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#that's how he wants to control them not by controlling their internal processes

sunderwight · 3 months

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Crack SVSSS Mpreg AU where when Shen Yuan transmigrates in, the system impregnates him with the displaced soul of the original Shen Qingqiu.

For the purposes of this AU, we'll say that male pregnancies or trans men being pregnant in the PIDW universe are uncommon but not especially noteworthy concepts.

So now not only does he have to deal with recovering from his qi deviation and of course being pressed into the role of the scum villain from the novel he was just reading, he's also mysteriously knocked up, can't explain it, and doesn't even know for sure if the baby will recollect being Shen Jiu when its born -- and of course hate him for stealing the Shen Qingqiu life.

What's more, Shen Yuan can't bring himself to get rid of it, because he does have mixed feelings about stealing Shen Jiu's life as well. Even though he knows it's probably the best tactical move, and he doesn't even like Shen Jiu, and the system has said there wouldn't be any penalties because it wouldn't impact the major important plot milestones, he opts to just... keep it. And not think too hard about it.

Luckily(?) cultivators have a lot of control over their bodies, which means a pregnancy can last however long they want it to, so Shen Yuan doesn't have to worry about giving birth in a hurry. SJ seems fine in utero, stalling his development doesn't have adverse effects, so Shen Yuan just swears Mu Qingfang to secrecy and figures out how to keep his pregnancy at the early stages for as long as possible while he hashes everything else out. So apart from internal freak-outs, most of the early plot proceeds as usual.

Unluckily(?), this state of affairs changes when Shen Qingqiu gets infected with Without-a-Cure, as that makes it so that putting off the inevitable is no longer a viable course of action. He can't spare the extra energy and doesn't have the stability of cultivation required to mess around with his pregnancy anymore, so things have to proceed at a more normal rate.

Which means the other peak lords and the disciples on Qing Jing find out that Shen Qingqiu has been harboring a secret pregnancy for an undetermined length of time. Shen Yuan has to bite the bullet and use the amnesia excuse to explain his lack of insight to the existence of any other parents (he's surprised it works so well, because he doesn't know that the rest of the sect has already figured out he doesn't remember some things after his fever), which inspires a lot of behind-the-scenes chaos because everyone has ALSO figured out that Shen Qingqiu's amnesia seems to pertain to things that must have traumatized him in the past.

So if he's pregnant, and he lost his memories of how he got that way...

Well. Cang Qiong is now on the hunt for an attacker who might already be dead and doesn't actually exist.

But everyone agrees that Shen Qingqiu doesn't need to be troubled by these details, so if he's okay with not remembering, then they're okay with letting him not remember. The only one who tries to bring it up is Liu Qingge, and that's mostly in the context of wanting clues so he can track down the culprit and stab them until they are dead.

Luo Binghe supports the quest to find the persona responsible and violently murder them, but as a disciple he has no resources to actually go on some wild goose chase for a mystery rapist. Besides, he has more important things to do on the peak, like making Shizun's meals, keeping Shizun's house, and preparing to help raise Shizun's baby. Luo Binghe is not going to be the stepdad, he is going to be the dad who stepped up! (Binghe please cool your jets you're like fifteen you're going to give your future shizun whole new inner turmoil about whether it's possible to accidentally babytrap your own teenage disciple via immaculate conception reincarnation pregnancy...)

Anyway eventually baby SJ arrives, and Shen Yuan immediately decides to block all recollections of the childbirth process and never dwell on it again. Something happened, he's no longer going to think about it, oh look a baby! A potentially evil villain baby. With cute widdle toes and tiny fingers and a squished, grumpy baby face that gets all red when he cries...

Yeah. Despite his reservations, there's no way he's not getting attached.

He gets Binghe to help him pick out a name for the baby, partly because he feels terribly presumptuous when he actually knows this kid's real name (but he can hardly call his son "Shen Jiu"), partly to encourage Luo Binghe to have some fondness for the kid so that if he someday hates his old shizun, he might still spare his "son" from his revenge. Even though it's actually SJ's fault. Well, he's a baby now. He probably doesn't even remember anything! He sure does cry a lot! Would the OG villain cry and fuss and settle down only after being sufficiently cuddled?

Turns out, yes. Shen Jiu remembers everything from before his fatal qi deviation. He's just also still an infant. So what can he do but cry? And maybe pee on the beast and that body-stealing creature that has reduced him to this. He spends most of his early infancy waiting for someone to come smother him with a pillow, but the conspirators must want to keep him alive for some reason, because it doesn't happen. Instead he gets looked after and soothed and taken care of in a way he never has been. Also, his stupid baby instincts keep insisting that the creature which stole his body is actually the safest person in the whole world.

It's like a cruel joke. SJ finally gets the childhood he always wanted deep down inside, but the one giving it to him is some kind of monster.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #bingqiu #mpreg #long post #sj's gonna be a toddler by the time the abyss arc rolls around #that's gonna be a whole entire mess

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ecoamerica · 24 days

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youtube

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spacedace · 9 months

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Had a dc x dp brain worm, feel free to use as a prompt <3

Sidenote, I decided to get fancy with the Ancients titles because of course I did lol

Shifting Where = Space (Danny)

Eternal When = Time (Clockwork)

Ever Onward = Speedforce (Ellie)

---

Bruce watched the footage again.

And again.

Again.

It didn’t make sense.

A week ago every television, radio, computer, phone - even the LED billboards - had been taken over to deliver a message. Across the United States. In every territory it held. Every military base. Down in the depths of the oceans where American submarines tried to creep past Atlantian patrols. In the endless cold white of Antarctica. Even far above in the International Space Station. Any place the United States Government had control over, any place one of its citizens found themselves. There was the message.

The face of an entity, human in shape but not in form. Hair as gleaming white as starlight, eyes bright as the twisting dance of the Aurora Borealis, skin as cold and blue as the tail of a comet. The entity wore armor as black as the depths of space with a crown to match, the later glinting and shifting with the twisting birth and death of galaxies. A cloak of nebulae danced down his shoulders, eclipsing the world beyond the entity entirely.

He named himself, jaw tight, expression serious.

High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms.

The Shifting Where. Son of the Eternal When. Father of the Ever Onward. His Epitaphs many and ever growing. The True Balance. The Bridge Between. The Devourer of Dark. The Last Child of Between. The Great One.

King of the Dead. King of the Infinite Worlds. King of so much more than Bruce had ever even known was possible.

King who had declared war. Who marshaled his endless armies. Who spoke of warnings, of efforts to reach a peace, of trying again and again and again to find a way to not plunge into violence and bloodshed. All things living come to call him King in time, he had no want or need to go out and hurry that along. But there were no options left to him now. He had tried for peace. He had been denied.

He would not see his people suffer any longer. Would not see those he’d sworn to lead and protect imprisoned by fools who had sworn themselves enemies to all the afterlives. Would no longer permit the vicious cruelty to continue.

The message was a final warning.

A final offer.

Three days, Phantom said. The United States government would have three days to release their prisoners, to begin the process of dismantling the laws that made death itself an illegal act.

If they refused, he would lead his endless armies personally in the war to come.

It had not been an idle threat.

Three days after the message, after Bruce and the rest of the Justice League scrambled to try and figure out just what it was it was all about, after Justice League Dark’s members shakily took turns explaining just how powerful the being that had gave that message was and how much danger the world was in should he and his armies march upon their world, war came.

Of all places, it began in a town in Illinois.

The sky shattered like broken glass above, Lazarus Green beyond, and the Dead poured out.

It started in Illinois.

It did not end there.

Bruce watched the footage of it all, eyes burning as he watched every second of CCTV footage, every shaky phone camera video, every news broadcast.

Most of them looked human enough. Changed in death, but recognizably human once. A pair of glowing teenagers on a motorcycle, a writhing shadow twisting about at their command sweeping chaos upon the battlefield. A young woman dressed to perform with hair a literal flame, burning bright blue and snapping furiously as she played devastation upon her enemies with her guitar. A child with corpse gray skin and luminescent green hair, flickering in and out of Bruce’s ability to see as if fighting against a law of existence to be visible, screaming orders to a skeleton crew from his place on deck of a 1700s ship that sailed through the sky, disappearing into clouds before raining down attacks from above.

There was more. Glowing skeletons dressed in the fashions of war spanning every culture going back millennia. Robots with weapons far beyond the technology they had even in the League. Creatures of myth and legend. Things of nightmares.

Leading them all, as he had promised, was Phantom.

He looked younger, smaller. Just a boy, really, a gangly teenager that hadn’t quite finished growing into himself. One holding power beyond anything Bruce could ever imagine, but still just a child as far as he could see, no older than Tim who’d just graduated high school. Frantic research found Phantom appearing as far back as human history, but those sightings had to have been after his death. Bruce can’t help but wonder how young the boy had been when he died, how much of that youth still clung to him through all these eons.

It wasn’t something he’d let him self consider normally, not with something like this.

A dangerous unknown appearing without warning and attacking with unimaginable power and seemingly endless forces. It was something that would normally eclipse everything else. Something that would make Bruce put aside the ache at seeing a face so young twisted in rage.

But.

He watched all the footage.

Civilians were put in the crossfire. Were shot at and endangered. Were left terrified and scrambling for safety in buildings that were rapidly being torn away by stray artillery.

But never by Phantom or his armies.

The dead, in fact, went very far out of their way to ensure civilians weren’t harmed. Sweeping people up out of the way of falling debris. Shielding them from attacks that would have most certainly killed a normal human. Some dead even helped evacuate, ushering a frightened and panicked populous to safety as gently as they were capable of. Some of the less human creatures - giant bear-like beings with horns and fangs and ice edging their burly frames - even rushed forward to offer medical aid.

When the sky shattered open and the armies of the dead swept in, they ignored the town below. They focused instead on what was discovered later to be the base of a secretive government agency. The dead’s fight focused on those individuals in sharp white suits, bearing weapons capable of actually injuring King Phantom’s people.

It was these agents that brought the fight to the streets to Amity Park. That fired recklessly and without thought or care to the casualties they could inflict. That didn’t seem to care if they killed a hundred civilians if it meant hurting just one of Phantom’s soldiers.

Bruce watched all the footage.

And again.

Again.

Phantom had declared war.

Phantom spoke in his message of being out of options, of attempting peace. Phantom gave three days time for the release of captives. Phantom lead armies who fought viciously but never once willingly harmed civilians.

Phantom declared war, but he didn’t want it.

“Amanda Waller has reached out.”

Bruce didn’t turn his attention from the screens before him, eyes burning as he followed Phantom as the King dove away from the middle of locked combat to shield a child from a pulse of green energy from something like a grenade another agent in white had carelessly thrown. The child was crying but unharmed. The left pauldron of Phantom’s armor cracked and shattered from a direct shot from the enemy he’d just been fighting that he’d turned his back on, a glowing green liquid uncomfortably like Lazarus Water dripped down from a smoldering wound.

Clark stepped up to stand beside him as he watched, face worn and tired. The League had missed the first battle, but they’d been quick to appear at the rest. Phantom and his army ignored them unless they put themselves purposefully in the way of the fight. They were, as Justice League Dark had warned, vastly out powered by the entities fighting. A hulking giant knight made of shadow riding a nightmarish steed had driven Clark six feet down into the dirt when he’d attempted to make his way to Phantom directly to try and talk to the king.

The depth Clark had ended up felt like a warning of what would happen if he tried to get close to the king again.

It probably was.

“She said they have intel for us.” A faint twitch of fingers, jaw clenching, voice flat in that way that told Bruce his old friend was fighting back anger with everything he had. “That she has options for how to deal with the insurgence.”

Bruce shut off the monitors.

He’d seen enough.

Now was time to get answers to just what, exactly, Amanda Waller and the US government had done to cause the Dead to rise and rage.

---

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #bruce wayne #clark kent #danny fenton #amanda waller #ghost king danny #ghost zone goes to war #space core danny #ancient of space danny #i'm gonna make ancient of the speedforce Elle a thing if it kills me lol #it just fits so well #Bruce's dad senses are tingling #Fright Knight might have been able to bat Clark away but if Bruce gets within a 100ft of Danny it's game over #Bat-Adoption Papers deployed #BatFam up a new member (or three or six)#Amanda Waller is not going to be as persuasive as she thinks she's going to be when it comes to getting the JL onboard with her plans

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steveharringtonat3am · 2 months

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Do you think you could write something about doing your makeup routine in front of Steve? I feel like he’d be so fascinated about the process

“What’s that?” Steve sits on your bed behind you, watching through the mirror of your vanity. You hold up the tube in question and he nods.

“This is just tinted moisturizer. I use it under my foundation to colour correct.” You explain, showing him the bottle of foundation you use. Pumping some onto the back of your hand prompts another question.

“Why do you put it on your hand?” He’s sat up now, starting to get interested in the process. He’s seen you with and without makeup plenty of times, but never in between.

“It’s just easier. I can control how much I get on the brush and see how much I need.” You begin blending the foundation into your skin and it’s clear that Steve is only now making the connection as to how your skin changes tone every so often.

“Is it supposed to be a little…off?” He asks in an attempt to be polite about it. He relaxes when he sees you laugh at him in your reflection.

“Yes babe. It’s kinda hard to find a perfect match so I go a little lighter and then correct it with bronzer.” You hold up the compact in question and he nods as if he has any idea what it is. You pull out your concealer, dabbing some on your undereyes and on a few spots. He’s gotten distracted fixing his hair, but grabbing a new brush draws his attention back to you.

“What’s that for?”

“Well, since someone wants to stay up late and makeout, I have to use this and cover my dark circles.” He can only smile sheepishly at your remarks.

“I can’t help it. You look so pretty before bed.” You hum in response, making a note to do your skincare from here tonight.

“Anyways, this is the bronzer.” You place some underneath your cheek bone, blending in the warmer powder to bring in some colour to your face.

“That looks nice.” He nods in approval as he sees your face return to it’s normal shade. He continues to watch as you pull out a small compact of blush. You ignore his cheshire grin when you force a small smile to bring out the apples of your cheeks.

“Stop it.”

“I can’t help it, you look adorable.”

“It’s a stupid face. You’re not allowed to look anymore.” You chastise, putting away the pink powder. Internally, you can’t help but feel flattered. If a man likes your stupid makeup faces, he really loves you.

“Come on! You look so pretty.” You roll your eyes as you pick up your mascara.

“Be quiet for this one.” You instruct, ignoring the way he mock-zips his mouth. You bring the thoroughly coated wand to your lashes, gently coating them. You repeat the process and once you pull away, Steve lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding.

“That looked horrifying!” He complains, climbing off the bed to get super close to your face until he’s convinced you hadn’t poked an eye out.

“I’m fine babe. See?” You flutter your eyes at him but his frown persists.

“Is that all?” He fixes a strand of your hair as you place your things in your makeup bag.

“Just lipgloss and I’m done.” You swipe the wand over your lips a few times, smiling at him when you’re done. The poor gloss lasts for a second before Steve swoops in to press his lips against yours messily. When he’s done, there’s sticky pink gloss on both of your lips and chins.

“There!” He smiles proudly. “Now we match.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington hc #steve harrington hcs #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington dialogue #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader fanfiction

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eroguron0nsense · 6 months

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Garp, Fascism, and Parental Failure

Garp is truly one of the most interesting One Piece characters for me because of the extent to which his dogged, relentless devotion to a fascist system–and the supposed "order" it promises to uphold in the face of anarchy or rebellion–perseveres no matter how many times it fails him and his son and his grandsons. He's fully aware of the deep-seated corruption and atrocity, and feels some kind of moral obligation to bend its rules to protect the innocent (as we can see with his attempts to protect Rouge and Ace), but when faced with widespread femicide and infanticide, genocide, slavery and endless examples of egregious cruelty, he is unable to comprehend the notion that the system is indefensible, or that the only moral choice he can possibly make when faced with that level of atrocity is to leave and resist it. His son recognizing the inherent, inexcusable failures of the World Government and its armed enforcers–literally quitting the force to start a revolution– changes nothing. The order to slaughter pregnant people and infants at Baterilla can't convince him otherwise. The countless instances of bribery, the tolerance of atrocity from state-sanctioned privateers, everything about the history of the Valley of the Gods are all things he's aware of, and takes issue with, but never comes to the conclusion that he cannot affect positive change within a system designed for oppression. The public execution of his grandson–a prime example of the marine's fundamentally irrational, arrogant, vindictive cruelty clearly bound to blow up in all of their faces even before their Pyrrhic victory at the summit war–makes him waver, but even when confronted with this obvious, indefensible injustice against a child he raised and rescued by people seeking to murder him on live TV and desecrate his corpse as a show of power, he cannot bring himself to act against it in any meaningful way no matter how much it hurts him to leave his grandson to die. If he can't veto it, he'll stay Vice Admiral and suffer through Ace being sacrificed on the altar of fascist state control, and functionally leave Luffy for dead in the process while he's at it. He fails every single person he wanted to love–Ace, Luffy, and almost certainly Dragon–and allows himself to be reluctantly complicit in countless crimes against humanity again and again and again because he's so deeply steeped in this notion of preservation of order through state control that he convinces himself that even this disgusting, atrocious, fundamentally flawed and untenable excuse for a government is better than abolition, better than revolution, or just the act of expecting accountability or literally anything better from the systems that issue false promises to protect you. Dadan beating the living shit out of him and calling him a failure as a grandfather, as a self proclaimed defender of the people, is one of the most important scenes in the Postwar Arc because a lesser series might frame Garp as a tragic, helpless figure suffering more than anyone else due to conflict of love and duty, but One Piece refuses to whitewash his actions/inaction or allow the grief and suffering caused by systems he's complicit in to take precedence over its real victims: the D brothers.

There's so much I could say about statism and anarchism and the ways people have internalized the supposed necessity of state violence to the extent they can't oppose that violence even when it ruins them or their loved ones, but that horrible indoctrination and its devastating consequences for both him and his family are what makes Garp so fascinating to watch and so thematically/politically important to One Piece as a whole.

#monkey d garp #monkey d. luffy #monkey d dragon #portgas d ace #one piece #curly dadan #marineford #one piece text posts #portgas d rouge #one piece marines #garp one piece #garp the fist #vice admiral garp #crocodile did more to try and help ace than garp #fucking crocodile

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redbullgirly · 3 months

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Hellooo 👋, can you write enemies to lovers with fernando alonso maybe with some angst? 🤭

It's totally alright if you don't want to! Thankssss :))

EL DESTINO [FA14 oneshot]

Fernando Alonso x reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N works for Alpine, and even though Fernando Alonso isn't part of the team anymore, they can't forget their distaste for each other. The driver seems to think she's just an irresponsible party girl and Y/N doesn't like him because he's, well... annoying and mean and doesn't care about anybody but himself. Though could they be both wrong in their prejudices?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Not much, maybe they're kind of mean to each other and stupid at the start, but that's the point of enemies to lovers, right? XD

Author's Note: Hello Anon and thank you for the request! I didn't expect it to turn out so long, but hey XD. I hope you and everybody else will like it. Also I tried for a little bit of angst, but I'm not sure if I'm good at it... you can let me know :).

If anyone could read your thoughts at the moment, you’d probably end up locked behind bars and with the key from your cell thrown far away. Whoever's great idea was to allow the group of inexperienced interns to touch the important data and statistics deserved to rot seven feet underground. Chopped into small pieces. And doused in poison that eats their lifeless body until there's nothing left.

Okay, that's maybe a bit too violent, but still not far from the truth.

You rubbed your tired eyes, not caring about smudging the mascara anymore. There was basically no one left in the building, just a few mechanics desperately needing the cars to be in perfect condition tomorrow – or should we say today? And then there was you, who stupidly agreed to fix the disaster caused by too much excitement and not enough cautiousness. You knew the interns didn't do it on purpose, and blaming them wasn't going to help you, but still. It wasn't them who had to sit there long after their working hours ended, staring into a too bright computer screen.

When you finally managed to save all the damaged data, it was almost three in the morning, and before you made it back to the hotel, you weren't sure if it was even worth going to bed. Because of the emergency, you didn't have time to finish your usual duties. And even though it wouldn't be fair to want the analysis from you, that wasn't how the game was played in motorsport.

Legs almost giving out under you, you dragged yourself to the elevator. The poor lady sitting at the receptionist desk looked at you skeptically, but didn't say anything as you stepped in and pressed the button with the number of your floor on it. Generic music started playing, numbing your brain even more.

The metal door was about to close, but then a hand came between it. Before you blinked and processed what's happening, a man slipped into the elevator right next to you, pressing his own number.

You see, everything could have been fine. You could've just survived the thirty seconds of embarrassing silence, then mumble a polite goodbye and go to sleep in peace. But no. Fate apparently had other plans for you.

Because as the man turned to you and the bright light hit his face, you realized it wasn't just some stranger.

Suddenly, the silence shifted from the normal elevator weirdness to tension. You pressed your lips together, silently cursing the higher power that decided to mess with your life just today, when you looked like a zombie. With smudged mascara. Perfect.

For someone, maybe it would be a fulfilled dream to be in an elevator with Fernando Alonso. Two time World Champion, great driver, loved person. And a dickhead that almost ruined your whole career.

“You look like you had a wild night,” he murmured with a thick Spanish accent. You narrowed your brows, trying to control the anger bubbling inside of you. Was he trying to insult you? You wouldn't even be surprised.

“Perhaps I did, thank you very much.” Your voice lacked any signs of friendliness, clearly trying to provoke him. It was quite funny, really, how a minute ago you didn't have energy to think clearly, and now you were ready to argue with this man over anything. Almost like the magic of despising someone.

You noticed his jaw tensing and knew it wouldn't be good. But still, his words hurt: “Maybe if you focused more on doing your job instead of wild nights out, Alpine would do better.”

The sting in your chest was strong, but by some miracle the elevator finally stopped, and the robotic voice announced the twenty-sixth floor. Even life itself took pity on you, it seemed.

Without any other word, you turned away from Alonso and walked into the empty hallway, hearing a quiet scoff and then the door sliding closed again behind you, leaving you all alone in the darkness. How poetic.

Every door you passed looked exactly the same, and you just hoped you remembered your room number correctly.

You didn't even remember taking out the card and entering your temporary home for the weekend. You didn't remember taking your clothes off, removing the remaining makeup with a tissue because you were too tired for your usual skin care routine. You didn't remember responsibly setting up your alarm and then falling into the soft mattress.

All you could remember before the exhaustion took over were his words that cut deeper than he thought, and deeper than you'd like to admit.

-----

You couldn't believe it.

As you walked out of the debrief, you could basically feel everybody's frustration crawling up your spine, mixing with your own. The team, all the mechanics and engineers, pit crew members and marketing, hundreds of people worked so hard the whole week. And for what?

It was already bad when both cars didn't finish the last Grand Prix in Silverstone. But for it to happen again? That was downright embarrassing. Not only did it bring exactly zero points in the Constructors' Championship, but the drivers were angry, disappointed. You could see that in the team, the motivation level decreased quickly. And honestly, you couldn't blame them.

Last year, Alpine was the fourth-best car on the grid. Best of the rest, as they'd call it. But this season, everything was going terribly. You honestly weren't far from crying.

To lighten up the mood, some of your colleagues decided to enjoy a night out in Budapest before you'd have to fly to Belgium tomorrow, to prepare for yet another racing weekend. At first, you declined the offer, insisting you needed to catch up on some work, do analysis for the car and figure out exactly what happened to it. But then, one of the mechanics you were friendlier with saw your drooping shoulders, and pulled you into the club despite all your weak protests.

Soon enough, you let loose and after an hour, you were a few drinks in. Your head was spinning, a big smile planted on your lips and giggles coming out of your mouth uncontrollably. Not that you had low alcohol tolerance, but the last time you got properly drunk was some time ago. Perhaps you just forgot how it felt. The freedom, the sweet mist of oblivion clouding your mind.

Currently, you were sitting at the bar, sipping on a cocktail. You already enjoyed your time on the dance floor, which tired you more than expected. Thank God you went to the club right from the paddock, so instead of high heels that'd kill your feet, you had comfortable sneakers on.

As you waved at the young barman to give you another round of whatever he mixed for you before, you felt someone's eyes on your back. You didn't bother to turn around, thinking it was just another drunken man checking out half of the women in the club.

Then, someone stood behind you. “The drink's on me, hermosa,” the man said, voice smooth like honey. You froze. You knew that deep, thick Spanish accent too well. What the hell was Alonso doing here?

He clearly mistook your silence for an impressed one, or so you thought when he came to sit down next to you, his hand gently brushing your back. That was the moment you turned your head towards him, eyes wide, and his face dropped. So did yours.

You hoped for a split second you could pretend you were total strangers randomly meeting in a bar for just a little longer when he instantly frowned and his demeanor changed from charming gentleman to pain in the ass.

“Y/L/N,” he uttered it in a way that made you wonder if there was something wrong with your last name. “Guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you here.”

And here it was — the instant wave of anger and hurt he managed to bring up by just a few poking words.

“Says the right person.” You rolled your eyes, the flowing feeling the alcohol gave you before now gone. You felt like you were going to be sick. “I bet if it wasn't me you tried to hit on, you'd bring the poor woman to your hotel room tonight.”

“Careful, or you might sound jealous.”

“Oh, you wish, Alonso,” you laughed humorlessly.

The bartender chose that moment to bring you the requested cocktail you already forgot about. You gave him the cash, though you had no intention of actually drinking it. As always, Alonso left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I see you're drinking the team problems away,” he pressed harder, knowing damn well it was a sensitive topic. You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself to be the better person.

Then you looked into his dark eyes, and your self-control was gone. For some reason, you couldn't stand the look he was giving you. It was full of something that was too similar to disappointment. You hated people being disappointed in you, even if you hated that very person.

Out of nowhere, the alcohol kicked in, and you remembered why you didn't drink in clubs too often — it made you emotional. So stupidly sensitive that you couldn't stop your eyes from tearing up. You shook your head, opened your mouth, wanting to tell him something. Anything that'd make him just as much hurt as you were.

Instead, you bit your trembling lip and abruptly stood up. You almost knocked over the bar stool, though at the moment, you didn't really care.

Was it cowardly to run away from him and his harsh words? Yes, you knew that. But you did it in the elevator, and so you could do it again.

In a rush, you got through other people enjoying their night out, oblivious to the lump forming in your throat. You needed to get out, breathe in the fresh air and just forget about everything.

It was probably nearing midnight, and even though it was late July, you still shivered when you stepped outside the club. Just then you remembered you left your jacket back in the paddock. And you also realized the mechanic and his group of friends drove you here, and you had no idea where you were or how to get to your hotel room.

“Great. Just fucking perfect,” you mumbled to yourself, a few tears running down your cheeks. You wiped them away, willing yourself to calm down. Budapest couldn't be too different from other European cities, so you'd just walk to the nearest public transport station and then see what you could do from there. Yes, that was exactly what you're going to do, and it's going to be okay.

Having a plan calmed you down, at least a little. You walked in a direction you hoped would get you to the center and took your phone out. The battery was low, and you cursed yourself for not charging it during the day.

“Where are you going?” You winced and nearly dropped the phone when you heard the loud voice calling after you.

When you turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing before the club entrance.

“That's not any of your business,” you tried to sound tough, but it came out tired and weak. So instead, you lifted your head, trying to save the remaining bits of your dignity.

Alonso tilted his head, brown eyes studying you for a moment before he made a step towards you. “Don't tell me you don't have anyone to take you back to your hotel?” The undertone of his voice was strange, and if you didn't know better, you'd think it was worry seeping out.

“Oh, then I won't tell you,” you fired back, satisfied with your own answer as you turned around and left him standing there.

You made it around the block when a strong hand suddenly grasped your hand, and you screamed, prepared to fight whoever attacked you.

“¡Ay dios mío!” Alonso cursed and held his red cheek, where there was a clear hand print now.

You stared at each other in shock. You wanted to kill him for scaring you to death, but at the same time, you were relieved it was just him and not a creepy kidnapper.

“I'd say I'm sorry… but I'm not,” you managed to mumble. A weak attempt, you knew that. But it still seemed to wake him from his trance and make him scoff at you in annoyance.

However, he didn't let go of your hand.

“Let's go,” Alonso urged you back towards the direction you came from.

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Y/N, if you think I would let a drunk girl wander around a city she doesn't know, alone, at night… then you clearly don't know me at all.”

It took a few seconds for his words to hit you, and all there was left for you to do was to look up at him with surprise written all over your face. That seemed to annoy him for some reason, but with alcohol still very much present in your system, you didn't have the capacity to think about it too much.

“Let's go,” he repeated, though this time you didn't protest when he started walking towards what turned out to be his car. You knew it very well, from the years you used to work together, for the same team. Silently, you wondered how the hell did he get it to Hungary, but you soon forgot about that.

Fernando unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. Your mom would probably tell you to be more cautious about getting into the car of a man you didn't like and were sure he didn't like you as well. But hey, it's still better than being lost in a foreign city, right?

So you sat down, and before you could reach for the seatbelt, he took it and strapped you himself, mumbling something about safety hazards with drunk people. You were so surprised by that unexpected action you didn't even have time to feel offended.

You closed your eyes, the comfortable seat making you sleepy. You heard him get in the car as well and join the night traffic. For a moment, silence reigned and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel horrible and tense.

“Isn't it illegal to drive with alcohol?” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“I didn't drink anything in the club. Too busy with you.”

Just then, you realized you actually asked the question out loud.

“Sorry for ruining your celebration night. Probably didn't want to leave it with me,” you laughed quietly. When he approached you in the club, he thought you were a random pretty woman with whom he could share a drink and take her to his bed for a fun night.

“Whatever.” You could hear him shrug his shoulders. “Sorry for ruining your night. Though you don't have much to celebrate.”

That made you open your eyes and gaze at him. He was looking straight ahead, concentrating on the road ahead. The lights of the other cars occasionally landed on his face, and you wondered if he was always so handsome, or it were the cocktails speaking for you.

“Wow, even in an apology there's a hidden insult,” you snickered, though there was a small grin on your lips now. Yes, definitely the alcohol speaking for you, you told yourself.

This time, Fernando actually looked at you before he averted his sight back to the traffic. “I wasn't insulting you, Y/N. I was insulting the team.”

You raised your eyebrows, but didn't comment on it. It was pointless to argue over this, he had his opinion about Alpine and given the fact both your cars didn't finish two races in a row, you didn't have exactly the best arguments to convince him otherwise. After all, he was part of the team last year. And the year before.

For the rest of your ride, there wasn't much more said between the both of you. You were tired — not just because of the night out and drinking, but from the whole week, from the whole season.

Finally, he parked the car before a building you recognized. You didn't ask him how he knew which hotel your team booked, perhaps he remembered it was the same one as the year before. Honestly, you were just glad he helped you get out of the car and walked you inside.

Then, you found yourself in an elevator alone with Fernando, again. Though unlike a month ago, he gently held your hand for support this time.

You told him your room number and somehow, he got you all the way in front of the door. You thanked all the saints in the world when you dug the keys out of your purse. After three unsuccessful tries at unlocking the room, Fernando's patience apparently ran out. He took the keys out of your hand and silently opened the lock.

“Thanks,” you muttered, and let him lead you inside your own hotel room.

When the light switch turned on and illuminated all the papers lying around, he looked at you, flabbergasted.

“What's all this?”

You shrug your shoulders and look at him like he was stupid. Which he was, at least in your humble opinion. “Work. What else?”

“Yes, yes. But why is it… here?” He motions towards the desk, nightstands, and bed.

“Because I don't have time to do it all in the office.”

“You work overtime?”

Now you were starting to get irritated.

“Yes, I work overtime. Maybe if you weren't so insistent in thinking I'm a dumb party girl ever since I made one stupid mistake in your car's analysis a year ago, you'd see I'm actually trying my best.” You hated how hurt you sounded, pathetic in your own ears.

But honestly, who was he to judge you? You never actually stood up to him before, defended yourself against his mean words. You always sucked it up, let him complain about you to your boss, who almost fired you because of the driver's obvious distaste for you. And when he left the team at the end of last year, you never tried to contact him, talk to him. Fix your non-existent relationship.

Today, though, you had enough. Maybe it was the alcohol giving you courage, maybe it was his shocked face when he realized you actually did your job.

“Y/N, I-”

“Get out,” you said in a tone that didn't allow for any objections. Fernando seemed to understand, but the pained expression didn't leave his face when he slowly walked to the door. Like he didn't really want to leave, like he desperately wanted to tell you something.

You didn't care about him. He never cared about you before as well, did he?

And so, with one last, regretful look in his dark eyes, Fernando Alonso left your hotel room. When tears ran down your cheeks, you weren't sure why you were even crying.

-----

You were avoiding him after that. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but you managed and after surviving the Belgian Grand Prix in Spa, you were excited about the summer break as never before. Almost a whole month without races, which meant you wouldn't have to meet anyone from the other teams, including Fernando.

Usually, the team worked tirelessly through the summer break — it was a great chance to have a proper look into the car's engine and come up with new ideas and improvements. God knew you needed that. Typically, you were amongst those loyal employees, basically living in the Alpine headquarters.

However, this year you really wanted a break. So you used your vacation days and stayed in your flat, finally sleeping like a normal person for once, eating home-cooked meals instead of team catering and enjoying the summer, though the weather could be better in England.

It was the start of August when you started finding flower deliveries on the threshold of your door. First, you thought it's a mistake, though what woman would refuse a beautiful bouquet of her favorite flowers. When it happened a whole week in a row, you thought about having a secret admirer or, in the worse case scenario, a stalker. Though, you still took the flowers inside every morning, cherishing them.

And then, one day, there was an envelope attached to the bouquet, and you had to curse yourself for being so, so stupid. Of course it's him, Fernando. Begging you to talk to him, to let him explain. One dinner, he said. One dinner, and then he'll let you go on about your life.

When he tried to write a poem in the middle of August, you finally gave in. You found his old phone number saved amongst many other contacts and sent him a simple “okay”.

The next morning, there was a time and address of the restaurant in the envelope.

You didn't let yourself get too excited about any of it. It's Fernando Alonso, the man who almost caused you to get fired from your dream job, the one that was so mean to you after making wrong assumptions about you and your way of life. Yes, he was trying now, but was that enough?

When the taxi dropped you off in front of the fancy restaurant, you took a deep breath. You had a simple dress on, light makeup, and a few accessories.

You walked into the empty restaurant. The waitress smiled at you when you told her the name of the reservation and led you to the only set table. You could see the deep brown eyes looking directly at you from afar.

Suddenly, nervousness settled in your stomach. If you didn't know better, you'd think this was a date — it certainly felt like one.

Without a word, he helped you sit down on a chair across from him and the waitress handed you the menu. It was without prices, but you were certain this place was lavish and expensive. Perhaps Fernando didn't want you to worry about it and let you order anything you wanted. And you tried not to be too impressed by that.

“You look very beautiful, hermosa,” he spoke after a minute of tense silence while you pretended to be interested in the menu. You didn't miss the fact he used the same nickname like that night in the club, when he thought you were someone else.

“Compliments won't make it easier for you.” Maybe you lied, because you liked him calling you beautiful.

“I know, but I couldn't help myself.”

The waitress came back with a bottle of wine that Fernando must've ordered before you arrived. You took a sip and it tasted like heaven. It almost made you forget about everything, almost.

“Please, can we talk?” You never heard his voice sound so… unsure.

“Aren't we talking right now?”

“Y/N.” The way he said your name was so soft, so delicate.

“Fernando.” You saw him flinch, and you realized it was probably the first time you called him by his first name. Suddenly, the whole situation felt more intimate.

He gulped, but there was determination written all over his face. Fernando Alonso wasn't the type of man to give up, you knew that. His amazing racing career was proof of that.

“Listen to me, please. I know that you have the right to never speak to me again after how I treated you. But I want to fix it, Y/N.”

Those brown eyes were going to be the death of you, burying themselves into your soul, your heart.

“I want to fix all of it, Y/N,” he repeated with all seriousness. “If you let me,” Fernando added.

And how could you say no to him? Deep down, you always admired him. Liked him, even. Before that fuck up with his car's analysis, you thought he might like you back. You always wanted his approval, and that was one of the reasons why his words and insults hurt so much.

Sometimes, people deserved second chances. Especially when they were looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

Slowly, you nodded. “I think I might let you, Fernando.” You smiled, liking how his name felt on your tongue. “But it's not going to be easy, I'm telling you that,” you warned him with a raised finger.

“I wouldn't dream of anything less,” he replied with a thick Spanish accent that was stronger when he felt emotions. Fernando returned your smile and clinked his glass with yours.

-----

Brazil was a good race. Both Alpine cars ended up in points and Fernando, your Fernando, got another podium. You clapped along with others during the podium ceremony, eyes just for him. A proud feeling settled in you, and as he accepted his trophy for well deserved third place, he looked down at the gathered crowd. Mostly people from Aston Martin, McLaren, and Red Bull.

And then there was you — in your Alpine t-shirt, clapping for the driver who scandalously left your team last year, without a care in the world. That was when he knew he loved you, and that he'll always will.

You knew you loved him too when, after all the celebrating around the circuit died down or moved to clubs and private parties, instead of going to his hotel room, he knocked on the door of yours. Checking on you.

“Hermosa, I hope you're not working.” He rolled his eyes as he stepped in, seeing you indeed staring into your notebook at some data he probably shouldn't see as a part of a rival team.

“But Nando, I need to finish these-”

He cut you off the best way he could — hugging you from behind, gently turning your head towards him and placing his lips on yours. You instantly melted into the kiss, giving up the fight before it could even start.

“I think you need to properly celebrate your boyfriend winning,” he smirked, biting your lip teasingly. You felt like a teenage girl when the butterflies took off in your stomach.

Fernando slowly walked you to the bed, never parting your lips, as if his life depended on kissing you. You sat on his lap, your hips grinding against his as you moaned into his mouth.

And he couldn't help himself. He wanted to take you out on a magical date and tell you there, but how could he keep it a secret when you were sitting on him, so beautiful that his heart clenched. Smart and pretty girl. His smart and pretty girl.

“Te amo,” he whispered into your sweet lips, and your breath caught.

You pulled back a little, looking at him, silently asking if you heard him correctly.

“Te amo, Y/N,” he repeated. You knew enough Spanish for your eyes to tear up. “I love you very much.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, probably the longest one in your whole life.

“I love you too. So much,” you whispered back. And then, for him: “Te amo, Fernando.”

Now it was his turn to tear up, hold your face in his hands and press your foreheads together.

Perhaps the fate and its plans for you weren't so horrible after all.

THE END

Author's Note: Wow, if you read it all to the end, thank you very much! I'll be glad for likes, comments, reblogs, follows and every other way of support. Let me know how you liked this story and if you'd maybe like another oneshot from this "universe" because I have to admit, this version of Fernando and Y/N kind of grew on me... Have a great day and see you at the next post! :)

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chococolte · 2 years

Text

☼ — giving them a collar

+ tugging on its leash

word count. 2.2k

characters included. zhongli, childe, al-haitham

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. not proofread we die like rex lapis

zhongli

The moment you hand the collar over, there's only a small pause of silence before Zhongli is already clicking it around his neck.

He doesn't give away his thought process, nor how flustered he is beyond the soft blush decorating his cheeks; but the truth is quite obvious once you know the signs. His small, quick breaths, his downward glance, the slight skip in his step— if Zhongli was in his draconic form, his tail would be wagging behind him. His millenniums of waiting were worth it just for this brief moment of paradise.

Internally, Zhongli's entire body is on fire. His heart feels like it's about to burst, threatening to jump right out of his chest and into your waiting hands. It is only with the self control he's attained as the previous Geo Archon that he manages to reel himself back in— before he further shames himself and caves, dropping to his knees and asking you to clarify; to do even more to him.

Owners give their precious pets collars, no? Which means you're laying claim on him. You're calling him your pet. You're calling him yours. You're saying you own him.

The mere thought makes Zhongli dizzy with bliss. To be yours, he thinks, is the greatest wish of them all. How many can say they have the honor, to have your eyes find them appealing in such a way? None other than him.

Zhongli thinks it's only right. None besides him have devoted half of their lifetimes to worshiping you. Only he has. It makes absolute sense for you to favor him above the rest, find him the best suited for you. The others can cry and beg for your undivided attention, but Zhongli is the only one who deserves it. None of them love you like he does. None of them worship you like he does, until their knees ache and hunger calls. Only he does.

He wears it even when unnecessary. Zhongli happily walks publicly wearing your gift, even when he rests. To take it off would be sacrilege. His god has given him a gift, who is he to refuse? It's with pride that he shows it off. When he particularly misses your presence, he plays with it, reminding himself that it's you who gave it to him.

You have given this to him. He must cherish it.

When you attach a leash, Zhongli feels like passing out. He gulps audibly, a visible warmth enveloping his cheeks. With you so near, he can smell you— to be so close to you leaves Zhongli wanting.

With one final 'click', he's connected to you by the leash in your hand. His pulse quickens underneath his skin, sending a shot of adrenaline though his system. His mind is full of possible scenarios, of the things you could do to him. Will you demand him to kneel before you? Will you call him pretty names, or call him your pet? Zhongli stares at the leash with a frenzied look in his eyes, his entire body shivering with barely restrained rapture.

Zhongli lets out a small involuntary groan when you suddenly tug, jerking him towards you. He bites his tongue as soon as the sound is made, commanding himself to silence. Your laughter engulfs him, and without your order, he falls to his knees, unable to bear standing any longer.

Even just this much leaves him weak, unable to stand. Only able to bow before you. Had it been anyone else, Zhongli would've dared to feel embarrassed, ashamed of himself for acting so unbecoming. But it was you. You were his God. The one he'd give everything up for. If you wish for him to unveil himself, to throw away his dignity and pride— then he would do so without question. Zhongli wouldn't hesitate.

When you pull the leash again, harder this time, Zhongli whines. He doesn't bite his tongue, or try to keep his composure together. He falls into you completely, hoping to drown.

childe

Childe is drooling the moment he realizes what you're asking.

He's imagined being your dog before. Your little pet, who loves you and only you. Your loyal hound, who listens to you so well, obeys your every command— but bites at everyone else's fingers, denying anyone who tries to get close. He's close enough, isn't he? Feral, but tame for you alone.

Childe would happily roll over for you, dirty himself in mud like a fool if it meant getting a smile, even if it was one of pity. Anything to keep your attention on him for a little longer.

He thought that, perhaps, he merely had to prove himself to you. If he did, then surely you would reward him; keep him by your side, even if it meant degrading him. As you hold the collar and motion for him to dip his head forward, he's sure he must've done something right.

Childe's red face is only accented by the red collar. He smiles like a fool, frenzy swirling in his eyes. He barely resists the urge to bury himself in your warmth, staying still like you’ve ordered.

He wears the collar like you've given him the gift of life. He happily shows it off to everyone else, bragging about how he's your favorite. No one else. You've laid such clear ownership on him; no one else can compare to him now. Not even that old man, try as he might.

Childe's always known he was your favorite. He had to be. Though you had that little stint with the Traveler for a while, you eventually came back around. He waited years after his fall to the abyss to feel you again, and so long to finally meet you. Even if you had times where others captured your attention, or moments where you were gone for longer than he'd like— long enough for him to start wondering if you'd left him, again— you still came back. And he'll always come back to you, whimpering like a wounded animal.

Even a single moment of not knowing that you are there to fall back upon is agony.

He grips the collar when anxious, or when he hasn't seen you in too long. He can almost reimagine the scene of you slowly snapping it around his neck, brushing against his hair. Though the sensation is purely in his mind, he still shivers every time he reminiscences.

Childe keeps it on regardless of the time and place. He sleeps with it despite how it digs into his skin. He bathes with it on. He walks into battles with it glistening on his neck without any shame. Only pride. It’s a gift from you, after all. People would kill to breathe near you— and he not only has done that, but you have touched him, and shown him your favor.

He brags to anyone who'll hear it. Even to those who don't want too. Childe grabs them aside and points animatedly to it with such vigor it's daunting. If they try to get a closer look, however, Childe immediately pushes them away. It's his gift. Not theirs. He won't allow anyone else to touch it.

They can look and mourn their chances of ever getting the same treatment— but they can't get their dirty hands near it. Otherwise, he'll tear their arms off. It's his. You gave it to him, not them. What would you think if he let someone else touch your gift?

Giving him a leash only exacerbates his ego. Childe is now firmly in the belief that you constantly want his presence. Otherwise, why would you have given him a leash? Don't you want to walk him around?

He'd follow you anywhere. Even if you were walking him straight to hell, he'd follow like the dog he is.

Tugging on it makes Childe whine like a puppy. He makes a weird, high-pitched sound that's both of pleasure and surprise. He smiles as if he's in heaven, high in Elysium; and with you, he is.

"You're not gonna just stop there, are you?" He looks up at you with dazed, half-lidded eyes. A dopey smile plays at his lips, red painting his cheeks. "Please… I've been good, haven't I?"

al-haitham

Al-Haitham stares at the collar with a pensive expression for longer than he should've.

It's not that he's questioning you, or that he dislikes the idea. It's quite the opposite. Al-Haitham's mind feels like it's bursting with thoughts of the two of you, burning his nerves and senses.

He feels guilty for thinking of you in such a way, but you must want him too, don't you? You're handing him a collar bedazzled with jewels, a latch for a leash attached. You want his mind to fester with ideas, of dirty imaginings— and who is he to deny you?

You must take his silence and contemplativeness as a sign of acceptance, as you motion for him to kneel. Al-Haitham does so without question, without even a conscious thought to aid his movements.

His heart beats against his ribcage furiously when your fingers brush against his neck. The cold leather of the collar licks at the warmth of his skin, and he suppresses a shiver. He can't lose any face— not in front of you.

Even if you already know all there is to know of him, he does not wish to embarrass himself further. You may know what dark, nasty things lie in his soul, but he does not know what you think of them.

Al-Haitham thanks you with a slight tremble to his voice. His eyebrows quiver as he struggles to keep the smile off. He doesn't want you to know how happy he is; how he wants to stare at your gift and note down all of its qualities, to the intricacies of the jewels embedded into the leather to the particular way they shine underneath the sun.

He tries not to let it get to his head. Al-Haitham notices that he's the only one with such a gift from you. The thought makes him dizzy— do you prefer him over the rest? Do you like him more than the others?

It only makes sense, he thinks. Why wouldn't you? The rest are undeserving of you, unworthy to bask in your presence. Al-Haitham does not dare to presume himself worthy of you as you sit above them all, but surely, he is better.

He only takes what you give him, like a good worshiper. He does not dare like the other trash to take more than you've deigned. He only does what you say, like a good acolyte— unlike some of the others who play around with your command, like your word is not sacred and holy. He only loves you, just as you want him too; just as you'd like all of your worshipers to be. Yet, so many hold others in their heart; surely, you noticed his superiorities, and chose him.

Al-Haitham, for the most part, keeps the collar on. He only takes it off when he goes to sleep. As soon as his mind is roused and awake, he's reaching for it again, clicking it around his neck in one swift motion.

He's protective of it, almost to a fault. He wears it in public with no shame, anytime anyone walks over to him, even if they only walked passed him, his first instinct is to grab it and make sure it stays there. It has valuable stones on its surface, which dazzle underneath the sun so beautifully— who wouldn't want to take it from him?

Other acolytes, though he hates calling them that, get the most of his derision. Any comment made on it is immediately met with a harsh response. Whether it be a compliment, or a simple glance at the rather obvious collar on his neck, Al-Haitham is snarling at them with disgust in his eyes.

When you call for him again, Al-Haitham listens immediately. His hands shake when he kneels in front of you, even more so when you ask him to lift his head.

Even after all this time, he still has trouble breathing in your presence. All he wants to do is bask in it; in your warmth, in your light, in your endless love. Yet, it feels as though someone is squeezing his windpipe whenever he's near you. Al-Haitham could only know that you're in the room next to his and still shake.

Seeing the leash by itself makes him want to whimper. He doesn't have it in himself to be ashamed, not when his mind is dazed and muddied by the thought of you tugging him around like he's some pet.

The sharp 'click' of the leash attaching to the collar does little to rouse Al-Haitham to the present. It only serves to further fog his thoughts.

When you tug, he can barely stop himself from whining. A loud whimper bursts from his throat when you do it again, and when you do it hard enough to drag him forward, he groans.

He looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, a rare blush dancing on his cheeks.

"A-Ah, please... don't stop." His voice cracks with need. "Please."

#[🦇] — my writing #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #sagau #self aware zhongli #sagau zhongli #sagau childe #sagau al haitham #yandere zhongli #yandere childe #yandere al haitham #gender neutral reader

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ghouljams · 3 months

Note

The number of veterans in the IT industry keeps blowing my mind. (My partner was for a decade before a career change and he keeps mentioning how many he’s found that are or were in IT in support groups he’s in.)

I’m kind of curious to see where all your discharged 141 end up; (but please don’t hurt them too too badly 😭)

Gaz: Breaks his back, goes into renovation carpentry because he likes working with his hands and he likes having control over the process. Also I want to see him working with power tools. Also also I want him fucking bored housewives.

Soap: Definitely goes at least partially deaf from one of his bombs, maybe loses a few fingers and gets some significant burns on that arm. Goes into welding (thank you @waves-against-a-cliff you're so smart I'm kissing your brain) and it's crazy how much welding you need around the house, like craaaaaazy.

Price: Loses a limb, I really wanna say his left leg right above the knee, couple that with just general aches and pains. Works as a project foreman for a while before he decides fuck it and starts his own construction company. I imagine he does residential construction to feel like he's giving back, doing something for the world.

Ghost: (redacted) Goes back to butchering, is very happy with it. Keeps up with the other guys and sends them meat for Christmas. They don't want to join his cult, but they think his partner is sweet.

König: Concrete tilt up (staring at you so hard) big strong man pull heavy rope lift up walls. Partially deaf, definite nerve damage, probably mostly internal injuries but enough of them that he cannot be thrown into the line of fire anymore.

#ghoul speaks #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price #König

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huiyi07 · 8 months

Text

GENSHIN MANGA SPOILERS! but honestly if you haven’t read it by now it’s your fault alone

So why did Kaeya initially try to hurt Collei?

The obvious answer- he was trying to defend Mondstadt, Collei was a very suspicious figure at the time, and he knew that being aggressive towards her would probably draw out her hidden powers and reveal herself as the culprit of the Black Fire incident.

But there’s more to it than that.

Kaeya canonically loves, LOVES kids. He adores them- there’s lots of times in the game where he talks about how precious childhood is and how he wants to protect the purity of childhood dreams for as long as possible before kids have to grow up and face the real world (kinda similar to Childe). In 3.8, it shows how he is literally willing to do anything to protect a child- Klee, when he literally throws aside his own sibling issues in order to shield Klee from being exposed to the same thing and scolds a couple of bickering brothers for upsetting her.

Additionally, there’s his whole thing with Mika and how he’s basically a big brother figure to the entirety of Mondstadt’s population under 17. The highly implied bond between Bennett, Razor, Fischl and him, even.

Anyway this whole aspect of his character obviously stems from his own childhood and how tainted it was by his hidden identity, so like he probably doesn’t want any other kids to have to go through such hardship especially while they’re still young.

So if he loves kids so much, and wants to protect them so badly, why did he not hesitate to become a full blown villain against Collei, literally wounding an innocent 12-year old girl?

Because he sees himself in her.

Collei hates herself (or at least she used to LOL). She hates the burden (her powers) that was forced upon her from a young age, and those powers inevitably label her as a bad person, one who can harness evil powers to kill And hurt and whatever. It makes her feel like she has no real control over herself, and that she has no self-identity- she doesn’t think of herself as a regular person, instead a monster. And she hates, hates, hates herself for it, but she shoves all of it down under a mask.

Sound familiar to a certain cavalry captain?

That’s why Kaeya didnt hesitate to Go after her. He knows her too well, knows that she’s hiding her true identity under a well-crafted face, that there’s something evil and dark in her- because that’s exactly who he was as a kid.

But then this panel happens.

Collei, evidently so tired of living such a torn life, gives up and offers her life to Kaeya just so that the torment can end, which stops Kaeya in his tracks, because that’s when she reminds him off himself just a little too much.

Kaeya, so caught up in her uncontrollable evil, forgets that she’s just a child, one who never should’ve been forced to deal with such a thing, and certainly not want to die because of it.

That’s exactly what happens internally to him, as well. Over the years, Kaeya internalized being a traitor so much, that often he convinces himself that he’s truly not a good person. Yes, he acknowledges that it’s really not his fault, but that still gets lost and it shows through when Kaeya shows us how willing he is to get himself harmed- because of his self hatred, he places so little value in his own wellbeing and his own life, because he thinks that all harm that comes to him is deserved and that it’s better off if he’s dead anyway so that he doesn’t have to deal with being torn apart every day.

No I’m not making this up, it’s in how he literally covers for Diluc all the time and risks himself in the process, and how Adelinde told us about that one time Kaeya literally took Diluc’s punishment for himself when they snuck into the wine cellars. There’s lots of times, even throughout in the game where Kaeya tries to convince us he’s not a good person- he quite literally says that, at some point.

Only when Collei shows that she’s in the exact same position does Kaeya realize what he’s doing and stops himself. Only then does he remember how painful and hard it really is, and he ends up helping to save Collei and removing her powers, because that’s one burden he can help take off, unlike his own.

Idk man for me the Kaeya vs Collei fight (I like to call it the chapter where collei gave us the hottest panel of Kaeya choking ever) told a story about Kaeya’s internalizations, too, and his own-self hatred and how deep it really goes. BRB CRYING

#kaeya #genshin impact #kaeya alberich #kaeya genshin impact #ragbros #khaenri'ah #gi #I’m going to Kermit #diluc genshin impact #diluc #collei #also idk the fact he says - I’ll rip that deceptive mask right BACK off you??#as if he also has his own??#like I’m dead

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berryunho · 4 months

Text

THE ANSWER: XXVII

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

← previous || next → || masterlist chapter word count: 8,561

You take in San’s words, blinking aggressively. You pull your face away from his, your questions clear from your expression.

San squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look at you for too long. “I can’t explain it now. Or, well, I’ll explain it all soon, but we need to leave.”

“Leave? Like, the farm?” You question, your words coming faster than you can control them. “What? San? Did something happen?”

He opens his eyes, then, staring into yours. The pain is evident in his face, his internal struggle still battling.

“After today, I can’t predict what Hongjoong will do to get you to break.” San admits, tears welling in his eyes. “He’s going to hurt you, and if he can’t, he’ll kill you.”

“What happened to you, San?” You ask, more concerned by his disheveled appearance than by the revelation of the thoughts that you’ve had hundreds of times.

He shakes his head. “It’s not important, I promise. I’m fine.” He pauses, sucking in a breath. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, San, just shaken up, I guess. Do you know how Hongjoong did that?”

His hands squeeze your forearms tighter, gripping you like he’s going to lose you. “I have no idea. But if he’s willing to go this far, I… fuck, I can’t believe it. I have to get you away from this.”

You can only gape at him. You can’t believe that San is saying these things to you. San had always been so loyal to Hongjoong, even leading up to the very moments before the ceremony. What could possibly have made him flip his entire script so quickly?

It’s almost touching to realize how much San must care for you. If he’s willing to abandon this for you… Fuck.

“San, when can we go?” You try to not sound so eager, but the prospect of getting away is so sweet.

He presses a kiss to your forehead before replying. “I have to think on it, but I swear that it will be soon. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to figure it out.”

You want to ask what it is that he’s figured out or what made him realize, but that sits in the backseat compared to the thought that suddenly rises to the forefront of your mind. “What about Haseul? And Mingi?”

San freezes, still searching your face. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, but no words come out.

“San?”

“I,” he pauses, biting his lip, “I’ll have to think about it more. We might have to come back for them.”

You don’t like that idea, but you had thought it yourself a few times before. It would be a lot easier to get yourself out and come back with people that could actually stand a chance against this group rather than try and sneak out with someone else, risking all of your lives in the process.

“Just trust me, yeah?” He smiles, letting go of your arms to readjust his shirt.

You nod, throwing the blanket off of your legs. This is as good of a time as any to get out of the infirmary. Whatever had been going on with San, they must not care too much if you’re back with him considering the fact that he’s here now.

Once San is reassembled, he offers you his hand again, helping you stand as you swing your legs off the bed. The two of you leave the room, passing by Nayeon as you walk down the hallway. She waves, smiling while you go.

San drops your hand once you’re outside, but keeps one on the small of your back. He could reasonably pass that off as just helping you stay upright.

By now, it’s mid-morning, almost 11. The sun is high and the fields—

For the first time since you had arrived at the farm, you saw the farm equipment actually being put to use. A huge combine harvester moves through the field, still relatively close to the barn. You’re awestruck to actually see work being done, amazed that the time has passed so quickly.

You halt in your tracks, lifting a hand up to shield your eyes from the sun so that you can watch the machine move. It doesn’t move particularly fast, but, by God, is it freaky looking. You wouldn’t want that thing coming to run you down, that’s for sure.

Which only reminds you of the time that you had tried to escape. And then resorted to hiding in the corn.

When all of the corn is harvested, how will this place look? Barren. Cold. You don’t want to picture it; all that land with nowhere to hide. Will you even have to see it? Maybe you’ll be gone by then.

A waving figure catches your eye off in the distance. You’re easily able to identify Yeosang once you look fully at him, and you raise your hand back in greeting, having to squint your eyes against the sun.

San doesn’t wave back, instead ushering you to turn back toward the compound and keep moving.

“Are we in a rush?” You ask, allowing him to steer you toward the door.

San glances around, “I wouldn’t say that. But I’d feel better if we were alone in our apartment.”

Well, okay, you guess. You would think that it would be a bit suspicious if you both suddenly started acting differently, but it’ll probably be okay for right now. At least until you can talk to San about everything.

You head inside, trying to walk to the stairs. But you’re stopped before either of you can make the first step, a voice calling your name behind you.

It’s Wooyoung, you realize, before you even turn around to face him.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

You glare across the foyer at him, wondering what kind of nerve this kid must have to be talking to you like you’re best friends again.

He has a point, though. You turn your attention to your stomach, but you’re not surprised that the general sense of nausea and unease still lingers there; nothing like hunger. “I’m not hungry.”

You know better than to directly accuse him of drugging you again. You really don’t know if he did… it’s possible that he didn’t. But, really, looking back on it… Ugh, you’ll just ask San later. He had already told you what he thought, but… you don’t know. Just, whatever.

Wooyoung squints, a flat expression on his face. “Are you feeling alright after everything? Not just anyone can say they stood down a Guardian.”

That’s really rich, coming from Wooyoung, you have to admit. The guy that basically told you that you need to accept your role in this place because he isn’t happy with his, either. Maybe he’s trying to sympathize with you, as a fellow skeptic. You won’t take the “compliment” at face value, but you still don’t appreciate the remark.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you shrug, hoping to end the conversation there.

He doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll have someone run some food up for you guys.”

San thanks him for you, clearly ending the conversation there. He ushers the both of you up the stairs and to your apartment, swiftly locking the door behind you once you’re inside.

You look around your apartment, almost expecting something to have changed, but nothing has. Everything is just how you left it this morning, not a single thing out of order.

“Are we talking about this now, then?” You question, looking to San as he paces in front of the couch. He doesn’t stop pacing, but he does gesture for you to sit down, “you’re really worrying me, San.”

He halts in place then, frowning, but not sitting next to you. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” he lets his sentence hang in the air, “I can’t believe… I can’t believe it.”

“What happened to you while I was out?” You want to reach out and grab his hand, but you can’t, he’s moving too much.

San starts pacing again, “well, first of all, sorry for disappearing on your right before the ceremony.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Seonghwa appeared out of nowhere and pulled me aside to talk about literally nothing and then, by the time I realized what was happening, the ceremony had started and I couldn’t have helped you.”

He freezes, as if recalling the memory, “and then the ceremony happened. And, and that thing appeared. I hope to God that Hongjoong or Seonghwa or someone was able to explain that to you, because I can’t. I don’t know what that was, I’ve never seen anything like it or heard of Hongjoong—” he stops abruptly. “I mean that I don’t know how that happened. And I saw it grab you and I seriously, I thought that it was now, that, that Hongjoong had enough of you and— I thought you were going to die.”

It’s only now that his voice falters, breaking with his last sentence. You’re no stranger to San’s emotions, but his tears always have an effect on you. To his credit, he does a good job of keeping it mostly together as he keeps speaking.

“But then it was over, and you were on the ground, and I tried to stand up to go to you, but Seonghwa held me down, and I couldn’t do anything. I felt so helpless watching Hongjoong pick you up, watching Mingi run to his side to take you off of his hands and carry you out. I tried to get up again, but Seonghwa wouldn’t let me go. I almost fucking hit him.” He shakes at the memory, his voice thick with both anger and his tears. “We stayed there for a long time. We just waited until Hongjoong came back, and he sure fucking came back. He was incensed. Didn’t even say why. Even Seonghwa looked nervous as he screamed and bitched and threw shit around.”

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

“You will not take her from me!” Hongjoong screams, at neither man in particular. “I don’t care which one of you it is; I forbade it for a reason and I will be fucking respected!”

Seonghwa doesn’t move an inch at San’s side. San doesn’t say anything, either.

Hongjoong’s rage permeates the chapel. “Why isn’t she scared? Why isn’t she terrified, whimpering and begging for her life at my feet?” He starts pacing up and down the aisle, kicking copies of The Answer that he had thrown to the ground. “Doesn’t she realize that I am the only thing standing between her and a cold grave?” He whirls to face the other two men. “Answer me!”

“I think she is scared of you,” San mutters, “but she’s good at hiding it in front of you.”

Hongjoong’s face contorts into a smile, and San knows that he’s fucked up. “Is that it? How do you know, San? Do you hold her at night while she cries in your arms at my cruelty?”

San only blinks, unable to respond in a way that would please his leader.

“She doesn’t know about Haseul yet. What is she going to think when she finds out that her boyfriend let her die?”

“Hongjoong—,” Seonghwa cuts in, “She can’t know about Haseul, even if you want to scare her. It’s invaluable for us to be able to hold this ove—”

“You will not tell me what I can and cannot do, Park Seonghwa!” Hongjoong yells, “I am in charge here! I am! If I want her to know about Haseul, she will know about Haseul.”

“Of course you are, Hongjoong, you don’t need to be so angry.” Seonghwa tries to console Hongjoong, to absolutely no avail.

Hongjoong puts his palms together, resting his index fingers on his forehead as he thinks. “I cannot take this disrespect much longer.”

The chapel remains in tense silence, neither San nor Seonghwa wanting to be the first to say something.

Apparently that’s not what Hongjoong wanted, either. “Seonghwa,” he gets the man’s attention, “hold San steady for me, would you?”

San knows what’s coming. Hongjoong’s had it out for him for ages, and this is finally it. He’s outlived his purpose, his presence is only backfiring, it’s time for him to go. He knew that it was coming, he should’ve known that it would be now. His death would utterly destroy (Y/n), there would be nothing for her to do except accept her fate.

Seonghwa does as Hongjoong instructs, standing behind him to hold his arms in place. San doesn’t struggle. He has to be strong. Go bravely. That’s what he wants.

But Hongjoong surprises him. He takes a step toward him, smoothing his own ceremonial shirt before grabbing the hem of San’s and pulling it out of his pants.

Oh… San really hadn’t been expecting tha—

But then Hongjoong hits him. Just once.

“We’ll see how she feels when you’re not so pretty.” Hongjoong spits, literally, onto the floor of the chapel.

San can hardly hear him through the pain rippling over his jaw, but the message is clear enough. He doesn’t need a mirror to taste the blood, or feel it pouring down his chin. Seonghwa lets go of his arms and it takes everything in him to not double over. Instead, he looks up at Hongjoong, unintimidated.

Hongjoong stretches his hand. “She asked for you, Seonghwa. Better go comfort her.” He glares up at him. “But not too well.”

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Of course, unbeknownst to you, San leaves the… sensitive details out as he recounts Hongjoong’s tantrum for you. Not a single word of Haseul is spoken to you, but the rest is mostly accurate.

You sit in horror as San recounts these details to you, unsure how to even react. You’ve always known that Hongjoong is capable of violence, and Seonghwa, too, but to hear of them acting such violence onto San, of all people… it’s almost unthinkable. At some point in the not too distant past, Hongjoong had trusted San to watch over you at all times of the day, and now? His own paranoia has driven him to violence?

Your thoughts wander to Seonghwa against your own better judgment. Seonghwa is his own person, he’s taking care of himself. He doesn’t want you meddling in his relationships, and he has made this more than abundantly clear.

But how does Hongjoong treat him? It can’t be kind. You’ve seen the slights between them, seen Hongjoong deny Seonghwa of even the simplest pleasure. Behind closed doors, what do they talk about? How does Hongjoong act around him?

Though you’re loath to admit it, you have to worry for him. If Hongjoong is violent with you, the person he considers to be one of the most important figures in his religion… that doesn’t bode well for Seonghwa.

“San,” you bring your thoughts back to the present moment, “I’m so sorry that you went through that for me.”

He doesn’t stop pacing, almost ignoring your sentiment all together. “Hongjoong is crazy.”

“I’ve known that for a while now.”

San smiles. Smiles. “I don’t think you understand the extent of it.”

You find that hard to believe, but there probably are things that San knows about Hongjoong that you don’t.

“But that’s not important for right now. I just need you to keep your distance from him as much as possible; I’ll ask Seonghwa for his help—”

“Seonghwa?” You’re astounded. “You’re going to ask Seonghwa to help us escape?”

San shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, not looking at you. “No, but he’ll keep you away from Hongjoong. That’s basically his number one priority, anyways.”

It makes sense. If Hongjoong is as volatile as he was with Seonghwa and San earlier, he’s a danger to be around. Even more so than usual. But getting Seonghwa’s help… “Won’t it be obvious what we’re trying to do?”

“You already avoid Hongjoong,” San says. “I don’t think it will be a drastic enough change to draw attention, as long as you’re not refusing to see Seonghwa.”

The way with which San says this last sentence… is different. He’s not stuttering anymore, you realize. He hasn’t been for a while, now. When San is upset, his stutter is more pronounced than anything else, its absence is suddenly so jarring that you have to wonder why you didn’t realize when it stopped.

There’s no emotion in his voice anymore. No personality, no San.

You stare up at him, watching him walk back and forth in front of you. He’s not upset, not anymore, at least. What is this?

“San.” You try to get his attention. “Are you alright?”

He finally stops walking, if just for a second, to give you a good look at his face. “I’m fine,” he states. His eyes aren’t red, his breathing is perfectly even, his expression flat. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re scaring me,” you say. “What’s going on?”

San resumes his pacing. “You should be scared, I should be scared, I should’ve been this whole time; But I’ve been so stupid and now isn’t the time for me to be some sniveling boy.”

You can’t respond to that.

“I think I know when we can try to get out. I’m not going to fail you this time, (Y/n), I swear.”

“San, wait, hold on,” you start, shaking your head, “what about your laptop? The phones? Can’t you just call the cops?”

San smiles tightly, “I considered it, but there would be issues. Hongjoong has a plan, and things would not end well if law enforcement got involved and Hongjoong had more than five seconds to think before he was arrested or killed.”

“So you’re seriously proposing that we run away, leaving everyone else here… forever… including the children?”

“Would you rather be alive and here or dead and buried?” San blinks. “That’s what this comes down to for the rest of the group. We can find a way to get Mingi and Haseul, but it’s not feasible to save everyone knowing that Hongjoong has a plan for this exact situation.”

Your stomach rolls over itself as he explains this. How can you just leave? How could you leave everyone behind and forget about them? How could San even suggest something so horrible?

The thought of freedom is enticing, but the weight that would remain on your conscience… It makes you sick just thinking about it now.

Whatever. Fuck San. You’ll remedy the situation yourself once you’re out. There’s not a chance in hell you’d leave all of these innocent people to rot on this farm.

San’s apathy is so jarring. Maybe that’s what waking up after years of brainwashing does to a person.

You don’t want to judge him when he’s so clearly doing this for you. To protect you. You can hardly complain that he’s resolved in this situation.

… Yeah, no, it still rubs you the wrong way.

But you’ll shrug it off for now. “When can we go?”

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

San explains the general idea to you, which he’ll refine in the coming weeks.

With the beginning of the harvest starting, that puts the farm about one month out from the conclusion. Apparently, they don’t actually own that much acreage, just enough to surround the commune itself, so harvest doesn’t take very long. Throughout the month, there are various ceremonies that all culminate into one, final, grand ceremony at the end of the harvest. After this ceremony, there’s a party.

It was about here when you realized where this was going.

The party is huge, apparently. Like, all-out, rager huge. Everyone gets drunk (apparently this is part of the ceremony) and everything gets a bit wild and confusing. San’s proposal is that the two of you make a break for it when everyone is (a) extremely inebriated and (b) distracted by the celebrations.

It’s kind of cliche, but you have to imagine that it’ll work, especially if this party is as crazy as San explained.

If it doesn’t work… the thought puts a bitter taste in your mouth. You’re not going to start pondering what you’ll do if you get caught for a second time.

Really, this plan should work. San has access to the vehicles. With a car, you can be fifty miles away before anyone even realizes that you’re gone, so long as Hongjoong lets you out of his sight for even just a few minutes.

With all of the noise and distractions, no one will hear the car starting. No one will hear you guys peeling out, the terrible crunch of the gravel under the wheels that you had heard what felt like so long ago.

You think back to the night in the corn field. What a shitshow. You had to give it to yourself, you were very brave. And you got quite far for the amount of preparation that you had done. But that night…

Remains one that you want to forget. But you’ll never forget the fear coursing through your veins, the feeling of your heart in your chest, your ears twitching with every sound that you heard. When Seonghwa was chasing you, when Hongjoong reduced you to a puddle at his feet.

It was like being hunted for sport.

You have to hold out hope that the car will make all of the difference here, which you’re sure that it can. Where you’re going to go… you aren’t sure.

Surely, you know that you have to get law enforcement involved, but what San said is weighing on your mind… Maybe, if you fully explained the situation, you could get some sort of covert mission operating… But that would probably have its pitfalls, too. It’s hard to know what’s right, but you trust that you’ll figure it out once you’ve saved yourself.

There’s also the option that the police will entirely write you off and think you’re just some crazy lady. Especially if San…

No, wait, pause. San would tell the truth, right? Like, he would be your witness? He wouldn’t actually just let this keep happening once he’s out…

God, the fact that you even have to weigh this option is exhausting. Why can’t you just trust him? You’ve had no problem with it before, so why should it be an issue now? Has San ever done anything to betray your trust? Minus him being a high-ranking cult official, but, like, that’s just part of the deal. You have to trust him, especially now. If you can’t trust San, who can you trust?

Your mind wanders to your apartment, your old college dorm room, your childhood bedroom. How dreamy would it be to be anywhere but here? You miss your big bed and your pantry full of snacks you actually like and your bookshelves stacked with your books. You miss sleeping alone, but hearing your neighbors through your thin walls; when you didn’t have a sanctioned bed time that everyone obeyed.

On your nightstand at home, you have a framed picture of your friends. You try to picture their faces, all of them. Changbin, Mingi, Soojin, Haseul, Juyeon, and Jungeun. And, of course, your own face. When’s the last time you looked in the mirror? You think of your features, your hair, the color of your eyes and your smile.

Horrifyingly, you can only picture Hongjoong’s smile.

You stop trying to picture yourself.

Mingi comes to the forefront of your mind. Mingi. Do all roads lead back to Mingi? It feels like it. San had said that Mingi had run to you when you fainted, that he’d taken you from Hongjoong and carried you to the infirmary. You try to picture it, the feeling of Mingi’s arms wrapped around you again. Had he held you close, like a friend, or sterile, far away from his own body, the act of an EMT? Had he let your head hang upside down, over his arm, or did he support your neck like you would a baby?

You don’t know what feels right. You only know that Mingi had held you and Mingi had cared.

Maybe he threw you over his shoulder like he used to do when you refused to follow him somewhere. Probably unlikely. But you smile as you think about it, anyways, how he always used his height to his advantage and how he would sling you around like you weighed nothing.

How many times did he have to carry you to the library? How many times did he carry you out of the library? What does carrying someone mean? When is it an act of love and when is it an act of control?

Haseul had been carried. Where is she, now? In a little room? Is Wooyoung talking to her, keeping her company? Has Mingi been a good companion to her? Is she being subjugated to Hongjoong and Seonghwa, yet? Are you going to have to attend her own Choosing ceremony, soon?

Hongjoong wouldn’t trust you to just silently watch her ceremony, you know that well enough. It’ll probably just happen and you’ll be told after the fact. When its too late to warn her. The next time you see her, she’ll probably be in the infirmary, recovering from a fucking stab wound.

Your own scar tingles. Would Hongjoong just kill her? He had made it clear that he decides who lives and who dies. He could just lethally aim the knife. And wouldn’t that be the ultimate punishment? Not knowing she’s dead until being told after the fact? Not being able to see her one last time?

San wouldn’t let that happen. He would warn you, he would try to help her again, you’re sure of it.

So you just have to focus on yourself, for now. Keep your head down, wait it out, and trust San. That’s really all that you can do. You can’t help Haseul while you’re stuck here, just like you can’t help Mingi, either.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

You had half expected Hongjoong to give you a break for a few days, considering your encounter with… whatever that thing was, but that illusion is quickly destroyed when Seonghwa comes knocking on your door at the usual time the next day.

San answers, quickly lowering his voice in what sounds like an attempt to plead with Seonghwa to leave you alone for the day. You sneak up behind San, making eye contact with Seonghwa as your appearance calls his attention.

“What do you think, princess?” He sounds as pissed as he looks. You can imagine that he wants to be here just as much as you want him here.

Resting a hand on San’s shoulder, you tell him that you’re fine to go. Afterall, how else are you supposed to keep up appearances? And you need to learn more about what this month has in store for you.

San steps aside as Seonghwa offers you his hand, which you take. Strange, though, that he doesn’t take your arm as he usually would. Is this his way of…

Your last conversation echoes in your head. Seonghwa seemed genuinely concerned. And quite rattled. And he was honest with you, as much as you could expect him to be. Maybe he’s feeling bad. Or sentimental. Or protective.

… Pft, who are you kidding? He probably didn’t even think twice about taking your hand instead of your arm.

Hand-in-hand, you walk silently to Hongjoong’s apartment.

Fuck. You can only hope that he’s not there. You could probably play off your curiosity about the month as your worry about what’s going to happen to you, but something tells you that Hongjoong is going to be looking for reasons to be cruel. Or you’re going to be in for some intense attempts at gaslighting you into believing…

You have to resist a shudder at the memory. With enough effort, you probably could believe that that shit was real. Didn’t you have to beg Seonghwa to tell you that it wasn’t? You still don’t understand what the hell that even was or how it could’ve been faked, but you really can’t bring yourself to think of it.

Seonghwa drops your hand to open the door, holding it open behind him to allow you to enter as well.

Hesitantly, you glance around the apartment.

“He’s not here,” Seonghwa says. “But he wants you here when he comes back.”

The door shuts, and you sit at your usual spot on the couch. Seonghwa flops into his chair, facing you.

“When will he be back?”

He just shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. The image takes you back to a certain other night the two of you have been alone, and you have to clench your jaw to drive away the thoughts, looking anywhere else but at his body.

“I suppose you have more questions.” Seonghwa doesn't ask you this, but tells you.

Yeah, you have a lot of questions. The primary ones you either can't ask Seonghwa or you've asked him already, to no avail.

You look at your nail beds, trying to be nonchalant. “Are you still jealous of San?”

Why that's the question you decide to ask, you have no idea.

Seonghwa scoffs. “Really?” He asks. “That's where we're going?”

Shrugging, you try your best to resist looking at him. “I just thought it was strange that Hongjoong didn't want me to see him yesterday. I can't help but imagine that you must still be feeding him lies,” you say. “He also told me that it was you that had to physically hold him back when I fell.” Not to mention the other holding he did.

Though you don't look at him, you can imagine his displeasure spreading across his expression. “I don't know why you insist that there's nothing between you. It's nothing to be ashamed of, minus the fact that your misadventures could only cause harm to San.”

“Exactly,” your eyes flit up to his face, “I'd never put him in danger.”

“Your loyalty to a man you hardly know is admirable,” Seonghwa says through a sneer.

“I know San better than I know you.”

You could swear his eye twitches. “Sure you do.”

“Is there something you want to tell me?” You blink. “I have no reason to not trust San, and every reason to not trust you.”

Seonghwa shakes his head, smiling. “I think you're forgetting your situation, Princess. San is your punishment, and you're his.” He brushes his bangs out of his eyes. “I never said you had to trust me. I think you do, anyways.”

You stay silent, knowing that he's at least partially correct. You probably do trust Seonghwa, at least more than a lot of the people here.

“Otherwise, you wouldn't have asked for me to calm you yesterday.”

“I asked for San, first.”

“And what would he have told you?” Seonghwa leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Not what you wanted to hear. He wouldn't have been able to assure you of anything. I did.”

Again, you know he's right. San hadn't been able to do much to calm your nerves, despite tell you his plan for your escape.

You lock eyes with him, planning to defend San, but your gaze betrays you. Seonghwa leans back in the chair, knowing he's got you.

“Who was in the costume?” You ask instead.

Seonghwa deigns to look confused. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

The frustration of the prior day comes back at full force. Why can't just one other person acknowledge the fucking insanity of this place? Why can't Seonghwa just say what he means? Why is he so insistent on agreeing with Hongjoong, no matter the cost?

“Do you ever get tired of being Hongjoong's lapdog?”

“Lapdog?” He smiles. “Come here.”

You swallow as he gestures for you to stand in front of him, recognizing the gesture from weeks prior. “No.”

Seonghwa stands instead, stepping around the coffee table to be able to stand before you. Forced into looking up at him, you hate this upper hand he's suddenly gained through your refusal.

He bends, using a hand to grip the sofa behind your shoulder. Face to face, he mockingly pouts. “That's what you think of me?”

You keep your mouth shut, hoping your gaze is burning through him.

“You said it yourself,” he leans closer to you, “you hardly know me.”

With his face so close to your own, you hardly even feel like you can breathe, like it would be encroaching on his space. You glance between his eyes, trying your damnedest to not look anywhere else. If you looked at his lips… his pretty, plump lips…

Fortunately, or, perhaps unfortunately, the doorknob starts rattling a few feet away from the both of you, and Seonghwa quickly leans out of the compromising position. Slipping a hand in his pocket, he stares down at you once more. “This isn’t over.”

The door opens, but neither of you turn to greet who you know will be in the doorway. You’d have to imagine it’s quite a sight to see, the both of your staring daggers at each other, unwilling to be the first to look away.

Hongjoong isn’t pleased by your ignorance. He slams the door behind him as he enters his apartment, and Seonghwa finally relieves you of his look.

Your eyes only move to Hongjoong when he comes to stand next to Seonghwa, his hand resting on his bicep.

“Well, well, well,” he says, “having a lively conversation? Without me?”

Hongjoong gently turns Seonghwa so that he’s angled to sit on the couch, pushing him down until he’s sitting right next to you. Your thighs brush. Hongjoong moves back to sit on the chair Seonghwa vacated, settling himself in before speaking again.

“Have you had time to reflect on what happened yesterday?” Hongjoong inquires, tilting his head. He’s wearing his glasses, the overhead light reflecting off of them, obscuring his irises. “If I seemed frustrated with you, I must apologize. You have to understand that it was a very scary experience, even for myself. And I forgive you for the way that you reacted, as well.”

You squint at Hongjoong. As if you had anything to be sorry for. He’s the one that got himself all mad for no reason. He should be apologizing to San.

But you can only imagine how this conversation will go if you continue to argue with him about the validity of the… thing. And San requested you to keep a low profile. He probably wouldn’t want you bringing up his mistreatment. So you nod a couple times, hoping that he doesn’t want you to vocalize an apology.

“You must have been in shock,” Hongjoong continues. “Which would explain your inability to accept what had happened.”

Nodding again, you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Does he want you to start asking questions? Does he seriously, genuinely believe that you’ve lost it, now? He can’t.

So, what? He just wants you to act like you have? He must know that it would just be a ruse, so why does he want you to go along with it so badly?

Seonghwa certainly knows that you’re not fooled, and you can expect that he told Hongjoong this after you spoke to him yesterday. Who is this act for, exactly?

“As important as you are, it makes sense that you were targeted. The Guardians, in fact, are responsible for the loss of your predecessor.”

Okay, so, that’s a lie. Hongjoong told you as much himself. He’s really going to go back on his word, gaslight you into forgetting what he already said? He might be able to get you to forget what he told you about Haneul, but not so soon after you found out about her.

Haneul’s memory is alive and well in your head, despite the fact that you never met her. You owe it to her to remember the facts of her life, and her death, as best as you can. It awakens a tinge of anger in you to even hear Hongjoong so blatantly disregard her truth. He told you, to your face, that he liked you more than her. So he got rid of her. Not these “guardians” or whatever the fuck he’s trying to blame for her death.

“The Guardians,” you say, plainly. “Are… what, exactly?”

Hongjoong leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Well, there’s quite an extensive explanation in The Answer, but I suppose it could be beneficial to hear about them from me.

“The Guardians, simply put, are our antagonists. They protect the Sign, keeping it in the hands of those that oppose us. When we’re close to reaching the Sign, or when the barrier is thinner than normal, such as during a ceremony, they can appear. They’re rather frightening, and they can kill or bring Followers back to their dimension.”

… You blink at Hongjoong, remembering to nod periodically through his explanation. What are you supposed to say to that?

“So, yesterday, then, it was trying to… kill me?” You ask, sensing that Hongjoong wants something to bounce off of.

He tsks. “I don’t suspect kill, but rather kidnap. If they know that you’ve been Chosen, they’ll continue to target you whenever the barrier is thin. Surely they know that we would go to great lengths to recover you if they were able to steal you away.”

Hongjoong speaks with such a conviction that you can see how people are led to believe in him. If you had a weaker mindset, his crock of shit might just make sense. Or be just scary enough to make you want to believe that he could protect you.

“But you scared it away? Yesterday?”

Hongjoong nods gravely, closing his eyes. “They fear my presence, thankfully. Very rarely can they stand to be in the same room as me.”

You smile, hopefully not sarcastically. “That’s very lucky for me, then.”

“It is,” Seonghwa cuts in, surprisingly. “Hongjoong will always be with you, so you’ll always be safe.” Even more surprising than his words, Seonghwa slides his hand into resting on your mid-thigh, assuringly squeezing you. You turn toward him with wide eyes, about to question what the hell he thinks he’s doing, when his expression makes it very clear to you that you should drop the subject.

Bizarre. Why would Seonghwa be warning you to stop talking about what Hongjoong so clearly wants you to speak about?

So you turn back toward Hongjoong, who’s agreeing with what Seonghwa said, seemingly oblivious to his little boyfriend’s hand on your thigh. “Is there any way to protect myself, if I am alone?” You ask instead of heeding Seonghwa’s warning.

He squeezes your thigh harder, but you ignore it. What the hell is he trying to steer you away from? If he doesn’t want you to talk about it, surely it’s something that you’re going to want to know, right? Seonghwa can’t be looking out for you, not when Hongjoong is in the room. He has his priorities in order, and Hongjoong far outweighs yourself.

“Great question,” Hongjoong smiles approvingly. “So long as you have a Sign of the Answer on your person, you can fend them off yourself. They revere the Sign, they won’t harm someone under its protection.”

If that’s the case… you would’ve been fine, yesterday, then. As always, you had been wearing a Sign pinned to your shirt, somewhere. Though Hongjoong would probably try to argue with you that you must have been missing it, otherwise the Guardian wouldn’t have been able to attack.

But then that also raises the question. Is kidnapping someone the same as harming them? Maybe it wouldn’t have killed you, but could it still have taken you? Assuming that Hongjoong isn’t just some very creative psycho, that is. Purely for thought exercise, you have to wonder what the Sign could really protect someone from. Was yesterday an attack? Or merely an appearance?

You sense that Seonghwa is trying to warn you away from the areas that Hongjoong doesn’t have fleshed out. For all you know, yesterday is the first time that a Guardian has ever appeared in the flesh. Hongjoong might not have prepared for every possible question that you could ask.

The questions that you’re most curious about are things that you can’t ask him. Who did he have dressed up? How did they make that stature, that outfit, that… aura? Where was the face? Were you drugged? Was everyone drugged? Did everyone see the same thing that you did, or is everyone collectively lying to you to help their leader? Seriously, where the fuck was that thing’s face? How did they do that? If it wasn’t for that gaping maw of nothingness, you’d have a much easier time writing the entire experience off as the complete joke that you logically know it must have been. You push the thought away for now.

“I’ll be sure to always wear my pins, then.” You motion to where you have one pinned to your collar. “I have questions about the ceremonies in general, though, Hongjoong. Can I ask a few things?”

He motions for you to proceed, and Seonghwa’s hand doesn’t tighten its hold on you, so you do. “Will there be more sacrifices?”

Hongjoong nods. “There’s a sacrifice for each ceremony.”

“What is the sacrifice for? To what deity?”

A hint of exasperation crosses his face as Seonghwa slides his hand a little higher. “I’ve explained this. Sacrifices are sent to different universes as aid for our clones. There’s no God in particular the sacrifice is for, except for me.”

“So they can even use animals, in the other universes? The situation is so dire?”

Seonghwa pinches you instead of squeezing. Hongjoong’s exasperation melts into wry acceptance. “Yes, it is. Have you ever gone months without eating meat?”

… Yeah, probably. But you’re not going to press him harder on the subject. “I was just curious, I didn’t mean to question you. How many more ceremonies will there be this month?”

Seonghwa’s hand doesn’t move, and it’s right about now that you’re starting to feel a little bit insane because of it. Why would he put his hand on your thigh, of all places? Why does it keep migrating upward? Why don’t you just say something to stop him? Or use your own hand to move his away? Why is the warmth of his palm seeping through your jeans so quickly? Why hasn’t Hongjoong said something yet?

“There will be one ceremony each weekend.” He says, calmer, now. “But you won’t have to participate in all of them. The most important ceremonies, the first and the last, are different and thus require the Bearer’s presence.”

Well, that takes a bit of the pressure off, at least. Knowing that you don’t have to personally participate in every ceremony, though, no doubt, you’ll have to be present at each of them, makes you feel just a tad bit better. You have to imagine that Haseul’s Choosing ceremony will be soon…

“Hongjoong, did I do good yesterday?” You ask, trying to feign your most innocent look. “Can I see Haseul, soon?”

He gives you a small smile, but his answer doesn’t match it at all. “No. You made me quite mad, yesterday.”

The response is actually slightly shocking. You knew you had made him upset, but for him to vocalize it to you? To deny you seeing Haseul because of some bullshit that he orchestrated himself?

“But—”

“No buts about it,” Hongjoong says. “You’ll be able to see Haseul once you’re behaving on a consistent basis.”

“Won’t she have a Choosing ceremony?” You blurt, hoping that you weren’t the one to put the idea in his head. Maybe he had been planning on just keeping her locked up and not actually indoctrinating her. Had you even considered that?

Hongjoong sighs. “I haven’t decided. Is she worthy of one?”

What the hell does he mean ‘worthy?’ He’s seriously not going to jump at the chance to bring her in? If he wanted to, he could just kill her then and there; wouldn’t that be his dream? To end her life in front of you? Wouldn’t that just tickle his fancy? You don’t understand.

Unless he’s taking a certain pity on her, which you highly doubt.

He must see your confusion painted plainly on your face, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. “It’s no matter. You’ll see her when you deserve to. Seonghwa,” —he abruptly changes the topic and his tone— “where exactly is your hand going?”

Seonghwa’s hand flies off of you, landing promptly back into his own lap.

“That’s what I thought.” Hongjoong tuts. “Do we need to discuss the lines that must not be crossed, again?”

You shake your head. You do not need the sex talk again from Hongjoong. God. And it's not like you were feeling him up.

“Seonghwa, you look particularly guilty. Do you need to tell me something?”

You suspect that, if Seonghwa looks or feels guilty of something, it's not the hand on your thigh. It's the warning you to stray away from topics that could upset Hongjoong.

But, glancing over at him, you’re surprised to see how red his face has gotten. Do you really get him going so easily? You could almost laugh, if not for the circumstances. Surely he's not so embarrassed just to have been seen with a hand on your leg. Its not like Hongjoong walked in on his hand down your pants or anything. And hadn’t he been all up in your face before Hongjoong arrived? Where’d that confident asshole go?

Hongjoong’s presence makes all the difference, you suppose. Hopefully he's able to play off this little episode as embarrassment about touching you. If Hongjoong realizes what he was doing, he'd probably get in trouble.

Which is still perplexing. Why had Seonghwa done that? Since when does he want to protect you? The way he's been acting, yesterday and today, just doesn't… align with the picture you have in your head.

Seonghwa looks literally anywhere else than at you or Hongjoong, shaking his head as well.

Slowly, he uses his hands to slide himself farther down the couch from you. Hongjoong chuckles from your opposite side, bringing you back into the reality that you temporarily abandoned.

“That’s pathetic, Seonghwa, really.”

Seonghwa simply looks back toward the coffee table, his face pink. Hongjoong is so harsh.

“Anyways,” Hongjoong calls your attention back towards him, “anything you want to tell me, (Y/n)? How’s San?”

This obsession with your relationship with San is infinitely annoying. What makes them think that you’re ever going to admit to what they suspect of you?

“San is perfectly fine.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrow twitches. “Oh? I only ask because he was rather… upset, yesterday, is all.”

“Wasn’t everyone a little upset?”

“Not so personally.”

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know how many different ways I can tell you that you made us live together, so it’s only natural that we care about each other.”

“Well,” is Hongjoong’s entire response.

The room falls into a rather uncomfortable silence.

You look back at Seonghwa, but he’s just looking at his hands, folded in his lap, now.

Hongjoong looks at his nail beds.

“Are we done, then?” You ask.

“You don’t have any more questions?” Hongjoong responds with a question, not looking up at you.

You rack your mind for anything else. Sure, there are plenty of questions, just not ones that he would be happy to answer.

“I guess not.”

Hongjoong looks up, flicking his eyes between you and Seonghwa. “Shall I escort you back to your apartment?”

You look back at Seonghwa, who’s now looking between you and Hongjoong.

“I don’t have a preference,” you say, even though you definitely do.

“I can take her,” Seonghwa springs up, offering you his hand.

Taking it, you also stand. “I actually have one more question, Hongjoong.”

He has to look up at you for once. He simply waits for your question while you gaze down at him.

“Is the sacrifice always an animal?”

He smiles. “More or less.”

Great. Wonderful. Perfect. You absolutely hate that response. More or less? Thats the most non-answer answer that he could've given you. And it definitely means that its not always an animal. Which makes you wonder when… and who…

Stunned into silence, you say nothing. Neither does Seonghwa.

“Hurry back.” Hongjoong requests, dismissing the two of you without another word.

Once you’re outside of Hongjoong’s apartment, you debate teasing Seonghwa, but decide against it. Though it would be quite fun, the poor guy is probably going to get it from Hongjoong already, no need to add to his torment. Plus, he was just trying to help you.

He walks you in silence, again, hand-in-hand, back to your apartment.

No sooner than you’re saying goodbye and shutting the door behind you does San appear in the entryway, grabbing for you.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened?” He frantically asks, looking you up and down and all around, his hands flying around your limbs to check for injuries.

Stunned, you stay still. “I’m fine?”

San sighs in relief, guiding you back toward the couch, sitting and pulling you onto his lap. “I was so worried they’d somehow found out. That you’d be hurt.”

You shuffle around so that your back can rest against the armrest of the sofa, your legs still resting over his.

“They absolutely cannot find out, no matter what,” San says. “Can you tell me what you talked about?”

So you explain the conversations for him, using a free hand to card through his hair as you do. He seems to relax after you’ve elaborated, though you leave out the part about Seonghwa and his hand.

Part of you wonders if you should feel guilty about messing with Seonghwa. Not for his sake, but for San’s. What even is going on between the two of you? You probably shouldn’t be flirting with the enemy anyways, but San probably wouldn’t be overjoyed to hear about the things that have happened between yourself and Seonghwa. The fact that you leave it out when recounting the meeting must prove that you know that it’s wrong.

“Come here,” you open your arms to him.

He slips out from under you, realigning himself so that he can rest his head on your chest. “We’ll get out of here, together.” He wraps his arms around your waist.

You do the same, continuing to run your fingers through his hair. There’s nothing you can do but agree with him. The two of you will escape together, and soon. After that, you can forget all about this place.

… Yeah, in your dreams. The real horror might start after you’re gone. You have to believe that San is telling the truth about Hongjoong. Revealing the cult to the authorities will only end in horror if you’re not careful.

And you find it hard to believe that you’ll be okay once you’re gone. You’ve considered it before, the way that this sort of trauma affects someone. How long will you have to recover? Will you be able to go back to your old life?

Will San be part of it?

You squeeze him tighter and he reciprocates.

← previous || next → || masterlist

#ateez angst #ateez series #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #park seonghwa x reader #jeong yunho x reader #kang yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #song mingi x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #choi jongho x reader #the answer #update

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 3 months

Note

Please, elaborate more on these Hazbin Hotel headcanons. I’m very interested in hearing about them.

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

Since you didn't ask about anything specific, I'll just give some headcanons on Vs since I think about them the most.

> Vs are not a polycule, it's VoxVal + Velvette because she would never touch any of these losers. What's more, Vox and Val are extremely sexist (I mean it's kinda canon, we heard how they speak about women) so if she had sex with any (or both) of them, she would no longer be one of the boys and become one of the bitches.

> Vox has NPD, Val has BPD, Vel has APD.

> Vox is continuously overstimulated because he's constantly connected to his web. That's why snaps so easily and sometimes goes through 5 stages of grief in 5 seconds. He could disconnect (and sometimes he does) but he's too much of a control freak to not lurk constantly.

> During his life on earth, Valentino had a terrible, toxic father. Very much machismo who abused him relentlessly for being queer. (Not that I want to make him sympathetic, I just think that evil people are often miserable before they become evil.) Because Val is very queer, not just "man occasionally fucking other men", he's always been loud and proud pansexual and gender non-conforming. He wasn't some kind of activist, very concerned about queer issues, he just refused to stay in the closet out of spite, and because it made men around him uncomfortable. He just enjoyed being perceived as a deviant. It was one of the things that eventually got him killed.

> Vox is like a hardcore sadist. He cuts people open just to feel powerful.

> During his life on Earth, Vox used to be extremely homophobic because his bisexuality was threatening to his masculinity. He's also the embodiment of toxic white masculinity from the 50's. He actually did some personal growth in Hell, eg. He gave up racism, homophobia, transphobia, and most other -phobias, and now he despites everyone rather equally. He just bullies women more because misogynistic violence is a low-hanging fruit.

> So with Velvette I had some fun because she manifested in Hell not so long ago and happened to be as powerful as other Vs, who had much more experience and souls collected. So I assumed she must be completely deranged. I came up with the idea that she used to be a toxic influencer who built a cult-like following around her. She weaponized it against multiple people, ruining lives, and manipulating kids into committing crimes or even suicides. Her methods are very fine, Vox and Val have nothing on her when it comes to cruelty.

> Velvette is not misogynistic per se but she despises weak women who can't fight for themselves. That's why other Vs behavior don't bother her, she doesn't feel threatened by their aggression.

> Angel Dust has BPD and an eating disorder. That's why he fell for Valentino so terribly, to trust him with his soul. He used to think that Valentino is the only person fucked up enough to truly love him as damaged as he'd been. (More hc about Val and Angel here). Actually Val has a very similar backstory to him - a queer, gender non-conforming man in a very masculine environment (I'm not sure how canonic is Angel working for the Italian Mafia at this point but I stick to it until proven otherwise).

Other headcanos about Vox and Val ❤️🩵

#hazbin hotel #valentino #vox #Velvette #VoxVal #angel dust #Huskerdust #headcanon #ask #vox hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel velvette

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ecoamerica · 24 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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valleydean · 8 months

Text

The Beginning

Story by: valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) Art by: sidewinder @hawkland

Rating: Explicit

Word count: ~118k

Tags/archive warnings: endverse, zombie apocalypse, graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore, drug use, animal death, Dean POV, Cas POV, Castiel's loss of angelic grace, newly human Castiel, jealous Dean, fear of abandonment, angst, rough sex, body horror, internalized homophobia, denial, minor Cas/OC, drugs as a coping mechanism, sex as a coping mechanism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn, slow build, codependency

Summary: One year ago, soon after Lucifer was freed from the Cage, Dean and Sam parted ways. Since then, Dean has been hunting on his own and, along with Cas despite his declining grace, searching for a way to prevent the apocalypse. When the outbreak of the Croatoan virus begins, Dean and Cas head to Bobby’s to plan their next move. On the way, as the contagion rapidly spreads through America, they must contend with the rabid infected, martial law, and humans who will do anything to ensure their own survival.

Preview:

Cas stepped to the other side of the door and turned around to face Dean. Dean stopped walking, looking forward at Cas and waiting for him to say anything at all.

When he did, it was, “In there.”

Dean pulled his brows together, his eyes flashing to the dark window panel in the door. The directional light of his flashlight bounced off of it, obscuring whatever was inside. The glass was a deeply black mirror.

His gut clenched, feeling like someone had shoved their hand into his intestines and was trying to rip them out. He slowly brought his face closer to the window. His transparent reflection stared back pensively. He looked beyond it, squinting and refocusing his eyes.

There were bodies in there—maybe three of four. He couldn’t really tell. Some of them were in pieces. Pools of blood soaked them, glinting like a knife in the moonlight that fought its way through the dirty windows.

Dean opened his mouth, about to ask what the hell happened.

Something slammed against the other side of the glass. A bloody hand. Dean jumped back, his shout echoing down the hall. It shattered the bubble of silence—so, too, did the banging on the glass as the man inside tried to beat his way out of the room. His dripping red fists pounded incessantly, leaving smears on the window. He was giving off animalistic grunts and hisses.

“What the…” Dean said, his heart still in his throat. He looked at Cas, demanding an answer. Part of him wanted to blame Cas, to ask him why the hell he slaughtered people and left them in a room. But maybe they weren’t people. Then, what? Demons? Monsters?

Something didn’t add up.

The man kept doing everything he could to bust through the glass. Dean noticed the paring knife clutched in his fist.

Cas didn’t kill those people.

“I led them here and locked them inside,” Cas said, as if he’d read Dean’s mind. “They killed each other.”

The lines of Dean’s forehead bunched up when he lifted his brows in surprise. There was something he was missing. It felt like a forgotten word on the tip of his tongue. A distorted memory from a faded dream.

“You’ve seen this before,” Cas supplied. “The Croatoan virus.”

The words hit Dean like a truck. Blanching, he said, “Croatoan? You mean, the thing that turns everybody into Jack Torrance?”

“No, the demon virus that triggers murderous actions in anyone who contracts it,” Cas corrected, and Dean was still too busy freaking out to tell Cas they pretty much said the same thing. Pressing his lips together, Cas turned his gaze on the door, and there was a subdued kind of despondency in them, like he was trying to control how much emotion he showed on his face. “It’s one of the signs of the apocalypse. This is Lucifer’s doing. He unleashed the Horseman Pestilence.”

“Pestilence,” Dean echoed, the word taking a long time to process. He remembered, thirteen months ago, when he and Sam cut the ring off War’s fingers. That had been the day he and Sam parted ways. Dean hadn’t seen his brother since. He’d only talked to him once on the phone, when Sam called him a few weeks later to tell Dean that Lucifer wanted him as his meatsuit.

Dean rattled his head, trying to shake loose any thoughts of Sam. He focused on Cas saying, “The entire town’s been infected.”

Dean remembered how quickly the virus spread—and how it spread. An infected person had to bleed into someone’s open wound. Once the blood mixed, that was it. Soon after, the victim would turn into a one-track-mind, bloodthirsty monster.

He glanced back at the doorway. The man was still standing behind the glass, looking at Dean like he was lunch, but at least he’d stopped pounding on the window.

“It isn’t the only one,” Cas continued. “There are pockets of the virus across America—possibly the world.”

How hadn’t Dean heard about this? His chest felt too small, like his ribcage was shrinking around his heart and lungs. “Where’d it start?”

“I don’t know.”

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest

#deancashorrorfest #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #endverse #siderwinder art #destiel fanart #deancas fanart #horror au #my writing #hawkland

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moonrisecoeur · 5 months

Note

Okay literally love ALL OF YOUR WRITINGS OF LEON. Hes so cute and i think you describe him so very well. I kinda wanna request something of him having a mommy kink yk? Cause like he seems like the type to say mama during it yk? BUT YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!! I wanna let you have freedom.

awhhh thank you!! i appreciate u !! this is kinda short srry!!

vanilla is not boring, especially with leon. it’s easy, gentle, natural. you’re soft with each other, holding onto the other’s body and never letting them go, wet kisses lining each others necks and chests and thighs as you make love.

you haven’t been dating the blonde long enough to indulge in both of your fantasies and kinks, but you could probably make the guess that leon leaned a little bit more submissive. it’s not that he didn’t have it in him to take control, because you know he could, that despite his shy demeanor he was a caretaker and protector at heart. he wanted to care for you and give you everything.

but every time you’d kiss his neck, it’s like his mind would shut off just a little bit. you’d ask him something and he’s never felt so dumb in his life, trying to piece together the sounds coming out of your mouth and make them into words. he’s rarely successful. he ends up unable to give you a proper answer or response and just laughs nervously, which turns into a weak moan when you kiss him again at the same spot.

he’s easy. not a complicated lover in the slightest. figuring him out is not a complex puzzle. he’s vocal, so you always know what he likes and what’s not really doing it for him. which isn’t much, because he likes mostly anything you do with him.

“i want to ask you something,” he says one day, and it piques your interest, so you listen intently, “i have a request… for something we could add into the bedroom.”

“okay, sure, what is it?” you ask. you’ll try to be open minded if it’s something weird, but leon’s shy, so he’s probably going to ask for something simple, like a different position or something.

he takes a deep breath and braces himself, clearly nervous, “i want to call you… mommy. if you would be okay with that.”

silence, for just a moment. his dignity is bruised more and more as you process what he’s saying. he doesn’t mean to take your silence as rejection but that’s what it is without the context of your internal monologue.

you imagine it, for a brief moment, thinking of the things he’d say. yes, mommy, whatever you say. i’m yours. i’m your… good boy, i’m mommy’s good boy. it’s no less than tantalizing to think about.

“uhhh.. hey, could you at least say… something?”

“shit, i’m sorry, it’s just-” you stutter, and he looks at you expectantly.

please, mommy. i’m… really sensitive. please be gentle…

god the image of him begging, not even for anything in particular, is excruciating in the best way possible. it’s painful that he’s not already begging for you.

“i would… i would really like it if you did that. if you called me mommy,” you tell him, and he has half the mind to not believe you considering your weird silence, “i’m sorry, i’ve handled this interaction incredibly wrong, it’s just- i keep thinking about you saying it and it keep making my mind go blank.”

“it… it does?”

“yes,” you groan, coming closer to him, hands on his waist as he naturally wraps his arms around you, “i can’t think when i imagine you saying it, like, in context.”

“can i.. can i say it now?” he asks, and you don’t know why he’s bothering to ask for permission, “please?”

you nod. a moment passes as he gathers himself.

he looks at you with reverent eyes, half-lidded with a pleasure he knows will come but hasn’t hit yet, “mommy,” he whispers, his voice light and fragile, “please, mommy. i need you.”

"need me? yeah? show me, show me how badly you need me, baby," you press your fingers into his skin as you caress him, digging into his pliant muscles, his body contorting to your will, "show mommy how badly you need her, and maybe she'll take pity on you."

—

leon cries out, holding onto you for dear life as you bury his cock even deeper inside of you, it feels like you’re planning to ride him until he passes out, “fuck, fuck, fuck- mommy- please!”

“please what, baby?” you ask, smiling softly, but you sound so condescending. leon doesn’t know what to think, if he can even do so. every time a coherent thought comes to his head, it dissipates into the pleasure encircling him. he feels drunk. he’s close to crying and he’s not sure exactly what he’s begging for.

“can… can i cum, mommy?” he whimpers, his voice low and nervous, like he’s still scared you wouldn’t like this part of him, this side of him he hides behind his tough and composed facade.

"hmm.. do you think you deserve to?"

a double edged sword. there's no good options here, "mommy, please... i'm your good boy, aren't i? please..."

you brush a piece of hair out of his face, running your fingers through his hair, and tugging on the hairs at the base of his neck, “awh, sweetheart, you can’t hold it in? c’mon, try to hold back for mommy, it’ll feel so much better if you wait for it. mommy knows best.”

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becoming-less-than · 5 months

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Master told me I needed to make a post about how I feel when we are done with a training session. Our sessions are a lot of conditioning through association of pleasure with the things Master wants me to internalize. Lots of hypno gifs filled with the best most humiliating and most degrading debaucheries that make me soo aroused and needy, truths he wants me to repeat and internalize until they become second nature and irrefutable. We opted for this kind of training because conventional hypnosis is hard for me my Autistic ADHD dyslexic brain gets easily distracted, or starts correcting grammar, meter, syntax and diction, or the voice of the tist just grates and I tend not to be able to relax into trance. Regardless Master has opted to undermine my current self with pleasure through edging and controlled orgasms. I initially thought this would be mostly ineffective, that it wouldn’t achieve desired results but I am more than able to admit when I am wrong.

Our third such session caused me to drop into a headspace I don’t think I have ever experienced before that time. It was like trying to think through honey. My thoughts felt slow and seemed to stick together in a way that made articulating them very hard. I felt spacey and spaced out like I had disassociated but instead of boredom or distraction being the trigger it was pleasure. Just kind like lost in this syrupy sweet haze of pleasure and contentment that slowed everything down in a way that not even the best drugs or hours of meditation have ever achieved. I was trying to provide feedback on the session so Master could more effectively continue to brainwash me and that analytical process did seem to cause the feeling to burn away quite a bit more quickly than it might have otherwise, but threads of it lingered for over an hour in various corners of my mind.

It was during our fourth session, and my second drop into the warm comforting embrace that he broke my sexual orientation. That he made me accept the reality that I crave cock. Ache to serve cock. To suck cock. To be fucked by cock. And the haze felt even better I struggled to articulate thoughts into sentences, to find words for discrete ideas, to remember what I’d done that day other than edge for Master because he told me to; to repeat the truths he spoke into being within me; and to cum because he commanded me. That sweet honeyed haze lasted until I fell asleep that night almost two hours later.

I awoke with the sticky gossamer of it wrapped around my mind the next morning. It urged me to let go and fall back tried to tempt me into seeking it back out and surrender. I managed to hold off long enough to complete essential tasks,but when they were done, I begged Master to let me edge and he graced me with my fifth session. One that left me appreciably dumb and slow and spacey and blissed for several hours before my next commitment during my day. However, when that commitment ended Master gave me a 6th session I was utterly unprepared for and hadn’t expected.

It left me broken in the wake of it feeling like my head was abuzz with the pleasure of obedience, of pleasing my Master, of being his dumb bimbo cow slut. I literally couldn’t remember the words I was looking for when Master asked me to describe the feeling. I told him “I feel like my head is full of buzzing insects, the cute ones, that are good for the environment and plants, that make honey… bees” it took me nearly 3 minutes to remember the word “bees” and that small humiliation was in and of itself arousing but drove home to me just what an impact this work I am doing with Master is having on me. Things linger longer after each session, I crave them more in between, and I fall deeper, get dumber, and better understand the bliss of service and obedience with each one; they are changing me and I love it!!!

Thank you Master for your time and effort in making me your pleasing dumb bimbo cow. I hope this meets your expectations; and that that success means I’ve been a good girl. Moo! 🖤

#huccow #bimbo training #bimbo hypnosis #bimbo goals #corruption kink #hypnok1nk #bimbo dreams #mindless #gimbo #goth bimbo #brain drain #bimbo girl #dumbification #dumbing down #dykebreaking #degredation kink

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carionto · 6 months

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Hyperbrake Racing

Everything in Human ships has a manual override. They love automating all processes and reduce any workload to nothing, but also have this compulsive need to be able to take direct control if so desired.

They also have emergency off switches for everything. Yes, including life support. Don't ask, you'll just get a variant of:

"But What If!?"

Obviously, this applies to things you should never under any circumstances shut down preemptively, such as a Hyperspace Jump.

The earliest space-faring civilizations quickly discovered that if a Hyperdrive has a power interruption even for a nano-second your atoms will get dispersed across a few light months. This is why all Hyperdrives have an internal chargeable uninterruptible power supply unit.

Humanity, however, did not allow "Not having any reason whatsoever" to stop them from figuring out a way. Utilizing their ridiculous quantum computer speed and the ability of their fusion reactors to charge a Hyperdrive mid-jump, and with an injection of a disgusting few million lines of hack code that manipulate all related pieces of hardware in just the most nauseating sequences, they created the Hyperbrake.

Also, not a metaphor - braking literally causes Humans to feel nauseous, sometimes throw up, rarely even pass out. Not a single volunteer crew member aboard joint vessels from any of the other Coalition species has dared to "test" what happens to them.

As with nearly all things Humans come across or invent, they will find a use for it should one not occur normally.

_____________________

Near Neptune

Daniel, Samantha, and Nicholas Schreier were three siblings ages 17, 19, and 20, respectively. Today they had "borrowed" their dad's General FordStar mark 980-MZ HaulerHound, a civilian grade transport typically used by small business owners. Dad, however, was an enthusiast, and had modified the "Hound Dog", as he calls it, with a military grade reactor and computer core. He's always been that guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who can get the thing legally enough.

There is a nearby research station that the kids often visit due to their mom working there, but today she was not. Instead, what they are doing, is racing against each other to set the best record. Well, technically the opposite of racing - coming to a halt.

Using the Hyperbrake, they are competing to see who can stop the closest to the stations outer point-defense range without entering it or you automatically lose. After Samantha's turn, they were suddenly contacted by the station. It was Yakovskii, one of mom's colleagues and a frequent guest at dad's barbecues, so they were on sorta good terms. Not by the tone voice coming through the comms rights now though:

"What in the Hell are you thinking!? At first I thought you were just messing around and accidentally did that, but TWICE now!?! I checked the trajectory, if you had stopped a half-second later, you would've ended up mere meters from Neptune's upper atmosphere! Did you account for the possible sudden gravitational pull? Can you maneuver that lumbering ship fast enough to not get pulled down? Not to mention Hyperbraking severely impairs your cognitive abilities for a moment? A moment that you need to be clearheaded for or risk DEATH!?!"

The three siblings could only hang their heads in shame and mutter out some weak apologies. After a moment of silence and reflection, Yakovskii speaks in a warmer tone:

*sigh* "Look, I understand it's a fancy new toy and you want to see what you can do. I get it, I really do. Me and my brother used to play vertical hockey the first time we got our hands on a surplus gravity field generator. But we first figured out how to make sure we didn't break our bones in case it failed. Seriously, never forget to consider your own safety first before you try out new things in a peaceful environment. You're not being chased by pirates or trying to avoid the law or whatever.

Take your time, pick a starting position that's further away and keeps Neptune and any of its moons to the side of the station, then aim for an area of space that only has the outer range of the defenses and empty space ahead from your point of view. And please set the regular Hyperjump destination within Sol, don't just pick a random place. The Hyperbrake sometimes loops in on itself and never executes the brake and can only be reset once out of Hyperspace. You don't want to get stuck in a pointless jump for hours do you?"

After this admonishment, the siblings apologized more energetically and took his advice to heart. They spent the next hour competing until all three were down to single meter differences and kinda got bored, so they docked at the station and hung out with the off-duty staff, played some poker, but then dad barged in and dragged them all home. They were not invited to the barbecue gatherings for two weeks, but only because mom told him to. Personally he was excited about all the data his kids had unknowingly given him with all their jumping and braking, a real stress test for his beautiful Hound Dog.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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akookminsupporter · 1 year

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Namjoon gave a good interview to Vogue Spain and in it he said a few things that I thought I'd share with those of you who may not understand Spanish.

This was at the end of the article but I want to write it first:

One thing that needs to be made clear about this album is that, no matter how much the rumour mill is trying to spin it, it is by no means the end of the successful band. "Oh, I'm not leaving BTS. Absolutely not. This is the first time I'm launching a solo project like this, so I'm trying to stand up and take my first steps. But I'm ambitious and I have willpower. So I don't want to miss the opportunity to do both. So I will try my best not to lose control and steer these two ships at the same time. A lot of bands split up and fall apart, but I hope that doesn't happen to BTS. I just love the music, I love my job, I love the band members and I love myself. If I can keep both projects going, I think it can be something legendary in the long run".