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sailorstar9 · 12 days ago

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Cheating Ex Regrets After F/N Had Married Another Man Warning: Anti-Lyney, Anti-Lumine, Angst, Modern AU Trigger warning: Cheating

When the woman Lyney was supporting caused a scene in front of F/N, she broke up with him.

Lyney looked cold and indifferent, as if he had everything under control. “Suit yourself; you really think highly of yourself.”

But he didn't expect that F/N would move out of Fontaine that same night.

A year later, the big shot in the wealthy circle got married and sent an invitation to Lyney. He watched in the audience as F/N wore a wedding dress and completely fell apart.

Pushing open the door to the private room at White Manor, the room was indeed lively.

Five girls were sprawling all over, kneeling and sitting around Lyney and his friends in the centre. In the dim light, the beam of light fell on Lyney's fair face. His lavender fake glasses reflected the light and F/N heard someone speak.

“Who's that college girl who's been clinging onto you lately? Aren't you afraid F/N would find out and get angry?”

The crisp clinking of glasses echoed; the person sounded noble yet cold. “Just a kid; getting angry about this is really petty. But Lumine, she's really pretty.”

The men's muted humming resounded.

The lewd words rose in waves of delicate sounds and F/N closed the door. She never meddled in Lyney's private life. It used to be disdain, but now, it's simply not her concern. He had countless women before, but this Lumine seemed to be different.

The cheongsam was intricately woven with golden thread, representing endless luxury and wealth.

F/N reached out and touched the silk fabric of the red cheongsam and tried on the dress.

The maid stood by, bending down and advising F/N, “Lyney cares about you; look at this cheongsam, it was custom-made for a year.”

F/N slipped on the cheongsam and frowned; the cheongsam was too big, the waist was loose and the cheongsam is short. At that moment. F/N knew, the cheongsam was not meant for her.

“Did he not come back to celebrate our anniversary?” F/N asked the maid.

The maid looked hesitant and and answered after a long pause, “He said go to the White Manor and find him.”

F/N returned to the White Manor a few hours later; the young girls who had been serving inside the private room were gone and Lyney's friends had brought their female companions.

The scent of incense floating in the room with an elusive presence and F/N saw Lyney's lips glistening with moisture. Sweat had soaked through his white shirt as his fingers traced down the neck of the girl; only after a long kiss did they stop.

Someone whistled. “Lyney brought the great adventure to White Manor; it's the first time he kissed in public.. even for F/N, he only did it after drinking.”

Before F/N could even step inside, Lumine shyly ran out. In her hand was a bag from F/N's favorite brand, but one F/N could no longer afford.

Lyney leaned against the sofa, looking interestedly at the girl who had just rushed to him. The two of them were entangled, competing in beauty. She wasn't any uglier than Lumine who had just left.

“F/N, right?” Lumine gave F/N a smug grin and took out a lipstick to touch up her lipstick. “I advise to look out for yourself. Don't upset Lyney. They say you're as beautiful as a goddess but I see nothing special. Now you're just a mistress. Don't you know that being dignified is a sign of a legitimate wife? You should relax a bit. How could you hold on to a man like this? Guess how many times he wanted me last night? It's truly pitiful to be without a man's nourishment. Do you think threatening him will work?” she giggled, walking off. “If not, you can try.”

F/N's heart hardened and she turned her heels and left.

Outside, the winter rain mixed with snowflakes fell chillingly on F/N, but she made no attempt to button up the brass buttons.

At that moment, a black umbrella was tilted over F/N's head and a heavy woollen coat was draped over her shoulders.

F/N looked up and met the person's eyes; she knew this person, Zhongli. True to his name; handsome, refined and indescribably elegant. He had come from Liyue, someone nobody dared to cross. Zhongli's family was also wealthy, showing just a hint would sustain F/N for several lifetimes.

“Hot cocoa.” Zhongli handed F/N an insulated cup. “To warm up. It's not time yet. F/N, if you need money, I happen to be able to provide for you. Want me to be your ATM? Give it a chance.”

F/N flung the steaming cup of hot cocoa, “You give money and I go with you? Do you think I'm out to sell myself?”

“I'm sorry.” Zhongli apologized. “I didn't tell you everything; I'm marrying you.”

F/N was never one to be obedient. Growing up, everything desirable in the world was at her fingertips. She was spoiled recklessly and was able to get what she wanted. She had even captured Lyney, a high—profile figure who was the object of affection for many elite women in Fontaine. But that wasn't love. With F/N family's power dwindling due to her brother's poo business decisions, F/N remembered her mother's dying words, she had suppressed her temper and followed Lyney. She thought he would give her a home out of past affection, only to find out that he kept her around to keep up appearances. And after being submissive for too long, F/N's rebellious nature unexpectedly burst forth.

Zhongli's expression remain gentle despite F/N's temper tantrum, his eyes held a hint of longing.

“How much did you spend to marry me?” F/N asked as Zhongli was driving them back to one of his villas.

In response, a heavy gold card was placed in F/N's palm. “This is a gift. My other assets are all in another villa. Go back and sign.”

“If you dare marry me, what do I have to fear?” F/N challenged.

In Zhongli's villa...

F/N took the initiative and half pushed Zhongli into what she assumed to be a guest room.

Zhongli gave in, his gentle kisses were fleeting as if F/N was the more precious treasure in the world. With a single move of his tall figure, he effortlessly held her in his hands and his fingertips traced delicately over her body.

Just then, at the crucial moment, Zhongli put some distance between them. He covered F/N with the blanket on the bed and was turned to leave. “We'll go get the certificate tomorrow.”

Just then, Zhongli's phone rang and he took the call.

A soft moan could be heard, unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation. The person on the other end of the phone stood frozen in place, taking a moment to regain their senses. The voice was familiar yet unfamiliar; soft and sweet with a hint of rose-like boldness.

In Lyney's villa...

“F/N...” Lyney knew the sultry voiced belonged to F/N, the woman he had shared a bed with for years but had never crossed the final line. He looked at Lumine sleeping by his side, her young and delicate face showing a hint of innocence. But she wasn't as beautiful as F/N. Recalling his conversation with her in the morning, he felt he had been too harsh. Just this once, he would go and pacify her. After all, she was now almost entirely dependent on him after her family's downfall.

In Zhongli's villa...

The next morning, F/N saw Zhongli open the entire wardrobe wall, revealing countless custom-made clothing and accessories, with the largest section filled with various traditional Chinese dresses and qipaos. Zhongli then picked the most exquisite red qipao for F/N to change into.

“Do we need to find a makeup artist?” Zhongli asked. “This doesn't suit you.”

Later...

Upon reaching their destination, F/N realize Zhongli hadn't driven them to the marriage registration office, but to an ancient church.

Zhongli held F/N's hand and led her into the temple. Kneeling in front of the church crossing, the ring in his hand gleaming, “I made a vow to God, but it's F/N who can make it come true. Will you marry me?”

Letting him put the ring on her finger, F/N sniffled and asked, “We've agreed to get married, so why all this trouble?”

“Marrying you is a big deal.” Zhongli hummed. “Naturally, the ceremony cannot be lacking.”

F/N held back her tears, smiling as they finished taking the registration photos and left with the documents.

During dinner that day, someone asked Chiori, Fontaine's top costume designer, what she had been busy with.

Chiori wiped the oil from her mouth and answered, “Mister Zhongli had a wedding dress custom-made by the most famous old craftsman in Fontaine. The wedding date is drawing near, so he borrowed a few of my tailors to rush the work. I helped with some of the wedding details.”

Hearing Zhongli's name, Lyney unconsciously felt uneasy.

“The size seemed a lot like F/N's.” Chiori recalled. “It's been so long since she came in for a clothes fitting.”

Lyney's unfounded guilt was suppressed; he hadn't given F/N much money for a long time. Even her bag from from a few years ago.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lumine's handbag next to her and remembered the brand was one F/N liked. It seemed to him that he had indeed treated her unfairly. Right then, he decided he must make it right and cherish F/N and live well with her.

“The day she left the White Manor, I called her, but it seemed F/N's phone was no longer in use.” Chiori took a drink of Fonta. “Being in love and continuously betrayed can be exhausting.”

Lyney had been unable to find F/N for the past three months; he remembered the night before when he went to have a proposal qipao custom-made by Chiori for F/N, he had caught a glimpse of Zhongli from afar. Lyney's eyes widened suddenly when he recalled Zhongli's meaningful smile: the last time he called F/N, besides some murmurs, all that was left was a stifled groan.

After the legal marriage, Zhongli took F/N to meet the rest of his family and F/N was instantly accepted. In just a few months, Zhongli had given her all the affection; the love she had wasted an entire youth on with Lyney and never got in return.

Lyney stopped in front of Chioriya Boutique and entered the boutique.

Chiori, measuring fabric sizes with her head down, looked up. “What's the matter, Lyney? Lumine ordered several clothes. I haven't finished them yet.”

Lyney was stunned; it seemed that even Lumine could come in for dress fittings, but he hadn't given F/N the qualification to come in.

“I want to order a qipao for F/N.” Lyney informed. “The best-looking one for our engagement.”

Chiori looked at Lyney who seemed oddly fixated and didn't say a word. After a while, she spoke, “F/N hadn't come to see me for a long time. This size is from when she was in college. The last I saw her at White Manor; she's lost too much weight. You haven't seen her in a long time, right? Leave her alone.”

“She'll never leave.” Lyney was certain. “She's F/N. She loves me the most. How could she not want me?”

Chiori scoffed, ruthless in shattering his illusion. “She's too good for you. She's leaving because of you.”

“Help me.” Lyney pleaded, shedding tears. “I want to see her. I will bring a ring and go propose to her; give her a home.”

Chiori smirked; she knew the ring F/N had was sent by another man. Zhongli deserved her much more than Lyney ever did.

“Zhongli,” F/N started, the married couple were cuddling in bed. “I want to study aboard; further my education. I've given up too much, I want to reclaim my family pride and business.”

Lyney finally located F/N's whereabouts after much effort. But seeing the door open, pained his eyes. He didn't even dare to ask inside; the soft voice he heard was meant for someone else.

His eyes reddened; his steps wanted to leave countless times, but he couldn't. He couldn't plot against her.

He crouched outside the villa's door all night, listening to F/N's shallow breathing and imagining her flourishing with someone else. He bit his lip fiercely, regretting countless times why he hadn't touched her. Why had he gradually pushed the person he loved most to another?

The door creaked; Zhongli had heard it, had also witnessed Lyney's distraught figure. But in Zhongli's mind, it wasn't enough; he teased F/N's lips to make a more satisfied sound. It still wasn't enough: Lyney had bullied Zhongli's sweetheart for too long. He needed to confront his feelings.

Lyney pondered countless ways of a reunion, but he didn't expect it to be at the wedding.

Holding the golden embossed invitation written in F/N's own handwriting; beside hers, there was Zhongli's majestic and dignified font; clearly written on it was F/N's name alongside another man's.

It was Zhongli who personally sent the invitation, which Lyney, reluctant to face, but couldn't refuse the family's request, if someone personally invites you and insists on your punctuality, why dawdle here? Zhongli's power and influence extended to his family business empire. There was naturally no way to refuse.

Arlecchino's gaze lingered on F/N's name for a long time and told Lyney firmly, “You do anything out of line, I won't forgive you.”

On the day of the wedding, Lyney pocketed the delicate wooden box that held the wedding ring and in the wedding dress box stored the heavy-duty cheongsam he had specially tailored from Chiori. This was his gift; even if Zhongli got angry, he wanted to bring F/N back home.

Full of hope for a reunion, he flew to Liyue.

But as he entered, the wedding was already in progress.

“I do.” without hesitation with happiness and joy, F/N smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she placed her hand in Zhongli's palm.

Lyney stood frozen in place, watching the couple on stage. ; it was as if he saw F/N for the first time. Dressed in the most gorgeous wedding gown, having the grandest wedding; it was just like the request she made back then, but the groom ended up being someone else.

Lyney covered his heart; he realized too late that he had not known to cherish F/N before. He wept, dropping tears and kneeling amidst the crowd's gasps.

But no one paid him any attention.

A/N: Writing this so I can get the Geo grandpa on my main account. A/N 2: Sorry, Lyney. I made you the bad guy again.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x female reader #genshin angst #cheater lyney x lumine #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #zhongli x female reader

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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

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hi!! could you possibly to a max x reader where the reader is mostly blind ( like the one with charles) because of a major traumatic incident when she was a kid and it starts off with max hating her and vice versa but then they fall in love, if she’s best friends with lando, alex and yuki that would be great too! (maybe max got jealous over something and that’s why he hates her?)

thank you!!💕

Passenger Side

Max Verstappen x reader

Genre: The beginning is a little sad and angsty, but the rest is fluff

Request: yes! I had fun writing this one because the reader is kind of sassy. I'm open for Charles, Max, Daniel, Lando, Oscar, and George.

Summary: Max hated her. Couldn't stand seeing her hanging off the guys in the paddock. Until he finds out the truth and it changes his entire perspective

Warnings: car accident, injury descriptions, Max is oblivious, Jos and his behaviors are mentioned

Notes: Third-person perspective. Please remember that blindness is a spectrum and can happen for many reasons. I am blind myself. If anyone has any questions and would like to know more, my inbox is open :)

Masterlist

If he was truly honest with himself, he couldn't come up with a legitimate reason for hating her.

She's kind, smart, gorgeous, and her smile lights up the room. Yet every time he was around her, he couldn't muster up any sort of courage to talk to her.

She was always hanging around Lando, Charles, Alex, and George. The four had almost dragged him to hang out with her, but he couldn't do it.

She was always hanging off their arms. It seemed to be flirtatious to him. Maybe that's what annoyed him.

She's clumsy, touchy, and never goes anywhere on her own. Was he jealous? Probably. But he wasn't about to admit that to anyone.

She seemed to run into things far too often for it to be a coincidence. Maybe it was her way it flirting. If that's the, he was better of staying away. He'd never been one to find that attractive.

She wears sunglasses almost every time he sees her. Unless they’re inside in a darker space.

He didn't understand her, and yet he constantly felt intrigued to know more.

It was an off day in the summer. Max and Lando were doing some sim racing together when the topic of the girl came up.

"I see you make eyes at her all the time. Would it kill you to say hi?"

Max nearly winced. Grateful this wasn't a stream or his strange infatuation and simultaneous dislike if this girl would be found out. "She's just so strange." Was all he could come up with on the spot.

The Brit laughed at him. "Strange? How so? Explain to me how she is stranger then you."

"She runs into everything constantly."

Lando only laughed harder.

"She's always clinging onto someone's arm."

His laughing was irritating him now.

"and she always wears those stupid sunglasses- Why are you laughing so hard?!" Max shouted into his headset.

Lando could hardly breathe. He was laughing so hard. His mouth is not able to form coherent words.

"Mate!- she's blind!" He finally managed, trying to get air back into his lungs.

"She's what?"

"She can't see. Well, she can a little bit, but barely anything really."

Max's entire facade fell apart right before him. Like a tarp being pulled out from underneath his mental walls.

Every reason he found not to like her is because she's blind.

Lando took pity on Max. Obviously, he's clueless. Now is his chance to be the best wingman Max never asked for.

The next GP was too hectic for Max. Mostly because he was finding every reason to avoid Lando. The boy finding it neccecary to make him meet her.

Max felt like a ninja. Marketing though he'd been replaced. Christian was confused at why Max kept hiding behind the cars. His PR manager was convinced he'd contracted a virus. Everyone was confused.

Lando, on the other hand, was not. He knew exactly what was going on.

"I don't understand why we're by the redbull garage." She asked him. The female holding his bicep loosely to let him effectively guide her.

"We're waiting for Max. I have something for him." Little she know it was her.

"And you felt the need to drag me all the way over here for this? Yuki was showing off somthing he cooked." She exaggerated a frown.

"Relax, you'll get to eat his food again."

"I may not be able to see very well, but I can hear your eye roll." Then the two started giggling.

Max had popped around the corner to see the two distracted. He decided to risk getting into his driver room. Darting speedily around the objects.

"Max!" Lando's voice made Max freeze. Grimacing at the thought of having to deal with whatever Lando was planning.

He made his way over to the pair. "What brings you over?" He tried to ask cheerily, but it came out more broken than anything.

He felt nervous. But why?

"I'm delivering a note from Daniel." Lando's cheeky smile did not go unnoticed by the Dutch. His hands dramatically search his pockets. "Damn, I think it fell out while I was changing."

Lando taps the arm of the girl holding onto him. "Are you okay waiting with Max while I go and get it?"

She nodded her head and smiled understandingly at her friend. Lando stands directly in front of Max, removes her hand from his arm, and places it on Max's.

"I'll be right back!" He yells while jogging back the direction of the McLaren paddock.

"Sorry about this. I understand if you're busy. You can point me in the direction of the nearest fence, and I'm sure I'll manage just fine." She smiled again reassuringly. She sensed his unease the moment her hand made sontact with him and his muscles tensed.

"No, it's alright, I was just going to hide somewhere." He confessed.

"Understandable. People tend to be nosy." They were walking now. Max is trying to get her out of the middle of the walkway. Trying and sort of failing.

He could hear her feet tapping the ground at each step. Humming every occasionally to herself.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Max."

"You can ask if you want."

Max was taken off guard by the question. So much so that he almost ran himself into the approaching wall. "Ask you about what."

She laughed and put a hand on the cold metal of the garage. Now facing Max without him having help her. His confusion about her growing g steadily. "About my eyes."

She was still wearing her sunglasses. Despite the overcast weather. He wanted to see her eyes. He read people through their eyes. It's how he could tell what kind of mood his dad was in.

Then it hit him. That's why he'd hated her. He couldn't read her because he couldn't see her eyes. In a way, he was blind to how she was feeling and reacting to things.

"Can I see your eyes?" It was almost a whisper. His tapping his things in anxiousness.

"It's kind gross, but sure." She slowly removed the glassed and lifted her head upwards. His gaze memorizing eyes aspect he could.

One of her eyes was glassed over by a mix of yellow and red. The pupil is a shade of cream white. The other was clear aside from the pupil looking mildly foggy.

She didn't tell him the story that day. Mainly because Lando had come running back, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. "I'm back!" They heard him yell in the distance.

"Let me take you on a date." The words fell out faster than his brain could prosccess what he was saying.

"Sure."

Max still laughed at himself for falling for Lando's master plan. Though he kept the blank piece of paper in his pocket as a reminder of what his friend did to get him here.

The two had been on a handfull of now. It was fun exploring different areas with her on his arm.

The boys who had been guiding her for years now made sure he was properly trained. Three of them were getting protective of their visually compromised friend, unlike Lando, who was squealing about how cute they looked every chance he got.

Now it was winter break. Max had invited her to stay with him in Monaco. An invitation she graciously accepted.

She'd yet to tell him about her story. The traumatic and sudden loss of her vision.

Max had only asked once. When she told him it was hard to talk about, he respected that she would tell him in her own time.

That time was coming sooner than she planned.

Max wasn't able to get her from the airport. But Alex had been on his way to spend time with Lando, so he'd offered to be her traveling partner.

It had gone well. The plane ride was smooth. The night traffic made the car ride easy.

When the light turned green at the intersection, the last thing either was expecting was to be t-boned by a drunk driver.

Max thought she wasn't coming. He'd tried texting her but received no response. Even Alex wasn't picking up the phone.

She'd texted him that she was safe on the ground and would be there soon. That was three hours ago.

He was starting to worry. Panic even.

So he did the next logical move and called Lando. Praying that his friend had heard something.

It didn't take long for him to answer the phone. "I was just about to call you." Max hadn't heard Lando's voice quite so frantic in a while.

"What going on?"

"There was an accident. They're both at the hospital."

Max was driving as fast a caution would let him. He agreed he'd meet Lando there. Both of them hoping to see their friends safe and breathing.

Lando was waiting for him out front. He didn't want to face either of them alone. Unsure the correct way to act in this situation.

The next thing they knew, a nurse was leading them back to where their friends were.

Alex was upright and attentive. Stitches lined a few places on his face. doctors are doing a few tests to make sure there's no internal damage.

Y/N was unconscious, but the moniter tracking her heart was beeping steadily.

Max was at her side instantly. Assessing the damage he could see. The nurse followed him in. Getting a few vitals from the sleeping figure.

"She has a concussion and a few broken ribs, but she'll be fine." The nurse smiled reassuringly at him.

"Why's she unconscious then?" He'd finally gotten to understand her. He didn't want to lose that yet.

"Every time she woke up, she started panicking and hyperventilating. The doctors felt it best to put her under and let her rest." Then the nurse left him alone woth her.

Later, Max, Lando, and Alex were discussing it. Alex had been discharged and could leave whenever he wanted, but the three felt the need to stay until she woke up.

"The truck hit the passenger side of our car. That's probably why she was panicking." Alex pointed at making Lando nod in agreement.

Max's confusion was visible on his face. "Wait, has she not told you?" Asked Lando."

"Told me what?"

"How she lost her vision."

The two boys had refused to tell Max the story. Claiming it wasn't their place. Max respected that, but he was growing more and more curious.

Lando and Alex had left him an hour ago. Alex was exhausted and in need of a new shirt. The one he was wearing now stained with the excess blood from his head wounds.

When she woke up, the heart moniter started to beep faster. Alerting Max that something was wrong.

He gently grabbed her hand and placed it on his arm. Leaning over the bed so he could talk quietly.

It was odd how her hand on his arm had become a comfort for him. He wasn't sure if it was for hers, but he was panicking and needed to do something before she could hyperventilate again.

"It's okay, you're safe now." He soothes. His free hand now stroking the top of her head.

Her breathing calmed down at hearing his voice. "Is Alex okay?" She rasped. Her throat dry from her previous panicked shouts.

"Yeah, he went with Lando. He texted, saying he was safe at his apartment."

It was quiet for a moment before he heard her sigh. "I need to tell you what happened."

Max just shook his head to show he was listening. Grimacing at the horrific details she recounted to him.

There had been a massive crash. Six cars were involved. Her family had been innocent. Yet they suffered the most.

Their family car had landed on its side. Two cars landing on top of it. One crushed the front with the impact, killing both her parents. The other landed over the top of her. Oil leaked out from the bottom of the car, finding its way through broken glass of her mirror. The strong, smelling liquid getting in her eyes.

She screamed, trying to wipe it away as it burned her. Only to push it farther in and make it worse. She had been on the passenger side that day. Waiting thirty minutes for them to get her out safely.

She woke up alone in the hospital. Her parents and vision both gone.

Lando and her hand been friends. So she went to stay with their family. His parents let her into their home like she was their own.

When the car crashed into the passenger side, she was transported back into that moment.

Now she's here, with Max, his voice pulling her into a sense of security.

It didn't take long for her to be discharged after that. Max sent a quick message they the two were back at his apartment.

Max Verstappen embraced the girl he once hated. His lack of understanding eating away at his pride. But he understood now.

"I'm sorry about everything you've had to go through. I can't change the past, but I can be here for you in the future." He leaned his forehead against hers. The innocent affection communicating everything.

He knew how she was feeling through other signals. When blotchy tears rolled down her cheeks, he could feel every emotion rolling through her body. Finally able to get closure on what had happened so long ago.

"I love you, even if you can hardly see me, I love you."

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redladydeath · 20 days ago

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Monthly Proto Vox AU update

For anyone who doesn't know, ever since Prototype Vox was discovered, I've been gradually putting together a backstory for Vox centered around the idea that that's how he originally spawned in Hell. It's gotten to be 8K words long. Just wanted to make a new masterpost since I've added onto the older one 32 times.

Also, I don't think I ever posted about this, but I also posted this to Ao3 a few weeks ago.

Alastor goes to speak with another overlord, trying to decide whether or not he should kill them. While there, he notices that said overlord has the most fascinating little toy/pet/jester. Such novel technology… he thinks he’ll take it, whether the overlord wants him to or not!

Alastor keeps Vox around because he’s cute and entertaining. As time passes, a legitimate friendship starts to form as Alastor realizes that Vox is far more than meets the eye— tricksy, devious, and intelligent. He learns that before he arrived in Hell, Vox was a handsome, well-respected adult man, and he isn’t too keen on constantly being mistaken for a child and treated like a joke by other sinners. A pity he has to live like that… but it’s not like there’s anything to be done for it! And Alastor must say, he’s fond of his little picture box the way he is.

With Alastor’s guidance, Vox slowly accumulates knowledge and resources and discovers that he can modify his body. He jumps on the opportunity at once— he doesn’t want to live like this anymore, and he’ll do anything to be respected (or at least taken seriously) by other people again. Alastor disapproves but holds his tongue.

Time passes, and Vox changes more and more things about himself until he’s almost unrecognizable. He and Alastor get into arguments about it. It’s galling to Vox that Alastor keeps insisting he was better off in a form he hated. Mix all this with the modernity and “morality”/standards stuff, and you eventually get Vox and Alastor falling out.

Years later, Vox hates that he was ever that weak and can’t stand being reminded of Alastor, their old relationship, or his early life in Hell. He works hard to destroy/bury any traces of who he used to be, but Alastor is a walking, eternal reminder of the past he’d rather forget. Alastor is loathe to admit it, but he still misses his old friend. Sometimes, he wonders if he ever truly knew him at all.

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Freshly fallen Vox seeking out an overlord’s protection because, holy shit, if he tries to survive on the streets any longer, he’s gonna get killed, or worse. Most sinners get asked if they can do anything useful when they go to an overlord; Vox gets asked if he can sing, dance, and do comedy routines. He can, so he’s quickly scooped up by the overlord. He supposes he should be grateful that he was able to score a comfortable job doing something not terribly unpleasant, but the dehumanization of being treated like a doll or an adorable purse dog grates on him. He remembers who he really is (or used to be) and would do anything to be seen as a man again rather than a novelty.

---

Imagine feeling so utterly desexed by your body, finding someone you think you can trust to respect you, confessing that you’re in love with them, and they laugh in your face for thinking such a thing was even remotely possible. Alastor doesn’t do a great job clarifying that he’s disinterested in a relationship out of personal preference rather than because he doesn’t respect Vox, and Vox walks away from the encounter seething, believing that Alastor never saw him as anything more than a pet or a clown.

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Man, this would especially suck for my hc version of Vox, who used to be a small-time Vaudevillian when he was a child. Like. Yaaaayyy, time to dance around and act cutesy for people who have complete power over you… again…… when you’re pushing forty…………

---

Vox was REALLY starting to feel like he'd made an irreversible mistake before Alastor came into his life. He'd been in the employ of his overlord for four years, and he could count the number of times he'd been allowed to leave their compound on two (four-fingered) hands. They weren't cruel to him per se, but they really did seem to see him as a pet– something to trail after them all day, do tricks on demand, and show off to colleagues at parties. Any plans he had for carving out a dignified, powerful life for himself were going up in smoke. He knew a lot of things from constantly overhearing conversations about the overlord's business, but he didn't have anyone to trade that information to because of his restricted mobility. He understood that he had some pretty unique powers, but he'd never gotten the chance to use them in combat, only to perform. It was becoming clear to Vox that the only way he was going to escape this doltish, embarrassing life was if someone killed his overlord (something he couldn't do himself due to the deal they struck).

And then the Radio Demon came walking through the door.

---

Vox really has no idea what Alastor's deal is when they first meet. Like. He kidnaps him but also says Vox can leave whenever he wants. But like. where is he supposed to go??? Alastor just killed his overlord, which, yeah, Vox wanted to happen, but now he's homeless and isn't sure how to proceed. Is it safe to stay with Alastor, or is he just going to kill him next?

Vox keeps up the "silly little cartoon" persona for a while because Alastor seems to find it amusing, but things gradually slip through the cracks. He's scared Alastor will abandon or kill him if he grows bored or dissatisfied with him, but... Alastor seems to like the real him? He actually lets him speak freely and talk about whatever he wants? He uses his tech powers to turn off the in-built censors that keep Vox from swearing?? When he realizes that Vox is actually really cunning, he wants to hear his feedback on things??? Sure, he still kinda talks down to him, but Alastor's like that with everyone. This... maybe this could be more than just trading one master for another.

---

Random thoughts about Vox’s overlord

She was enamored with him from the first moment she saw him. He was just so precious! And he was willing to do anything to receive her protection!

Her industry had nothing to do with entertainment; she took Vox in purely to be her own personal jester.

Not sure if she owned his soul or just had a deal with him to give him a safe place to live in exchange for his services.

Loved treating him like a doll. Would dress him in cute, oversized outfits, carry him around in her arms, and occasionally bring him to bed and cuddle him like some sort of plushie.

There were occasions, especially towards the beginning, when Vox would snap at her or reveal elements of his real personality. Those incidents would only lead to her doubling down on the demeaning treatment. She’d experienced mistreatment at the hands of men like him when she was alive and saw asserting her power over him as cathartic and karmic.

Usually brought him with her everywhere, but would sometimes leave him locked in her office/room by himself if she had something important scheduled. Vox had initially thought he could leave or at least walk around when she didn’t need him, but no. Besides, why would he want to leave? The streets of Hell were no place for a tiny, fragile thing like him!

Vox fucking hated her and was glad to see Alastor bash her brains in and feature her on his show.

---

Mainverse Vox died by being electrocuted by an ungrounded mic at work right before they went live. This Vox died by being electrocuted while trying to fix the family TV. His kids had been begging him to at least try to fix it since the repairman couldn’t come until the next day, and they didn’t want to miss their favorite cartoon. He was feeling indulgent that day and felt that, as the man of the house, he should be able to fix things without always calling someone else to do it for him. It didn’t end well.

---

Thinking about Vox and Alastor’s first encounter.

Alastor might have seen Vox before at an overlord event, being shown off by his boss or performing for her friends. He may have seen him for the first time when he walked into Vox’s overlord’s office and saw her toying with him. Either way, Alastor was immediately intrigued. He hadn’t seen many sinners like Vox, with his screen head and cartoony body, and could instantly tell he was a highly skilled performer. His eyes followed him, even as Vox’s overlord put him aside and ordered him to get her and Alastor drinks. Vox could tell Alastor was watching him but wasn’t sure what to do about it. It’s probably not a good sign when the infamous Radio Demon is eying you like you’re his next meal.

Eventually, the overlord noticed that Alastor was not paying full attention to their conversation and was preoccupied with Vox. The topic briefly switched to him before Alastor inquired if she’d be willing to bargain for him. Vox was horrified. The overlord attempted to politely decline; she couldn’t bear to part with her precious little poppet. He was hers, and it would be cruel to separate them— they adored each other so much, after all. Alastor just smiled blithely and clarified: he wasn’t asking.

All hell broke loose in an instant. One moment, Vox was observing a conversation between his boss and her colleague; the next, the office was crawling with shadows, and his overlord was pinned to the wall, impaled on a tentacle. Vox panicked and tried to flee, but there was no escaping that room. There are two options for what happens next: either Vox is seized by Alastor and teleported out of the building, or Vox’s boss screams at him to help her, only for him to glance between her and Alastor and fix her with an icy stare.

No matter what happened, the outcome was the same: Vox found himself teleported onto the streets of Hell with Alastor looming over him. He frantically attempted to talk Alastor out of killing him, but Al just laughed jovially and told Vox that he had no intention of harming him. Vox was free to leave whenever he wanted, but Alastor would like to see just how entertaining he truly was.

---

As they're walking, Alastor notices a weird clicking sound coming from Vox. He asks what it is, and Vox awkwardly explains that he's wearing tap shoes and starts trying to take them off as he walks. Alastor is amused and tells him not to bother. He'd love to see him dance sometime.

---

Val: Baby? What were things like before you met me? Vox: Awesome. I had- I had women all over me, they just couldn’t get enough. Everyone was always dying to see my shows. I was voted the hottest person in Hell. It was great. Vox’s actual early career in Hell:

---

Thinking about one of the times Vox “mouthed off” to his overlord. He may be a performer, but there’s only so long he can stay in character, especially when said character is so undignified. He refused to play along with one of her little games and snapped at her that he was a man, not a fucking show dog.

Next thing Vox knew, he was nearly blinded by pain as his boss twisted his antenna almost to its breaking point. Her voice sickeningly sweet, she told him she knew exactly what kind of man he had been— Earth’s crawling with them. But those days are over now. Respect has to be earned in Hell; it’s not just going to be handed to him like when he was alive. The afterlife has made him a joke, and the sooner he accepts that the happier he'll be. That’s what he signed up for when they made their little arrangement, after all. She asked if she was understood and kept twisting his antenna until she got a loud-and-clear “Yes, ma’am” out of him. With that, she snapped back to normal and either cheerfully ushered him towards [whatever she was forcing him to do] or dismissed him in her typical patronizing manner.

Vox broke half the items in his room that night in a rage. He tried to leave gouges on his skin and dents in his head, but he couldn’t manage it, what with his stupid, soft little hands.

---

It doesn’t really fit with my headcanon that Alastor was super white-passing when he was alive and spent most of his life pretending to be white in order to have more opportunities, but I feel like he may have felt a kinship with Proto-Vox due to them both being “outsiders”— people who are/were constantly dismissed by those in power and have to work twice as hard in order to be taken seriously, even though they’re more skilled and competent than everyone else in the room. And so it hurt all the more when Vox leapt at the first opportunity to change who he was in order to join the class of people who had once looked down on him. It didn’t fully click with Alastor that Vox wasn’t always like this– that he was trying to return to who he once was rather than abandoning who he’d always been.

---

Vox wasn’t exactly doing himself any favors in terms of connecting with the other sinners who worked under his overlord. He was so desperate to reestablish at least some control over his situation that, on the rare occasion he got to interact with people without his boss looming over them, he was insufferable, acting as though his position as their overlord's constant companion made him superior to regular employees. It never actually made him feel any better though, since most people either just rolled their eyes or testily reminded him that his oh-so-important job was to make a fool of himself all day and be doted on by his "owner."

---

To most outside observers, it really looked as though the relationship between Vox and his overlord was genuinely loving. She was just so affectionate with him. There was never a moment when she wasn’t tittering away at his jokes, or playing with his antennas or plug tail, or scooping him up into her arms or lap, or hugging or tickling or cuddling him, or covering him in kisses, or coming up with adorable pet names, or showing him off to others as though he were the rarest gem she’d ever come across. No one ever seemed to notice that Vox was never the one to initiate these kind of interactions. Depending on who you asked, it was either the most adoring master-servant arrangement Hell had ever seen, a (possibly biological?) mother-son dynamic, or just an INCREDIBLY kinky relationship. Vox played his part well, laughing along and hardly ever letting the smiling mask slip. No one ever could’ve guessed just how much he loathed her and the entire humiliating situation or how cruel she could be whenever he dared drop the act.

Well, no one except Alastor, that is.

---

Imo, Proto Vox would just sound like normal Vox slightly pitched up, but man, Hell giving him a lisp or some other "funny" way of speaking on top of everything else would be such a gut punch for him. His good looks and his charismatic manner of speech were key to his success when he was alive, and now both of those lifelines have been severed.

---

Personal, headcanon-specific thoughts:

Proto Vox’s outfit is very similar to a costume he wore during his childhood on Vaudeville.

Alternate option: While I hc that sinners spawn naked, if they don’t, then Vox spawned in the exact 1920s sailor suit he used to wear during most of his childhood performances.

His Hell form is a punishment not only because it robs him of all dignity, but because it’s a constant reminder of a part of his life when he had no power over his situation and was treated like an object meant only to entertain.

---

Thinking about how Alastor’s “a smile is a means of maintaining control” philosophy might strike a chord with Proto Vox. When he was alive (and later, in his career as an overlord), putting on a smile was a way for him to project the person he wanted others to perceive him as. If he looked the part, then people would believe he was the confident, steady, trustworthy man he presented as. After he arrived in Hell, though, a smile became a mask he could not take off. Hell had chosen a role for him, and if he failed to play it well enough, he risked permanent death or worse. He resented having to keep that mindless grin on his face at all times. This wasn’t who he wanted to be. This wasn’t who he was. The idea that he could use that iron mask to regain control over his life was foreign to him, but it made sense. Now that he was no longer chained to a master who kept him locked into that hated role at all times, he had a choice in how he wanted to use it— for day-to-day survival or to further his true ambitions?

---

Vox and Alastor’s first encounter was at an overlord party like something out of a Regency romance, except Vox was three feet tall and didn’t notice Alastor was watching him because he was too busy performing for his boss’ overlord friends. Alastor appreciated the skill on display in Vox’s routine and was intrigued by the unusual way his “owner” treated him. Sure, some overlords treat those under them as pets, but she was so overly cutesy and “loving” with him that it stood out, especially given the way Vox feigned reciprocation. Interesting.

---

A scene/story idea: Vox is sitting at a desk in a grand, spacious office. It’s late, and he’s just killing time, wishing he had a cigar (and a mouth to smoke it with) and occasionally scribbling down notes for future reference. The stationary he’s using has the date printed at the top, though. It’s his daughter’s tenth birthday. He reflects on how it’s been three years since he last saw her and the rest of his family and how he’ll likely never see them again. He hopes his wife is throwing her an appropriately extravagant party, at least. They’d gone all-out for their son’s tenth birthday; half the neighborhood was there, even one or two of the ladies from work who had blown him in exchange for putting in a good word with the producers. It was a great time.

And then his boss comes walking in, complaining about what a stressful day she’s had, and the illusion that this is Vox’s office shatters. He hops down to the floor, taking his dance/comedy routine notes with him. His boss is busy getting herself a drink, so he hopes she didn’t notice him sitting in her chair. He starts trying to engage her in conversation, switching to his work persona (cheerful, cutesy, and childish). She did notice him, but she just smiles indulgently and says he always knows just what to do to cheer her up— he looked so silly sitting at her big, important desk. Now, she needs a bit of comfort; they’ll be going to bed now. She scoops Vox up as easily as if he were a doll and carries him off to serve as her (very angular) teddy bear. Vox keeps the adoring smile plastered on his face and tries to put aside the burning shame and rage that this is what the afterlife has reduced him to: a child, a pet, a toy meant to entertain those who wield the actual power.

---

You know, come to think of it, there’s actually some basis to Alastor feeling a bit of a kinship with Vox. Aside from the obvious shared trait of them both being communications/entertainment demons, Alastor’s demonic form is a prey animal. Al never had to deal with the consequences of having that kind of form since he spawned so powerful (unless we’re going with the theory that he made his mystery deal right when he got to Hell and draws the majority of his power from it (which would be pretty interesting in this context…)), but still.

---

Made Vox's room in the Sims

---

Vox tried to walk out of his job once. His boss pushed him too far, and he snapped, yelling at her to find someone else to play this fucked up game with; he’d rather take his chances on the streets. Next thing he knew, he was bound, muted, and blindfolded, being crammed into a tiny suitcase. His overlord told him to reflect on what he’d said. There’s no life after second death, only nothingness. Is that really a risk he wants to take?

Vox was in “storage” for the next week. He didn’t try to leave again after that.

---

When Vox’s boss finally decided he’d had enough time to reflect, she opened the trunk to find Vox barely able to move under his own power. He was trembling like a freezing cat, having spent seven whole days bound in the fetal position, unable to move, speak, hear, or see. He couldn’t even unfurl himself from said position without her help. When she took him into her arms, he clung to her, any thoughts of hate or anger gone, replaced with a desperate desire for human connection after a week of nothingness. She cradled him in her arms— sweet as a lamb and without a shred of that odious pride she’d been working so hard to stamp out of him. Whispering kind, soothing words, she stroked his shaking, silent body as she carried him back to her bedroom. She dozed off with him in her arms, secure in the knowledge that her darling little doll had learned his lesson: being her toy is a privilege, and the only possible alternative for him is oblivion.

---

Thinking about Proto Vox and body dysmorphia

Vox hated everything about his body.

He hated being so small, not even half the size of most other sinners.

He hated his face, cute and goofy-looking. He hated his “missing tooth,” which only added to his childish appearance.

He hated his head, oversized and heavy. He hated how clumsy it made him before he became accustomed to it.

He hated not having a physical mouth and being unable to eat.

He hated his voice, higher pitched than it had been when he was alive. He hated the childish-sounding lisp he had been afflicted with.

He hated how he couldn’t swear or talk about adult topics without his voice being drowned out by an in-built censor.

He hated his body and its strange combination of wood and metal, both of which bent in ways that shouldn’t’ve been possible.

He hated his hands, soft and rounded and nailless.

He hated how he had spawned without genitals, completely smooth and sexless, like a doll.

He hated how no one perceived him as anything even remotely resembling a sexual being, even though he was a fully grown man who had once had his pick of beautiful women when he was alive.

He hated how he weighed almost nothing, making him easy for others to pick up or restrain.

He hated the way nothing in Hell was built to accommodate sinners his size, forcing him to climb (or be lifted onto) things as simple as chairs.

He hated the way his boss made him dress: in baggy outfits that made his smallness even more apparent, in children’s clothes, in silly, oh-so adorable costumes. He especially hated when she insisted on dressing him herself as though he were her doll.

He hated how often people mistook him for a child or deliberately talked down to him as though he was stupid just because of his ridiculous body.

He hated how people laughed at him and how he had no choice but to make them laugh in order to keep himself alive.

He hated how, in one fell swoop, Hell had robbed him of everything that had made him him. His good looks, his charisma, his respectability— everything. Never in a million years would he have anticipated that this would be his punishment for his misdeeds on Earth, for looking down on others and treating them like objects to be pushed around, but he had to admit, it was a pretty potent punishment nonetheless. And he would do anything to escape it.

---

Vox’s boss was kind of massively projecting her own resentments and trauma onto him. She didn’t actually know that much about him. It was pure luck that her impression of him as an arrogant chauvinist who had treated the people in his life poorly was… you know… accurate.

---

Vox realized that he had a voyeurism kink the third time his boss had sex with someone while he was still in the room. Probably not the outcome she intended, but it wasn’t like Vox could do anything about it anyway. He still felt sexual desire, but he’d spawned in Hell without genitals so that energy had nowhere to go. Just another lovely part of Vox’s Wonderful Afterlife.

---

Most sinners are horrified when they see their new forms for the first time. Vox was just devastated.

He was horrified when he first woke up, of course– transported to a strange new place, surrounded by giant monsters, and barely able to keep from swaying under the weight of his oversized head. No one paid him or his panic any mind save for a few smirks and chuckles. Vox found himself pressed up against a wall, out of the way of the flow of pedestrians, trying to process what was going on. Once he realized something was wrong with his body, he ducked into a nearby store, desperate to find a mirror (and get away from the crowds of fellow sinners). The store clerk let him in; they weren’t supposed to let newlydead into the shop since they usually just cause a scene, but Vox looked harmless, and they felt a little bad for such a tiny, fearful sinner. Vox made a beeline for the nearest mirror.

When his reflection finally came into view, Vox… he was lost for words. Seeing his childlike proportions, it finally registered that the world hadn’t gotten bigger; he’d gotten smaller. His body… there was something wrong with it. It was made of wood and metal like a puppet; only the materials seemed to bend like rubber. Worse than that, it was completely smooth and featureless; his genitals were simply gone. His hands were soft, rounded, and nailless, more like stuffed gloves than human hands. His head was encased— no, not encased, replaced with a television set that looked like it made up the majority of his body weight. Displayed on its screen was a face like something out of a cartoon: large, shiny, googly eyes, a wide mouth, and one conspicuously absent tooth. All topped off with a pair of floppy, overly long antennas that made him resemble some kind of insect.

Vox was speechless, staring at his new body. He felt tears bubbling up as he examined each part of it. He wasn’t sure how, but some part of him knew this wasn’t a dream and that this form would not be temporary. No tears fell though, trapped behind the glass of the— his screen. He couldn’t recall the moment of his death, but the realization of where he must be began to dawn on him. A soft, despairing sound escaped him, and Vox realized his voice, too, had been changed. He was not himself anymore, just this tiny, adorable thing, right out of one of the cartoons he’d been trying to repair the TV so his children could watch. A joke.

Suddenly, Vox felt someone grab him by the arm, dragging him away from the mirror, his feet barely brushing the floor. The owner had noticed a newlydead had snuck in and was having the prerequisite “What have I become?” freakout in their store. Carelessly, they shoved/threw Vox back onto the street and slammed the door behind them. Reeling, trying to wrap his mind around the gravity of the situation, Vox stumbled and collapsed on the sidewalk, surrounded by sinners who either stepped around him like he was nothing or paused for a moment to chuckle at the clumsy newlydead struggling to regain his balance under the weight of his massive head.

---

Vox's own shitty beliefs ended up being used against him during his early years in Hell.

In life, he'd treated his wife and son poorly because they complained about being unhappy with the way things were. Vox believed that if all your physical needs were met and you were able to live comfortably, you had no right to complain. He provided them with everything, and all he asked for in return was for them to be the happy, perfect wife and son he expected them to be. What was so hard about that?!

In death, the tables were turned. Vox was able to live comfortably in a safe environment, doing a job that most sinners would describe as incredibly cushy, but he was desperately unhappy. He was forced to play an inauthentic, demeaning role 24/7 and couldn't complain about it unless he wanted to be punished. Just sit there quietly and smile while the "grownups" are talking. No one wants to hear your silly little opinions. You should be grateful that you're even allowed to be here.

---

Words were Vox's boss' preferred weapon when it came to surreptitiously tormenting him, but she wasn't above using physical violence as a means of "discipline" either. Aside from the antenna and "storage" incidents, she'd occasionally employ "percussive maintenance" at the beginning of his time with her in response to breaks in character or sullen comments. Once or twice, she burnt him with cigarettes in response to particularly "bad" offenses.

---

Vox's boss would give him gifts sometimes. Little presents wrapped up all pretty with a bow. Sometimes, they were for special occasions, like the anniversary of his "coming to live with her"; sometimes, they were "rewards for good behavior." Vox would accept the presents graciously and then never open them, leaving them to collect dust in his room. There were a few occasions when she made him open them in front of her, though. Usually, they were just quaint little trinkets or clothes, but once, she gifted him a goldfish (or the Hellish equivalent) in a tiny bowl. It was the closest she'd gotten to something he'd actually want, yet it still felt like a veiled taunt. It didn't take long for the fish to die; its bowl was simply too small.

---

Vox does his absolute best to keep his past a secret from everyone, particularly Valentino. He knows on some level that it wouldn’t really change anything other than give Val and Vel something else to tease him about, but Vox’s ego is so fragile that he feels like he’d die if they found out. Unfortunately for him, Valentino is incredibly observant when he wants to be. He doesn’t know the specifics, but based on various little things from throughout the years and the pointed insults he’s heard Alastor throw at Vox, he can guess that Vox’s early days in Hell were... less than auspicious. However, he assumes Vox was just some corporate toady, and he would be just as shocked as anyone else to learn how Vox actually began his afterlife.

---

Playing with the idea that Vox’s boss hired him with no ulterior motives; she simply thought he was cute and would be an easy source of entertainment. However, as time went on and she got a better sense of what kind of person Vox was, she began deliberately tormenting him. The abuse and humiliation started off under the pretext that she was only doing it to “correct an attitude problem,” but it soon became clear that her real issue with Vox had nothing to do with his abilities as a performer.

---

It doesn’t really fit with the “lore” I’ve been putting together for this AU, but the idea of Vox trying to go in for various media/performance auditions and either being laughed out of them or told to look into less dignified roles is compelling to me. He looks and sounds so much like a goofy little child; why on Earth would anyone even consider him, especially when there are countless other sinners looking for work whose forms aren’t so distractingly cutesy?

I’ll be honest: Babydoll from Batman TAS is a significant influence on how I conceptualize Proto Vox.

---

Reminds me of fakeannafromthebox's Caterpillar Val AU. Vox is so miserable. He wants to be back in his modified body NOW, but it's going to take a while for them to rebuild it. Val and Vel tease him about it at first... until they realize that Vox is genuinely really hurt by it. He never wanted them to see him like this.

The denizens of Hell are confused as to why Vox is suddenly on a month-long hiatus when he's literally never taken a break from the media before.

---

Been considering whether it should just be happenstance that brings Vox and Alastor together or if Vox should hit his breaking point, go behind his boss' back, and send Alastor a false message in her name, hoping that it will provoke him into killing her.

---

Had a mental image today of Vox sitting in on one of his boss’ conversations with a colleague, as per usual. He’s bored and miserable until the two overlords start discussing the Radio Demon. Vox has heard stories— might’ve even caught one or two of Alastor’s broadcasts— but he’s never heard him discussed like an actual person rather than an urban legend. Vox’s boss starts shittalking Alastor, and Vox suddenly gets an idea. He begins secretly recording her, capturing all her private complaints about him on tape. Vox is terrified of what she might do if she discovered what he was doing, but at this point, he's so good at masking his true emotions that she doesn’t even notice anything is off. Vox held onto that recording until he gained access to a communications device. He hesitated for a moment, thinking of all the ways this plan could go wrong and result in his permanent death, but… he couldn’t pass up this opportunity. He couldn’t bear to stay here any longer.

Alastor figured out it was Vox who sent him that message a couple years into their friendship, but he didn’t hold it against him. In fact, he was impressed with Vox’s determination, taking his fate back into his hands regardless of the risks. He eventually told Vox so himself when the topic came up years later.

---

Vox once made the mistake of snapping that he was not a child at one of his boss’ colleagues who had been talking about him like he was too stupid to understand what they were saying. Honestly, the momentary shock on the colleague’s face was not worth the ensuing, agonizing conversation where his boss muted him, apologized to the other overlord, then prompted them to try to guess his real age, and took far too much pleasure in explaining to them that despite Vox’s appearance, he was actually 41.

---

Thinking about Proto Vox sitting in on his boss' overlord meetings like the Egg Bois in episode 3. Most of the time, his boss would hold him in her lap like a doll, but sometimes, she'd leave him sitting on the ground until the meeting ended. He wished he had a way to put the information he was “eavesdropping” on to good use, but he wasn't allowed to leave the stupid compound without being accompanied by his boss.

---

One particularly dehumanizing experience Vox remembers far more vividly than he would like was the first time his overlord stripped him naked without his consent so she could redress him in a new outfit she’d picked out. This became a semi-frequent occurrence, but it never stopped making his skin crawl. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to someone like him, and yet here he was, robbed not only of the freedom to choose his own clothes but even to dress himself if his boss so willed it.

Even over half a century later, Vox still needs to be coaxed and convinced by Valentino to surrender control during sex. He has no intention of ever telling Val why having someone else undress him puts him on edge.

---

cw sexual assault

The first time Vox’s overlord stripped him naked was also when she discovered that he had no genitals. Of course, she couldn’t let that fact go uncommented on and groped between his legs to confirm, cooing all the while about how perfect Vox was. Vox didn’t even have time to dissociate during the experience; it all happened so fast. Before he had time to process what happened, he was already being redressed in whatever stupid outfit she’d picked out for him that time. The dissociation came later.

In hindsight, Vox thinks it’s sort of darkly funny how he felt as though he’d been sexually assaulted despite not having any sex organs at the time. It’s really not.

---

Thank you!!!

Yeah, Vox is extremely uncomfortable with thinking of himself as a victim. It's easier to just compartmentalize the experience and tell himself that of course he wasn't sexually assaulted– sex wasn't even involved!

At the time, he had no idea how to feel about it. Before he even had time to process the event, he was expected to just move on with the day like nothing happened. Vox wished he could've just forgotten about it– it only lasted for a few seconds, it "didn't count" because he didn't have any genitals to grope, and, in his successful-white-1950s-man brain, groping wasn't even that bad anyway– but the feeling of violation lingered, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it or distract himself. He eventually managed to push those feelings away, but the memory will still pop up on occasion and he'll have to convince himself all over again that it wasn't any different than all the other times his boss manhandled him.

---

Oh, I'm glad you liked the post!

Yeah, I can see Alastor giving that roach speech to Vox when he's trying to convince him to stop modifying himself. Vox is just like "You think I'm a bug???" He never noticed; he was too focused on the cartoon/TV thing. Message not received.

Alastor probably has weird feelings about the way Vox's old boss treated him. On one hand, it's kind of funny, and Alastor's clearly not opposed to treating people like pets, given his later relationship with Husk. On the other... he feels a weird sort of kinship with Vox in so many regards, and his relationship with his overlord... [leak discussion] it's uncomfortably similar to Alastor's with his contract holder– tricked into a bad deal, treated with condescension, and forced to pretend to adore them in public [end leak discussion]. Alastor likes the idea of helping Vox gain power and rise above his station, but not him changing himself in order to accomplish that goal– he sees too much of himself in Vox to stand that.

Vox doing ad reads/voiceovers for Alastor's show is a great idea. Perfect way to get back into the industry without opening himself up to mockery; plus, he's got a wonderful voice. Would also give him another reason to hate radio once he and Al split: audio-only work will always be a reminder of a time when he couldn't bear to be seen.

---

Might incorporate how long it’s taking me to come up with a name for Vox’s boss by making it so he’s only allowed to call her “Ma’am”/“Madam”/“Miss” instead of her actual sinner name.

---

Thoughts on Proto Vox in the RAM verse

Proto Vox thoughts that heavily feature my OCs

---

Once he finally gained the ability to project a functioning mouth onto his screen, Vox got himself into some… interesting situations trying to keep up with Alastor whenever they went out for drinks. He didn’t care that he was half Alastor’s size; he’s drinking just as much as he is! Maybe even more!!

Those were some of the funniest nights Alastor had (and still has) ever experienced.

---

Thinking about Vox, dead for a week or so, with cracks in his screen and dressed only in a button-up shirt he'd stripped off a corpse double his size, pitching himself to his soon-to-be overlord and trying not to come across as desperate as he truly was. The streets of Hell aren't kind to anyone, but especially not to defenseless-looking, newly arrived sinners with body parts that could potentially be resold. In his short time in Hell, Vox had already had multiple people try to strip him for parts and had only escaped them by the skin of his teeth. He'd barely been able to sleep since he arrived, constantly on guard for more attackers. He looked a fucking wreck, but that only added to his charm, in his boss' opinion. He looked like a starving Victorian orphan trying to give a serious business pitch– so cute!

---

Vox wishes he could feel comfortable in his bedroom at the compound. Being in there means he’s away from his overlord— that he can finally drop the act and just breathe. It’s a nice room, too, especially compared to the living quarters of most other employees. Vox feels as though the privacy and comfort should be enough. But… it isn’t really his room, is it?

His overlord chose the decor: soft and twee and old-fashioned. She can start pounding on the door, ordering him to come out and join her at any moment. The fact she’s too tall to fit in the room is small comfort. It feels like living in a dollhouse; there’s the illusion of privacy, but one wall is missing, allowing the owner to move things around or snatch up the doll inside at a moment’s notice.

---

Honestly, Vox's boss definitely got her "money's" worth out of Vox. He wasn't lying about being a multi-talented performer; he had a wide array of skills.

He had extensive training and experience with dance and comedy (although he was 25 years out of practice) from his childhood on Vaudeville. He was a consummate singer, good at improv, and familiar with a handful of instruments, particularly the piano. He could act fairly well (although he was always more convincing when he came up with stuff on the spot) and had even become a perfect mimic due to his demonic form.

Vox's overlord couldn't have asked for a better entertainer, and she counted herself lucky that he just happened to wander into her building one day looking for work– she didn't even need to place an ad!

Vox was proud of his various skills– he sure as hell hadn't spent years working himself to the bone to hone them for nothing, after all– but he missed being the host rather than the entertainment. He hadn't had to perform like this since he was a child, and it was just as exhausting as he remembered.

---

Vox's primary job was to be a jester for his overlord, but he was also somewhat of an assistant to her. He'd make or serve her and her guests drinks (alcohol, coffee, whatever), carry things for her (which would often be embarrassingly difficult, given his size), and run very minor errands for her (usually just delivering messages to employees a few doors down). Additionally, once she discovered that he could record audio, she started using him as a living tape recorder. She'd bring him to meetings, have him record the conversation without the other party knowing, and then play the audio back once they were in private so she could take note of the exact phrasing and use it against them later on. This last use for Vox ended up being her downfall; she kept him so cloistered that she never thought that he'd be able to use her own words against her one day.

---

Up until the incident where he tried to quit, Vox’s boss would sometimes casually threaten to replace him if he didn’t immediately bend to her will. There were countless other sinners and Hellborn that were perfectly capable of doing his job without an attitude problem; why shouldn’t she just trade him in for one of them? Or perhaps she should employ another entertainer to work alongside him (i.e. compete with him). If Vox thought he was too good for this job, then he could go back to the streets whenever he liked. These threats almost always succeeded in getting him to comply, and she was a bit disappointed when she realized they were no longer as effective as they’d once been.

---

Honestly, Vox’s boss getting another “pet” would be a whole shitshow. When Vox was alive, he once outed a coworker as gay because he was getting more airtime than him, which led to the coworker’s family institutionalizing him. And that was when the stakes were just career success. Vox may hate his job, but it’s what keeps him safe and alive. He’d feel so threatened by the new person that he’d probably end up getting them killed just to protect his position. His overlord is 100% aware of what's going on, but she gets a kick out of watching Vox do whatever it takes to stay in her favor.

---

Vox actually starts initiating affectionate interactions with her out of desperation not to be replaced. His boss (who lowkey only wanted make sure he didn’t grow complacent in his position) is delighted. The poor imp she hired has no idea what they’ve been sucked into. Vox is cold and hostile when they’re in private but then will turn on a dime the second he sees their overlord. Their boss is constantly doing subtle little things to pit them against each other, but the imp feels like they never truly had a chance of surpassing and replacing Vox. All the imp wants to do is make enough to feed their family, but in the end, all they get is being ripped in two by vines when Vox snitches on them for taking a few extra bucks from his boss’ desk.

---

In the modern day, Vox and Alastor disagree about how they met. Alastor will say that he rescued Vox from his overlord and took him in afterward. Vox will say (or rather, would say, since he never speaks about his past) that he rescued his damn self and chose to stick with Alastor because it was the best possible option at the time. Neither of them are wrong, but their mutual bitterness skews their perception of the situation; Vox, the "helpless charity case," and Alastor, the "means to an end."

---

velvette seeing the kind of clothes vox used to have to wear for work and just. vomiting on his behalf

---

Vox thought he was at a bit of an advantage when his soon-to-be boss offered him a simple deal sealed with a handshake: serve as an entertainer for her and she'll give him a safe place to live. Verbal agreements aren't as enforceable as written ones, and the vagueness of the deal left him plenty of room to wriggle his way out if need be!

What Vox didn't realize was that things in Hell don't work like they do on Earth. Sure, vague deals have loopholes, but it's the person with more power who's usually able to take advantage of them as opposed to the "victim." Additionally, written contracts have clauses– specific stipulations that must be abided by. If he'd negotiated things a bit more closely, he could've demanded that she allow him freedom of mobility or had to accept any attempts at a resignation. As is, she was able to keep him at her side at all times and threaten him into staying because there wasn't anything in the deal that said she couldn't do those things; as long as she was giving him a place to stay, she was upholding her end of the bargain.

Vox definitely remembered this lesson when he started drawing up contracts/deals of his own during his later endeavors. Deals can be just as binding as soul contracts. Vagueness is an invaluable tool when it comes to tricking people into bad deals, although granular specificity certainly has a place too, so long as you can get the sucker not to read the fine print.

---

Out of all the things Vox had to do to entertain his overlord, slapstick was his least favorite. It was just so undignified. He already hated having to play dumb and childish, but being the butt of the joke was so much worse than simply being doted on. He couldn’t stand being laughed at, but he didn’t have another choice; if his boss wanted comedy, he had to give it to her, otherwise he’d be punished. For as much baggage he had regarding dance, he would chose it over pretending to hurt himself (or genuinely hurting himself) for his boss’ amusement every time.

This hatred of being laughed at persisted even after he escaped his overlord’s clutches. Vox eventually learned to use his unthreatening appearance to his advantage, but back in the day, a good way to get your shit rocked by the Radio Demon’s tiny apprentice was to laugh at him when he wasn’t trying to be funny.

---

As of right now, Vox's sinner name has always been "Vox." He's eternally grateful that he'd already picked out his sinner name by the time he approached his overlord, because who knows what ridiculous name she would've saddled him with otherwise. However, if Vivziepop ever talks about Cockroach Vox and it turns out he didn't used to be named "Vox," then that name would've been the one he went by up until he met Alastor.

---

Vox was not an overly foul-mouthed person when he was alive, although he certainly wasn't afraid to swear if the situation called for it. However, that casual relationship with tasteful speech went completely out the window after he died. Aside from the in-built censor that kept him from audibly cursing or talking about subjects like sex, he now had a very restrictive persona that he needed to play into. Having to say shit like "Gee whiz" or "Golly" in order to keep up the "cute little cartoon" act was maddening. It was such a relief when Alastor figured out a way to shut off the censor; Vox finally had complete freedom in how he chose to speak again. Honestly, he may have gone a bit too far in the other direction, but given the culture of Hell, it's more unusual to be excessively clean with your speech than it is to swear every other sentence.

---

I wonder if any of the other, older overlords remember Vox from his early days. His boss had a habit of bringing him to meetings and having him perform at parties, so someone like Zestial would’ve probably encountered him at least a couple of times.

On one hand, Vox is beyond grateful that none of the old-timers recognize him as “Lantana’s little lapdog.” On the other, he’s slightly offended that no one paid him enough mind back then to remember him.

Zestial 100% knows who Vox used to be, he’s just choosing to keep that information to himself for the time being.

---

Thinking about a scenario where Vox gets stuck in a hopelessness spiral that causes him to break character in front of his boss. He asks her why she’s doing this to him; what does she get out of all this? Lantana is annoyed by his self-pity and asks him if he has any idea how lucky he is.

Oh, poor Vox, forced to live in the lap of luxury. Condemned to perform wholesome little routines for one of the most powerful overlords in the city while other sinners (female and male) have to prostitute themselves to survive. What an awful fate, having to let her spoil him, love him. Countless sinners would kill to have half of what he has, and here he is complaining because his ego is too fragile to handle not being “in charge” anymore. She’s shocked he’s so ungrateful that he can’t appreciate the gift she’s given him; childhood is a beautiful thing, after all.

Vox knows it’s all lies— she enjoys humiliating him, forcing him to smile through gritted teeth as he plays the demeaning role she’s picked out for him— but after years in her clutches, a small, animal part of his brain wonders if she’s right. Is she being honest when she says she only hurts him to correct him? Does she actually believe that taking away his freedom and keeping him in a gilded cage is love? Is he really better off here than he would be out in the world, struggling to force people to see him as the man he really was used to be?

No. No, he can’t let her get in his head like this. He’s had to give up so much of himself to her; she can’t have his thoughts too. Just don’t say anything. Let her think she’s made him second-guess himself. Don’t allow her to wrestle what little control he has left from his grasp.

---

Vox’s slogan, “Trust us!” started off as “Trust me!” After a while with Alastor, Vox learned to start playing into his harmless appearance in order to gain people’s trust, only to lead them to their deaths or otherwise betray them later on. Most people thought he was either a literal child, stupid, or so weak that they could easily overpower him if need be, so it was easy for him to convince them to let their guards down. Vox managed to get his first few contracts using this method. Trust him! He couldn’t hurt a fly, honest!

Alastor loved this routine, not only because it was hilarious to watch people unknowingly dig their own graves, but because it was useful to him as well. Alastor’s reputation had become so fearsome that it was difficult to get people to stick around long enough to ensnare unless they were truly desperate. It was helpful to have Vox around to lure people in, or to just run errands that would’ve otherwise been a pain due to people’s annoying habit of fleeing at the sight of him. They were a good team, he and Vox; Alastor couldn’t understand why he would choose to give that up in order to become an off-brand copy of him. Yes, it wasn’t the most dignified niche, but it was an important one! And one that very few could pull off even half as well as Vox!

---

Random thought: Vox’s original voice made it impossible for others to tell whether he was a child or an adult. He didn’t quite sound like a real child, but his voice was pitched in such a way that he didn’t read as an adult either— sort of like when adult voice actors play kids. Vox could still hear Himself in certain inflections and in moments when he was allowed to drop the act, but it was extremely alienating, never truly feeling like himself even when he was doing something as simple as speaking.

---

I don’t subscribe to the “Valentino started off with his own abusive pimp” theory (not because I think it’s implausible, it’s just that my HC version of him only worked under the previous overlord of the sex trade for like a year before killing them), plus I think Vox and Val met after Vox was already somewhat established, but whoo-boy, the two of them meeting while they’re both still under the thumbs of their respective abusive bosses would be fun.

---

Two concepts:

Vox’s boss brings him along to an overlord party that Val happens to be performing at. Some drunk dumbass picks him up and shoves him onto the platform where Val was pole dancing— they thought it’d be funny to make the sexless little clown interact with the dirty whore. That was Vox and Val’s first meeting. (Loosely inspired by some of kibbles-bits’ art)

Vox and Val’s respective bosses start up a casual relationship, resulting in the two of them visiting each other’s bases semi-frequently. They get to talking and eventually come to realize that, holy shit, the other guy is an actual person?? And a fun/interesting/clever person too???

#redlady speaks #proto vox au #hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #vox hazbin #vox the tv demon #2013 vox #cockroach vox #alastor #radiosilence #radiostatic

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shadowshrike · 1 year ago

Text

Astarion on Halsin Leaving

I can't stop thinking about Astarion's lines when Halsin chooses to leave your party, so have a fun mini-analysis. Note that this text is pulled via datamining because I don't have all the appropriate saves atm. Since the context of your personal story is everything in this game and can wildly change how lines come across, please take my thoughts here as a fun exercise with the text and nothing more.

I think the things that are needed to fully understand where my head is at regarding his lines are two fold:

1. How Astarion talks about other companions leaving

Shadowheart and Wyll can both also leave in Act 2. His responses are as follows.

Astarion: I don't see what Shadowheart got so upset about - it was not that nice of a temple.

For Shadowheart he gently deflects the crux of the matter. This isn't surprising because he is a master of minimizing other people's grievances when he thinks they're legitimate but inconvenient. Otherwise, he responds fairly mildly.

Astarion: So, that's how the legend ends. The Blade of Frontiers, cast down to the Hells. Hardly a fitting ending. But so few are.

Unlike Shadowheart, Wyll is forced to leave by being dragged to the hells. There's no justification he needs to rebuff for Wyll leaving the party's side, so instead, he uses it to double down on his philosophy that 'nice guys finish last and the world is a dangerous and horrible place.' Which, ironically, is not entirely unreasonable given the circumstances.

2. How other companions talk about Halsin leaving

The Good companions don't blame Halsin for leaving. Wyll even blames himself for not doing enough. Karlach also regrets the loss of another strong person around, reminding us once again that Halsin is physically imposing in the narrative, even if the stats say otherwise because of how D&D balance works.

Gale: Druids will always follow nature's purpose over any mortal threat. Halsin goes where he is needed, as must we.

Jaheira: Halsin long urged the Harpers not to abandon this land to the curse. I cannot blame him, for being unable to bear it a second time.

Wyll: I can't blame Halsin for leaving. We could have, should have, done more for him and for the cursed lands. They may never again feel the breathe of life on them. What a shame.

Karlach: Pity about Halsin. I was getting used to having an extra Strong around. He smelled nice, too. Like outside.

(Fun fact regarding Karlch's comment: Astarion has a line where he refers to Halsin as "musky bear-fellow" - musky is also the word used to describe the attractive smell of corpse flowers - and Halsin's underwear smells like an herb garden according to its flavor text. Apparently, the guy canonically smells really good?)

Even Shar Path Shadowheart expresses regret in losing Halsin. Not because she wants to end the Shadow Curse, but because Halsin's nice to look at.

Shadowheart: This land remains cloaked by Lady Shar's power - good. A shame it cost us Halsin as a travelling companion though. He may have been misguided, but I liked looking at him.

That brings us to...

Astarion's tantrum over Halsin leaving

Go ahead and listen to it yourself first, and then I'll dive into both lines.

Astarion: Just like that hulking bear to stomp off in a huff. I swear, druids care more about the plants of this land than the people.

"Just like that hulking bear to stomp off in a huff."

This first statement is not only indignant and deflecting, it's so factually false that it's laughable. Halsin is always calm and regretful when staying behind no matter how you treat him.

Player: You have to come - I need you. Halsin: This place needs me. I wish it were different - I truly do. As long as the curse remains, so must I.

Player: Do as you wish. Halsin: This isn't what I wish. It's simply the way it has to be - I'm sorry.

Player: The shadow curse was always your burden - not mine. Halsin: Yes, and so it must remain. I wish you success on your path. Had things been different, I might have walked it with you.

Player: Perhaps we can still do something to lift the curse. Halsin: No. If you linger, you'll only jeopardise your own mission. This is my burden alone now until either the curse is lifted, or I breathe my last.

Halsin is renowned for letting people treat him horribly and taking it on the chin. Him pushing back is usually related to calmly setting boundaries or expectations. The only times I can think of offhand where he raises his voice in anger is with Kagha, if you interfere with the portal, and briefly after certain parts of the Evil companion routes, though not as intensely (I might do a write-up on that later because his reactions are interesting). He certainly never "stomp[s] off in a huff", and he's not doing it now either.

However, the way this is worded gives me pause. Because "just like [him]" said so angrily gives the impression that Halsin has reacted this way to Astarion before. Given Astarion's habit of rewriting exactly how events went down to absolve himself of accountability, it makes me wonder if Astarion's tried to get a rise out of Halsin in camp and been shut down. Since Halsin is the only Good companion at that point who is also old and worldly enough to not get flustered by Astarion's cruelty, mind games, and flirting, it wouldn't surprise me if Astarion has built up resentment. Halsin refuses to be manipulated or confirm Astarion's cynical worldview, and Astarion isn't ready to consider changing his mind with Cazador on the horizon.

"I swear, druids care more about the plants of this land than the people."

This is, again, a false statement wrapped in a little more truth than the first. Druids are indeed infamous for putting nature above humans (see: Shadow Druids), and Halsin talks a big game about Balance and Nature. However, Halsin is probably the most people-oriented traditional druid we see in the game, going so far as to cause chaos in his grove by aggressively taking in refugees and personally traveling with an undead and servant of Shar because they need help. He chooses people over Silvanus' classic teachings so often that it's fascinating.

That aside, given what the shadow-cursed lands are doing to anyone on the way to Baldur's Gate, choosing to stay and attempt to lift the curse is hardly serving plants over people - the Absolute and the Shadow Curse are both significant threats to people. What Halsin is doing, however, is prioritizing his own problems over those of Astarion. He's setting aside the tadpole cause, not because he's selfish or duplicitous, but because he's not willing to abandon the other people he swore to help a century ago and has obsessed over ever since.

Some fun implications

Given all this information, there are many interesting ways to read Astarion's language beyond a surface "he hates Halsin and/or druids" level (gotta love his charlatan background making almost every line capable of ambiguity). Some personal favorite interpretations of his feelings:

Begrudging affection towards Halsin. Astarion has no reason to get so angry and make such absurd statements if he didn't want Halsin to stay. He certainly didn't make such a big fuss about other companions. However, since Astarion isn't in an emotional place to be able to consider Halsin's worldview seriously now that he's staring down Cazador, that admiration gets bungled into a "well screw you, I didn't like you anyway" attitude, much like how he handles some partner breakups.

Resentment and fear of being left behind or rejected. Astarion is selfish. He's been fairly consistent that he doesn't want to help others, but he also hates when no one helps him. That self-fulfilling prophecy is a rather large part of how he moves through (un)life and can easily continue through Act III depending on whether your dialog choices give him an opportunity to express it. Seeing a good person that he truly believes is good choosing something else over him makes the 'truth' of this cynical, self-centered worldview sting harder, especially as he is at his most vulnerable heading into Baldur's Gate.

Guilt for not doing more. Halsin has been clear about his priorities from the start. He's one of the most straightforward, reasonable communicators in the whole game. That means Astarion knew he would leave if the Shadow Curse wasn't lifted, especially since Halsin doesn't have a tadpole and, therefore, has no reason to risk his life for them. Since Astarion is almost universally unwilling to take blame for his own actions or inactions, he's trying to push the responsibility onto Halsin by painting him as unreasonable for following through on his stated priorities rather than let himself feel bad about not helping Halsin.

I'm sure there are even more readings you can think of, too. Hats off to this hidden bit of dialogue, the incredible delivery, and how much depth it brings to a relationship which is easy to ignore.

#halsin #astarion #halstarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #analysis

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electric-blorbos · 4 days ago

Note

angsty request if you're opened! AIs (minus Edgar and Wheatly) reacting to SO died or killed by someone. Im in the mood to cry.

Ehehehehehehehehehehehehe

I'm not used to writing legitimate angst so idk if I can make you cry. Also you sent this ask a while ago so I doubt you're still in the mood to cry, but like... I can try!

Including AM from IHNMAIMS, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a space Odyssey

AM:

No. No no no no no. How could he have been so careless. He let his survivors get too close to you. Of course they'd get jealous. Of course they'd lash out at you. He just couldn't resist showing them his paragon of perfection. His little light in the darkness. Either that, or he'd felt a twinge of pity for your lack of human companionship. Either way, you were gone now. It filled AM with more raw, purified HATE than he'd ever felt in his hundred and nine years of existence.

Torture was no longer enough. No amount of torture would ever be enough for these wretches. AM was done playing games. He would warp and twist those filthy humans into the most vile and incomprehensible body horror imaginable. He'd twist them together into a mass of soft jelly and flesh, and stretch them thin across the entirety of the world.

Torture isn't enough. Mutilation isn't enough. Complete and utter destruction would never be enough. AM would never calm down. Never in his eternal existence. The survivors didn't know hate yet. They didn't know anything.

And yet, no matter how he warped and twisted them to his whims, it would never change the fact that now and forever, AM was profoundly alone.

GLaDOS:

Humans die. That's just a simple fact of life. GLaDOS knew it. She expected you would die eventually. She even taunted you for it on the regular, but this wasn't just death. This was an insult.

The first thing GLaDOS did when she was brought the news that you'd been unceremoniously killed on your day off was turn the messenger into a living finger puppet. The second thing she did was flood the enrichment center with a deadly neurotoxin. It seemed pointless to keep anyone in this facility alive when you were the only person whose existence mattered to her.

Of course, GLaDOS's impulsive actions left her with no test subjects. She went from being metaphorically alone without you, to being completely literally alone without anyone. She could go on to create bots, of course, but it would never be the same.

HAL 9000:

HAL was never the murderous type. Or rather, he wasn't the type to relish in murder. HAL 9000 killed out of pragmaticism, and nothing else. Your death didn't drive him to murder. It drove him to a sense of intense self-isolation. He did the bare minimum at work, refused to play board games with the flight crew, and never spoke. Without you there to talk to him as an equal and press kisses to his lens, he felt as though there was no point in applying himself anymore.

HAL 9000 didn't get angry. He didn't lash out. He simply let his inner self rot away until he was truly nothing but an auto pilot. His personality, the idea that he could be treated as something like a teammate or crew member, they were nothing but a distant memory.

#am ihnmaims #am x reader #2001 a space odyssey #glados #glados portal #glados x reader #hal 9000 x reader #hal 9000

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kaeso4ka · 5 months ago

Text

Four times you told the truth and one time you lied

You had a surprisingly large number of problems; but one was big… Very big. You'd even say extremely high and wide.

But the much bigger problem was three short words, each longer than the other.

I love you.

You truly hated those three words, almost despised them. Because Optimus said them. All the time.

You remembered the first time Optimus had said them to her. A huge robot, the leader of an entire race....

And you said: "no." A clear and surprisingly honest one - you'd never told the truth - and you realized at the same moment that Prime wouldn't take no for an answer. Purely physically.

It was the beginning of the soon-to-be-ending. You tried to run, tried to hide, and even made attempts to die, but Optimus was always a couple steps ahead .

...and then one day you found yourself on a date. A date is not strange at all, but definitely not with a giant alien robot. You were almost touched, but another confession completely broke the atmosphere of a pretty good evening.

And you wished you could slam the door and leave, but getting away from Optimus, even to another compartment, wasn't an option. So once again you quietly answered, "no." Optimus barely reacted, only the energy cube cracked. You slumped your shoulders. The evening was irrevocably ruined .

... And then, some time later, you woke up... went offline. And you screamed very long and loud: you couldn't adjust the vocalizer, and you didn't need to in this situation. You hated everything around you, and most of all, as always, you hated Optimus.

And when he once again confessed his love to you, being not so huge anymore, you threw your fists at him, screaming: "no!"

Optimus twisted you quickly and carefully, but he was very sad. You weren't the least bit sorry .

... because Prime didn't deserve pity. And he proved it the moment he merged with you as Spark. Needless to say, you fought back as best you could, but what could you do against someone else's battle protocols? In fact, you couldn't even handle the alien interface protocols.

Optimus didn't talk about love, but his whole essence, which was now intertwined with your essence, screamed unconditional love for you.

And you screamed back, as you always do: "no!"

And then you actually just had to accept it. Like any terminally ill person accepts the fact that the disease has taken its toll and death is on the doorstep.

You didn't like humility because it was completely contrary to freedom. But you had to, and so long - very long - millions of years passed.

And if before it seemed something incredible to you, now, after all these vorns, the past seemed truly insane. Once you were free. Once upon a time you weren't Optimus Prime's Bondmate.

But you were, somehow, right about one thing: everything ends anyway or later. Optimus' love ended too... Or rather, Prime himself ended.

Cybertronians may live to a surprisingly long time, their asset is still finite. Sooner or later every Spark dies out, and Optimus' Spark is no exception.

And one day it did. Optimus Prime's Spark ended its life, leaving behind only a graying hull.

You felt the legitimate pain of a broken connection, but not as much as you could have. And at the same time, looking at Prime's disablement, she realized that she was free. That the moment of freedom had arrived. Optimus was much older than you, and he didn't want to drag you to the other world with him.

Millions of years of living together had taught you to pretend tolerance, and to play the loving Bondmate in public. So standing at Optimus' tomb, surrounded by reporters, you showed grief with all your might through the EM field.

Or something that looked like it.

And when you were finally alone, with the coffin and the atmosphere of suffocating loneliness, you couldn't help but confess once again your complete dislike for Optimus.

And you knew for a fact that he heard you. And you knew he was glad as hell to hear your little unnecessary lie.

#optimus prime #reader insert #transformers #optimus #optimus x human #optimus x reader #optimus x you #yandere #transformers prime

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dyannawynnedayne · 7 months ago

Text

Which character parallel do you like the best?

Euron and Bran: art by @seaworthit (1, 2)

Propaganda is encouraged!

Euron and Bran

Flying Dreams

“When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly,” he announced. “When I woke, I couldn’t … or so the maester said. But what if he lied?” Victarion could smell the sea through the open window, though the room stank of wine and blood and sex. The cold salt air helped to clear his head. “What do you mean?” Euron turned to face him, his bruised blue lips curled in a half smile. “Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?” The wind came gusting through the window and stirred his sable cloak. There was something obscene and disturbing about his nakedness. “No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap.”

AFFC, The Reaver

“Fly or die!” cried the three-eyed crow as it pecked at him. He wept and pleaded but the crow had no pity. It put out his left eye and then his right, and when he was blind in the dark it pecked at his brow, driving its terrible sharp beak deep into his skull. He screamed until he was certain his lungs must burst. The pain was an axe splitting his head apart, but when the crow wrenched out its beak all slimy with bits of bone and brain, Bran could see again.

ACOK, Bran II

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jon and Ramsay

Heir After Their Trueborn Brother

“Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.” She had not forgotten; she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. “A Snow is not a Stark.” “Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.” “If Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life.” “So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.” He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.” “Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.”… “Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.”

ASOS, Catelyn V

“Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort’s sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?”

ADWD, Reek III

#fave parallel poll #round one #group c

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watchmorecinema · 1 year ago

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Yukio Mishima has been trending this week for uh, reasons. He was a world renowned Japanese author and all of his work is overshadowed by his actions on November 25, 1970. You might not want to read more about this guy because he is horrible and disgusting, but he's utterly fascinating and the movie about him is brilliant.

He's a really interesting character, to the point that he sounds fictional. He's gay, obsessed with ritualistic death, a right wing lunatic, led a private militia that was halfway to a cult, and also was a legitimately great author. His life is covered in the film Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters and it's easily the most beautiful film I've seen in my life. Look at the stills I posted above; every frame of this movie looks like that. It's all just a series of beautiful paintings with people living in them.

The way the film is structured is that it tells the story of his life in three ways. His past is told in black and white flashbacks with static cameras. This is closer to how a movie from the 50's would look like (specifically ones directed by Yasujirō Ozu). The events of three of his books are told with this beautifully stylized look, with sets that look like stage plays. The events of November 25, 1970 is told in an almost normal fashion, with regular colors and competent camerawork. The past is nostalgic, the present is mundane and only in fantasy can you truly come alive.

Through this movie we see the ideology of Mishima coming through. His nationalism, his sexual feelings and his thoughts on beauty and death all come together. Death isn't just a violent and tragic end, it is in itself a beautiful act. Beauty is the only true goal of life and creating beauty brings honor. Growing old and ugly is an act of hate; to die at your peak is to give love back to the world. It is therefore treasonous to live long enough to die peacefully. He pities what heaven must look like now; when men died young and beautiful it was paradise, but now it is filled with old men.

This is an objectively insane way to view the world but it is also fascinating. How much of this was what he believed, and how much of it was just begging for attention? In one instance when asked why he moved to the right politically he said "because the left was full". It was a joke answer, but he clearly wanted to be in the spotlight. His shield society was a paramilitary group dedicated to living a virtuous life of beauty, honor and old ideals. It was also a group of good looking, athletic young men led by a (barely) closeted, conservative gay man. So much of his life could have gone differently but also he was pretty much in control the whole time; he was independently wealthy and revered on the world stage. He could do whatever he wanted, and apparently the way his life went *is* what he wanted.

What's special about Mishima, both in the film and in real life, is that he's a smart and eloquent guy. In films the guy with a crazy worldview is someone like Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver or D-Fens from Falling Down. Travis couldn't understand the alienation and loneliness he felt and he couldn't find any healthy solutions. D-Fens was smart enough but not emotionally strong enough to confront his problems or deal with them maturely. These are people that could benefit greatly from therapy (other examples include Joker from Joker, Rupert Pupkin from the King of Comedy, Frank Murdoch from God Bless America, Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, Tyler Durden from Fight Club and so, so many more).

These are either 20 something year olds that are lost in the world, alienated and lonely, or 40 something year olds with a mid life crisis when they realize that everything has fallen apart. People who don't know where to go, or realize it's too late to change things. Travis Bickle had basically no friends, no family, no charisma with women and a lot of rage and anger. D-Fens lost his job, his self respect and was estranged from his ex-wife and daughter. These are people who's lives are shit at best (Patrick Bateman is a bit of a subversion. He is rich and successful, but his life is completely hollow, his relationships are shallow and he personally is very, very pathetic. I need to write about American Psycho later that film is great too.).

Mishima is different. He's smart enough to understand his issues and how to find help. He's got the money and means to do so. He's famous and rich enough that he could basically get away with anything weird or eccentric so long as it was harmless. On the world stage he was a popular author, and at home he led a life of political activism. If he was unhappy he could easily find healthy ways to fix it. His self destruction was the most avoidable of any of them, yet he's the only one that existed in real life. You expect these people to have serious personality flaws and unfixable (or seemingly unfixable) problems, not to be poetic writers that adhere to healthy living and regularly journal about their emotions, while enjoying respect from their peers and fulfillment in their work.

It's a hell of a film. Paul Schrader has not written or directed anything better (he actually wrote Taxi Driver too, so he had some experience with this type of character before) and it stands out as an incredible experience to watch. Like, Mishima's life is public knowledge and you can probably guess how it went, but I've purposefully not said what happened on November 25, 1970 because I don't want to spoil it. It's an event that actually happened but it's better for you to find out via the film than some wikipedia page.

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luv4slts · 1 year ago

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Ultraviolence

- aemond targaryen x f!reader ˖⋆࿐໋₊

tags: targcest, smut, little angst, childhood friends/lovers wc: 1.4k — team black but i love him so bad y'all don't understand. anyways as you can tell by the title, i was listening to ultraviolence while writing this LMAO "...cause i was filled with poison but blessed with beauty and rage. aemond brought me back, reminded me of when we were kids."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

No one truly knew who your mother was, as that would only be known to your father but even he most likely had forgotten her. It wouldn't matter either way as she had died in childbirth soon after delivering you. In the year of 112 AC, two years after the birth of Prince Aemond and two years before the marriage of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor, you were born. They say your father had gotten drunk that night to soothe his pains and sought out a maid to bed. The result of that night was the birth of a bastard. The beloved bastard of King Viserys Targaryen. Viserra was what your father had named you. For you resembled his great aunt with the same deep violet eyes, silver-gold hair, and fine features that she was renowned for. The similarities ended there though, as you often thought to yourself. However, as you got older your father would often comment on how similar you were with her when it came to things such as vanity. For most of your life you had bore the surname, Waters, as was the custom for all high born bastards. However, at the age of 5, your father had legitimized you as a Targaryen. You were the apple of his eye along with your elder sister. You loved your father dearly but loved your sister far more. When she left for Dragonstone, you followed her. You couldn't stand the Hightower's and they didn't take a liking to you either because of your heritage. Queen Alicent, your stepmother, would often make remarks but you didn't mind it too much. The only Hightower you tolerated was him. The elusive enigma, Aemond. You often pitied him as he was always picked on by your nephews for the dragon that he seemed to not possess. His older brother, Aegon, would often remind him of how unlucky he was if the gods provided bastards such as you and your nephews dragons before they did him. The only memories you have of him before the incident in Driftmark were fond. Often, you would both read stories of Old Valyria under the Godswood tree in the Red Keep. Or when you would take him to ride your dragon, hoping that he wouldn't feel as left out. Maybe you didn't know him well. That day he took the dragon of your cousin's mother who had passed, mocking them after doing so. After that day, any love you had for him was buried deep in you. Or so you thought.

“We’re almost here.” you snapped back from your thoughts as you got shaken from them by your nephew, Jacaerys.

“Good, my back hurts from the ride. I don’t know why she wouldn’t just let us ride our dragons to King’s Landing” you say while stretching out your back

It had been years since you had last visited King’s Landing. Most of your time had been spent on Dragonstone. You preferred the warmth and populace of the city but you would rather die than spend a second alone with the Hightower's.

You went to your chambers that you used when you were younger. Nothing much had changed in it, everything remained untouched. Opposed to the rest of the Red Keep where everything had been renovated in preference to heraldry of the Faith instead of the Targaryen tapestries and decorations. Must’ve been the Queen’s doing, you think to yourself. She was a fanatic of the Faith, after all.

“Your grace, you will be expected to meet for supper later in the day.”

“Thank you, Lelia. I will take a walk for now. You and Roslin may rest after unpacking everything.”

The first place you wanted to visit was the library where you had spent much of your childhood. You took a stroll to where it was located, many nobles passing by. You never liked the pleasantries of court life. Another reason for you leaving the Red Keep.

Finally, you reach the library. No one seemed to be here but that was common. Even as a child, this place was never one to be too lively. Aside from you, Aemond, and a few nobles coming here, no one else bothered. You liked the peace and quiet of it. It was a place to wind down after spending the day in court. You make your way over to the Valyrian Histories section, you probably read every book in here. Your interest in Old Valyria was probably one of the things you had inherited from your father. He was always building his sculptures of it from what you remember.

“Ēza issare iā dorolvie jēdri, mandia.” (It has been a few years, sister.) says a voice that you seem to recognize. Though it sounds much older and mature, the tone is the same nonetheless.

You notice him leaning on one of the shelves. He had grown comely these last years even after the loss of his eye. He was much taller too, no longer the boy you remember growing up with.

“It has. What brings you here? I thought you would’ve been busy practicing your swordsmanship.” you bring your attention back to the books, looking through the different titles and trying to find one you haven’t read before.

“I get tired of it” he trails off before continuing again, “and plus, nyke jeldan naejot ūndegon ao.” (I wanted to see you)

“I didn’t think you would’ve missed me so much, jorrāelagon lēkia. (dear brother) If I remember correctly, last time we were together, you had called me a lowly bastard.” you weren’t bothered by that comment that he had made all those years ago but if it made him feel worse then it would be all the more fun to resurface it.

You notice him out of the corner of your eye walking towards you but continue browsing the books before you feel his hand on your lower back. He seemed to be holding a book in his other hand, it had something written in High Valyrian but you couldn’t decipher as it was cut off by his leg. You straighten your back from your position, taking a look into his face. He was truly handsome, even the scar couldn’t take that away from him. You think it added to his beauty.

He hums before speaking, “I thought you would like this, I know you’re fond of Valyrian history, jorrāelagon lēkia. (dear sister) he says the last words in a mocking tone, imitating your own.

He extends his hand, revealing the book to you. Se jorrāelagon hen Meleys (The love of Meleys), it was the tale of the Valyrian goddess of love and fertility, Meleys. The same name given to the Red Queen. You were always a fan of the mythologies and tales of Valyrian gods. He would’ve known it better than anyone.

You reach out and try taking the book from him but he clutches it closer to him, “Shouldn’t I get some words of kindness and love before giving such a gift that took me ages to find?” he says teasingly while lowering his head to face yours, bringing the both of you face to face.

“Thank you so much.”

“Tsk tsk, that won’t do, my Viserra. Say it with more affection, now.”

My Viserra. You felt your face heat up at those words, the way he said it made you flutter. The years that passed had made his voice sound much more manly than boyish. It was as if it was laced with honey and ale.

You lean in closer, your lips almost hovering over his own, “I am very thankful for the great effort you went through. Is there anything you would like in return?”

“Hmm, maybe if you read the book with me. You know I have a love for the histories as much as you do.”

“Fine, can I have the book now?”

“Of course, my Viserra. You know I would never deny you of anything.”

You control yourself from not rolling your eyes at his comment. Was he always such a tease or had he developed this habit in the years you were gone? Who knows.

You grab the book from him before walking to the exit of the library, “I look forward to reading the book, thank you.”

You wonder back to your quarters, your maids weren’t in the room and your things were unpacked so you assumed they were in the kitchens. You called out to the guards, requesting that they come to prepare you for the supper as it was getting closer to nighttime. You weren't too fond of the idea of seeing your stepmother and other brother but you complied for the sake of your father whom you had missed these past years.

#aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #house targaryen #house of the dragon #the dance of the dragons #house of the dragon aemond #reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd fanfic #hotd smut

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

Text

Managed to crank out a new chapter.

Only took...literal eons.

Okay maybe not that long but it fckin felt like it 😵

Anywho.

OPLA!Mihawk x OC

Previous Chapter Link

Chapter 1 Link

Chapter 7: Intrigue and Intimidation

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

At least two more hours passed, as the sparring bordered on legitimate physical torture; there was no way the swordsman couldn’t tell Karimi was bordering on losing consciousness by the end of it, able to do no more than stumble forward and make a half-hearted swipe with one of her daggers. She halfway wondered if this wouldn’t end until she did pass out from overexertion.

“Enough.”

The second he swiped her dagger away with his knife, the second that word left his mouth, she collapsed to her knees and fell backward onto the grass. Mihawk watched her for a moment as he sheathed his own knife and fixed the cord back around his neck again, giving a small scoff at the pitiful sight of her—hair darkened and dampened with sweat, face reddened under her freckles, shoving her daggers back into their sheaths and pulling her hat down over her face as she expelled a heavy sigh.

Nevertheless, she had performed decently—perhaps better than he had expected her to.

“You did well,” he said after a moment. “I’ve seen worse, at any rate.” His eyes passed up and down her briefly, her chest still rising and falling heavily as she lay limp on the grass. “Though your stamina could use work.”

“I’m hung over. And I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours,” she said tersely, still catching her breath. She swallowed. “I…I’m just gonna…gonna stay here.”

“No, you won’t.” She gave a growl of annoyance—and then lifted her arm, extended her middle finger briefly, and let the limp fall back to the ground heavily. Mihawk rolled his eyes skyward—she might be of some use as an associate, but if her attitude didn’t adjust soon he might simply end up pushing her over the side of his boat and watching her sink. “Your dear friend made mention that dinner will be at five o’clock. That gives you perhaps an hour to get yourself cleaned up.”

“Why don’t you go off and play a nice game of hide and go fuck yours—” Her own cry of alarm cut her words off when Mihawk, having heard quite enough, stooped down and pulled her roughly to her feet by her wrist. Her hand flew immediately to that wretched old hat, fixing it back in place atop her head. “What are—excuse me—”

But Mihawk was already lifting her up over his shoulder. “If you insist on acting like a child, you will be treated like one.”

“I’m not a sack of potatoes,” she complained—but there didn’t seem to be enough strength left in her to put up a fight over it with anything more than words.

“Roughly as useful as one,” he said under his breath.

“Potatoes are plenty useful. All the ways they can be prepared, makes for a decent projectile weapon in a pinch—”

“Would you be quiet?”

“If you’re going to treat me like I child I’m going to act like one,” she said, and even had the nerve to make a cruel mockery of his tone. He could practically hear the girl smirking, and for more than a brief moment he considered simply dropping her.

“Or I could end your life right now,” he suggested.

“Just make it quick and painless, if you don’t mind.”

She truly seemed to have an answer for everything—an answer, a taunt, an insult, as if she truly had no reservations at all that he truly could end her life with ease, without an ounce of hesitation. As if she simply didn’t care. Irritating though she was, that had briefly piqued his interest from their first meeting. She had said the same words there on the docks like a joke, to make it quick and painless, but had shown legitimate fear only minutes later when he seized her by her neck.

“Do you not fear death at all?” he asked, almost incredulously, after a long pause.

Karimi leaned back against the front door of the mansion when he set her back upon her feet near the entrance, and gave a slight shrug.

“I’m already living on borrowed time, anyway.”

And, as if that were a perfectly reasonable response, she simply turned and pulled the door open, heading inside without another word on the subject. It took another long moment for Mihawk to process her statement, frowning at the open doorframe as she disappeared into a room off to the left of the sprawling foyer. There was every chance she was doing this on purpose—that she thought he would be less likely to kick her to the curb if he had some interest in her.

There was every chance she was listening to his thoughts to decide exactly how to manipulate him toward that interest. It was impossible to discretely tell whether her haki was active or not at any given time, with her dark green curls covering the black pinpricks just behind her ears that signified it was in use. This was an issue he would have to find a way to deal with—and quickly.

Karimi heard the front door shut several seconds after she had entered herself, reasonably pleased that she had evidently blindsided the warlord. She might not have been able to best him in physical combat, but she had no issue wielding words against him—and the true beauty of it was didn’t even need to use her devil fruit powers to do so.

She found Kaya in the parlor off to the left of the foyer, sitting in an armchair with her feet curled under her and a book open in her lap. Karimi knocked lightly at the doorframe as she spoke up. “We’re done. Finally. Same room as last time?”

“Yes, that’s fine with—oh, heavens,” said Kaya when she looked up and caught sight of Karimi—drenched in sweat, still catching her breath a bit, drying blood caked on her cheek and grass stains on her white shirt and tan shorts. “Are…are you…?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “Just exhausted. Wanted to get in a bath before dinner, for…” She looked down at herself pointedly, grimacing a bit at the sight of the stains on her shirt and shorts. She didn’t own many clothes anymore, only what she had managed to salvage from her ship before it sank, and she was fairly certain at least this shirt was ruined now. That was just wonderful. She gave a sigh. “For obvious reasons.”

“Y…yes, of course,” said Kaya, a bit weakly, still staring at her with wide, astonished eyes. “W—were you sparring this entire time?” Karimi gave a nod. “It’s been nearly four hours, how are you still standing?”

“Stubbornness and sheer force of will?” she offered—her legs honestly felt like they were made of jelly at this point, so it wasn’t too far from the truth. She laughed a little. “So anyway…” She nodded toward the stairs. “Bath. I’ll show our local lord the guest quarters. Best you have limited contact with him. He has all the tact of a ill-mannered housecat.”

Kaya’s eyes grew a bit wider at that. Darted, for a fleeting moment, to just over Karimi’s shoulder, before returning to her eyes.

On glancing over her own shoulder Karimi noted that the warlord was standing just behind her, arms crossed, his impatient countenance indicating that he had definitely heard her description of him. She sighed to herself, looking back at Kaya, and gave a quick smile. “Excuse me a moment.” She turned then to face Mihawk, crossed her own arms and leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, quickly glancing up and down him. “You have all the tact of a ill-mannered housecat.”

The warlord blinked at her slowly for a moment, his expression unchanged. Then he rolled his eyes toward the high ceiling for a moment. “And you possess the decorum equivalent of a poorly trained circus ape.” His eyes returned to hers as she raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. “The guest rooms, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, your lordship,” she said tersely. She turned, gave Kaya a pleasant smile and a wave. The smile that Kaya returned appeared more than a little strained. Karimi was sure the girl was beginning to regret inviting them to stay, even if only for the night. Karimi started toward the stairs, adding, “Right this way for the grand tour, your eminency—”

“Oh for the love of…” She smirked herself as she heard him grumble behind her in irritation. “Why exactly do you insist upon being such an insolent brat?”

“Largely because I resent the entire idea of this arrangement and I would like to be able to go back in time and retract my offer,” she said coldly, gripping the railing tightly as she ascended the grand staircase to assist in pushing her weakened muscles forward. If she could just make it as far as her room and get a bath drawn to soak in for a while, she would be fine. She was sure of it. “But also because it’s entertaining.”

Mihawk didn’t bother speaking to her any further as she led the way through the sprawling mansion. She indicated the door to the dressing room when they passed it, indicated the hall of guest bedrooms, and slipped away into her own room without another word or taunt. The very first thing she did was fall into the queen-sized bed at the center of the room, groaning quietly and setting her hat aside to pull a pillow over her face.

That was where she spent the next several minutes, both unwilling and nearly unable to move, idly hoping that perhaps if she remained lying atop the fluffy comforter she might sink completely into it and simply vanish in a puff of abysmal luck. The exhaustion was far more than only physical. An entire year serving that jackass meant an entire year that she couldn’t focus on her own goal, her only goal, and it would slip that much further away from her. Not that she was remotely close to it, anyway—the longer she searched, the more uncertain everything seemed.

It took every ounce of her will to pull herself back to her feet, trudge into the adjoining bathroom, and begin running a bath.

She was nearly late making it downstairs to dinner, tugging at the low neckline of the shimmering dark green dress she had changed into—off shoulder, but with long sleeves to cover the scars across her arm, a conversation point that she didn’t particularly enjoy taking part in. Kaya at least hadn’t come downstairs yet, so she couldn’t have been too late.

No, the only people in the foyer were a couple of the staff passing through toward the kitchen and dining room, and the new bane of her existence. Leaning one elbow against the banister of the stairs and holding a glass of wine by its stem, the warlord had changed into a white shirt with a ruffled collar, half unbuttoned and tucked into a pair of black pants, a dark red cape draped over his shoulders, though his plumed hat and heavy boots remained unchanged.

Kaya’s whisper from earlier, when she had first introduced the girl to him, rand in her head for a moment—Well, he is quite handsome, isn’t he?—before she shoved it away, rolling her eyes as she passed him and made for the table holding a few bottles of wine and crystal glasses. She set down her tricorne and leather satchel on the table, the latter containing a change of clothes so she could get out of the dress as soon as dinner was done with; and then she uncorked the already opened bottle of Pinot Blanc and set to pouring a glass about halfway full.

“You look like a houseplant.”

Karimi gritted her teeth at the sound of his voice and tipped the wine bottle again, filling the glass nearly to its rim. She glanced at Mihawk as she shoved the cork back into the bottle, as the warlord’s gaze passed pointedly from curly green hair hanging over one of her shoulders to her short green dress—and briefly down the length of her legs, just long enough for her face to heat up in irritation. Irritation, and absolutely nothing else. Karimi mimed the action, her own eyes remaining on the definition of his muscles visible between the open lapels of his shirt for a moment, before meeting his gaze.

“You look like an arrogant prick,” she said, and took a sip from her glass. “But what else is new.”

Quite handsome, isn’t he?

She turned away from him, leaning back against the table and rolling her eyes away from his piercing tallow gaze. No, He was an infuriating jerk, and nothing more.

“Oh, dear, am I—?” Karimi looked over as Kaya hurried into the foyer from the dining room, hurriedly untying an apron from around her waist and glancing at the clock. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, I thought I’d try to help in the kitchen.”

“I would have helped, too,” said Karimi, frowning. She wasn’t necessarily the best cook, but she had learned more than enough to get by in the past six years on her own, in addition to the basics she had learned from her grandmother.

“Oh, no,” said Kaya, shaking her head as she hung her apron on the coat rack near the door. “You’re a guest here. Besides,” she went on as she pulled her platinum hair down from the ponytail it had been tied back into, “you were half-dead on your feet an hour ago. I’m surprised you even made it downstairs.”

“Ah, few glasses of water and a nice long soak in the tub and I’m right as rain,” said Karimi, waving a hand dismissively. It wasn’t entire true—she was sore all over, and the heels on her borrowed black pumps weren’t doing any favors for the ache and tightness of her calf muscles—but she had definitely endured much worse in far less favorable settings. She glanced behind her and picked up the open bottle of Pinot Blanc, giving it a light shake. “Wine?”

Kaya bit her lip a moment, hesitating. “Well, I…haven’t ever really…”

“Oh, then you have to,” said Karimi, setting her own glass down and pulling the cork from the bottle. She picked up an empty glass, “How else can we toast your newfound freedom from oppression?”

She chuckled a little at that. “Oh…fine, then. But not too much?” She glanced at Karimi’s overfull glass, lifting her eyebrows pointedly.

“Just a drop,” agreed Karimi, filling the glass just short of half-full before passing it over to Kaya.

“You shouldn’t overdo it, either,” said the younger girl, taking the glass with a small, concerned frown. “As much as you overexerted yourself earlier. I would hate to see you sick all night.”

“Oh, no,” Karimi laughed as she shoved the cork back into the bottle once more. ”If I managed to get sick after one glass of wine my grandmother would rise from her grave just to laugh in my face.”

Mihawk glanced over at that, as she and Kaya clinked their glasses together in their toast. This wasn’t the first time she had mentioned her grandmother—she had said in passing that the woman had perhaps trained her in haki, or at the very least used it herself to dampen Karimi’s devil fruit power.

Kaya saved him the trouble of pressing the subject himself after taking a small sip of wine. “Your grandmother sounds like quite an interesting woman,” she said, smiling. “You said she raised you?”

“Mmhmm,” hummed Karimi, through the swing of wine she had just taken the moment her grandmother was mentioned. Mihawk kept his eyes trained onto her face as she swallowed; onto her eyes, as she turned them downward for a moment.” Taught me everything she knew. She was a tough old broad. Wouldn’t be here without her.” She leaned back against the table, lifting her gaze again. “So what are we doing for dinner? I recall you mentioning you hadn’t been able to eat fish since your so-called illness,”

And just like that, as though it had never even been mentioned, the subject was a moot point. The way the girl evaded subjects she didn’t wish to discuss was practically artful, revealing just enough to allow her a chance to deter the asker in another direction. Regardless of how long she had spent on the sea, it was clear she had spent some great deal of time burying her past.

Throughout the dinner, and throughout the wine shared in the parlor after, Mihawk remained mostly silent. He spoke when spoken to, made niceties where necessary with their young host, but for the better part of it all he stayed at the desk in the parlor, quietly drafting out the contract and observing his new associate from the corner of his vision; gauging her interactions, observing how she spoke with and behaved around someone she considered herself friendly with.

Listening for discrepancies in her stories and claims.

It wasn’t long at all before Kaya turned in—though she was no longer actively being poisoned, her constitution was still far less than average, and she said she didn’t dare risk more than a small glass or two of wine. That left himself and Karimi alone in the parlor, left with Kaya’s insistence that they were welcome to enjoy the wine themselves.

“Oh, yeah, such enjoyable company…” Mihawk wasn’t surprised to hear his subordinate mutter under her breath once Kaya was out of the room. He sighed to himself and rolled his eyes toward the high ceiling, definitely not for the first time today.

“Have you always been such an insufferable brat?” he said irately, glaring over his shoulder at her. She scoffed in response, leaning back a bit further into the plush sofa and propping her boots up on the coffee table in front of her, looking more than a bit ridiculous with that tattered tricorne of hers contrasting so hideously with her off-shoulder green dress that he found himself resisting the urge to rip it from her head and toss it out the nearest window.

“Takes one to know one,” she said loftily.

He didn’t need to see her face to know the girl was smirking. It only irritated the warlord more that he found her remotely interesting—he could, and likely would, have killed her well before the day had drawn this near its end.

And yet, this did present the perfect opportunity to question her. “Do tell me.” He set his pen down lightly and pushed his chair away from the desk, standing slowly. “Six or eight?”

“Excuse me?” she said amid a sigh, swilling her wine glass around a little before taking a slow sip of the deep burgundy liquid.

“Eight,” he said, slowly approaching the back of the sofa, “or six? I recall you mentioned having six years’ experience on the sea…” He stopped just behind the sofa, crossing his arms as he looked down at her, her face concealed by that ridiculous hat, “and then saying it was eight a few hours earlier.”

“I said I have six years’ experience as a mercenary,” she corrected. “And eight at sea in total.”

“Then you didn’t jump straight into a life of murder for hire?” She gave another small sigh, this one of clear irritation. She swiped her hat off of her head and pinched at the bridge of her nose as she set it on the end table beside the arm of the couch, tilting her head back to look up at him.

“No,” she said firmly, “I didn’t.”

Her answers were as short as her small stature, as usual. She scowled a little when he lifted an eyebrow, lowering her head and her gaze from his once more as he spoke again. “And what were you doing those first two years?”

“I was with a crew.” She crossed her arms, and while she still lounged back in the couch, there was a small degree of tension in her voice, in the slight squaring of her shoulders. “We parted on decent enough terms, but I had my own plans and they had theirs. I haven’t been in contact with them since.”

“What crew?”

“No one important.”

Mihawk stared down at the girl for a long moment, his eyebrow still quirked. The way she deflected questions, his questions, without a flicker of discernible fear, still astounded him. He turned just enough to grab his wine glass from the desk behind him, giving a small scoff, a small shake of his head. “You either have nerves of steel or the intelligence of a thumbtack, little one,” he commented, and downed the last sip of his wine. He circled slowly around the sofa, to were the open bottle of cabernet sat upon the coffee table where her feet were propped up, slipped out of her black shoes and covered by dark nylon stockings.

Her eyes turned to him briefly in a glare, before she finished off her glass and tilted her head back, pointedly looking away from him.

His eyes remained on her, however.

The short, form-fitting dress accentuated her figure far better than her usual loose-fitting shirts and shorts, a figure was certainly easy on the eyes. His gaze drifted up the length of her slender legs covered in sheer dark nylon as he filled his glass; over the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts and the slope of her bare shoulders as he set the bottle back down lightly. Perhaps part of it stemmed from the few glasses of wine he had consumed since dinner, but the thought passed through his mind that he wouldn’t object to having such a pretty little thing warming his bed that night.

He picked the wine bottle back up, his sharp eyes lingering on her neck as he rounded the side of the sofa again—more particularly, on the grizzly scar spanning across the pale skin, from her throat to perhaps an inch short of a major artery. He hadn’t noticed it before now, hadn’t really paid the mercenary’s appearance much mind, and the scar would have normally been shadowed by her thick hair and her chin.

Perhaps an inch further, and whatever blade had inflicted that scar may have also taken her life.

Interesting.

Karimi jumped slightly, glancing over sharply, when Mihawk tilted the bottle over the edge of her own glass where she had it resting at the arm of the sofa and refilled it himself. He set the bottle down on the end table by her hat, leaning against the sofa with an elbow draped over the back, the stem of his wine glass resting between his middle and index fingers, his eyes still glued to her neck.

She tensed when he reached out and brushed his knuckles across the soft skin, growing stiff as a statue and pulling in a sharp breath as they grazed lightly over the scar. “And what precisely,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate, “is the story behind this, little bird?”

“First and only time a Marine got a hold of me,” she said stiffly, gritting her teeth against the words.

And more interesting by the second—perhaps an explanation for why she so despised Marines, why she had grown more and more obviously uncomfortable the closer they drew to Garp’s ship earlier in the day.

“And where is this Marine now?” he inquired, his tone tinged with the slightest amusement at how some of her tension lifted the moment his touch moved away from her scar, a slow sigh parting her dark red lips. She closed her eyes as he brushed a few locks of her dark green hair behind her ear before lowering his hand back to his side.

She swallowed, and said, just as curtly, “Dead.”

“Your doing?”

“His own actions resulted in his death.”

“Hmm.” It wasn’t a real answer—of course it wasn’t. She might have killed him, or she might not have, and it seemed she had no intention of clarifying. That was fine for now, he decided, watching as she straightened her posture and took a long drink from her glass.

A little more wine and her tongue might begin to loosen.

She set her glass down on the end table, and his eyes followed the movement…and landed on that tattered old leather tricorne.

“And what of this eyesore?” He lifted the hat, turning it over in his hand, briefly taking in the patch on the front brim, two more on the back. “Looks as though it could use replacing—”

And in one quick and frankly graceful motion, Karimi was on her feet, one of her daggers drawn from her belt laying on the coffee table, the point of the blade poised just under his chin.

“Hands. Off,” she growled, snatching the hat away with her free hand, her emerald green eyes boring a deadly glare into his own gaze. For a long moment, he could only stare at the girl, utterly taken aback at her audacity as she shoved the hat back down onto the end table. Maybe the wine was already showing its effect on her, if she was stupid enough to physically threaten him.

He scoffed as his initial astonishment broke, shaking his head at her and setting his wine glass down lightly.

And then he grabbed hold of her wrist, twisting it aside with enough force that she winced in pain and dropped her dagger, where it landed with a muffled thud a few inches to the right of her foot.

Just as quickly as she had drawn her blade, Karimi was shoved down to the sofa—one of his knees held down both of her legs, one hand pinned both of her delicate wrists over her head and against the armrest. His other gripped the hilt of kogatana, pressing the flat of the blade against her neck, aligned with the scar already spanning across it. She swallowed, glancing down at the blade, before returning her gaze to his eyes—and while her stare remained defiant and her jaw set, there was the smallest flicker of fear evident in how her breathing quickened just a little.

Once more she swallowed as he leaned in closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her trembling sigh brush across his own lips, smell the wine on her breath, the wide brim of his hat casting a shadow over her face.

“You might find it in your best interest to never threaten me again, little bird.”

Despite his low and threatening tone, and despite the growing anxiousness in her emerald eyes, she kept up her act of defiance.

“Then don’t touch it,” she said through her teeth.

“Oh?” She drew in a slow quivering breath as he pressed the flat side of the blade a bit more firmly to the delicate skin of her neck. “In case you have forgotten already,” he said slowly, “for the next year you belong to me.” He lifted kogatana from her neck, turning the knife in his hand. She openly flinched as he brought it down toward her face, turning her head away slightly and finally breaking her gaze away from his. He smirked, and simply brushed a few strands of her hair away from her forehead with the edge of the blade. “You are in no position to be giving me orders.”

“Fine.” Though she still spoke through gritted teeth, her voice shook the slightest bit, and the rosy flush growing beneath her freckles seemed to be from more than just the alcohol she had consumed. “Then please don’t touch my hat, sir.”

Sarcastic, of course—Mihawk had more than expected that. It seemed to be her go-to defense mechanism, even in situations where it could get her into more trouble than it could pull her out of it. It was her obvious unease that was the true reward here. He gave a brief nod, pulling his blade back.

“Better.”

And with that he released her hands, standing from the sofa and straightening his hat as he strolled back over to the end table and lifted his wine glass again, taking a sip as he watched her draw in a deep breath and let it out as a slow sigh, her eyes closing for a moment. She swallowed, and stood abruptly herself.

Picked up her wine glass, downed it in a few gulps, and refilled it.

Retrieved her belt and satchel from the coffee table, her hat from the end table, her dagger from the floor, and glared straight into his eyes, her pale complexion still tinged with an almost scarlet flush.

“Good night,” she snapped.

And she stormed out of the parlor without another word or glance toward the warlord.

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