#he knows how to get rid of a body because he has a master's degree in american literature
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michael messineo, mike’s mic↳ an appropriately unhinged recap of pretty little liars (part 3 - finale)
#michael messineo#mike's mic#an appropriately unhinged recap of pretty little liars (part 3 - finale)#aestheticsyoutubers#aesthetics#youtube aesthetic#youtube#subscribbled#an appropriately unhinged recap of pretty little liars#he knows how to get rid of a body because he has a master's degree in american literature
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DD2 Shrine Rewrites Part 5: The Occultist's New Clothes
It's been a while. Enough to cross a desert, feels like. Which apparently Alhazred never had to do, because he's into astral travel.
The Occultist shrines are in an odd place. They aren't particularly offensive to his character considering how lacking in detail his original comic was. But it manages to kill off a lot of the mystique of that simple story and feels underwhelming as a result. It's also our best example so far of something that will become much more of a problem with characters like Jester and Vestal: the complete reframing of the narrative.
One thing at a time, though.
Alhazred as we knew him
The Occultist is an intriguing hero with an unique weapon: the very evil you seek to purge. His in-game descriptions emphasize the danger and unreliability of his power: it is a profane thing that requires extraordinary will to master. The Occultist, however, remains undaunted. He knows his skills come at a heavy cost and even shows some degree of nihilism (the Abandon Hope skill). This man knows there are no kind gods looking down upon him.
Unlike his Lovecraftian namesake, Alhazred is no madman. His barks portray a confident, proud scholar; civility mixed with arrogance; overconfident affability. All the good and bad traits of the enlightened. He scoffs at the savagery of his "uncultured" allies and enemies. Reason, knowledge, power, that's all that matters. Even so, we are often faced with another entity spouting blasphemies and curses through him, breaking his veneer of control. Whatever it is, it's not fond of humans and appears to use Alhazred's body to access our reality. We learn during afflictions that he fears it and can't be rid of it.
The comic and CC set paint a clearer picture. The Occultist sought out a mysterious pyramid, where we find piles upon piles of skulls with candles, exactly as the one his in-game model possesses. The inscription highlights the candle slowly melting away... An hourglass counting down, perhaps? Our Occultist isn't dissuaded and proceeds with the operation. The candle comes to life. There's no turning back.
What I find most intriguing about this sequence is that we don't know what exactly Alhazred expected. He doesn't seem entirely satisfied with his present condition, but supposedly he knew the cost to pay. Or did he? Did he hope to outsmart the old gods? Where did such unbridled ambition even come from? There's just enough information for the player to explore at leisure and I appreciate that.
Abandon hope
The DD2 shrines start off with the odd decision to transfer the Occultist's pyramid journey into the astral plane. Alhazred sits at the table with some "devotees" (students?) that act as supporting mediums in this excursion to the void. Honestly, I'm not fond of this decision, and I will explain in depth why further ahead. But on the most surface level we have this new-age-y addition that undercuts the gravity of Alhazred actually having to make his way alone to a tomb he discovered heaven knows how. It's less "medieval scholar scours the Earth in search of secrets of the ancient world" and more... ouija boards and moving tables.
Moving along, it turns out Alhazred needs to give away a part of him to acquire the power he desires. He fights and effectively kills the most human parts of himself to make away for the fire of the stars. This is a pretty great moment that adds dimension and horror to the event. Which is followed by... A shambler? Coming out of the void to attack him? The shrines aren't played one after the other, but I can't help but find jarring that we went from this highly psychological moment to "beat the big octopus to steal its magics".
So yeah, apparently Alhazred can beat an entire shambler by himself, he has only been holding out on us. Maybe things are different in the void or something. Apparently eldritch entities abide by Pokémon rules over there, because defeating it means you get its power at your disposal. Still not sure how this is a pact in any meaningful sense.
And then, the kicker. We learn why Alhazred needed company in this venture: so they could tragically die in the last shrine! As the Occultist broods sadly over the corpses, we are told that he became a beacon for the creatures beyond.
Mesmer would be proud
The sole reason for the séance, it seems, is to provide convenient deaths for Alhazred to feel bad about. It's heavy-handed and awkward, but at the first glance, not a big change. Let's look closer, though. I want to argue that imposing the seance as a framing device over the events of the comic significantly alters and weakens the narrative.
First thing off, the implied cultural background is different now. H. P. Lovecraft's Alhazred lived in the period of the Ummayad Caliphate. While it would be a stretch to call the Occultist's design historically accurate, one can accept that it's trying to portray a character of the medieval Islamicate world. DD2 eschews that in favor of a westernized suit. Note that I say "westernized", not western. There was an attempt to keep the Arabic influence in another style of dress. We see this a lot in modern fashion. But here's the catch: this blending of indigenous and western/European styles is a direct consequence of colonialism. It's a way to preserve culture in face of an imposed model of "modernity". Alhazred, on the other hand, was previously situated in a context where European dominance over MENA countries wasn't a given.
Maybe you will say now "well, but Darkest Dungeon isn't real life". Fine. But it's inspired by real life, which is why we can easily understand concepts like crusades and plague doctors, even though they are highly specific. If I take Medieval Arab-inspired Alhazred, I'm led to assume he comes from a bustling centre of science and political power, not a colonized backwater.
Now you ask, "wait! Why are you discussing his clothes, what does it have to do with the séance?" I'm getting to that. I bring up the design because it's another sign of the shift in cultural focus. Let me ask you back: why do you think séance is a term of French origin? Why don't you see terms like "medium" in relation to DD1 Occultist?
Séances became a big thing with the Spiritualist Movement in the XIX century. It's a strongly European and North American phenomenon that has roots in XVIII century mesmerism and would influence New Thought, Theosophy and, later, New Age thinking. When the game places our Occultist in a seance, wearing that outfit, it's shedding the premise of the Medieval scholar seeking out the wisdom of Antiquity, who travels and values original sources. It mindless pushes the setting in an eurocentric direction for no visible gain.
Second, the pacing isn't great. By now we expect every DD academic to be overtaken by the consequences of their hubris, it's a theme, it's fine. But we could do better than introducing a whole ham-fisted framing device just so Alhazred has companions that conveniently die off as the big neon sign that he fucked up. Other backstories try to pull off the "shocking twist" at the end (looking at you, Vestal, Jester) and none of them work particularly well. A twist still requires build up to not feel gratuitous and when every other story is about making the character as sad and sympathetic as possible, it looses a lot of impact. It's a technique that gets less effective the more you force it on the audience.
Third, the relevance of the dead acolytes evaporates once they conveniently die for dramatic purposes. I'm not saying he needs to bring them up every other bark, but consider how other characters carry their losses with them. Reynauld and his wife, Barristan and his soldiers, Dismas and the woman and child he killed, plus his "sweetheart". These are all haunting presences that let us know how much past events affected our heroes. The Occultist extras, however, are never mentioned again, even though Alhazred supposedly knew and worked with these people, these devotees who trusted his wisdom and guidance. It really highlights how they are merely a plot device.
Alhazred's problem, as far as we can tell from his barks, is not guilt. It's that no matter how hard he fights, he will lose himself someday. So why not emphasize this tragedy instead?
That's not to say there aren't good elements to the DD2 shrines. The supression of parts of Alhazred's soul is a great segment that lets us visualize what goes on in one of his dreadful rituals... although I'd suggest not make his soul have that piss-colored glow (don't color-theory me, it looks weird). Anyway, to make the Occultist's real opponent his own conscience is a great touch of characterization.
The shambler fight is less exciting in comparison. I know some people already considered that the eldritch creature within the Occultist was a shambler, but as often happens, what you can't see and can't fight is much more horrific than a random encounter, even with a wandering boss. It also raises a couple of questions. Why is it fighting if DD established that they struck a pact? If it's a shambler after all, why does the Occultist Come Into Your Maker bark refers to the Heart of Darkness as "the face of (his) tormentor"? Exposing the black-beast goes nothing for the story. It adds inconsistencies and reduces the unknowable entity of the pyramid to a regular monster we beat many times before.
Unquenchable fire
So let's try to fix all of this, shall we? First off, no séances. We'll keep the comic version, which implies a real, physical place lost to time and ruin. Instead of a suit, we will give Alhazred cool desert travel clothes. He has been searching for this pyramid for years, through moth-eaten texts, broken monuments and torn maps. It is the last stop before the object of his ambition.
He enters. The many skulls are a warning the Occultist gladly ignores. With him it shall be a different story. He's no fool, he's prepared. The ritual begins. This second shrine should use the "combat" sequence between Alhazred and his conscience.
He succeeds. Instead of a shamblet fight, we will opt for some good old evocative descriptions. You have Wayne June, you literally can't fail at this. Finally, Alhazred is faced with power beyond his understanding, dreadful, fascinating, mind-shattering. He's lost to the infinite possibilities unravelling before his mind. Then, the Beast is here. It asks a questions to which the answer is obvious. The pact is struck.
The Occultist returns to his scrolls and books. He experiments, takes notes, asks his new "companion" for advice. But something is amiss. There are gaps in his memory, strange inconsistencies. His hands tremble. He interrogates the beast, but It is silent. For the first time he feels the gap in his soul, a wound across dimensions, and he knows that it will swallow him whole someday.
He must try to stop whatever is happening, find a way to regain control. He seeks help, he searches for sources, living and dead. Can the pact be changed, broken? He blinks, unaware of his surroundings... And then there's fire and his hands are wet. Victims of flesh and parchment expire around him. If there is a way out, the black-beast won't let him find it. The voice in his head breaks the silence; It laughs and mocks him for believing he was ever in control.
I hope it's clear where getting at with these rewrites. Often, less is more. If a story works, it works. And you don't need to hit your players over the head with tragedy for them to care.
Ah, but things aren't going to get any better going forward.
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➳ twst oc — jewell.
❝ a-are you…an int-intruder too…? i-i need to get rid of you… ❞
jewell is a second year in terrovania. despite his small and timid nature, they’re a capable worker who’s extremely determined and loyal, almost to a terrifying degree…
warnings for brief mentions of implied abuse.
➣ technical information ;
name: jewell
“jewell” - plaything, delight.
japanese: ジュエル
romaji: jueru
other names:
▆▆▆▆▆
➣ biological information ;
gender: genderfluid | any pronouns
age: 17?
birthday: october 1st. not their actual birthday, that’s just when they entered night raven college.
star sign: libra
height: 150cm / 4’11”
eye color: pale teal
hair color: light green-grey
homeland: [this information is unknown.]
family: [this information is lost.]
species: human
➣ professional information ;
dorm: terrovania (@terrovaniadorm)
school year: 2nd year / sophomore
class: 2-b | seat no. 25
occupation: student | cafeteria assistant cook / butcher
club: science club
best subject: p.e / master chef
➣ fun facts ;
dominant hand: right
favorite food: chili | pork
least favorite food: vegetables
dislikes: disappointing others | “intruders”
hobby: making masks | pretending / acting like other people
talents: sewing
➣ appearance ;
jewell is a very pale and petite person. her messy greenish hair is a little bit past her shoulders, normally put in a low ponytail held by a black scrunchie. there’s light bags under her eyes and scars spotted all over her body. in a way, she looks rather unhealthy.
at school, he wears the typical nrc uniform with a dark orange waistcoat and the terrovania crest on his armband. the only difference is that it’s a tad bit oversized.
inside the dorm, jewell wears the regular black uniform; the only differences are the shirt being buttoned up with a dark blue tie around the neck, and a yellow apron wrapped around the waist instead of the multiple belts. there seems to be a few bandages underneath as well, most likely from injuries. the mask they wear is sewn together and oddly feels like dried skin.
➣ personality ;
jewell is a very paranoid person, if their seemingly-permanent confusion and scared expression is to say anything. they’re usually seen alone in silence or with other terrovania members, never interacting with anybody outside of their dorm unless an outsider comes up to them first.
however, as seen with his fellow dorm mates, he can be very cheerful and genuinely happy once he gets to know you. you just have to be nice to him! …even if it’s fake. as long as you can calm him down and give him affection, he’ll be right at your feet, like a dog. just a warning however, he gets attached to people rather easily. really easily. it’s borderline obsessive.
she is extremely loyal to a fault; she follows the orders of whomever she considers her current “family”, or just anyone that she feels attached to—and i do mean anyone. because of this she is also very gullible, thus easy to manipulate. nature and nurture coexist so well, doesn’t it?
jewell isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, as he was never taught anything school-related before nrc. hell, he never even got homeschooled. because of that, he’s still learning how to write, read, and even properly speak; aside from the fact that he stutters a lot, sometimes he starts speaking gibberish when rambling too much. in addition, he has a hard time studying.
she seems to have some sort of memory loss going on, as she doesn’t remember much from her past before she arrived at night raven college. she has tried to remember, but it always sends her into some kind of panic or it gives her a headache. at this point, i don’t think she even wants to remember anymore.
it’s best to stay away from them when they’re playing around with chainsaws and hammers. their violent tendencies seem to come out the most when they have their hands on those…
➣ skills and magic ;
determinator
“finishing my orders come first, otherwise i’ll get hurt”. that’s what jewell has been taught, hammered into her head just like her victims. she’ll do anything to accomplish her task no matter what gets in her way…unless her family orders her not to, but that’s rare anyway.
due to his determination, he’s very sturdy and is able to take many hits whether they’re physical or magical, despite his small frame. he’ll keep pushing no matter how severe the injury is, i wonder if he even recognizes the pain? it’s the same with his brute force; he may not use his bare hands that often, but he has an extremely tight grip and can drag or lift someone to a certain location if anybody asked for it. if his chainsaw doesn’t break something, then he’ll crush things with his feet.
general magic
for some odd reason, their family valued them being the “brute force” of the family, so they’ve never been trained when it comes to their magic. as a result, jewell’s magical abilities are generally very weak and not that effective—but, if they were to recklessly throw their magic out without thought, maybe it can hurt someone pretty severely.
unique magic
jewell’s unique magic is “dog will hunt”. it allows him to summon a chainsaw that can be used to attack people. it starts out as a normal chainsaw, but the more that he revs it up using his magic the more it becomes powerful. at the ultimate stage, the chainsaw can cut through anything, including space. he can switch it out with a hammer too.
she can also summon meat hooks that assist in the hunt. it’s most useful in tight spaces.
however, as a side effect, the more jewell revs the chainsaw up, the more that they themselves become weaker because of how much magic they’re using. they won’t be as durable, strong, or as fast as they normally are. they’ll get tired more easily too.
➣ trivia ;
twisted from leatherface / bubba sawyer from the texas chainsaw massacre.
their “birthday” is the release date of the 1974 texas chainsaw massacre film.
the type of amnesia they have is dissociative amnesia, which is where memories are deeply buried into a person’s brain but cannot be recalled unless specifically triggered.
she has made masks for when she’s acting; a mask with makeup on it, a clown mask, a fur mask, etc. they look a little…fleshy, just like her main one.
her unique magic name is a reference to texas chainsaw massacre 2, where chop top says “dog will hunt!”
he has insomnia due to constant nightmares.
❝ he don’t mean you no harm. such a sweet boy… ❞
#twisted wonderland oc#twst oc#oc profile#terrovania#twst fandorm#twisted wonderland fandorm#—jewell#tw: abuse#tw: violence#GUESS WHO GOT REMADE FOR HALLOWEEENNNN#HAPPY INCREDIBLY LATE BIRTHDAY LMAO#please know i was half asleep while i was fixing up the bio ;w; so if you see mistakes no you dont#♥︎ art
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Nice! That reminds me of Hawkeye a lot haha good luck when you try it out!
Yeah there would be times where I forget to put the phone back on the charger. So when I wake up it either fully dead or almost dead.
I have cats. One of them only has one eye, my friend had to get rid of her because their son did not interact well with her. If you could get a dog, what breed are you thinking of getting?
Alright other questions hmm.
Have you ever dyed your hair?
Ever been to a concert?
-CuriousGeorge
Hello you, the other eyebag..😅
Morning.. i fell asleep last night.. i woke up sick. My throat hurt so bad, feels like there is some hard mucus in my throat, it hurts when i swallow. My ears hurts, head ache and body ache. 😭
Hahha yeah, thats what my friend said.. but i think Hawkeye uses different bow than mine. He mostly use recurve bow, mine is compound. Somehow, there is one article says he uses compound bow. So i dont know.hahaha. im not a master in archery yet.
Oh i see.. aaaww poor little cat..thats nice of u to take her.
If i can hv a dog i want to have maybe the brown husky, border collie, golden retriever,corgi or beagle. Lol. But the real plan, when my daughter is a little older n when we can have a house farm, we want to get blue heeler. Probably 2 of them. They are good at protecting n very loyal. What about u?
Also what would u name the dog if u hv a dog?
Yes i dye my hair pretty often. In fact right now it's not on my original color.. i dyed it burgundy red. This is the color i always use on my hair. What about u? N how long is ur hair?
Yessss i hv been to concert 4 times. My very first one was Linkin Park concert in indonesia, then i went to this 3 in 1 concert that has 3 boybands i think haha. BLUE, 98 degrees and A1. If we r the around the same age, u probably know them. Then i went to Sarah Brightman's concert twice in L.A and Texas 😁 what about u?
Cheerio!
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Yandere Zim X Male Reader? There isn't many out there, and I sort of had a song in mind if you would like to listen: Rory by Foxing.
You got it, friend!
Be warned: There are themes of unrequited love, wasps and a graphic depiction of wasp stings ahead!
Here's the song that was used btw
From the moment he met you, Zim found himself captivated by you.
From your gentle eyes to your kind soul, Zim found you utterly fascinating.
You were nothing like any of the other humans! You weren’t ugly, and you didn’t even stink!
You may have been friends with Dib but that didn’t stop you from sticking up for him whenever Dib tried to expose him!
At first, Zim decided to use you as a good source of information as well as a way to keep up appearances without drawing too much attention to himself.
However, the more time he spent with you, Zim started to feel…strange to say the least.
His PAK would spark around you and his squeedilyspooch felt like it was tied up in knots!
“Computer! What are these HORRIBLE feelings inside of me?! What has that Y/N-human done to Zim?!” Zim demanded as he pointed to the ceiling.
“WELL….UM…”
“C’mon spit it out already!”
“WELL IT SEEMS THAT YOU HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE…”
Zim’s jaw hit the ground.
“WHAT?! ME?! IN LOVE?! WITH A HUMAN?! IMPOSSIBLE! Preform a full body bioscan!”
Zim’s computer sighed as a few mechanical tentacles wrapped around Zim.
“SCANNING…SCANNING….”
After a few minutes, the tentacles retracted,
“BIOSCAN COMPLETE. NO ILLNESSES DETECTED.”
“N-No! No! This can’t be! No invader can even experience love! Especially not for the enemy! What am I going to do?! ARGH! Computer! Create an antidote for my love illness!” Zim commanded as he tugged on his antennas.
“UM THERE REALLY ISN’T A CURE…”
“LIES!! Surely there has to be some way to get rid of these HORRIBLE FEELINGS!” Zim wailed dramatically.
“WELL…THERE IS ONE WAY TO GET RID OF THEM..”
“What are you waiting for! Tell me! Tell me the solution!!” Zim demanded as his voice quivered a bit.
“THE ONLY WAY YO GET RID OF YOUR FEELINGS IS TO ASK Y/N OUT..” The computer lied
“WHAT?! YOU WANT ZIM TO DATE THE ENEMY?! ARE YOU INSANE?!”
“Nyeh!”
Zim’s tirade was interrupted by Minimoose.
“Stay out of this, Minimoose! This doesn’t concern you!”
“Nyeh!”
“Aww! It’s sweet that you care about your master but don’t worry, Zim will be fine!”
“Nyeh!”
“Eh?! Ask Y/N out on a date to keep up appearances?! Never! didn’t I already make it clear that was a bad idea?! There’s no way I’d possibly show that kind of weakness to the enemy. But what if…”
Zim hummed for a moment as he stroked his chin.
“I’ve got it! I’ll ask Y/N out on a date to keep up appearances! Yes…I’ll simply use these feelings as a way to appear more normal so I can continue my mission!”
Minimoose was a bit annoyed but happily encouraged his master
“Nyeh!”
“I think you’re cool too, Minimoose! Now then, how to woo Y/N…Maybe one of those love note thingys.” Zim muttered to himself as he begin typing away at his keyboard.
After a few minutes of typing, Zim cracked a wicked smile.
“Excellent! With this loove note there’s no way Y/N could possibly resist my proposal!”
Zim burst into maniacal laughter as he printed the note.
“Now all thats left to do is deliver it!”
“OOOH!! OHHH!!! CAN I BRING THE NOTE TO RACECAR?!!” GIR squealed as he reached for the note.
“No GIR! I’m not going to risk this note getting damaged because of you!” Zim snapped as he snatched away the note.
GIR did like that answer.
He let out a loud shriek and threw himself to the ground.
He begun to kick and cry as loud as his voice chip would let him.
“ENOUGH! You may deliver the note to Y/N!” Zim grumbled as he held out the note.
“YAY!!!!!!!”
And with that, GIR grabbed the note with his mouth and flew off with it.
“Ugh, I better make sure GIR doesn’t ruin all of my hard work.” Zim huffed as he threw on his disguise and followed after GIR.
It wasn’t long before GIR managed to find you.
You were sitting on a bench in the park next to Dib, who seemed nervous about something.
“Dib? Are you ok? You’re acting kinda…twitchy”
“Twitchy? I’m not twitchy! Heh! It’s just um…the air! Yeah the air is really cold today!” Dib lied as he rubbed the back of his head.
“Dib it’s almost June. It’s like 88 degrees out here. What’s really going on?” You pressed as you gave Dib a sympathetic look.
Dib looked down at his feet and took in a deep breath.
“Ok, I’ll tell you but you have to promise you won’t be grossed out by me.”
“Dib, you’re my best friend! Not even hunting the most disgusting cryptid can make me grossed out by you!” You reassured with a chuckle.
Dib took in another deep breath as he turned to face you
“Y/N, I know we’ve been friends for like a really long time now and….well….”
“Well what?”
Dib swallowed thickly as he tugged at his shirt collar
“I think I might want to be more than friends!”
Dib’s words flew out a mile a minute before he clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Wait?! Are you serious?!” Your eyes lit up a bit.
“Gah! I knew this was a bad idea! Just forget I said anything!” Dib whimpered as he buried his face in his hands.
“No no! I’m actually really happy you told me that, Dib! Because…I want to be more than friends too!” You reassured as you put a hand on his shoulder.
Dib looked up at you and blinked in shock.
“Wait? Really?”
“Yes really! I’ve actually been wanting to ask you out for a while but I wasn’t sure if you felt the same.” You admitted sheepishly as you rubbed the back of your head.
“What?! You had feelings for me this whole time?! And you didn’t even- You know what? Who cares? All that matters is that we both feel the same about each other! Right?” Dib still seemed a bit skeptical.
“Exactly! That’s the spirit!” You cheered as you threw your arms in the air, smacking poor GIR out of the sky.
THUMP!
SPLOOSH!
GIR fell face first into a puddle, soaking Zim’s love note.
However it wouldn’t have mattered whether or not the love note was in tact. For Zim had witness the entire exchange between you and Dib and was devastated.
He let out a pained chuckle as he grabbed the soggy note from GIR’s mouth.
Zim was about to confront Dib when-
BONK!
THUMP!
Zim had walked right into s tree, causing a wasp nest to fall right on his head.
Zim let out a blood curdling scream as the wasps begun to attack him from all directions!
Soon he began to run amok, with more wasps trailing behind him!
It wasn’t long before Zim managed to make it back to his base.
Two robotic arms came down from the ceiling,
POP!
They pulled the wasp nest off of Zim’s head and chucked it out into the front yard.
Zim let out a pained groan as his grotesquely swollen face throbbed with wasp venom and glowing green pus.
The robotic arms carefully peeled off Zim’s disguise and another arm carried him down to his lab.
After a refreshing chemical shower, Zim’s face had returned to normal!
However, while his face had healed, his feelings were still in shambles.
He picked up the note and went back up to the kitchen.
Zim sunk to his knees as he shakily held the soggy note in his hands.
“I wrote you a letter, asked my robot to send it but it took to the sea before you could’ve read it…”
Zim’s grip tightened on the note as a few tears trickled down his cheeks.
“Retreated to snow capped waters of the unknown. Extracted my soul straight from my body! but glowing and red…And I swear that sweat would envelop your arms if you broke down and held it!”
“I swear I’m a good man-“ -Zim took in a heavy breath- “-I swear I’m a good man…”
Zim sniffled a bit,
“So why don’t you love me back?”
He looked down at the note in his hands.
“So why don’t you love me back?”
Zim let out a deep growl as he chucked the soggy note into the window.
“Instead of twisting up words you just say there in silence! In wind burnt homes sighing rays from a sunset!”
Zim rose to his feet and stormed towards the window.
As he peeled the soggy note off the window, he couldn’t help but notice that the wasp nest was still in the front yard.
“And all I could hear was the sound of the wasp nest, my head made a home for the hum of the insects!”
Zim took another glance down at the soggy note he had peeled off the window.
“But my hands shake and shudder at the mention of half written reasons we’ll only be friends!”
Zim’s fist curled around the note and punched the window.
“I swear I’m a good man…. I swear I’m a good man…”
Zim squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sob
“So why don’t you love me back?”
His hand slid down the window.
“So why don’t you love me back?!”
Zim threw the soggy note to the ground and stomped on it
“So why don’t you love me back?!”
He threw his head to the ceiling and shrieked
“So why don’t you love me back?!”
He clutched the sides of his head and wailed his plea once again,
“So why don’t you love me back?!”
Zim melted back down to his knees.
“So why don’t you love me back….”
A louder sob racked his body as Zim felt his world crash down around him.
How humiliating.
He was Irk’s finest invader! How could he be so wounded by one pitiful human?!
No, pitiful wasn’t the right word to describe you. In truth, Zim felt that handsome was a better fit.
Despite how devastated he was, Zim still couldn’t stop wanting you.
The need for your love sparked a fire deep within him.
The fire burned violently throughout Zim’s body! Pulling him out of his depression and making him more confident than ever!
Zim wanted you for some much more than appearances!
He wanted you to be his and his alone!
By taking you away from him, Dib had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
Zim let out a thunderous maniacal laugh as he raised his hands to the ceiling!
He put his disguise back on, grabbed a blaster, and hopped into his Voot.
“Prepare yourself, foolish Dib-monkey! I am coming to reclaim what’s rightfully mine! You shall rue the day you took Y/N away from Zim!”
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new things: day dream (m)
pairing: college teacher!doyoung + reader
genre: smut, a hint of fluff (includes: dirty talking, name calling, bimbofication kinda, teasing)
word count: 3,5k
summary: Because the thing is, you had a plan. A very stupid one you’ll admit to that, but still it was a plan. A plan that involved seducing the teacher, to finally get him to pay attention to you.
a/n: special thanks to the anons that sent me ideas for this one a while back. hope you guys enjoy this!
✧
Kim Doyoung was a very respectable man.
He had a passion about teaching that translated perfectly into the way he spoke to and addressed his students, making even the ones that were just taking his class to fill their curriculum interested in the matters of classical music theory. And to make it even better, he was as handsome as he was smart, getting every girl in the class to want a piece of him that they would never have.
It was endearing, really, to see all these girls and even some boys, that were here to get something as noble as a masters degree, going cross eyed because the teacher just happened to look too good for his own good. The giggles, long stares and sometimes blatant flirting were all funny to watch, even more because of Doyoung’s clear lack of interest.
And you… Well, you are very stupid and maybe have lost your damn mind. Because the thing is, you had a plan, a very stupid one you’ll admit to that, but still it was a plan. A plan that involved seducing the teacher, to finally get him to pay attention to you.
A plan that probably needed a little more planning involved, but it’s too late now for that.
Doyoung walks into the classroom, all white button up and neatly pressed slacks, his round glasses hiding the faint dark circles underneath his eyes from probably one too many nights gone without sleep, for the sake of grading papers. He’s wearing a caramel cardigan today and you think it’s an absolute crime that he can make something like that look so hot on him.
You sit on the first row, of course you do, and when his eyes lock onto you he looks stunned for a moment, eyes raking up and down your body because the outfit you had put together was anything but subtle. The short skirt that showed your legs too well, the closed cardigan the was a little too low on your cleavage, everything about it was planned perfectly in order for him to swallow drily as he placed his thing on the desk.
He clears his throat, gathering himself before he greets the class, telling everyone to open the article he had sent via email. It’s a boring lecture, mostly because of the fact you can’t focus on anything but the glances he gives your way and the words he speaks seem to slur together in sentences that don’t quite make sense.
But you don’t get distracted, no. You have a plan and there’s no turning back now, you had left shame outside the moment you stepped into this classroom with the thought of fucking the teacher clear as day in your mind. When he looks your way again, you put it into action.
It’s kind of like a game, you see. The first step is to get him to pay attention, which he does but without losing his composure, he’s better than that of course. But you have tricks up your sleeves, so you lean on the desk a little, bite on your lips enough that he raises one eyebrow in curiosity. And there you go, the second step is achieved as he becomes interested.
From there it’s easy, he lets himself look enough but not as much as you want, as if to not raise suspicion. It makes you feel giddy, finally basking in the attention most girls in this class could only dream of getting.
The class goes on with your shared glances, expectation making your blood boil in a way you haven’t felt in some time and it only makes you feel bolder. So when the lecture is finally over, you wait until every student has walked out of the classroom, as you watch him gather his things with his back turned to you.
He’s expecting you to make your way towards him, of course he is. And you can hear a chuckle leave his lips when he hears the sounds of your footsteps. For some reason, that only serves to incite you.
“Good evening, professor.” You say, voice too sweet as he turns to you.
He raises one eyebrow, in a challenge almost. “_______.” It’s simply said but you almost can’t help the smile that wants to form on your lips as your name falls from his lips. “How can I help you?”
He rests both his hands behind him on the desk, body leaning towards yours in nothing but an inviting way. You lick your lips, watching his eyes follow your movements. “You see… I have been having a little trouble with some of the readings from your class.”
It’s a stupid lie, cliche maybe with the way you say it feigning innocence, but he seems to find it all very amusing. “I see. May I know which ones in particular?” He asks with a glimpse of smile on his lips. “So I can know how to advise you, of course.”
You squint your eyes at him briefly, clearing your throat before you say the first thing that comes go mind. “That… That book with the blue cover, you know? The name escaped me, I’m sorry.”
This time he doesn’t even try to hold in the small laugh that escapes his lips. “Classical Form? It’s understandable that you would have some trouble with it.” He’s still smiling at you when he moves from the table, gathering his things. “Would you like to accompany me to my office, then? So I can assist you properly.”
You can’t agree faster, a smile turning the sides of your lips slightly upwards.
You follow him outside the class until you reach his office, a small room with a big shelf filled with books and music sheets, a fancy desk and a sofa that looks designer made and not something you would buy from ikea. He gestures for you to sit down, so you do, but still watching him closely as he locks the office’s door before walking to lean against his desk.
You cross your legs when he eyes you, making your skit rid up a bit. There’s a glint on his eyes before he’s breaking the silence. “Classical Form, then?” His voice is flat and your eyes stick glued to his lips. “I’ve left the copy I own at home, but I’m assuming you have brought yours?”
You haven’t, of course, but still you pretend to look around for it on the bag you had dropped on the couch, sighing loudly to indicate you obviously couldn’t find it. “I must have forgotten mine at home as well.”
He bites his lips then, holding in a clear smile. It’s endearing to watch him, as much as he must think it is to watch your silly attempts. “Miss ______, forgive me for saying this. But I think it’s not your readings that you need help with.”
‘Duh’ is what you want to say, but instead you smile bashfully at him. “Am I that obvious?”
“A little bit.” He says with a scoff, crossing his arms. “Tell me then what is it that you really want.”
Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you but he says it almost in a challenge, eyes not moving from yours as you stare right back at him. “What I really want? I don’t think you’re ready to know that, professor.” You say with a small laugh.
A loud laugh escapes his lips this time.
“You’re crazy.” He says amused and with a shake of his head. “I think I can handle it, _____.”
He falls for your bait too well and it’s thrilling, makes you feel more confident that he’s not only giving you his full attention but urging you on. So you play your cards. “The thing is,” Is what you start with, a grin of your own on your lips. “I’ve been very needy because of you.”
That makes him raise both eyebrows now. “Because of me? That’s a very harsh accusation.”
You scoff playfully, uncrossing your legs so you can balance your elbows on them and rest your chin on your hands. “Is it?” That’s a rhetorical question because next you add. “Did you know every girl in your class wants to sleep with you? Some of the men too.”
“I didn’t.”
“Liar.” You mumble, rolling your eyes, and that makes him smile at you, a playful one that looks way too cute for the situation.
A moment of silence passes before he’s asking. “Are you one of those girls then?”
Obviously, you think to yourself. Wouldn’t be here practically offering yourself for him if you weren’t. “Maybe I am.”
You decide then to get up from the couch, making your way to him with purpose and as if on cue, he’s opening his legs that were crossed before, but you don’t go that far. “And what would you like me to do about that?” He says it in a way that shows you he’s teasing, trying to embarrass you and that sends a thrill through your entire body.
“Are you trying to get me to say I want you to fuck me?” You take a step forward, standing in between his parted legs and if he wanted he could easily touch you. “Is that it, professor?”
“That would be inappropriate, relationships with students are not allowed.” His lips twitch as he says it, eyes roaming your face.
You fake a pout. “Am I not worth an exception?”
“Are you?” Another challenge, he seems to like them.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I am.” And then you are stepping closer to him, close enough that he can move a hand to the back of your neck and smash your lips together.
So much for self control, you think. But even if Doyoung was apparently good at keeping his cool façade, you knew that deep down he was easy to break, easy to succumb to desperation. And he kisses you with exactly that, lips nipping at yours as he positions your head to his pleasing and you fall as putty as you’ll allow yourself.
You still chase his lips when he breaks the kiss, grabbing at the front of his shirt and bring him closer so you can take the direction of the kiss into your own hands this time. It’s just shy from messy, how you lick at his lips to get him to part them, how you slide your tongue against his in motions that make you lose your mind just a little bit.
He scoffs a little when this time he manages to break the kiss. “You’re really bold.” He says as a matter of fact, a little breathless and the hand still on your neck squeezes it just a little. “Do you like acting like a little slut, is that it?”
You fight back the urge to smile, instead biting your lips in a whole theatrical scene as his eyes stay fixed on your face. One of your hands move to his neck, then slither down to his chest where you pop open the first button of his shirt. “Maybe it’s because I want you too much, sir.”
A noise comes from the back of his throat. Then he’s stroking your cheek. “Will you let me do whatever I want then?”
You laugh now, separating from him just a little and now unbuttoning the first button of your already low cardigan, as if to match his. “Now who’s being bold?”
“You, again.”
“Ha! I only do it because you seem to like it.”
One of his hands come to your back, pulling you closer again. “So you will let me do whatever I want.”
Now you really say it, eyes on him with playful determination. “Duh.”
His throat bobs, jaw tense. And then he’s turning you around to face the desk, your hands coming in contact with the hard material of it.
It takes no time for him to press behind you, his interest on your little back and forth clear when you feel the forming bulge on his slacks. His hand roam your thighs, reaching the rem of your skirt and bringing it up. “Are you always a brat or is it just because you want my cock, hmm?” He whispers, pressing his cheek to the side of your head. You shiver in anticipation, lips parting at his foul language and hips moving backwards trying to press your ass even closer to his front.
“Why don’t you give it to me and see it for yourself?” It’s your bite back, earning a low chuckle from him that is a high contrast to the way his fingers squeeze your thigh in what you think is desperation.
With a grunt, he dips his hand inside your skirt, tip toeing around your skin in a way that makes it tingle, but it doesn’t stay at that. With a blink of your eyes he’s pressing his palm to your clothed core, the cotton fabric sticking to it in a way that makes you embarrassed from how wet you already were. But was it really your fault?
It makes him laugh lowly. “I don’t think I will.” And then he pushes his palm upwards, the friction on your clit making you whimper pathetically.
Of all the things you expected to happen, him dropping to his knees behind you were not first on the list for sure. You expected him to lose control a little, push your skirt up and fuck you while you still had your panties on, them pushed to the side as he pounded into you in a way that made your eyes roll. Deep and rough like you liked it.
What happens is a lost of control in different ways. In a way that involves him pulling your legs to his liking, making space for him between them. Your skirt gets bunched up on your back, your ass on display for him to squeeze and with his face so close that you feel the little puffs of air on your still covered core.
His hand squeezes your soft skin harder when you try to squirm and get him to finally do it. “Tsk, are you going to be good?” He asks, with a small slap to your ass to enhance his word. “Or are you going to continue acting like a desperate slut?”
A small part of you wants to be the desperate slut, get on his nerves and make him annoyed enough that he just fucks into you. You’re sure that he would be able to slide in without any difficulty with how wet you are. But you also want desperately to come, taking a guess that this wouldn’t be happening if you were to pick his second alternative. “I’ll be good.” You mutter finally, breathy voice as he rewards you by pushing your panties down.
It’s a second of just him close enough but not touching. Then he spreads your legs even more, getting you exposed enough so he can press his lips to where you wanted him the most. You cry out with no hesitation, hands gripping at the desk as his tongue laps on your entrance, spreading your wetness around in a way that is as collected as it is messy.
He eats you out with teasing as his goal, flicking his tongue in agonizing ways and sucking your clit with patience. It makes you absolutely crazy, twisting around on his hold and trying to get more friction, to make him move faster.
A loud curse leaves your lips when he dips his tongue inside your entrance, just the tip, and he reprimands you with another slap when you try to throw your ass back in attempts to get it deeper. “Ughnn, you are so mean.”
“I though you said something about being good.” He whines back at your, words muffled and sending vibrations through your core that make you clench a little around nothing.
“Pleasee.” You drag out the words when he laps slowly at your pussy, followed by kittenish licks. “I will if you give me what I want.”
Maybe it’s because he loses his patience finally, or maybe because you were very persuasive with how you look behind your back to catch his eyes just as he gets up from his kneeling position. He smiles at you, just shy from wicked. “Liar.”
The unspoken words are that he likes it that way. Likes that you talk back and squirm under his hold, likes that you act like a brat until he gives in. But he also likes that you’ll take it however he wants, that the only thing that will make you stop acting up is his cock deep inside of you.
And he gives you just that. The sounds of his belt clicking and pants being pushed down just enough to get his leaking erection out, making your head spin. Even more when he finally enters you, a yelp on the tip of your tongue as he bottoms out just like you thought, with no resistance at all.
“Fuck. This is what you wanted, hmm?” His voice is strained despite his attempt to seem calm as he moves his hips once slowly, erection gliding out of you coated with your arousal. Then he slams back inside, your nails trying to grip on the desk but you fail, your body plopping on the desk.
“Y-Yes.” It’s more a moan than anything else, your mind barely able to form coherent thoughts because it’s been so long, and you feel so full with him fucking you deep and fast like you wanted.
One of his arms encircles your middle and pulls you up so that your back is pressed to his chest, giving attention to your nipples as he grunts so close to your ear that the sound makes you clench around him, turning it into a pained moan.
“You’re just a dumb little slut aren’t you?” He asks with a pinch to your nipple. You nod dumbly, so close already that you have to squeeze your eyes shut. “Yeah, you are, my pretty dumb slut that will do anything to get fucked.”
This time your walls pulsate around him, a long whine coming from your lips as he fucks into you faster, hand gripping at your waist for leverage. “Ugnhn, fuck. It’s so - so good.” You manage to get out and the words are followed by your lips parting in a silent scream as he hits repeatedly the sweet spot inside of you.
It doesn’t take you long after that, your body shaking in his hold as you come with a loud moan, your hands moving back to grip at his clothed thighs as blinding pleasure washes over your body. You trash around when he continues fucking you, too sensitivity but it feels too good, your release making the slide even smoother.
He mutter incoherent sentences, moans of your name as his hips snap into yours quick and deep, until they falter and he’s coming inside of you, spurts of cum coating your walls as he lets a long ‘ah’ that sounds too melodic for just a man reaching his high.
You both pant heavily as you catch your breaths. Wrecked a word too simple to describe how you feel as he pulls out, tucking himself quickly inside of his pants, and you fall forward with both your hands supporting you on the desk.
He helps you put your panties back on, fixes you skirt with a pat to your ass that is as sweet as the kiss he presses on your bare shoulder before he’s turning you around and into his arms. Your cardigan has moved enough that your chest is exposed but he fixes that too. You can’t help the small smile on your lips when he kisses it.
“This was highly unprofessional.” He says after a while and you scoff, hand caressing his cheek affectionally.
“Please, we had to fuck in your office at least once in our lives.”
He gives you his gummy smile, as if amused that you both really just did that. A thing that had only been joked about before over the years you had been together. “But not while pretending you are student of all things.”
Now you laugh affectionately, slapping him playfully on the chest. “Says the man that played his part way too well. You liked it, you pervert.”
“I like anything that involves you, silly girl.” His answer makes your heart somersault in your chest. You watch as his eyes soften, the dark circles even more visible with his this close, so you caress it softly with your thumb. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been giving you enough attention, love.”
“It’s okay, baby.” You reinforce your words with a kiss to his lips, sweet and enough to make him sigh. “Now can we please go home so you can give me some more of it?”
The smile he gives you is your favorite from the entire night. Then he brings his hand to where yours is on his face, lacing your fingers together and bringing it to his lips so he can press a small kiss to the back of your hand. “Anything for my wife.”
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Zoro & Sandai Kitetsu
There is something that was bugging me about Zoro’s swords for a long time and now, the Wano arc helped put thoughts in proper perspective. Namely four out of five named katanas used by Roronoa are, in fact, a heirlooms; a burden of someone’s else dreams or ambition or honor that Zoro (consciously or not) carry on while Sandai Kitetsu is the only one sword truly and just his. Because the same as the sword was chosen by Zoro, Zoro himself was chosen by Kitetsu,
The best known Roronoa’s sword, Wado Ichimonji in fact belonged to Kuina who died the night after she and Zoro made a promise that one of them must become the world’s best swordsman. He begged Kuina’s father to gift him with her sword and to honor Kuina’s dream, he created an unique fighting style - Santoryu.
Zoro could just replace one of his swords with Wado and yet Zoro’s fighting style is a fusion of his two-sword style trained since childhood and one-sword style used by Kuina. Which is his way to stay faithful to a promise made between them and maybe a promise between him and Kuina’s father too. That way Kuina - represented by Wado - gets stronger with each of Zoro’s fights and with him, one day will become the best swordmaster. Zoro has carried on her dream since childhood and in fact, their shared promise is both a great motivation AND burden. What was noted by Mihawk (What burdens you so?) and something Zoro himself was well aware (“I may only have three swords, but the weight of our swords are completely different!“).
Wado is as much a memento of his deceased friend as much a burden to carry on alone. It’s Zoro’s most precious sword and at the same I think it will never truly belong to him. Wado was and always will be Kuina’s. He was not chosen by the great katana - he begged for that sword and it was given to him by Kuina’s father. Because Zoro cared so much for their vow, when Koushirou dismissed Kuina’s dream when she was still alive. Koushirou granted the precious katana to a determined boy, so his daughter’s dream (and which it, a part of Kuina) could live on.
Wado is Zoro's most precious possession, but it is a “borrowed” katana that never truly was meant for him. It was Kuina who should carry on the white katana. Zoro only carried it in place of her, because she never had truly a chance to spread her wings. Thus, Wado is a memento, a shared dream, a burden and second chance (for Kuina, and maybe for Koushiro too).
Then we have YUBASHIRI, given to Zoro by Ipponmatsu in Loguetown
Ipponmatsu freely gave Zoro this katana as an apology for looking down on him, once Roronoa proved how well skilled and strong willed swordsman he was by testing his luck against cursed blade. The given sword served him well, up until Enies Lobby, where Yubashiri was destroyed by marine captain Su, a man with devil fruit power of rusting.
Ipponmatsu did not tell Zoro that Yubashiri was in fact his own family heirloom - something pointed out by shop owner’s wife:
but once questioned about the decision, Ipponmatsu asked back “what is wrong with a man entrusting his dream to another man?!”
what implies that Yubashiri, like Wado, carried inside someone’s else unfulfilled dream of greatness.
In Thriller Bark, Yubashiri was buried alongside remains of Brook’s first nakama while its place was taken by SHUSUI.
Shusui was a black sword that belonged to legendary samurai, Ryuma. In Thriller Bark it was wielded by Ryuma’s zombie (with Brook’s shadow) and once Zoro saw the blade, he wanted it for himself, to replace destroyed Yubashiri and was willing to take it from the enemy's dead body. Though the fight was relatively short, Zoro’s skills were acknowledged by Ryuma and in result, Shusui was given to pirate.
Zoro honored his opponent by taking sword and being willing to pretend the match never happened.
Similar to Sandai Kitetsu, Zoro both chose a sword and was chosen (accepted) by the blade. But unlike Kitetsu, Shusui, as the most precious treasure of Wano country, couldn’t truly belong to him. The katana served its master well and Roronoa appreciated it very much, but since Dressrosa arc, he was constantly nagged by people of Wano to give it back. He didn’t care for their complaints and did not plan to do so, yet once asked by Kozuki Hiyori to return it to its rightful place, Zoro finally agreed. Because in the end he respected the dead swordmaster and how much the black sword meant to people of Wano. It was a sacred symbol, a heirloom of legendary samurai Ryuma while he was an outsider. Although Zoro proved his worth to Ryuma zombie, the sword (and Ryuma’s body) was stolen in the first place and Hiyori was willing to give up memento of her late father (personal treasure) for Shusui (a national relic). Such sacrifice proved how much Ryuma’s sword meant to people of Wano and Zoro, despite his claim, returned the black blade to where it belonged - asking only to let him visit Ryuma’s grave once the battle is over.
Shusui was another heirloom, a sword burdened by past and its meaning. It served Zoro well, but it couldn’t truly belong to him.
For returning Wano’s national treasure, Hiyori promised Zoro no less great katana - ENMA.
A legendary sword given to Hiyori by her late father, Kozuki Oden that is said to be the only blade that even injured Kaido. A wonderful gift, but the same as previous swords, it is someone else's heirloom passed to Zoro. Another memento of a dead person. Another burden to carry on.
While Zoro trained with his new sword, Tenguyama Hitetsu (the creator of Sandai Kitetsu) told him the story behind Enma - Oden’s sword and Kuina’s Wado were birthed by the same man, Shimotsuki Kozaburo. Who, ironically, is Kuina’s grandfather according to SBS. What Zoro may have known now, since he did met Kozaburo as a child.
Anyway, Hitetsu assumed that Hiyori perhaps recognized Wado and because of that offered Zoro her heirloom as a replacement for Shusui. I personally think the reason was more selfish than that. Once Zoro saved her, Hiyori said there was a prophecy that “in time of the resurgence of the Kozuki line, strong, kind samurai from across the seas would come to our aid” and Zoro fits perfectly. Even more, since Zoro’s hometown, the Shimotsuki Village is in fact strongly connected to Wano by Kozaburo no less.
Hiyori, as Oden’s daughter, wants Wano to be a free, safe country again but for this to happen, Kaido must be defeated first. Zoro already proved to be a reliable ally. He came To Wano with her missing brother and Kinemon. He saved her and Toko from Orochi’s assassin and later, from enemy attack once the fight broke out after Yasuie’s death. He is strong (something she saw for herself) and to some degree has the samurai feeling about himself.
Above everything else, Zoro will fight in the upcoming war against Kaido for the Kozuki clan even though he (like all Straw Hats) has no real obligation to her family. Whether she believed in prophecy or not, by passing to Zoro her family heirloom, Hiyori burdened him with her hopes and dreams for victory and justice for her murdered parents and for Wano country as a whole. She gave an outsider Oden's precious sword that can injure Kaido and by that, placed faith in Zoro. She can’t use the sword, she can’t fight in battle, but Zoro will carry on Oden’s (and her) wish to protect Wano into battle.
Was Zoro aware of such a possible burden? Who knows. Still, he accepted the blade despite its dangerous nature - and any eventual burden (someone else’s unfilled dreams and hopes) to carry on.
Frankly, Enma and Sandai Kitetsu have a lot in common. Both are dangerous blades that drive weak swordsmen into madness and/or ultimately lead to their death. Both need to be tamed. And Zoro likes them very much, despite warnings of other people. Even manga presents their “introduction” as accepted and appreciated swords by Roronoa in similar way:
Yet there are two major differences between Kitetsu and Enma, what also are true for the three previous swords too.
First, already mentioned and explained the matter of heirloom and connected to that “burden” Zoro carries on alongside. In the case of Enma, once the battle is over and Wano saved, all the faith and hopes put in Zoro by Kozuki Hiyori through the Enma should not burden him anymore. Yet since Hiyori entrusted him the memento of her father, Roronoa will need to make sure to never bring shame to her (and by extension, the Kozuki clan) in later adventures & fights he will face one day. But frankly, this is the same with all of his swords bestowed to him by people who were important to him or which he shared mutual respect. It is strictly connected at core to sword fighting philosophy; to be worth of great blade.
Secondly, Wado Ichimonji, Yubashiri, Shusui and Enma, all those swords are desired and appreciated by swordsmen all over the world while Kitetsu, as a cursed blade, was not wanted. Kitetsu was feared by people, put in barrels between low quality swords in hopes to get rid of it. Even sword maniac like Tashigi, once learning the truth about the katana, did not want that blade despite its high grade and low price on it. She was even sorry for insisting previously Zoro should take it. Kitetsu drove previous owners into horrible deaths to the point “you will not find a swordsmen who’d dare to use a Kitetsu these days”:
Zoro felt that the sword was cursed, before Ipponmatsu had a chance to explain why Kitetsu had such a low price on it. And after learning the horrible truth, he decided to take the blade. The unwanted, bloodthirsty, cursed blade that brings madness and death because no one else would dare to use it. Zoro liked the challenge. Oh, he liked it so much he decided to test his luck (fate) against the curse of Kitetsu, putting his swordmaster future at stake.
The same as Zoro chose Kitetsu, the sword chose him. Like Ipponmatsu said, the sword chooses its owner. And yes, Zoro wanted to have Wado and Shusui but these blades were heirlooms burdened with someone’s dreams and greatness while Kitetsu was the unwanted, dangerous blade with a horrible past that Zoro faced only with his own strong will. No hidden promises to carry on, no ambitions or honor or hopes passed on him by previous owners. No legendary status to live up. Like Wado. Like Shusui. Like Yubashiri. Like Enma.
Sandai Kitetsu is this wild, bloodthirsty sword that was challenged by Zoro and decided to spare this insane man who looked at it, felt the cursed nature and did not throw it away but appreciated it. Something that, I imagine, didn’t happen in years. And there is very strong bond between Roronoa and Kitetsu, because Zoro always can tell apart the cursed blade from other swords
and he kept Kitetsu usually in left (dominant) hand during fight. All those little details give the impression Kitetsu is much more spiritually connected to Zoro’s core than Wado.
In short, Sandai Kitetsu was the only masterless sword Zoro picked solely by and for himself that did not burden him with sentiments, past promises or hopes. And though the sword was “problematic child”, its demonic nature seems to suit Zoro’s own very well.
#one piece#roronoa zoro#sandai kitetsu#wado ichimonji#enma#yabashiri#kuina#shimotsuki koushiro#ipponmatsu#kozuki hiyori#zoro's swords#seriously sandai kitetsu was the masterless sword picked by insane man who did not listen to warning of others#who decided to give it a chance despite the bad reputation#and... isn't it the same with zoro and luffy?#luffy saw the demon and decided to make him his nakama#and zoro accepted it promising him painful death if he dishonor him or get into the way of his ambition#only to become so loyal and important first mate#i love all the swords#but all come with such heavy burdens and connection to people#to past regrets and hopes and ambitions#when sandai kitetsu lacks any sentiment#only bloodthirst and bloody history to deal with#and i wonder how similar its history will be to zoro's true backstory
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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH48
**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**
[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]
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Chapter 48: Star Death Reality Show (XXXI)
{cw: misgendering}
"Will Qi Leren be alright?" Dr. Lu, who had already run away, looked at Du Yue behind him in a panic and murmured in a low voice, "I have a bad feeling."
"Qianbei will be fine," Du Yue said confidently.
"No, let's go down and have a look. If he’s in trouble, we can help," Dr. Lu said.
"Okay, let's go." Du Yue was fine with it.
The two people studied the route to find the safest passage. Dr. Lu's sense of direction was bad, and Du Yue wasn’t much better. Two headless flies wandered around the institute and accidentally found intermittent blood on the ground.
The two walked along the blood trail, and finally found the injured Lara in a hidden room. Her injury wasn’t serious, but her spirit was not good. After seeing Du Yue and Dr. Lu, she was silent for a long time, and her voice was hoarse as she asked: "Have you seen Jing Siyu and Jing Sixue?"
The two shook their heads, and Lara sighed: "I'm afraid they’re in danger."
Lara told them what had happened after they ran away. Jing Siyu and Jing Sixue disappeared quickly, but Janet, Alex and Lara were together. They’d had an argument because Francis had been parasitized by an octopus. Janet strongly suspected that Lara was parasitized, and Lara would naturally not admit to such false accusations. During the argument, they met Leviathan, who had been thrown off by Qi Leren once before.
Janet, who was the closest to Leviathan, was the first to be killed. Alex tried to escape, but Leviathan jumped up again. Alex, who was eager to get rid of it, tried to push Lara out, and even stabbed Lara with a dagger. However, Lara had a strong will to survive. She took the dagger regardless of her injury and stabbed Alex’s vitals with a knife. She hid in a room, locked the door, and crawled away from the vents.
After that, Lara tenaciously fled the whole way, and finally came here and met Du Yue and Dr. Lu.
"We also met the monster, and Qi Leren led it away. Here's the thing..." Dr. Lu plainly told the story again, and finally asked, "We’re going to find Qi Leren. Would you like to join us?"
Lara touched the wound on her hand and nodded firmly: "Let's go."
This time, all three people were in a heavy mood. Especially after seeing the incomplete bodies of Jing Siyu and Jing Sixue, Lara cried sadly and asked aloud, "Are we the only ones left? Is Qi still alive?"
Janet and Alex had undoubtedly died by Leviathan's mouth, as well as Jing Siyu and Jing Siyue. Francis, Annie, Mark and Xue Jiahui were all parasitized. He Yi became Leviathan’s host. Only four of them had survived, and among them, Qi Leren’s life and death were still uncertain.
"Of course he’s still alive!" Dr. Lu said firmly. "He must still be alive!"
&&&
In the vast underground ice palace.
"Prophet, are you awake?" A blindfolded woman stood up from the chair of carved ice and respectfully saluted him. The ice and snow maids who were responsible for guarding the underground ice palace also bent over in salute.
"Soothsayer? Is it your rotation today?" asked the Prophet.
"It should have been the Iillusionist’s turn, but he had something to do, so we changed it," the Soothsayer replied.
"How is that boy recently?" When it came to the Illusionist, the Prophet's tone was clearly casual.
"Not bad, I heard that he made an interesting new friend, and he played tricks on others all day long." The Soothsayer smiled and asked again, "This time, you slept for a much shorter time than expected. Is something wrong?"
"It's not an accident." The Prophet frowned and looked up at the dome of ice and snow, but his line of sight seemed to pass through the thick layer of ice and look at the vast universe.
The blindfolded Soothsayer could not see his expression at the moment, but she could feel his inner unrest.
"Someone has discovered their original force, and that force is biased towards us," said the Prophet.
The Soothsayer breathed a sigh of relief, smiled, and said, "Isn't this a good thing? Although it’s only the first step, it’s always ahead of the other sentient beings on the starting line. Maybe it will eventually condense a half-field or even a field."
It was only the first step to discover one's original force, and it would take some difficult self-testing to condense a half-field, but this already meant that this person was about to embark on a road different from ordinary players. Any master at the field level started from this first step. Although most people would fall in the long road of experience, everyone who had reached the field level had terrible strength.
The Prophet sighed faintly: "It’s too early to talk about field condensation... Although I’m optimistic about him, I didn’t expect it to be so fast. This may not be a good thing for him. There are still too many problems in his body that have not been solved."
The Soothsayer asked curiously, "Do you know that man? What is his original force?"
The Prophet sensed the new force full of vigor and hope, and gently spoke the answer:
"Rebirth."
&&&
In the deep underground glacier wrapped in eternal cold, the temperature was 60 degrees below zero. When human beings were exposed to this environment, it only took a few minutes for the blood in the nose and ears to be unable to maintain circulation because of the cold, and the cells would quickly die.
This underground world without light seemed destined to be forgotten in the cold.
Crushed skull, whole body fracture, ruptured organs, internal and external bleeding... Worse than that, when falling from that height, the speed would return to zero at the moment of contact with the ground, and the body would be deformed instantly under the huge force of the impact. Even the space alien Leviathan, whose vitality was extremely terrible, was seriously injured after falling and fell into a deep sleep.
To say nothing of a human being.
Death was the only outcome.
But suddenly, something moved in the ruinous "tomb" created from broken ice.
And then moved again.
Qi Leren felt as if he was in an icy hell. Every time he breathed, thousands of ice needles punctured his internal organs crazily, which made him feel miserable. He couldn't even think of why he felt so painful and cold, or where he was.
Under this inhuman pain, he only felt that he didn't want to live any longer, but he couldn't even die.
Breathing returned, heartbeat returned, he still couldn't open his eyes, he could only move with all his might. The stones and ice blocks on his arms also moved and collapsed violently, and his sound echoed in the lifeless darkness.
Qi Leren's consciousness gradually returned, and he remembered who he was, but he still didn't realize where he was. He complained crazily in his mind that the air conditioner in his room was too cold, and that he had even accidentally fallen from the bed, and now he couldn't move.
But how could it hurt so much? It was like all his bones were broken.
Qi Leren's confused thinking leaped illogically. He saw many things, and the broken pictures rampaged in front of his eyes, but they just passed away. All he remembered was that he saw a pair of blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Ning Zhou.
The name suddenly appeared in Qi Leren’s, which was like a spell to unlock the seal on his memories. Countless heavy memories were bearing down, which were more painful than the rose thorn stuck in his heart.
He was going to find Ning Zhou, and he was going to bring him back.
Qi Leren finally recalled his mission, and he began to struggle, struggling to get up from the tomb built from broken ice. Just turning over exhausted his strength, and he had to lie prone on the ground and breathe for a while, only to recover his strength slowly.
He noticed the time. It has been twenty hours since he’d fallen from the ice cliff. It was ten o'clock on the fifth night. The fifth day’s Best of the Day had already been announced, but he didn't know who it was. At the same time, his privacy time has been reset with the new day day, and he had another ten hours.
If you fell from such a high place, the tracking camera should be damaged. If not, the low temperature here should make it unable to work normally. But just to be on the safe side, turn it off.
"Turn off the camera." Qi Leren squeezed his voice out of his dry throat, and coughed wildly as soon as he finished speaking. His mouth was full of the fishy sweetness of blood, which made Qi Leren feel queasy.
Suddenly there was a light sound in the dark, as if a stone had been pushed down.
Qi Leren immediately took out a flashlight from the item bar and shone it in the direction of the sound.
Not far away, there is a mound of rocks and crushed ice, and a tentacle was slowly sticking out from the inside, which was extremely slow and seems to be seriously injured.
That thing wasn't dead yet? Or did it sense the breath of the living again and wake up from hibernation?
Qi Leren struggled from the ground. Although he was mysteriously resurrected, his left hand, which was bitten off by Leviathan, still didn't grow back. If he tried this again, he would only die.
But fortunately, he had a key item that had cooled down.
When the Prophet's Heart was used again, Qi Leren felt subtly different from the last time. The phantom angel falling from the sky came to him and took him away from the terrible world to the carefree Garden of Eden. Under the cover of God's grace, he didn't need to worry, and he didn't feel fear. The world was like sand in his hand, and he could easily knead it into the shape he wanted.
Heavy rocks and ice were pushed away with a flick, exposing Leviathan lying on the ground dying. This horrible monster had a red eye, and this huge eyeball was full of ferocious madness.
There was an invisible giant clock behind him, and the pointer walked quickly. As long as it finished three laps, the power he borrowed would be like the chime of midnight, dissipating all magic.
He had to hurry.
Qi Leren held out his hand and raised his palm in the void. Leviathan floated and began to roar and struggle, but this degree of resistance had no effect before the original force. Moving the palm of his hand slowly, Qi Leren felt that he could easily knead it into pieces, just like what he did to Mark's octopus.
But this was not the only way. Qi Leren felt the mystery of time and carefully explored its secret. A mysterious feeling emerged in his heart. He rubbed his fingers and the sands of time slowly flowed down in his hands.
Leviathan floating in the air as if it had been cast in magic. Its shell was rapidly aging, coated with a layer of rust, and finally it seems to be petrified. Its body was full of cracks, and finally it turned into powder like beach sand, which sprinkled to the ground slowly, leaving a golden treasure chest and a round sphere.
Qi Leren waved his hand, and these two things fell into his hands. The treasure chest was opened, which was an item.
[Lucky Revolver: There are six slots in this gun’s chamber, one of which is loaded with a bullet. Shooting at one's own temple can give one minute of absolute defense within a radius of 500 meters around the locked target, but the absolute defense is invalid for this bullet. Even if you are lucky, God will only give you five minutes. If you are not afraid of death, you can continue for another minute. Locked target: not set.]
Qi Leren immediately decided that this was of no use to him, because he would blow his head off with the first shot, and unless it was matched with S/L, it was a waste.
Disappointed, he looked at the other object, which was an eyeball as big as a bowl. The scarlet pupil seemed familiar. It was called [Leviathan's Eyeball].
What was this thing? There wasn’t even a brief introductory description, which reminded Qi Leren of another prop without a brief introduction, namely, the "Scepter of Hell", which Maria had entrusted him to give to the Prophet.
Time was running out, and the clock representing his time limit only had half a rotation left. The translucent wings behind the Qi Leren lifted him, flying over the deep underground glacier, crossing the collapsed ice tunnel, flying all the way along the coming road, and returning to the iron door at the entrance before time ran out.
"Qi Leren? You’re still alive? That’s great!" "Qianbei! Are you alright? Qianbei! How did you grow wings!" "Qi, are you alright?" The three people wandering around the door with flashlights rushed up in surprise at the sight of Qi Leren.
Prophet's Heart’s time was up, and Qi Leren landed on the ground. After the sacred power retreated, he sat down weakly and walked out of the underground ice cave with the help of the three panicking people.
"It's okay, it's all taken care of. Just in case, we should quickly leave here, seal the exits, and wait for rescue." Although Qi Leren was still in the aftershocks of coming back from the dead, his mind was clear, and he clearly commanded the three people. He was worried about whether there were any octopuses hatching in the research institute, but he was afraid to say it now, for fear that after his mouth moved, his good luck would run out.
Du Yue had great strength, and single handedly carried Qi Leren, who had lost his arm, on his back. He listened to the three people say what had happened after they’d split up, learning that after discovering that the other people had become Leviathan's food, the three people had come to the bottom of the institute to look for Qi Leren. They went in several times, but the temperature inside was horribly low. Unlike Qi Leren who had been blessed by the holy light, they finally had to retreat, worried that Qi Leren was dead.
Qi Leren didn't say that he and Leviathan had fallen off the ice cliff together, only that Leviathan had fallen off, and that he was injured and unconscious for a long time but didn't die. Finally, God blessed him and gave him strength to return to them.
Dr. Lu and Du Yue were very embarrassed, but Lara was very moved. She took Qi Leren's remaining right hand and sincerely said, "When we go back, introduce me to your teachings. I’m willing to be baptized."
Qi Leren, who had no intention of preaching at all, was in a distressing situation. One atheist has destroyed the worldviews of another atheist through acting skills and unscientific miracles—maybe more than one. Should he be sealed as a saint or something?
They left the underground research institute, blocked the exit, left the basement, and returned to the surface. The night was bright and the whole land was covered with white snow and ice. Lara, who was the first to leave the room, pointed to the sky in surprise and shouted: "Look, what is that!"
The three people raised their heads and looked at the approaching black spots.
"Is it... Is the rescue coming?" Dr. Lu was excited.
"Great." Qi Leren also breathed a sigh of relief. The copy was coming to an end, and they could return to the Nightmare World soon.
The spacecraft was getting closer and closer, and before long, they would be able to board the spacecraft safely and leave, but the spacecraft was slow to land. The four people waited anxiously, just like waiting for a late plane.
"It seems like something’s wrong." Lara stood up and looked at more and more spacecrafts that had no intention of landing. "What are they waiting for?"
A thought flashed through Qi Leren's mind: "Are they a civilian spacecrafts?"
"No, these are..." Lara said, her voice stopping abruptly.
A beam more dazzling than sunlight converged on the muzzle of the spacecraft, and the terrible energy was aimed at this planet!
Stunned, the four people watched the devastating attack on the plane beneath their feet, and they couldn't help feeling shocked. They had never thought that, after escaping death from a horrible space alien, they would finally die at the hands of their own people. In order to prevent the octopus from spreading, the army gave up the idea of a rescue landing and blasted the whole planet to pieces at a safe distance, where there was no risk of contact.
At the last second in this copy world, Qi Leren and the others were judged to have completed the task requirement of "surviving until the army arrived", and left the world in the light of the blast.
-----
Editor’s Notes: Obviously those items can only have positive results, right?
As a bonus for the end of this arc, BMBL wrote a collection of the program audience’s reactions on her Weibo. They’re posted as images so I can’t easily throw them into an mtl, but here’s the link for anyone who wants to take a stab at it: https://weibo.com/1741082525/F4b6D7Upr
-----
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Two Weeks (Miguel Galindo)
A/N: Tomorrow is my final and I think I’ve reached the point of a mental breakdown that you’re just numb to it. But no matter, positive thoughts all around and hoping my brain isn’t so mean anymore. But due to this, I needed a much needed distraction and finished part one of my Miguel mini series. He may be a little OOC, but I hope you all enjoy this lovely work of mine.
Everything is you, Snapshots, Misconstrued, and two requests will be posted within the next two weeks.
Also may be adding Rio to my lovely writing list, we’ll see.
This is my brain on procrastination, please forgive me.
Love you all and I hope you lovelies are having an amazing week thus far!
Masterlist
Tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic : @ifoundmyhappythought : @carlaangel86 : @marvelmaree : @woahitslucyylu : @encounterthepast : @enamoured-x : @whyisgmora : @briana-mishell24 : @bribri-82 : @briannab1234 : @chibsytelford : @agirllovespasta : @twistnet : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @trulysuccubus : @jadert15 : @sammskellington : @cind-in-real-life : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @sadeyesgf : @thickemadame : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass : @gemini0410 : @elcococruz : @samcrobae : @sesamepancakes : @iambabyharry : @blackmissfrizzle : @soamayansfangirl : @1-800-imagines : @phoenixhalliwell : @lady-pswrld : @dazzledamazon : @getyourcrayoncas : @fvckthisbxtchup : @lukealvxz : @scuzmunkie : @nakusaych9 : @danie1432 : @cocotheclown : @soaronmywings : @my-rosegold-soul : @buttercup812 : @itskiranbitch : @angelreyesgirl : @sheeshgivemeabreak : @vicmackeybullshxt : @strawberrywritings : @cherry-icetea : @losolvidad0s : @brownsugarcoffy : @courtrae89 : @blessedboo : @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind : @fariesandwanderlust : @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead : @xserenax-13 : @whatupitshuff : @aquamento : @justvnash : @maddie-georges : @itskiranbitch
If you would like to be added to the tag list, please leave a comment below or just message me!
CREDIT TO THE ORIGINAL GIF CREATOR!
You couldn’t do this, you were at wits end. You wanted nothing more than to throw your work phone away as it constantly rang, constantly interfered with your life, sanity, sleep, and did you already say sanity? Just in case, your sanity.
“If I ignore it, it never happened.” You looked at the clock and it was three in the morning, you had to be up in three hours to get ready for work to see this despicable man once more.
The ringing stopped, a sigh of relief overtaking your body. Your eyes closed and yet again, it fucking rang.
“FUCK YOU MIGUEL GALINDO.”
You took a deep breath, gathering what remained of your sanity.
“Hello Mr. Galindo, what can I do for you at three in the morning?”
His chuckle rang across the phone, aggravating you more. “Ooh, Mr. Galindo? I’m in trouble, rightfully so. I apologize for calling you so early in the morning, but I’m in a bit of a conundrum.”
“Miguel, I am not picking you up from Alejandra’s place.”
“I gave Nestor the night off.” He argued.
“I’m technically off too you asshole!” You were one of the few who didn’t fear Miguel. You knew of his capabilities, but you figured you were far too valuable.
“Yes, I am fully aware of that, your nights are sacred. But you know I rarely call you on nights.” He countered.
“Correct that statement.”
“Anymore.” He corrected himself.
“Miguel, why do you continue to meet this girl if you’re not interested in her?” Ever since his divorce with Emily two years ago, Miguel has been single and kept it that way. Which in hindsight was for the best. With the cartel, real estate, which he still headed with Emily, and the rebels, he had plenty of things to occupy his time. But you knew why he liked the causality of his relationship with Alejandra.
No strings attached.
No questions.
No commitments.
It fit his lifestyle.
“Because, I have needs and you know, she’s easy on the eyes.”
You begrudgingly got out of bed and made sure to sigh loudly. Miguel chuckled, and you just cussed his name in the three languages you knew.
“Stop cussing me out in your head. Are you coming to get me?”
“I get the day off.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Better cuddle up then.”
“Fine, but we’re having breakfast then you can have your day off.”
“No work talk during breakfast or the ride home.”
Miguel groaned. “Deal.”
===========
You sat across from Miguel at this diner in San Diego, your usual spot whenever you picked him up from Alejandra’s. Miguel rarely indulged himself or let his real self out due to his obligations as a cartel head. He had a reputation to maintain, his playful and joking nature was hardly in display. But whenever he let himself be free, it was easy to see why Emily fell for him.
You didn’t, but you could acknowledge why your asshole of a boss could be charming.
You dedicated ten years to Miguel. He taught you the ins and outs of business along with his illegal activities. If he was ever indicted, you knew you would be a target as well. Miguel always tried to keep you out of the cartel side of things, but that proved to be difficult.
Straight out of college, twenty-two years young with your English major in hand, you applied for Miguel’s assistant position. What was supposed to be an in between job before doing a Master’s program turned into ten years of unfulfillment. You learned much from Miguel. He forced you to learn how to become a business woman, to think like him. You were the brain that wasn’t attached to him.
But you had to walk away.
You were thirty-two years old, with nothing to your name. You wanted to be something. You couldn’t be his assistant forever. As much as he was a pain, you enjoyed working with Miguel, but you could still enjoy his friendship without working with him.
“Do you think I should involve myself in a relationship again? It doesn’t look good for my image if I remain unattached.” Miguel broke you out of your thoughts.
“True, but if you remain single, less people to worry about. Personal relationships in your line of work is hardly ideal.” This constitutes as business talk, but you’ll let it slide.
“You’re right, and this is why you’re my right hand.” Miguel knew that technically belonged to Marcus or even Nestor, but he never made a decision without your input. He was just used to it.
“I wanted to speak to you about something.”
“Go for it.” Miguel gave his full attention to her. “Are you finally going to confess your undying love for me?”
You know she liked playful Miguel, but when he was being this obnoxious, she liked hardened, cartel boss Miguel.
“Right, should I stab you now or later?” You rolled your eyes making Miguel laugh. “I’m going to look for a new secretary.”
“Sure, you need help?” Miguel hardly argued with you. He trusted your judgment after all.
“No, I’m resigning.”
===========
“She has to be in love with me.” Miguel paced back and forth in his office, a few hours after your breakfast.
Nestor watched his boss and closest friend, amused by his suggestion.
“Y/N?” It’s not that Nestor couldn’t see you falling for Miguel, but, that wasn’t it. “You’ve said it yourself that she’s far too bright to remain your assistant forever.”
“That was just insanity talk, of course I expect her to stay by my side.” Miguel stopped in front of Nestor. “She quit right after she picked me up from Alejandra’s. She hated picking me up from there and she never got along with Emily.”
“All circumstantial. You know she cherishes her sleep, most likely the reason she was annoyed. Second, Emily was always a bitch to her.” Emily never liked you since she thought you undermined her with Miguel, which was far from the truth. Nestor witnessed a majority of your fights and it was hardly pretty. “All circumstantial.”
“No, she’s jealous. I know it. No matter, I can get rid of Alejandra.”
Nestor shook his head. He knew this day would come, you spoke to him about it quite often recently. But he didn’t think it would be too soon. He also knew Miguel wouldn’t handle it well. It was hard for him to trust anyone and the fact the person he trusted most was going to leave?
Miguel was at the first stage, denial.
===========
You drove up the driveway of Miguel’s home the next morning, Nestor greeting you by your car.
“You had to drop that bombshell and take the day off?” Nestor shook his head. He loved Miguel, he did, but yesterday was full of theories and bullshit he didn’t want to partake in.
“Well if you’re didn’t take the night off then I could have told him later that morning.” You retorted, glaring at your friend.
“You’re punishing me for taking a personal day?”
“I’m not punishing you, I didn’t think he was going to go overboard with the theories.” Nestor texted you every fucking thing that Miguel had said. It went from you having a secret family, secret boyfriend to being in love with him, which was what he settled with.
“To be fair, I said it was all circumstantial.”
“And it is.” You handed your purse to Nestor. “I’m posting the job later and see if we get any candidates that are,”
You paused. “We’ll see if we can find people that are trustworthy.” It wasn’t about skills. It wasn’t about degrees. It was about being trustworthy.
“How can you even determine that?”
“I have good intuition.”
“Right, forgot, you're psychic.” He teased her.
“Fuck you,” you playfully pushed him.
Nestor opened the door for you and you walked in finding Marcus and Miguel sitting around in the living room.
“There she is,” Miguel greeted you, giving you a hug and kissing your cheek. “How are you?”
“Good,” you gave him an odd look. “You ready, we have a packed day today.”
All three men were looking at you and you gave them a questioning look.
“Am I missing something?”
“I got you something.” Miguel smiled, taking your hand in his. He led you through the house to the garage and before entering he requested for you to close your eyes. “If you got me a car, I swear to god.”
“Wait, why, did you not want a new car?” Miguel frowned. Materialistic items usually appeased women, it definitely kept Emily’s temper at bay when it was directed at him. But he should know how you were by now. Materialistic items rarely impressed you. He found it odd that the little things he did for you was what left the most impression. He got you a rose gold bracelet for your birthday and while you were thankful, he could tell it didn’t impress you much. He brought you lunch from your favorite restaurant, and it was like he gave you the world.
Why the fuck did he get you a damn car?
“I’m not Emily, Miguel, you can’t just wave a shiny thing in front of me and I’ll change my mind.” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Did you get me a car?”
“No,” he closed the door.
Nestor refrained from laughing while Marcus just chuckled.
“You already bought it, might as well let me see.” You nodded your head towards the door.
Miguel indulged you and opened the door. Your mouth dropped. “You got me a Range Rover?” It was your dream car, one that you were saving up for, and now you had it. But you weren’t staying. “As much as I want the car, it’s not going to work. I’ll be posting the job later on today.” You saw that Nestor closed the door as soon as you said that.
“This is ridiculous, why do you want to quit? Am I not compensating you enough?” Miguel was frustrated. He didn’t want you to leave. How could you leave? He compensated you well. Always made sure you were well taken care of and to top it off, you were basically the closest confidant he had. He trusted you with his life, there was no way he could find anyone he trusted as much as you.
“I told you, it’s for personal reasons.” You didn’t understand why you had to give him a reason. In any other job, personal reasons would suffice.
But this was different.
You knew change was not something Miguel was a fan of, he was meticulous and hardly deviated from his normal. He had a schedule and strictly followed it. When the plans deviated, it greatly irritated him, but you always found a way to soften the blow so he wasn’t inconvenienced.
“I think I warrant more than a generic answer.”
“Miguel, I’ve been your assistant for ten years now. It’s just time for me to move on professionally. I couldn’t possibly be your assistant forever.”
“Are you in love with me?”
He blurted it out so quickly that even he was surprised he did. Miguel hardly said anything without thinking of it, but you were an anomaly to him. He spoke before he thought of his words with you.
“No, absolutely not.” You laughed. “No offense, you’re a good looking guy, but I also know you, so no, I’m not interested.”
“Why not?” Miguel was slightly appalled by your rejection of the idea of being in love with him. Was he not worthy? He was a catch if he said so himself.
“What? What do you mean why not? I’m not interested, simple as that.” You could tell your rejection affected Miguel. Not everyone fell to his feet, especially not you. “Look, now that we got that theory out of the way, want to try another? Why is it so hard to believe I just want a better career?”
“I can provide that for you.”
“Miguel, what can I possibly do in your organization that would be a promotion? I swear to god, if you say executive assistant.”
“Come on querida, give me more credit than that.” Miguel chuckled. “You can handle the developmental projects around Santo Padre. You could be my development manager.”
“No, absolutely not, I would have to work with Emily. She already thinks we're sleeping together, the last thing I want to do is deal with Emily.”
“Y/N, come on, I’m sure I can find something in my organization that can fulfill this desire you have.” Miguel was not comfortable with the thought of losing you. He wasn’t willing to accept it.
“Miguel, we have to move on some time, you’ll be fine. I will find the most eligible candidate for this job. I promise.” You gave him a hug.
You needed to do this. You couldn’t stay in this job forever, you had to move on.
“Hand them over.”
“What?”
You stuck your hand out. “You got me the car, it would be rude to not take it.”
===========
“She’s in love with me, it's the only logical reason.” Miguel was sitting down on the couch by the pool, nursing the whiskey in his hand.
“Did she not say she wasn’t?” Nestor wasn’t sure why they were talking about this again when Miguel already spoke to you.
“She’s hiding it.”
“Look, I’m going to ask this at the risk of being killed by you, but out of pure curiosity, are you hoping she’s in love with you so you can confess some deep secret you’ve kept from her?”
“No, absolutely not, I’m not interested in her, but if it keeps her by my side, I can be with her.”
Nestor gave Miguel an incredulous look, chuckling at his friend’s terrible idea. Though, he couldn’t help, but play Devil’s Advocate.
“You know what, you should pursue her.”
“Now you see what I’m seeing. She wouldn’t be able to say no to me. I know her like the back of my palm.”
Nestor had to refrain from chuckling. This was going to be a fun two weeks.
#miguel galindo#miguel galindo fanfiction#miguel galindo imagine#mayans mc imagine#mayans mc fic#mayans mc fanfic
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Carolyn* can never get out of her head the memory of her parents bringing her to conversion therapy. The transwoman from South Sulawesi was 13 then, and society expected her to identify as male in accordance with her biological sex at birth.
“Deep inside, I kept telling myself that I’m not sick, that I’m okay,” she recalled.
Carolyn experienced ruqyah firsthand, a form of conversion therapy imbued with Islamic exorcism that is common among Muslim communities in Indonesia. Carolyn’s parents explained away her feminine expression as the work of a malevolent female demon.
At the time, the teenager did not fully grasp the situation she was in. She agreed to go along with her parents’ wishes due to her deeply embedded fear of sin.
Carolyn was taken before the local cleric, who prayed to expel the female demon in her body. The cleric also asked her parents to leave her with him for a few days so she could undergo several rituals.
“But at that time, I refused. I wanted to go home and didn’t want to be there. I was fine, I cried and said to my mom, ‘Mom, I want to go home, I’m fine,’” she said.
After begging her mother, Carolyn’s mother finally agreed to send her home on one condition: she had to stop expressing feminine traits and stop hanging out with her female friends. Carolyn repressed her feminine expression for several years after that day.
“To be honest, I felt very tortured. I felt very tortured mentally,” Carolyn confessed.
Carolyn said she placed a lot of pressure on herself over the years. She never felt that she was a man. She was always more comfortable expressing herself as a woman. In the final year of high school, Carolyn decided to stop lying to herself and her family. She ran away from home and learned to become a hairdresser at a salon that accepted her gender expression.
In the early days of Carolyn’s emancipation journey, her past and concerns over her identity continued to haunt her. Not a day went by that she didn’t fear persecution, socializing with others, fully expressing herself, all the while saddened by the irreparable burned bridge with her family.
Even now, at the age of 32, Carolyn is still traumatized by her conversion therapy experience. She gets easily triggered by watching religious TV shows or films that feature ruqyah scenes.
But ultimately she believes that she made the right choice, because nothing can take away her freedom to fully express herself as a woman and her achievement of becoming a fully functioning adult in a society that generally does not tolerate her people.
“I also feel comfortable and feel very relieved that in the end, I can accept myself as a transwoman. I feel like I have found myself. This is me, I am a transwoman,” she stresses.
In contrast to Carolyn, Sofia*, a lesbian living in the capital, was encouraged by her family to undergo ruqyah when she was old enough. By that time, she was mature enough to make her own decisions; and so she ran away from them.
“At that time, I was 25 years old and I was studying for my master’s degree. My position was quite privileged, right?” Sofia said.
Living in Jakarta, Sofia was more exposed to open discussions on the issues of gender and sexuality. When her mother asked her to go to therapy, Sofia was already certain about her sexual orientation. Furthermore, she had been involved in the advocacy for gender and sexuality issues.
“So I think there was nothing to lose at that time, and my identity is the core of my life,” she said.
However, Sofia’s refusal for therapy did not sit well with her family. She said they still pressured her “recover” to the point that they used violence against her.
“But I didn’t want to. I insisted because they already know me as a lesbian, so why do I have to back off?” she said.
Sofia believes that her knowledge of diversity in gender expression and sexual orientation was one of the biggest sources of courage that emboldened her to emancipate. If LGBTQ+ people are exposed to the same knowledge, Sofia said, they will be able to accept their identities and acknowledge that they’re not the problem — homophobia and conversion therapy are.
“We must fight together to convince the world that being gay is okay. You need to learn about yourself. You’re not sick. It’s society that’s sick,” she added.
Ika*, a transwoman from North Sumatra, experienced conversion therapy when she was 13, 17, and 18. The methods that she went through were quite diverse, ranging from ruqyah, to burial rituals, admission to Islamic boarding schools, and goat sacrifice.
None of them worked. And she said she had to live with the constant pressure from her parents to get rid of her feminine expression, which, according to them, was also the work of a demon.
“What should be removed from my body? Because according to their assessment, there is an evil spirit who made me like this,” Ika said.
“In my opinion, conversion therapy is bullshit.”
Ika now works for an NGO advocating to end HIV discrimination and stigma suffered by trans communities.
‘Individual will’
Conversion therapy is not a new phenomenon in Indonesia, but the matter was hotly discussed recently when several Indonesian queer activists, including Lini Zurlia and Kai Mata, received targeted ads on social media encouraging them to undergo conversion therapy.
“It feels like I was targeted by a group of people. It made me upset, especially because this is very sensitive regarding LGBTQ+ rights in Indonesia,” Kai Mata said.
“What I think the government should do is to make it illegal. I also think that LGBT people in Indonesia deserve the right to live in this country without fear.”
Attempts to contact the conversion therapy service through the ad failed as of the time of this article’s publication. Another conversion therapy center in Jakarta, which claims to use hypnotherapy as one of its “healing” methods, did not come across like it has a vendetta against LGBTQ+ people despite providing the harmful service.
“When does sexual orientation become a problem? It happens when the values that are taught [by people’s environment and family] are different from their sexual orientation,” therapist Adrianto Darma Setiawan said.
Adrianto claims to have treated around 2,500 patients in the last 12 years. About 20 percent of these patients are (or were, if he succeeded) gay, lesbian, or bisexual. The standard therapy to “heal” sexual orientation consists of about about five to six hypnotherapy sessions lasting around three hours per session.
Adrianto said that some of his patients underwent therapy out of their own accord, but most were there due to encouragement or pressure from relatives. The therapist did not say how many of his patients he managed to convert, but said that “recovery” depends on the will of the individual.
The government’s failure
Imam Nahei, a commissioner at the National Commission on Violence Against Women (Komnas Perempuan), said that LGBTQ + groups in Indonesia still have a long way to receive adequate protections from the government. For as long as homophobia prevails in Indonesia, conversion therapy will remain as one of the most harmful and real threats that haunts people from minority sexual groups in Indonesia.
Nahei said that conversion therapy is an obvious human rights violation, yet the state, which should be responsible for protecting all of the country’s citizens, has not done anything to protect LGBTQ+ people from the practice.
“The state has not done anything because, in Indonesia, this issue is still very controversial as it is associated with dominant religious views,” Nahei said.
There’s little hope for progress in this regard when homosexuality and alternate forms of sexual expression are still seen as a deviation or a disorder by the country’s lawmakers, such as House of Representatives (DPR) Commission VIII Deputy Chairman Marwan Dasopang.
Marwan supports the existence of conversion therapy in Indonesia. Not only that, he wants DPR to eventually pass legislation allowing the state to provide the service to the public. If conversion therapy was normalized, he argued, patients would not experience extreme psychological trauma, such as from being forced to “recover” by their parents.
“It needs to be regulated,” Marwan said, adding that discussion on the regulation of conversion therapy are still in their infancy.
Indonesian policy makers, and even psychiatrists, have long gone against the scientific fact that homosexuality and other sexual identities are not a disease or disorder. Their stance have emboldened homophobia, which, in turn, has fostered the continued existence of conversion therapy.
Riska Carolina, director of Advocacy and Public Policy from the Support Group and Resource Center on Sexuality Studies at the University of Indonesia (SGRC UI), said among the many forms of conversion therapy in Indonesia, most are performed with ruqyah. Others who aren’t forced to go the conversion therapy route are still made to see shrinks who practice with heavy religious influence, hypnotherapists, or admitted to religious boarding schools.
“[Conversion therapy] is a threat to the LGBTQ+ community. It is persecution to the LGBTQ+ community. It violates their basic human rights. LGBTQ+ people are not a disease,” she stresses.
Riska believes that regulating conversion therapy would violate the minority groups’ rights even more than they have suffered. Even if the therapy is carried out based on patients’ willingness, Riska argued that it still validates the idea that LGBTQ+ people have mental disorders.
“Conversion therapy must be banned. It is more necessary to provide protection, even though I know that protection is still a long way off. So I prefer that, at least, [the government] treats us equally and gives us affirmative action,” she said.
“I’m ashamed to know that Indonesia is very late in terms of acceptance and it’s already 2021. You don’t need to like LGBT people, but you also don’t need to discriminate against us, especially to the level of torture. What you do with conversion therapy is torturous.”
*Carolyn, Sofia, and Ika’s real names have been omitted, at their request, to protect their identity.
#Southeast Asia#Indonesia#Conversion Therapy#LGBTQIA Rights#Trans Rights#LGBTQIA Issues#Trans Issues
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GOT7 as Types of Yandere
Warnings: Yandere stuff duh
Jaebum
-Belongs as the leader of a street gang
-You are the daughter of a popular politician
-First saw you at a campaign party where your father and your family made an appearance
-Decided right then the greatest heist he could ever pull is stealing you from your father
-Tried to be “peaceful” about it at first by attempting to get your number over a round of drinks
-You recognized his face from the national news and kindly told him to fuck off
-In retaliation, he fired into the air and got everyone’s attention
-He told them that you were his mistress
-Of course, you tried to plead for your innocence. Nobody believed you.
-He ripped you from the scene and threw you in his black and silver helicopter that waited for him on the rooftop of the skyscraper
-Has a corruption kink
-Wants to tattoo his name across your body but he’s not sure if that’ll mess up the view of your pretty skin or not.
-Threatens to kill your family members/friends when you misbehave
-Has goons and guards that follow you around and know your every move
Mark
-Is your average college kid doing parkour and failing exams
-First saw you walking from your class one lazy morning, books tucked under your arm
-Followed you around campus, quiet as a mouse. Memorized your weekly schedule so that he knew what time you went to school, when you went to work, and when you finally got home in the evenings
-Would break into your apartment on the days he couldn’t see you so he could catch your scent
-You finally caught him as you came home one night after you came home from work.
-He was sitting there, arms crossed, as you walked in the room. You tried to run for the door, you tried to use your phone—but the door wouldn’t open and your phone wouldn’t turn on.
-Turns out, he is a master hacker in disguise. He had programmed your entire apartment to respond to his command: all at the touch of his watch.
-Would never hurt you but constantly punches his fists against the wall until his knuckles are dripping in blood
-Is actually pretty chill unless you try to leave him. He can see everywhere you go and anything you do. You cannot escape him.
Jackson
-Is a hot celebrity icon who everyone adores and can’t take seriously
-First saw you at his fan meet. You actually were one of his fans.
-He had his company staff take you backstage and tie you up in ropes and duct tape. The next thing you knew, you were hurtling down China’s busiest interstate in black SUV.
-Finds you so cute and adorable. Can’t ever keep his hands off you. He must have you. You had to be his woman.
-Will actually bring you out in public with him. But if you try to call him out or escape, he’ll make you seem crazy, thus garnering support—quite the opposite effect you’d hope for.
-Hates when you misbehave because he feels that as the “daddy,” he must discipline you harshly. Says that it pains him immensely and will even punish himself because he feels he didn’t do his job well in training you.
-Wants to get you pregnant soooo bad. He thinks if he can give you a child, you will finally accept him.
-Has sudden mood switches where one moment he is the giddy, normal Jackson, and the next moment he is an unstable demon. In these moments, it’s best to do exactly what he says and prepare for a long night.
Jinyoung
-Is the successful son of the top prosecutor in Seoul—is a lawyer and a part-time detective
-Is also beloved by the public, government, and the general crowds
-Solves brutal murders, class-one robberies, and puts high-profile criminals in jail just about everyday
-Has connections to literally every person in power in South Korea and Asia in general
-First saw you when doing detective work at a bar down in Gangnam
He decided then that he needed you—he could take out all his frustration on you. After all, seeing all the gore and sin that he did was bound to get to him.
-He believes it is his right to own you.
-Reported you missing and launched an “investigation”
-”Concluded” you’d committed suicide by jumping into the Han River—even produced a body that looked just like you
-You once escaped from his luxurious penthouse and ran to the police station.
-When you got there, the police made you wait in the back. You thought they were protecting you. Fifteen minutes later, Park Jinyoung himself showed up to collect his precious jagiya. The authorities are in on it too.
-Basically made you completely disappear from the world
-Would not hesitate to slap you and show you his authority if you disrespect him
BamBam
-Is a Thai Prince. He is second-line to the throne after his sickly older brother.
-Nobody questions his authority which is why he is quite spoiled and can do whatever he wants
-First saw you at his birthday party. Despite all of the gold and designer clothes waiting to be open on the present table, he wanted you.
-His servants drug you off to his royal chamber where you were pampered beyond degree.
-If a man looks at you, they will be killed mercilessly (if he has not given them permission to look at you first)
-Dresses you up in the finest silks, fabrics, and jewelry. You are his doll to spoil, and your clothes must match his to show that he owns you.
-Got rid of his harem because you are the only one he desires
-You once tried to argue for your freedom one day at the Supreme Court. Turns out there is a law that allows the royal family to kidnap and keep anyone they please to their own disposal.
-Likes to fuck you while diamond necklaces hang from your neck.
Yugyeom
-Was an emotionally unstable patient at a psychiatric hospital.
-You were his Psychiatrist and primary physician.
-He fell in love with you because of your maternal-like personality and gestures of kindness.
-He crafted a master plan in order to snatch you away from the hospital and keep you hidden away in an abandoned mansion
-Threatens to kill himself anytime you try to escape or misbehave
-You are his noona (even if he is older than you lol)
-Is schizophrenic and sees you doing things when nothing has actually even happened.
-Refuses to take his medication if he thinks you are being dishonest with him. Is eternally paranoid that you will leave him one day so he literally never leaves your side.
-Is very sweet when he’s not currently experiencing a crisis. Will bring you flowers or make you cake.
-Expects you to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner and feed him like a child.
-Has manipulated you so far by threatening you with double suicide if you don’t comply.
Youngjae
-Actually seemed pretty normal and harmless at first. That was your first mistake.
-He has the worst temper and is the most obsessive man under the guise of those cute cheeks.
-Will straight up lock you in his apartment for weeks on end when he gets “probable cause”
-You used to walk his dogs when he went out for work in the daytime.
-He asked you out on a date, and for three months, you were the happiest couple.
-Then the switch came. You stared at the waiter too long at his favorite restaurant, and he lost it.
-You didn’t leave his bedroom until a week later.
-He calls your dogs your “kids” and will manipulate you into thinking the dogs are really against you. . .
-And they are. He has trained Coco to bark non-stop if you get within ten feet of the door.
-Has shattered your phone on multiple occasions and gets furious if you get any messages while he is next to you
-Sometimes forgets how cruel he really is. Doesn’t remember punishing you for weeks on end. It’s like his mind completely wipes the bad memories from his mind.
#got7 scenarios#got7#got7 x reader#got7 fanfic#yandere got7#kpop fic#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines#got7 imagines#jaebum got7#jackson wang got7#jinyoung got7#bambam got7#youngjae got7#yugyeom got7#mark got7#jackson wang x reader#jinyoung x reader#youngjae x reader#yugyeom x reader#mark x reader#jaebum x reader
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Deleterious Compulsion (1)
Tw: Blackmailing/Sexism/ Possible historical inaccuracies/ implied homophobia/ unhealthy relationship/ OOC/ grammatical errors.
Sharp honeyed eyes settled on the target, pouncing on the templar Altaïr slitted his throat and rivulets of blood began to pour. Thus, he took a feather and drenched it with the templar's blood. Afterwards, he began to head back to Masyaf castle to report his success to the Mualim.
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Meanwhile in Masyaf...
"Ah, I see that you've completed your mission fairly well. But, that is very expected from an exemplary assassin such as you!", Al-Mualim commended.
Altaïr stared at the Al-Mualim with a stoic visage. Respectfully, he expressed his gratitude. Before he left, Altaïr asked about his next mission.
" Master, what of my next mission?", inquired he in a montone voice.
" Don't be hasteful, for the next objective is of such importance that you,Malik, and Kadar will be entrusted with. And, there will be no room for failure.", Al-Mualim voice boomed in his ears.
" I understand,Master.But, why should I do it with them? When I am capable to do it on my own.", Altaïr voiced his thoughts in bumptious manner.
"Now,now. Altaïr. Don't be so concited with your abilities, for one day it will be your downfall. Moreover, how the mission goes is not up to debate. You're dismissed!", his master dismissed him with a disappointment lacing his words.
Grumbling and murmuring, Altaïr left to train some of his brothers.
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Junaid was your mask that have gotten you into the Brotherhood. Without it, you'd been rejected,thrown, or worse left to starve like those women whom are living under the tyranny of the Templars in Masyaf.
Since then, you've been careful not to reveal your identity around anyone especially Altaïr. Who is oddly seemed suspicious of you for what ever reason his mind conjured up.
" Hey, Junaid. Brother Altaïr is back from his mission. Which means more training with him! Aren't you thrilled to be taught the tenants of the assassins by the hands of a prodigy", Sayed voice startled you from your train of thought and made you jump slightly.
" A-ah, yes. Very exhilarated to be at the presence of an assassin model", you spoke sarcasm coating your words.
God! you loathed that arrogant prick. He thinks he is beyond everyone, because of his innate talents and precise instinct.
" Aren't you cranky today, brother! Plus, you seemed jumpy and most of all you....don't appreciate Altaïr?" , questioned playfully Sayed.
" Don't get me wrong, I appreciate him. However, his personality is as bland as a wooden table. As well as, he is suspicious and harsh with me when I train with him.Otherwise, I appreciate his training", you sighed and started to head toward the designated practice area.
Once you reached the area, you spotted a certain man cladded in white with the hood up. Ah....Altaïr, what a pleasure you truly are!
Suddenly,you were handled by the said man and were pinned to the brick wall behind you.
Golden orbs dissecting your (e/c) ones, along with your body language for any sketchy behavior.
" I know, you're up to something ,Junaid. Spit it out now. I have seen you on multiple occasions turning around", bringing his tanned face near yours to the point that your noses were touching.
" I'd say peace and safety to you, but you don't deserve either of them. Anyway, I have nothing to say or hide from the Brotherhood that have risen me", you sassed back and clutched his hand then flipped him on his back.
" On the other hand, Altaïr I am not someone to be meddled with", pressing your hidden knife against his jugular. After that, you stood up and decided to go to Al-Mualim to receive your mission.
Leaving a fuming eagle behind, yet he appeared to get more engrossed about his 'pupil' that took him by surprise. A ghost of a smile decorated his physiognomy for a moment , then it vanished when he remembered his co-mission.
If he had a choice, at least he would bring Junaid with him for he is as capable as him. Alas, Altaïr went to Yaser's bureau to discuss the upcoming objective.
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Meanwhile in Damascus...
Howard Wickhame*...
A templar preoccupied on satiating his hedonistic wants at the expense of the people. He has a human trafficking network that expands from Damascus to Jersuleum. Most of the humans are females ranged from : 13 to 21 in age.
Most are either used as sex slaves or sold to be one. He is found commonly in Jerusalem, at the market. How abhorrent! Soon enough, he will answer to my blade.
While you began to make preparation toward Jerseluam, a knock alarmed you of the forthcoming of an assassin.
In which, you hastily covered your torso with bandage and put on your assassin uniform.
You went to get the door, only to be surprised by the familiar tanned face of Altaïr. Flabbergasted, you ushered him to lay on the soft purple cushion.
" What a pleasant surprise! What made you come all the way to Damascus? Or, are you here to ridicule my skills again?" , you uttered vexed at his presence.
" I came here...not to ridicule you, but to escort on your mission", responded Altaïr gruffly.
" WHAT!!! No, you wont!!! I'll be do-", as you were delivering your words incredulously, you were cut off by Altaïr.
" You have no matter in this as I am your superior as well as the Mualim issued the order", Altaïr lied pathologically with a condesending smirk.
" Urgh, fine. Let's get it over, then I will never have to see your face again", you replied again stabbing his muscular chest with your digits.
How naïve? Not to check the validity of my words. But, that will make my work easier. I want to know the real you not the illusion that you fool everyone with. I know you're hiding something and I will figure it out. Plus, you're quite astute and vigorous for someone who have a petite structure.
" Is that how you speak to your superior? In addition, you won't get rid of me that easily considering I am your teacher. Either way, tell me about our target", Altaïr commented with teasing tone and a minuscule smile appeared. When, he saw you scratching your temple in frustration.
He wondered why you don't like him like the rest of the creed. And, why are you keen on working on your own? There is something, that he knew.
That is his main reason of the trip, to discover your true identity. Maybe, you'll slip throughout the mission and he takes advantage of that. The idea fledged a smile on his handsome almond face that made you double check if you're either dreaming or blind.
" Here I thought you could not smile and be an asshole, but I am wrong at the former and the latter still stands.", you remarked wondrous at the phenomena that happens infront of your eyes.
Gazing at you with his honey orbs and a genuine smile grazing his sculpted brown face.
" What? You can take me by surprise, but I can't. I'm more than you think, keep that in mind." Responded the veteran assassin with a hum.
" May I inquire a question,Master?", you smiled as you watched his expression changed from confident to a pure shock. Quite amusing!
" To call me master and ask me a question, now that what I sought from you brother. And, yes you can.", Altaïr answered with subtle tint of joviality.
"From what I've heard there is a co-mission, where you and two other assassins are involved. Why waste your time here, when you can focus on that?", you questioned him skeptic on his intention.
Frowning bitterly, as he remembered what Al-Mualim spoke of.
" The mission isn't any time soon, so Al-Mualim sent me here.", replied Altaïr with a low grumble.
Shrugging his expression, you began to retell him what you know of Howard Wickhame. As you retell the info, you can't help but feel the intense gaze of Altaïrs was watching every move you make.
No matter, it's probably his usual way to make sure that you relayed the info truthfully!
Eventually, both of you are on your horses to Jerusalem to eliminate that bastard,Howard.
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Jerusalem, at the market.....
" Gentlemen, I welcome you to my market where all your sexual needs are met. With a certain price, of course.", Howard ushered his large rough hands towards the aristocratic men of Jerusalem to capture their attention on his products.
Wailing and crying of women and children were heard alike, from the shallow cages that they were inserted in.
" As demonstrated here, I present you with the finest products from as young as 13 years to a full matured lady. They can serve well, I guarantee you much of that", He spoke expression developing into utter pride, as he saw the leacherous faces of his guests.
Business is hitting a jackpot that's for sure. Not to mention, he needs to report to Robért de sable as soon as he can.
Oblivious to their presence, two assassins were hidden behind a mosque. Listening to every word that dripped from his filthy maw.
" Okay, now. You take the guards down and I'll deal with Howard on my own. Then we can liberate all of the captives. Okay?" , you muttered to the brunette beside you.
Altaïr hummed and nodded.
He didn't knew whether to look forward to seeing the templar seeping out the crimson liquid, or for your slip up that he will happen.
He didn't know the reason, why he is fixated with you to such degree? In the end, you are a student of his. He shouldn't have these thought about his student. It is alike a compulsion that drives him to irrationality and madness.
Soon after, the duo started to execute their short-term strategy.
Stealithy, Altaïr began to take out the guards one by one. On the other hand, you camouflaged yourself with the people around you as not to alert the templars about your whereabouts; thus failing the mission.
'One more step, and that templar is no more.'
Getting your trusty hidden blade ready, you approached your designated prey with a steady pose. Quiet, hidden, and unnoticed by the populas.
Closing in, you lunged at Howard taking him by surprise. However, as soon as you lunged at him an arrow was lodged into your ribs.
' اللعنة!*، I have to do it hastily '
Then, you slashed his throat and the cement floor was decorated crimson.
Screams were heard from the guests, notifying the enemy of your location.
As soon as his body hit the floor, the Templars were tailing you.
Beside that, the injuries is getting worse and worse to the point you began to haze out and gradually fall down.
' Well, I guess this is my time. At least, I served the Brotherhood with honour and dignity'
The last thing your eyes layed upon was a flash of white mixed with brown and red.
When Altaïr saw your body, he panicked and ran impulsively to pick your wounded body. He won't let you die, especially at the hands of those fucking templars!
The bright side is that you made an error that will confiscate your mask away. So now, he can finally relish on your true self.
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At the bureau...
"Oh, Altaïr...What have you brought this time?", Malik sighed until he layed his brown eyes on your unconscious body, then worry began to seep into his mind.
" Move aside, I require your room so I could heal Junaid.", Altaïr responded tersely.
" If it wasn't for the sake of Junaid, I'd not give an acre of this to you. Now, go tend to Junaid before he dies of your own incompetence", Malik grumbled and motioned his almond hands to the chocolate door. In which, plants designs and Arabic calligraphy were carved upon its surface.
Soon after, Altair kicked the door only to be introduced by a lofty and plushy room with a soft harbor grey bed on the center of the room.
Instantaneously, Altaïr setted your sparked out frame down on the bed and began to remove your uniform one by one,until he reached your bloody chest that is covered by bandages that were soaked by your blood.
Until, suddenly his hands were engulfed by yours in a vice-like grip.
" What in the name of god, do you think you're doing?", you hissed painfully.
(E/C) eyes dead set on his pulchritudinous honey eyes that you wished to swim into it. If, those eyes didn't belong to your haughty and secluded mentor.
" Simply, I was tending to you. Considering, you're currently on the verge of bleeding to death.", He responded with concern interweaved in his words.
And, for the first time Altaïr took off his hood off. To reveal, short brown locks and and a well-sculpted golden face that the angels might cry from envy. But, what enraptured you the most is the look of vulnerability that carved his face.
Then, he sat beside you.
" Since when, did you care about my wellbeing? When all this time you're trying to fault me for something that I didn't commit", you spit at him bitterly. Confusion,anger, and hurt were pointed at him as if they were spears ready to inflict harm upon him in your time of agony.
Funnily enough, you didn't acknowledge which is worse the jabbing pain of the arrow that is still lodged in your ribs or the emotional and the paranoia that altaïr instilled on you. The fear of being found out for who you truly are, along with the fear of losing the only family that cares for you and vice versa.
" No, I never hated you. On the other hand, It is the polar of it. I care for you more than a mentor should for his pupils. So, let me reconcile with you by helping you recover.", He confessed tenderness dripping off his scarred lips. At, this point his repressed emotions were getting off hand and he fucked it up more by revealing his thoughts to his most cherished mentee.
' اللعنة علي*، Malik was right. I am a fool '
Astonished, you didn't know whether you should speak or not. To your dismay, your eyes started to water and a waterfall ensued.
" P-please, Altaïr. I beg of you to let me take care of myself a-and then we can speak of it", your voice has begin to crack and revert to its feminine tone.
Startled by the tone, Altaïr begin to check the source of the voice. Only, to find it resonated from you. Maybe, you are a feminine boy, not what he is currently thinks of. No women were allowed throughout the brotherhood*.
All those 15 years has gone to waste. Thanks to a confession of a man,quite pathetic isn't it? How, fate amuses itself by your despair and agony!
If only, you had had not been forsaken by your family then this predicament would not happen.
" I'm truly sorry, Junaid. But, it is my duty to tend for my brethren. Plus, you're not in suitable condition to do it. You will only hurt yourself. So, lay down and let me remove these flithy bandages", Altaïr then began to remove the bandages , against your cries not to, only to be astounded by the sight of breasts. His golden pupils dilated in response to the utter shock.
Ah, shit. So, you were a woman masquerading as man all along.
So that's why there is something off about you. Not to mention, the paranoia and tendencies to working alone.
It clicks now.
" Tell me, What is your full true name?", Altaïr interrogated you coldly that you begun to shiver now that the truth has arisen.
" My true name is ( Y/n) and I am an orphan. All of my family are dead, not a single relative remains alive. Now, that I've told you. I beg you that you don't reveal my identity to anyone, because the brotherhood is all I've left", you replied desperation ran along your voice.
" You must understand my circumstances, the reason I joined the creed is to prevent people like me to live under the clutches of megalomaniacs such as templars", you added hoping that satiated La'ahads interrogation.
" That depends, tell me more about yourself whilst I tend to you", He responded husky voiced as he began to remove the arrow slowly. In which, you reacted in hissing and groaning of pain.
Despite all this fiasco, the nature of his feelings haven't changed not a one bit. If anything, it skyrocketed. Plus, now he doesn't need to worry about being gay. Also, he can use your identity as bargaining chip to ensure you will be his and no else.
'Perfect' , he mused as he internally grinned to himself at the thought of you becoming his for eternity. Soon enough, a ring will bond you together.
At, first it was your astute and skills that enraptured him akin to a fly stuck in a spider's web. Now, it is the truth that captured him and how similar of an upbringing you both share. Many more to be followed he liked including: your thirst for knowledge and truth.
" Lastly, I only ask of you this", Altaïr's strong muscular body encircled your petite one's in his grasp. Then, he used his index to turn your face towards his.
" What do you ask? you've already ruined what I've built", you expressed grimly trying to escape the grasp your in. However, it was futile and the grip tightened more.
" If, you don't want me to abolish it. Then, abide me, become mine, and above all love me like I love you", he said in mellisonant tone to lure you more in his grasp.
Not, that will matter. At this point you have no choice, but to abide. Or, risk the revelance of your identity and your forced resignation from the creed.
Plus, it is his word against yours. And, you knew that you have no chance against him.
" Go, ahead. You took everything from me. Now, the only thing that I have is you", the eagle has cornered its sly prey into a corner and devoured it until a husk was left behind.
" That's excellent, your focus should be always on me. If only, you've had focused on me earlier; you'd not be in this predicament. But, then again my compulsion would make me take you either ways.", Altaïr responded as he began to pepper your jugular in kisses and bites. Soon enough, your neck was purple from him marking it with his bites.
" No matter, you'll be mine as I am yours for as long as life goes. (Y/n)ِأنا أحبك ", Altaïr confessed as he trapped you in the bed with his golden strudy frame that was so fit that it was built by god himself.
Shortly, Altaïr connected his lips with yours in a passionate kiss.
" Now sleep, my love. For, tomorrow you will report to Al-Mualim as long as I am there.", Altaïr took both yours and his uniform off. Then, engulfed your form toward his. So, now your back is toward him.
Next, he layed a gentle kiss on your head then he drifted to slumber.
Soon, you followed suit but with regrets riddling your despaired mind.
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A/n: That's the longest One shot,so far. However, I might make a part 2 if you want. Also, if you want a continuation do you want it a lemon?
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere fandoms#yancore#yandere assassin creed#yandere AC
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@moretvforyou forgive me for answering this way but I don’t want this showing up in the flice tag (contrary to what they all seem to think i’m actually not an asshole lmao) I feel like I answered this question a million times during s2 but I am too lazy to look for something and it’s been long enough I can dive into this with a fresh outlook.
I fell in love with Alice Cooper in s1. Like head over heels from the second I heard her shit talking her daughter’s dead boyfriend. I already loved Madchen and it was such a nice surprise to see her in this show and I just... LOVE. And I loved Hal soon enough too. And their relationship was one of the few marriages we had on the show at the time and they intrigued me to no end. Their dynamic was fascinating and the way they played off each other was amazing. Even their fights in s1 had me on the edge of me seat. And low and behold one of my favorite scenes in that whole season was the homecoming dinner!
I’ve probably written so much about that homecoming dinner at this point I could get a masters degree in it. What a scene!! Alice and Hal are polite fighting in front of FP. Alice wants to weasel something incriminating out of FP while Hal is trying to embarrass her and FP is having the ever loving time of his life watching... and then he drops that whole bomb about the fight at homecoming (which we soon find out was about the baby) and I was like PLEASE tell me more about these guys back in high school. All of them! They all felt like old friends awkwardly talking again after many years and I loved it. Hal felt like he was doing that classic “embarrass my partner in front of their friend to annoy them!” thing. Plus this scene and the one of them outside in 1x10 seemed to spark interest in the parents and I was pleased! I wanted more parent scenes!! Any of them!
Then I’d wander on tumblr after s1 and people were shipping them and thinking he was the real father of Alice’s baby and be like hahaha okay... suuure. And I was forming friendships with so many Alice stans who mostly seemed to hate Hal and want her with FP and I was like ???? what is happening.
Now let me make it clear. s1? flice was never a couple in high school. They were two kids both from the southside (we didnt even know alice was a serpent back then). Could I have gotten down with some “they dated in high school for a bit” plot like with fremione? Sure. But that wasn’t the case. Fremione was our old high school couple we were supposed to root for! But then...they just dropped that. And gave it to flice! And then gave halice’s baby to flice. And then made both Hal and Gladys villains to make flice okay! But I am jumping ahead of myself.
In s1 halice were high school sweethearts. Alice came from the wrong side of the tracks! Do you know what Alice would have never in any universe have done? Married a man who she didn’t really love just to get ahead in life. If that was the case why not marry someone like Fred? Why stick with Hal if she never loved him? Because she did. Christ both times Hal moved out (both when she kicks him out and when he he leaves himself) she falls into this slump. It’s sad. Like we’re allowed to have a strong woman who loved her husband but didn’t just marry him for his social status? Like why do people enjoy this idea that both Alice and FP married people they didn’t love for convenience?
Look... that baby was Hal’s until mid way through s2 when they decided it all of a sudden was FP’s. FP was actively sleeping with Alice in high school, knew she got pregnant, and never thought it was his?? Like he’s dumb but not that dumb. Even when she tells him in s2 he’s like “huh?” like it totally forgot the whole homecoming dinner scene. Then the flashback episode makes no scene because halice were high school sweethearts but they don’t start dating until she’s several months pregnant. Once again, Hal is not so stupid he doesn’t know how long it takes to make a baby. Please.
THEN the show had to make Hal the Black Hood so it’d be okay for them or to just get him out of the picture because the guy who played Tall Boy got injured filming so it couldn’t be him. Instead of just like... having halice divorce? Like what was the point of the Penelope affair then if not to pave a way to get rid of Hal? What was the point of them reconciling in 2x18 just for him to kill a teenager by the end of the episode?? What??? Like as sad as them getting divorced would have made me it would have made the whole flice stuff a little more tolerable. And I’m not just saying this for ship reasons like its just literally a more realistic thing that should have happened. Not Hal being a fucking serial killer out of no where.
Then they introduce Gladys and MAKE HER A VILLAIN FOR DEALING DRUGS WHEN FP HAS DONE SO MUCH BULLSHIT??? FP is literally a corrupt sheriff at the time getting mad at his wife for dealing drugs I have to laugh. Watching this whole fandom bash Gladys for moving to Toledo while they jerk off to FP despite him burying bodies and shooting people... okay. Despite the shit i talk i don’t hate FP i just hate the double standard in this fandom. Even Alice doesn’t get a pass like FP does.
Look... I just don’t like them together. At least not as more than just friends. Hell I even toyed around with them having had a little thing in high school in fics and all it ever got greeted with is backhanded comments. And I particularly don’t like the idea of them and bughead living under one roof that is fucking weird and there is no way around it. I ignore scenes with them at this point and am glad they’ll soon be over for good. I was also sent hate constantly in s2 and 3 for just not like them (yet purposely never interacting with their shippers) so I’m also just bitter by the ship all together at this point and I hope this rant ends up screenshot on twitter like all my other rants are. 😘😘😘
tldr: it would have been tolerable if it was planned from the beginning but it clearly wasn’t and I hate it lmao
#i proofread NONE of this sorry lmao#alice cooper#fp jones#gladys jones#hal cooper#parentdale#riverparents
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Moloch of Totalitarianism (Levashovo Memorial Cemetery, Saint Petersburg, Russia)
“'As you lie there,' said O'Brien, 'you have often wondered you have even asked me -- why the Ministry of Love should expend so much time and trouble on you. And when you were free you were puzzled by what was essentially the same question. You could grasp the mechanics of the Society you lived in, but not its underlying motives. Do you remember writing in your diary, "I understand how: I do not understand why"? It was when you thought about "why" that you doubted your own sanity. You have read the book, Goldstein's book, or parts of it, at least. Did it tell you anything that you did not know already?'
'You have read it?' said Winston.
'I wrote it. That is to say, I collaborated in writing it. No book is produced individually, as you know.'
'Is it true, what it says?'
'A description, yes. The programme it sets forth is nonsense. The secret accumulation of knowledge -- a gradual spread of enlightenment -- ultimately a proletarian rebellion -- the overthrow of the Party. You foresaw yourself that that was what it would say. It is all nonsense. The proletarians will never revolt, not in a thousand years or a million. They cannot. I do not have to tell you the reason: you know it already. If you have ever cherished any dreams of violent insurrection, you must abandon them. There is no way in which the Party can be overthrown. The rule of the Party is forever. Make that the starting-point of your thoughts.'
He came closer to the bed. 'Forever!' he repeated. 'And now let us get back to the question of "how" and "why". You understand well enough how the Party maintains itself in power. Now tell me why we cling to power. What is our motive? Why should we want power? Go on, speak,' he added as Winston remained silent.
Nevertheless Winston did not speak for another moment or two. A feeling of weariness had overwhelmed him. The faint, mad gleam of enthusiasm had come back into O'Brien's face. He knew in advance what O'Brien would say: that the Party did not seek power for its own ends, but only for the good of the majority. That it sought power because men in the mass were frail cowardly creatures who could not endure liberty or face the truth, and must be ruled over and systematically deceived by others who were stronger than themselves. That the choice for mankind lay between freedom and happiness, and that, for the great bulk of mankind, happiness was better. That the party was the eternal guardian of the weak, a dedicated sect doing evil that good might come, sacrificing its own happiness to that of others. The terrible thing, thought Winston, the terrible thing was that when O'Brien said this he would believe it. You could see it in his face. O'Brien knew everything. A thousand times better than Winston he knew what the world was really like, in what degradation the mass of human beings lived and by what lies and barbarities the Party kept them there. He had understood it all, weighed it all, and it made no difference: all was justified by the ultimate purpose. What can you do, thought Winston, against the lunatic who is more intelligent than yourself, who gives your arguments a fair hearing and then simply persists in his lunacy?
'You are ruling over us for our own good,' he said feebly. 'You believe that human beings are not fit to govern themselves, and therefore-'
He started and almost cried out. A pang of pain had shot through his body. O'Brien had pushed the lever of the dial up to thirty-five.
'That was stupid, Winston, stupid!' he said.
'You should know better than to say a thing like that.
’He pulled the lever back and continued:
'Now I will tell you the answer to my question. It is this. The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power. Not wealth or luxury or long life or happiness: only power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand presently. We are different from all the oligarchies of the past, in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even those who resembled ourselves, were cowards and hypocrites. The German Nazis and the Russian Communists came very close to us in their methods, but they never had the courage to recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that just round the corner there lay a paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means, it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power. Now do you begin to understand me?'”
Winston was struck, as he had been struck before, by the tiredness of O'Brien's face. It was strong and fleshy and brutal, it was full of intelligence and a sort of controlled passion before which he felt himself helpless; but it was tired. There were pouches under the eyes, the skin sagged from the cheekbones. O'Brien leaned over him, deliberately bringing the worn face nearer.
"You are thinking," he said, "that my face is old and tired. You are thinking that I talk of power, and yet I am not even able to prevent the decay of my own body. Can you not understand, Winston, that the individual is only a cell? The weariness of the cell is the vigor of the organism. Do you die when you cut your finger-nails?"
He turned away from the bed and began strolling up and down again, one hand in his pocket.
"We are the priests of power," he said. "God is power. But at present power is only a word so far as you are concerned. It is time for you to gather some idea of what power means. The first thing you must realize is that power is collective. The individual only has power in so far as he ceases to be an individual. You know the Party slogan 'Freedom is Slavery." Has it ever occurred to you that it is reversible? Slavery is freedom. Alone-free-the human being is always defeated. It must be so, because every human being is doomed to die, which is the greatest of all failures. But if he can make complete, utter submission, if he can escape from his identity, if he can merge himself in the Party so that he is the Party, then he is all-powerful and immortal. The second thing for you to realize is that power is power over human beings. Over the body-but, above all, over the mind. Power over matter external reality, as you would call it-is not important. Already our control over matter is absolute."'
For a moment Winston ignored the dial. He made a violent effort to raise himself into a sitting position, and merely succeeded in wrenching his body painfully.
"But how can you control matter?" he burst out. "You don't even control the climate or the law of gravity. And there are disease, pain, death-"
O'Brien silenced him by a movement of the hand. "We control matter because we control the mind. Reality is inside the skull. You will learn-by degrees, Winston. There is nothing that we could not do. Invisibility, levitation-anything. I could float off this floor like a soap bubble if I wished to. I do not wish to, because the Party does not wish it. You must get rid of those nineteenth century ideas about the laws of nature. We make the laws of nature."
"But you do not! You are not even masters of this planet. What about Eurasia and Eastasia? You have not conquered them yet."
"Unimportant. We shall conquer them when it suits us. And if we did not, what difference would it make? We can shut them out of existence. Oceania is the world."
"But the world itself is only a speck of dust. And man is tiny- helpless! How long has he been in existence? For millions of years the earth was uninhabited."
"Nonsense. The earth is as old as we are, no older. How-could it be older? Nothing exists except through human consciousness."
"But the rocks are full of the bones of extinct animals-mammoths and mastodons and enormous reptiles which lived here long before man was ever heard of."
"Have you ever seen those bones, Winston? Of course not. Nineteenth-century biologists invented them. Before man there was nothing. After man, if he could come to an end, there would be nothing. Outside man there is nothing."
"But the whole universe is outside us. Look at the stars! Some of them are a million light-years away. They are out of our reach forever."
"What are the stars?" said O'Brien indifferently. "They are bits of fire a few kilometers away. We could reach them if we wanted to. Or we could blot them out. The earth is the center of the universe. The sun and the stars go round it.
"Winston made another convulsive movement. This time he did not say anything. O'Brien continued as though answering a spoken objection:
"For certain purposes, of course, that is not true. When we navigate the ocean, or when we predict an eclipse, we often find it convenient to assume that the earth goes round the sun and that the stars are millions upon millions of kilometers away. But what of it? Do you suppose it is beyond us to produce a dual system of astronomy? The stars can be near or distant, according as we need them. Do you suppose our mathematicians are unequal to that? Have you forgotten doublethink?"
Winston shrank back upon the bed. Whatever he said, the swift answer crushed him like a bludgeon. And yet he knew, he knew, that he was in the right. The belief that nothing exists outside your own mind-surely there must be some way of demonstrating that it was false. Had it not been exposed long ago as a fallacy? There was even a name for it, which he had forgotten. A faint smile twitched the corners of O'Brien's mouth as he looked down at him.
"I told you, Winston," he said, "that metaphysics is not your strong point. The word you are trying to think of is solipsism. But you are mistaken. This is not solipsism. Collective solipsism, if you like. But that is a different thing; in fact, the opposite thing. All this is a digression,"' he added in a different tone. "The real power, the power we have to fight for night and day, is not power over things, but over men." He paused, and for a moment assumed again his air of a schoolmaster questioning a promising pupil: "How does one man assert his power over another, Winston?"
Winston thought. "By making him suffer," he said.
"Exactly. By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough. Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own? Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we are creating? It is the exact opposite of the stupid hedonistic Utopias that the old reformers imagined. A world of fear and treachery and torment, a world of trampling and being trampled upon, a world which will grow not less but more merciless as it refines itself. Progress in our world will be progress toward more pain. The old civilizations claimed that they were founded on love and justice. Ours is founded upon hatred. In our world there will be no emotions except fear, rage, triumph, and self-abasement. Everything else we shall destroy- everything. Already we are breaking down the habits of thought which have survived from before the Revolution. We have cut the links between child and parent, and between man and man, and between man and woman. No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend any longer. But in the future there will be no wives and no friends. Children will be taken from their mothers at birth, as one takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct will be eradicated. Procreation will be an annual formality like the renewal of a ration card. We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now. There will be no loyalty, except loyalty toward the Party. There will be no love, except the love of Big Brother. There will be no laughter, except the laugh of triumph over a defeated enemy. There will be no art, no literature, no science. When we are omnipotent we shall have no more need of science. There will be no distinction between beauty and ugliness. There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always-do not forget this, Winston-always there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face-forever."
He paused as though he expected Winston to speak. Winston had tried to shrink back into the surface of the bed again. He could not say anything. His heart seemed to be frozen. O'Brien went on:
"And remember that it is forever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of society, will always be there, so that he can be defeated and humiliated over again. Everything that you have undergone since you have been in our hands-all that will continue, and worse. The espionage, the betrayals, the arrests, the tortures, the executions, the disappearances will never cease. It will be a world of terror as much as a world of triumph. The more the Party is powerful, the less it will be tolerant; the weaker the opposition, the tighter the despotism. Goldstein and his heresies will live forever. Every day, at every moment, they will be defeated, discredited, ridiculed, spat upon- and yet they will always survive. This drama that I have played out with you during seven years will be played out over and over again, generation after generation, always in subtler forms. Always we shall have the heretic here at our mercy, screaming with pain, broken-up, contemptible-and in the end utterly penitent, saved from himself, crawling to our feet of his own accord. That is the world that we are preparing, Winston. A world of victory after victory, triumph after triumph after triumph: an endless pressing, pressing, pressing upon the nerve of power. You are beginning, I can see, to realize what that world will be like. But in the end you will do more than understand it. You will accept it, welcome it, become part of it."
Winston had recovered himself sufficiently to speak. "You can't!" he said weakly.
"What do you mean by that remark, Winston?"
"You could not create such a world as you have just described. It is a dream. It is impossible."
"Why?"
"It is impossible to found a civilization on fear and hatred and cruelty. It would never endure."
"Why not?"
"It would have no vitality. It would disintegrate. It would commit suicide."
"Nonsense. You are under the impression that hatred is more exhausting than love. Why should it be? And if it were, what difference would that make? Suppose that we choose to wear ourselves out faster. Suppose that we quicken the tempo of human life till men are senile at thirty. Still what difference would it make? Can you not understand that the death of the individual is not death? The Party is immortal."
As usual, the voice had battered Winston into helplessness. Moreover he was in dread that if he persisted in his disagreement O'Brien would twist the dial again. And yet he could not keep silent. Feebly, without arguments, with nothing to support him except his inarticulate horror of what O'Brien had said, he returned to the attack.
"I don't know-I don't care. Somehow you will fail. Something will defeat you. Life will defeat you."
"We control life, Winston, at all its levels. You are imagining that there is something called human nature which will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But we create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or perhaps you have returned to your old idea that the proletarians or the slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out of your mind. They are helpless, like the animals. Humanity is the Party. The others are outside- irrelevant."'
"I don't care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or later they will see you for what you are, and then they will tear you to pieces."
"Do you see any evidence that this is happening? Or any reason why it should?"
"No. I believe it. I know that you will fail. There is something in the universe-I don't know, some spirit, some principle-that you will never overcome."
"Do you believe in God, Winston?" "No." "Then what is it, this principle that will defeat us?" "I don't know. The spirit of Man." "And do you consider yourself a man?"
"Yes."
"If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man. Your kind is extinct; we are the inheritors. Do you understand that you are alone? You are outside history, you are nonexistent."”
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𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “When the FBI busted down my door, the last thing I was expecting to see was a hot, young agent. But then, our two worlds collided and I couldn’t let him leave my side.”
𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: A FBI!Kuroo Tetsurou x Writer!Akaashi Keiji short fic
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: mentions of blood, crime scenes and any other material needed for mystery novels
𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This story is just me being inspired from a prompt that I have seen on Tumblr and decided that this pairing suited it the best.
𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕
It is not surprising that at whatever Akaashi strived to do, he was always the best. When he was seven, he picked up drawing and happened to win a competition just a few months later. When he was fourteen, history was a subject he found intriguing and competed in for the rest of his school days. Pictures are plastered on his family's wall where he is holding up 'First place' trophies. So when he decided to pursue a Literature and Creative Writing degree, his family was more than welcome to support him with his dreams. He published a best-seller during his second year and his teacher assigned him as one of the assistants, offering him a spot as a professor when he finishes his Master's.
Akaashi was not interested in teaching. Even during university, he felt the stuffy air of the classroom and bustling voices of the other students to be very irritating and too much of a hassle for him. His parents paid extra to accommodate him in a single-bed dorm so he would have the most peace any university student would want. That dorm was the same place Akaashi wrote his second novel: 'The Lost Case of Neverland', a mystery novel he found very peculiar and interesting to write. That was when he decided to focus his talent on writing solely mystery novels.
There was no doubt that he was a very mysterious person himself. Even now, at 27 years of age and standing in an empty living room with boxes around him, Akaashi was still an enigma to many. He moved, rather out of the blue, to this little town called 'Brightwood'. Population 600, Brightwood was the perfect place for Akaashi to settle down and pursue further writing escapades. Finding a house that was affordable and isolated from the rest of the houses on the only street in town, he bid farewell to his parents and a handful of friends before moving.
Someone who had the needed amount of money to happily live in a big city has now moved to a run-down, closed-off town that hardly has anything going for it? It wasn't even located on the map. His parents were nervously awaiting for him to call and let them know that he had finally arrived at his new home, but what shocked them immensely was a text message from Keiji that was sent right before he entered the town:
'There is no signal in this town. You won't be able to reach me while I'm here.'
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
A few days have passed since the boxes have been neatly placed in the corner and minimal furniture found it's way into the house. The state of the house was not something to be proud of. House n.66 was the cheapest house in town. Once owned by an old couple that passed away from old age in said house, the state was awful. Floorboards that were creaking, the roof that was leaking and there was always a spider a day crawling its way out into the open. But, this was exactly what Akaashi was looking for.
'A mystery novel isn't a mystery novel until the writer puts himself in the character's shoes,' Akaashi would say to people who asked him how was he so good at writing mystery novels. All of his novels had this eerie feeling. It was not fit for a nightly read because they were terrifying, but they also never let you leave their content because of how engrossing they were. He couldn't count the number of times someone would ask him if he was possessed by a demon or if there's a ghost haunting his home. Akaashi would always say maybe.
His good looks were pleasuring for the eyes as well. A lot of women came up to Akaashi during book signing events and asked for an autograph on the weirdest of places. He was never able to hide his annoyance, but they always seemed to decipher that as something sexual and not the complete opposite. It usually took Akaashi getting dozens of numbers and sexual compliments to snap and ask that the book signing ends early. Even though his temper was unappealing to some, no one decided to leave his works because they were that amazing.
When the campaign for Akaashi's upcoming novel 'If I Were A Killer' started, people could hardly contain the excitement at the thought of another phenomenal novel in their hands. Rather unwillingly, Akaashi gave a short interview regarding the upcoming release and stated that if everything goes as planned, the novel should be published in a few months. He also added that he will be completely unavailable to the public eye for the time being so that he can finish his novel in peace. That interview was the last time Akaashi was seen in the public eye.
Now, with a cup of black tea in his hand and the fireplace quietly crackling in the background, Akaashi was ready to work on the final chapters of the novel. It was a novel that challenged him greatly as an author because it differed from his other work quite greatly. His editor was not too keen on this novel, it was too heavy to read and felt as if the storyline would be too difficult to understand:
'Akaashi-san, I don't think such a novel would be greatly appreciated in the public. It seems like it will be very hard to read-'
'I've already made my decision and the plot has already been developed. I do not plan on changing anything Furudate-san.'
'But Akaashi, isn't it extremely difficult to write someone who's a serial killer?'
He only smirked at the words of his editor and continued drinking his already cold tea. 'You don't know Furudate-san,' Akaashi glanced at his editor, something mysterious glinting in his eyes,' just how much that topic interests me.'
His editor didn't want to admit how the obvious coffee stain on his suit appeared. 'My hands were just shaking,' he said to the dry-cleaners, but the evil-like gaze he got from Akaashi was something he would never forget.
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
It was proven to be a very easy task for Akaashi. Before moving to Brightwood, he spent hours researching everything there was to know about serial killers and their ways of work. From what triggered them to how they dispose of bodies. Akaashi had everything written down in his documents. One of the main reasons he moved to Brightwood is that his novel was set right in this little town. You could say that he was invested in this novel, paying attention to every single detail and writing it with such ease. So, when he found out about such a small town, he figured it was the perfect setting for his novel. What doesn't interest people more than a serial killer wreaking havoc in a small town like Brightwood, where everyone seems to 'know' their neighbors that well?
'When shit happens, everyone is everyone's enemy. Nobody is safe from the obvious hate and mistrust. Who was once drinking coffee in your backyard is now suspected of murder? Who was once dropping newspapers on the street is now sentenced to life in prison? Can you trust the people living with you? How can we be so sure of what's going on in another person's mind? Life wouldn't be this interesting if we knew everything, would it?'
The night was very calm, the perfect fit for Akaashi to add something new to his ever-growing novel. The complete silence would be nerve-wracking for most, but it suited Akaashi perfectly. He enjoyed not hearing the bustling noise he couldn't get rid of in his dorm or continuous shuttering of cameras during promotion periods. He was alone with his thoughts. Perfect for writing mystery novels with serial killers. Once he finished writing the predicted part for today, Akaashi closed his laptop and went to drop off his dirty dishes in the sink. He was crossing the hallway with his empty mug in hand when he heard a commotion on the street. 'There must be some kind of party going on out there,' Akaashi shook his head at the thought, thinking back to the day he first moved to this town. The neighbors were quick to welcome him and offer any kind of needed help. They were also preparing a welcoming party for the newcomer, but once Akaashi found out about it, he immediately shut it down and said he wasn't the type for parties.
'Maybe that's why nobody has visited me these past few days.'
While he was thinking back to his neighbors, the commotion outside was becoming clearer and louder. It started to feel like they were right outside his door, banging up a storm. To Akaashi, the constant noise reminded him of pencil tapping on the desks in his university classes, just much more boosted. He could feel his brain pulsating in his head, any kind of loud noise irritates him greatly and his annoyance starts to show. Trying to calm himself down as much as possible, he took a deep breath and continued his way to the kitchen. Not even a step further, his front door was suddenly on his floor. The entrance was completely bare. It should be showing the clear night sky, but all Akaashi saw were dozens of people dressed in black, equipped with heavy machinery. Unceremoniously, the empty mug was shuttered on the ground and Akaashi was down on his knees with unknown people surrounding him.
'FBI! DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW AND HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!'
The last thing Akaashi saw before his head and body were forcefully pinned to the ground was the shattered mug on the floor and a mop of messy black hair. He looked too hot in Akaashi's eyes and it wasn't fair that he got to wear that smug smirk on his face while Akaashi was here mopping the floor with his body. Akaashi isn't a puppet. He was always the puppeteer.
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𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @mysticrainpain @kawaiibaka96 @kashika @brokutoforever @shangyinn-ig @miyulovestowrite @heccingdead @kellyyween @death-waves-to-me @bareeganbaree @caxsthetic
#if i were a killer#kuroaka#haikyuu fic#kuroo testuro#kuroo tetsurō#kuroo#hq kuroo#akaashi keiji#hq akaashi#akaashi fic#kuroo fic#kuroo x akaashi#haikyuu#haikyū!!#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu headcanons#hq x reader#hq#hq season 4
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NSFS Prompt
Prompt: ❝ The only part about you that matters is your body. ❞ top virgil with bottom roman???
{Warning: Dubcon}
Roman knows Virgil is in a mood, tonight. The quiet, calculated way he moves, the hungry glances he keeps shooting towards Roman. Normally, Virgil is much more clunky, full of sarcastic quips or the like. When he gets in his moods though, he’s like a storm cloud, and the lightning always comes right for Roman. Virgil saves his worst for Roman, who’s the only one who can take it. That’s alright, though, usually Roman likes the way it hurts. It means he has a use for his master, right? Virgil won’t get rid of him?
Toying with a loose strand on the sheet, Roman waits in the bedroom, shifting uncomfortably. The toy left inside him is a tad too thick, but Virgil enjoys seeing Roman squirm when he’s in the right mood. Roman’s even gone through the trouble of a little makeup, making himself pretty in a way he hopes Virgil will like. There’s not much Roman won’t do to gain Virgil’s satisfaction; it’s a shame Virgil is so greedy with it. Soon, the telltale sound of footsteps starts upstairs, and Roman stiffens, straightens. He looks to the door when it begins to open, hurrying to stand up.
When Virgil enters, the entire room drops a couple degrees. Roman bows, well trained (and aware Virgil isn’t to be trifled with right now) and then looks up, quiet. Virgil gives him a once-over, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You dolled yourself up for me?” he asks, kicking the door shut behind him. Roman straightens when his master approaches, trying not to lean into that cool hand as Virgil lifts his chin, appraising Roman. Virgil hums, before he grabs Roman’s wrist and shoves him backwards onto the bed. Roman lands with a hushed gasp, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
“Undress,” Virgil orders, already working on his own pants. Roman can see, already, it’s not going to be gentle. Still, he complies, not wasting a moment until he’s bared and splayed out on the bed. Virgil’s on him in a second, like a predator finally indulging. Virgil’s teeth find Roman’s throat, biting, and Roman arches his back with a groan. He wears bruises like they’re jewelry.
“Sir,” Roman murmurs, daring to trace his fingers down Virgil’s back. Virgil takes his wrist and shoves it down onto the bed, before he seems to change his mind and instead uses it to roughly guide Roman to turn over. A hand presses on the back of Roman’s neck, holding him, while Virgil’s free hand slips lower. Roman bites the sheets when his master starts to work the plug out of him, lubricant glistening on his hole still.
“Pretty sight,” Virgil exhales the words, and Roman feels his cock hardening. Virgil moves, spreading Roman’s thighs.
Roman flinches a bit. “Sir, please—” he begins, but he never finishes before a hand in his hair pushes his head down. He’s not sure asking for it to be slow would’ve mattered.
Virgil hushes him, lips close to Roman’s ear as he presses the tip of his cock against Roman’s stretched hole. He knows he won’t break his pet, he’s kept ready. Without warning, he thrusts inside, burying his cock inside Roman’s inviting heat, and ignoring the yelp Roman muffles against the sheets. “God, you feel so good,” Virgil hisses, dropping his forehead against Roman’s shoulder. He starts to roll his hips, rocking into Roman with enough force to make their hips smack together.
Roman clenches the sheets in his hands, panting feverishly as Virgil takes him. It’s hard, it’s fast—it’s not romantic, but Roman doesn’t expect that. Not usually. He raises his hips a little to let Virgil fuck him deeper, each thrust pushing Roman’s cock down against the bed so he can grind against it. Roman whines, staining the sheets with pre-cum. Virgil’s hands bruise his slave’s waist, bringing him closer as he fucks into him, feels his tight muscles spasming around his cock.
When he’s angry, Virgil doesn’t last as long. Roman should be grateful, considering how hard Virgil always goes when he gets like this, but a part of him is regretful when Virgil stills, his hips shuddering as he fills Roman to the brim. Roman’s chest heaves, a throaty groan escaping him. Beneath him, the sheets are wet, but he doesn’t even know when he came. Eventually, Virgil pulls out, dropping Roman’s hips and leaving him in his mess.
Roman winces as he rolls over, glancing at his master and reaching a hand out. “Sir?” he asks, hoping he’s appeased Virgil.
Virgil glances at him, cleaning up with a towel that he next tosses at Roman. “Clean yourself,” he orders. “The only part about you that matters is your body.”
Roman drops his hand against the bed immediately, cutting his eyes away. Virgil is rough in these moods, even rougher with his words. Roman pretends not to care, because they’re always like this, snapping back and forth. But still, the words stung. He sits up to clean himself, and Virgil leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Roman pretends not to care about that, too.
#my writing#sanders sides fic#sanders sides fics#nsfs fics#nsfs fic#not safe for sanders#nsfs roman#nsfs virgil#slave //#dubcon //#i was lowkey torn about making this mean or playful and ended up going for the former lmao#also lowkey virgil as the 'bad guy' is so much fun i'm js#but also i'm sorry#dom virgil#dom!virgil#sub roman#sub!roman#prinxiety#nsfs prinxiety
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