheerful face. “I will,” he replied, impassively.

He stepped up to Carlos and hugged him like he always did, but his arms felt stiffer, even colder, and no longer did he melt into Carlos like he used to.

Carlos felt his chest tighten. It was already happening.

“Safe drive,” he managed.

“Thanks, Carlit—Carlos.”

Lando unlocked his Wraith, hoisted his duffel into the trunk, and gave Carlos a breezy wave as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Carlos watched the papaya of his hoodie through the tinted window grow smaller and smaller, until Lando finally disappeared from view.

Epilogue

The drivers were sitting, mostly in teammate pairs even though it was technically free seating, chatting with each other for the first time in months. It was perhaps the first Media Day no one was complaining about, even though everyone’s faces were (supposed to be) hidden behind masks and all the chairs were stationed a meter apart from one another.

Carlos immediately spotted Lando’s papaya cap on the edge, one seat open next to him. Charles, always the social butterfly, stood one row in front, cuffing George on the shoulder, shaking Checo’s hand, as Lewis glided past them with dark sunglasses affixed to his face as usual.

As Charles approached Lando—and the vacant chair next to him—Carlos quickened his pace, reached out, and impulsively grabbed Charles’ arm. He steered the driver away, taking advantage of his momentary confusion to plant himself in the empty seat.

Lando turned his head to him, surprise written across his face. Carlos smiled shyly, nudged Lando’s knee with his.

“I couldn’t let Charles sit next to my teammate.”

He held his breath as he scanned Lando’s face. "Until the day I leave,” he continued. “You are my teammate, after all. My one and only teammate.”

Lando gave him a small, conciliatory smile in return, and Carlos exhaled in relief.

Maybe the goodbye was inevitable. Maybe they really would never be the same again. But until then...Carlos was going to savor every last moment that he and Lando had left together.

part 3 here!

notes: more fics here! thanks for reading as always :)

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fluff #lando norris #carlos sainz #carlando #ln4 x cs55 #cs55 #ln4 #ferrari #carlos sainz x lando norris

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