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honestsycrets · 1 year

Text

dedication | young!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | young geneticist!miguel o'hara x scientist!reader

❛ type | oneshot, explicit.

❛ summary | alchemax is a dangerous place to work. miguel's new assistant may be over her head. maybe he can help her, though.

❛ tags | virgin reader, f!reader, shitty science, plot heavy, loose canon references, literary liberties, loss of virginity, overprotective Miguel o'hara, jealous miguel o'hara, some objectification, workplace politics, aftercare (as requested), corruption (is it tho?), bc what bc, Spanish is not translated, young!miguel, heel-foot fetish, somewhat romantic.

❛ fulfilled request | can we please have a miguel x virgin reader and he didn’t even know until he was already putting it in?? And then voila his corruption kink unexpectedly growS? @a--dedicated--fangirl

❛ sy’s notes | miguel sort of works on that whole corruption aspect throughout this fic, but i wanted to meld these two ideas together to create a reader who is entirely dedicated to Miguel. This piece was a bit long for me.

“Miguel, your new assistant is here.”

On paper, you’re an excellent candidate for the genetics program.

An excellent GPA, renowned company internships, decent publications, and a diverse upbringing. It was all good. Great, even. But as the head of the genetics program at Alchemax, he has a little thing called priorities. Interviewing everyone himself was low on the rung of shit he felt like he should be doing. There was, however, one little, itty bitty, tiny problem with bringing you on board.

“Dr. O’Hara? ¿Estas bien?”

That shirt-- is not meant to hold those-- His brain was left field, glimpsing at them. A slightly sheer button-up revealed the outline of your bustier and its inability to conceal your body. They should have been illegal. He was pretty sure they were illicit in the handbook on his table. He should really read that again. Maybe then he wouldn’t be salivating over something as simple as a co-worker-- He needed to get out of the lab. The bleached walls tightened around him, the space smaller than he remembered. He was going to get caught.

Realistically, the lab was full of witty people. Many of them were witty men with subpar looks and stupider dicks. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. Not only because your lips were plump, painted petal-pink, and kissable or because the depth of your sultry eyes went straight in the dick. No, but because that would be improper of a man of his stature to tell one of the only women in his care that she was too gorgeous for the job you were clearly qualified for.

“Sí, coño,” He fixed his glasses, crooked on his broad nose. He stood up from his desk and grabbed his lab coat, swirling it around his broad shoulders. If he wasn’t mistaken, you tracked the movement with your eyes. “Do you want a cafecito? Miss…”

You told him your name. He mulled it over on his tongue, lathing it in a gentle acknowledgment. Cemented it in a place he wouldn't forget. You tinked your head to the side, your lashes fluttering when he cleared his throat. Great, just shocking--

“After you,” he headed for the door. He held it open for you, plastering his back to the wood. It didn't matter. You slid by closer than he’d prefer, your hand catching on his belt buckle with muttered apologies. This wasn’t going to end well.

Cafecito is an excellent excuse to pull his dumbass together.

It also calms his nerves, centers his mind, and allows him to compartmentalize. Whether or not you could hold your own wasn’t his issue, his issue was the necessity of someone he could trust. Ugly, beautiful-- so long as they were efficient, Miguel would make due. The cafeteria was a large and clean space. The many tables were crowded with wrap-around stations for poorly crafted, misery-inducing meals. Miguel paid and took a seat at a creaky table. One where he could see the door open, shut, and keep an eye on the comings and goings of meager scientists and annoying managers.

“You’ll be working with me.”

You pursed your lips around the warm cup of coffee, taking a ginger sip. He noted your lipstick stain that remained as you pushed the cup toward the middle of the table you shared with him. This damn suit vest was stifling. He gave you a long, slow look, tilting his head to the fact that you’d not drunk anything. It’d be rude to acknowledge.

“Delgado told me,” you smiled warmly. “He said you’re a genius. I don’t know that I believe in geniuses.”

Hmph. Delgado, things fell into place. That sycophant knew what he liked. He also knew that Miguel was better than him, always was, and always would be. Miguel offered you a slick smile, convinced he could assure you otherwise if he needed to. “Delgado says a lot of things. I’m surprised he gave you to me.”

“Why is that, O’Hara?” the way his name slipped off your tongue was a hot sin. If only he believed in a god. His eyelids shifted over his eyes, heavy-lidded and dark.

“You’re beautiful. He likes to collect beautiful things,” Miguel tried, curious. Your nails clicked in succession over the table. A repetitive click, click, click. He would be annoyed too if he were no more than a ploy. A distraction. Miguel wasn’t sure that it wasn’t working. His eyes flickered down, catching one of your palms curling into a tight fist, tension rolling through your fingers and up your arms. “He knows I do too.”

You leaned in, close enough that he could spot the unique freckles spread out in a crescent moon beneath a layer of makeup on your face. Beautiful. “I’m not here to belong to you, O’Hara. I hope you know that.”

He was off to a great, fantastic start.

“Understood.” Miguel leaned back in his chair, a smirk creeping up his lips. Or, believe that you believed that. You spared him any more mincing comments. Appeased by his suggestion, you brought your drink back to your lips.

“Good. What are we sequencing?”

“Me.”

You swallowed. “You? You can’t be--”

Mhm, he stared, lips pressed tightly together. “You’ll code my DNA. Then we’ll splice it.”

"With what?"

"You'll see."

“Is this your little,” you swirled your finger in a circle. “Pet project?”

Unfortunately not, he would have liked to say. That information was confidential, and though you worked on the project, there were levels to his willingness to involve you in the delicate flow of workplace politics. Still, you might make a healthy distraction from his work. Miguel took a swig of his cafecito, boring into the black substance.

“Something like that.”

Having a pretty assistant means things don’t always get done according to schedule. Not quickly enough, not by far. There is a time limit to everything at Alchemax. The quicker, the better. Thus this project demanded more hours of his time. The project was spliced between the work required of him by superiors and you, your quirks, and your preferences.

Miguel has learned a great many things about you in a short amount of time. You don’t appreciate misplaced pet names. You actually can’t handle coffee because of the caffeine or the sugar. He also learns things about himself. How little he likes when Delgado comes to check on progress because he isn’t actually checking on shit. He's checking you out.

He likes to weasel his nasty fingers around the door, peering in to try and find out what specimen he’s actually working on. Miguel was much too smart for that. His beady eyes caught Miguel over your shoulder, mumbling up to him about a new finding in tests you ran earlier that day. Your face mask twirled around your index finger, finally free and at a documentation workspace. Funny, because he clearly redacts information from your well-recorded notes on the daily. You refuse to include less.

“Hey Mike,” he said. “How are things… Oh hey, you. You settling in, honey? Mike treating you ok? I can discipline him for you.”

“As if you could,” Miguel huffed.

But Delgado spying on you, the way you record progress by pouting out your lips, shifting between paper and your lab reports, was intolerable. Because... well, he has sensitive information on there. Your nose scrunches in distaste, but you bow your head just slightly as a hello. He might be his supervisor, but Miguel doesn’t need one to know why this asshole is in his lab turning his smarmy brown eyes over the way you sit: one leg over the other. You seem to realize it too, trailing your eyes over his gaudy suit to Miguel’s sinewy hand on your shoulder.

“Stop being a creep,” Miguel complained, “She has actual work to do.”

“Actual work? As opposed to--“

“Yes, what you do.” Miguel spat out. You eschewed a giggle, turning your face over a pristine white lab jacket that thankfully, you had no qualms in wearing. Otherwise, he might not finish any work in the lab at all.

“I supervise--

“You’re still talking but we’re not listening,” Miguel waved him off, plucking up papers by your side. Your eyes snap up to Miguel’s deep chocolate eyes hidden behind the thin frame of his metal glasses, waiting for a proper response. “Goodbye, Aaron.”

Miguel walks to the door, locks it with a click, and returns to your side. You glance at his white lab coat, fluttering around his tapered waist. He loves the way your eyes look at him with a soft, inviting expression, beseeching him to come to sit by your side as he always did. “Not a fan of Delgado, I take it.”

“Are you?” Miguel sits with his legs spread, his fingers threading through his thick brown hair. You set your papers down, swiveled toward him. The wheels of your rolling chair squeak on either side of his thick, black boots. His eye catches your thick thighs, squashed between your midi skirt, its atrocious slip causing him discomfort. His hand leaves his thick hair, dropping in unison side by side.

“I can’t stand being called honey, Mike.”

“Shut up.”

The days proceed similarly. Days filled with brushing past him as he slides in samples and reagents. He might lose a sample, clattering on the floor, and you always rush to help him clean up. Lunch together, because no matter how late he eats, you’re there beside him. Then as night falls, you stay until he has finished whatever he needs to do.

“Time to eat something,” you slipped into his office. The clock ticked past midnight. Miguel flicked through handwritten pages of information that did not need to be recorded in computer files. You watched his eyes scan over the ink on the page, acknowledging you with a grumpy grunt. Not now, not when he was so close to finishing the last section of the project.

“Empanada,” you turned his palm over, placing the flaky pastry in his hand. Caramelized apple. He loved a good apple empanada. He watched as you walked over to the coffee maker, drawing him a warm cafecito just how he liked it. Miguel dropped his pen, stretching out his aching spine.

“Gracias. From where?”

“I made them,” you set down the cup a little harder than intended. The surface rippled, throwing hot coffee drips onto his pages. His eyes flickered up from the pages to your eyes. Without thinking, he blathers:

“That so?” A pause. “Don’t you have a man?”

“Miguel. With this sequencing project, you’re the only man in my life. Shut up and eat the empanada.”

“Huh. Good. I like that.” He swallowed the empanada with a bob of his head, his tongue lathing over his teeth for any more of the sweet sugar. He stood up, finding your expression soft, drawn out by a sense of longing that he couldn’t imagine he saw.

“You like my sad love life?”

Yes.

“No, we have a company event. A ball,” Miguel chided, his tone gentling as he slipped away from his desk, abandoning his steamy coffee on his desk. He backed out of the doorway, “It’s all Stone’s politics. You know how these things are. I have to go. Come with me.”

“Is that a request or an order?”

“A date.”

I’d love to. Your words were the only thing that made tonight bearable. Slinking his tanned skin into a dark blue suit that cinched everything too tight was… unbearable. It clung to his skin like a second skin and choked off his air. But it might be worth it to see your face-- just maybe. He tracked the fluttering tails of fish behind bulletproof glass, following them as they fluttered away into their rock. He wished he could too.

“Miguel?”

“You’re here,” he turned around, dropping the champagne he idly held in his hand. It went forgotten by his boot as you called his name again. His gaze fixed on yours, the slinky navy blue dress caused his heart to thrum through his chest, chasing the sight of your body at his feet, picking shards of glass up with the aid of a worker, apologizing profusely for the mess. A soft puff of breath slipped from his lips as you stood back up, gripping your purse a little harder in your hands. He ran his hand over his jaw, drawing himself back to his senses.

“Miggy,” he husked out. “Call me Miggy.”

“You look handsome, Miggy,” his name felt unreal on your lips until he felt the pressure on his elbow. Your soft hands slunk around his, cradling him for some security in the face of the large doors. He shook himself back to his senses. Right, there was a reason he was here. “But shouldn’t we go?”

He should have-- but did he want to? No, not really. He didn’t want to see Stone’s greasy face, let Aaron take a peek at how you looked dolled up, or any of the rest of these fuckers. What he wanted was something else entirely.

“Listen.” Miguel stopped, his other hand coming to the jeweled bracelet on your wrist. The doors to the ballroom lapsed, groups of older men filtering in and out with their pieces of the night: doting wives, longing husbands, and partners that their wives or husbands probably didn’t know about. “Don’t wander off from me. They’re all snakes. All of them.”

“Even you?”

“Hermosa,” you didn’t leer at him. “I’m the least of your worries.”

He wasn’t wrong. The ballroom was dolled up in lush fabrics, fine china, and a copious amount of food as it was every year. Miguel found the attempt to distract from what really went on behind closed doors at Alchemax a bit cloying. This year the music was at least tolerable. It filtered out into the ballroom in a syrupy melodies driven on by the soft, promises of rich men for the exchange of sex. For much of the night, he could stomach the various men poking and prodding at him about his impending research. So long as you were here.

“Miggy,” you breathed, a hot puff of air against his ear. He leaned down, his hand atop of yours. “Will you dance with me?”

Dance? Miguel had two left feet-- it’s why he was a geneticist. For all the work you did on his behalf in the lab, including this very night, he owed you the benefit of whatever you wanted. He searched out a quiet area, one where the only disruption could be the stream of moonlight in through a window. You preferred it over the wall of vivacious men and over-powdered women. He preferred it over the atrocity of his footwork.

“It’s not much of a date,” Miguel’s hand slid around yours. He encompassed your small palm with his large hand, the other gliding across the soft, exposed skin of your back. You swayed with him, side to side. He was an awful dancer, but there was something endearing about that. He saw it in your eyes, the glimmer of curiosity, gliding your dark heels against the inside of his foot. Damn, he still sucked.

“No,” you agreed, shifting to take the lead. He followed your steps. Right, back, left, up. Maybe he stepped on your long dress once or twice, too. Shock, he cursed again, stepping over your foot.

“You’re remarkably bad at this.” You settled your head on his chest, letting your box steps fade into little more than the shifting of your hips.

“I know. Let’s just-- sway?”

“Swaying is good.”

“O’Hara,” boomed Stone. But of course— peace couldn’t last forever. Like a bullet through the chest, a voice caused him to turn in startle. His tan cheeks flushed with warmth, feeling cut off from the cover of others. He was dressed in the most gaudy of clothes that almost seemed to match the crooked expression on his pale face. No matter how many times he tried to fix it, it always looked… wrong.

Stone’s hands came together, clapping multiple times to force the crowd of politicians, scientists, and bought-in participants to fade away. His voice caused Miguel to growl, a low rumbly noise that you soothed with your breasts pushing gingerly against his arm. He could do it. He could handle this pompous little shit-- “And who is this beauty? A new girlfriend, perhaps? Fiance? O’Hara could do with a wife. Settle him down, y’know.”

Miguel huffed out of his nostrils. “This is my lab partner,” he cleared his throat, leaning forward. “For… the project.”

“Her? A lab partner? Ha!”

Shock. He didn’t have to look at you to know you were insulted. Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing out the tension as you smiled through the interaction, taking over for Miguel. “We have measurable results.”

“That’s what I like to hear, sweet thing. Now, Miguel, Aaron has found a test subject…”

“I’ll interview them.”

“No need! I--”

“Excuse me, Mr. Stone. I’ll let you two talk,” you slipped away, your heels clicking off into the busy crowd. Stone was talking. Miguel knew he should listen closely. His half-formed plan to see what the future held for his research was wafting into the air, wisps of it in his ear. Tomorrow-- test-- can you? Panic blinded his senses. He could find you nowhere in the room, and even if he did, would he be too late?

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine, it’s… excuse me.”

The issue with falling for someone was the scythe of his fear. His position was inherently risky. No matter how many groups of people he cut through trying to find you, you weren’t there. No tiny little appetizers of shrimp on half a skewer. No booze, because your head would swim. Not near the bathrooms, either. He rushed down the steps when he found you, just before the large iron gates, staring up at the stars peppering the sky.

At your feet, Aaron. His drunken fingers trying and failing to guide the strap off of your ankle. You, of course, sat there staring dumbly down at his failed attempts to do something as simple as fix your damn heel.

“I’ll take it from here.” Miguel booted Aaron out of the way. Who, with his sloppy sloshed curses, tried to win a fight with him. He eventually won out. Aaron slunk away, somewhere up the steps. Miguel wasn’t counting. “You didn’t listen.”

“Hm?”

Miguel loosened both straps, sliding his open palm under your foot for one then the other. You gazed at him, sliding the black heels off your feet, tutting his tongue at the blistered back of your feet.

“I told you not to wander off.”

“I just wanted to see the stars. Besides, it was just Aaron.”

“It’s never just Aaron. It’s Aaron and Stone.” Miguel’s eyebrows pushed against one another, recording your failure to listen. You crossed one leg over the other, sliding your toes over his silk tie, kept beneath a vest. He knelt before you, searching your eyes for the right answer. “You don’t know… what you’re getting into. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need you to. I can take care of myself, Miguel. Please don’t--” you sighed. “Don’t be like them.”

He knew what you meant. Like Aaron, peeling off your shoes at the sign of discomfort because you were a pretty woman. Or Stone, who couldn’t comprehend your value as a scientist. Those who doubted you because of your color, gender, or a mixture of the two. His mouth twisted in frustration. He was in deep. Whatever you desired, he wanted to give. It came at a price.

“Are you mine,” the words came out stiff, “or theirs?”

“Miggy,” you turned the word over on your tongue, willing him to stand down. His dark eyes settled on yours, unmoving. “Why do I have to pick?”

“You can’t have both. You’ll have to choose. One day.”

Your mind worked. He knew from the way you pursed your lip out, then in, puncturing its pillowy surface with your teeth. You shifted your gaze to the water, the stream coursing down the unfeeling stone. Miguel's fingers ran across your inner thigh, causing you to gaze down at him. The steps of others on the other side of the fountain, fading into the depths of the night caused you to break his gaze. Miguel offered you his hand, fitting the shoes under his other arm as he walked toward the valet. You took his hand and interlaced your fingers.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” you said, though the words felt thready and thin, nary a whisper. Something in the undercurrent of your voice concerned him. A thread that needed to be snipped, convinced of the vileness of the city-- of who you worked for.

He doesn’t make mistakes.

But he left the project code on his desk. It should have been there, yet, the corpse of a decrepit, awful creature withered on the lab floor proved otherwise. Someone had taken it because he was distracted. As a result, someone lost their life... even if it was Stone's doing.

Now, scouring through his papers, his hands tremored like a common drug addict. He supposed he was one, a druggie, tremoring like a shot hungry, Rapture crazed--

“Miggy?”

He snapped around. His gaze melded your figure into one beautiful blurb, even with the glasses on his broad nose. It was your voice, coded in something close to concern. Miguel ran his hands through his hair, long strands falling messily over his eyes and cheekbones. He flattened his hands out atop his head.

“What are you looking for?”

“The notes,” he weathered a breath. He doddered about the room, throwing a stack of paper onto the floor. They crumpled over the floor, mixed projects, notes on the specimen, but none were his. “Where are my notes?”

“You’re sick,” your voice broke gently, as if speaking them alone helped. A horrid crack of laughter slipped from his throat, drawing into a long lament as he repeated the words after you. Sick, you said, he was sick. If being sick was the least of his issues, he would have been a happy man. Your steps rang into his ear, heavier than before, painful and loud. He crumpled onto the couch in his office, his hands cupping them. Your soft hands coursed over his chest, unbuttoning his starched button-up and sliding it down his muscular upper arms. “This might hurt.”

No kidding, needles always hurt. But the instantaneous relief that flooded his system overrode the momentary pain. As your fuzzy figure came into focus, he recognized the drug that you set aside.

“You didn’t--”

“You were right, Miggy, about the-- Mr. Sims.” Miguel gazed at you, leafing through novels of notes with trembling hands. He cursed himself for subjecting you to seeing that. Not quite human, not quite... The twisted look on the poor man’s face. What months of research with one another had offered. He would fix it. He knew the research was on point. It was the application that was lacking.

“I have a copy of your notes,” you murmured as if someone could hear. They likely could. “¿Ay, puñeta, dónde está? Ah! Here, here it is. Your… profile.”

“You kept it,” he glanced down at the hastily scribbled note attached to the clip. ‘Miguel’s profile’ alongside a soft pink heart. He stopped your hands from thumbing through another leaflet. His eyes traced the dry ink of the heart. His thumb moved to stroke it, catching the sight of bubbling tears welling over in your eyes out of the corner of his eye. The tears slid down your full cheeks, triggering his discomfort to well up in his stomach. Miguel shifted closer, flicking fat droplets off your slight jaw.

“Hermosa,” Miguel shifted his head, cocking his eyebrow. “¿Que te pasa?”

“I should have listened to you Miggy,” you began, inhaling air forcefully through your nostrils. Breathe, you murmured. Miguel's soft hand cupped the back of your neck like a collar. You were happy to be collared by his hand, it felt safe.

His eyes narrowed, thumb caressing the loose strands of hair at your nape. “You should have. You know I'll take care of you."

You nodded.

"You have to be fully dedicated to me.”

“I am.”

“Show me.” You fluttered your eyes, the gears of your mind working to understand what he meant. His hand fell away to trace the bow of your black blouse. He tugged on the knot, slipping the bow loose and running his fingers over your exposed cleavage below. “Take off the blouse.”

Was it necessary? Some might have said no-- but sex, in its connective nature-- was the ultimate dedication. At the end of it all, that's what he craved: your eyes, your actions, all born with him in mind. With trembling fingers, you untucked your shirt from your black slacks. Miguel sat back, tracking the soft lace of your balconette bra teasing his eye. You loitered for a minute too long, enough for him to lift his thick eyebrow.

“Don’t stop now,” he said. Your knees knocked together, slipping the shirt over and off your torso before draping it on the arm of his couch. Your bra followed quickly after, slipping out of the twisted straps. You skimmed your hands over your breasts, holding them for comfort.

"No." Miguel flicked his fingers, motioning for your hands to move from your thick nipples. You pushed your breasts together, allowing him to marvel at them a second longer. “Que maravilla... You have no idea how long I’ve waited. Go on, take off the rest now.”

You suckled in breath, sliding the button of your pants loose. Then the zipper, its cloth scratching your thighs on its way to pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them, joining them too with your shirt. Miguel sat up, running his calloused fingers over the side of your hip and waist. His thumbs hooked in your panties, drawing them down over your pussy, a moist spot on your panties connecting a small string of wetness to your pussy. His palm slid between your thighs, pinned by your thighs pressed together, whether out of an innate need for more pressure or shyness to show him how wet you were. Hm. Miguel melded your ass, striking your skin with his large palm, it jiggled.

“Miggy,” you breathed, shy and intimidated. “I have to tell you something…”

“Lay down,” he told you.

“But Miggy, what if someone…” Your eyes darted away from his, chewing on his cheek as you slid back down beside him. You settled on the couch, your legs thrown over his thighs. The couch was stiff, hard against your neck. You stole a haughty glimpse at his face, focused entirely on coursing his palms over your calves and thighs, then back down to your slight toes. He ground your feet over his stiff cock, obscured by the fabric of his slacks. He felt big-- bigger than you could have imagined from the look on your face.

“¡Basta!” Miguel growled, “No one is going to come in. Let me see you.”

You flushed.

“You want me to…” you glanced down, your curls were soft to the touch.

“Touch yourself for me.”

With your heart strumming in your chest, you shifted your hand down, spreading your lips, soft and wet. You were so wonderfully shy to follow his orders, the pads of your fingers rubbing along your outer lips, massaging them warm and swollen. You buried your eyes into your other arm, dragging up and down, over and over. A delightful sigh greeted his ear, ensuring that though you were too embarrassed to look at him, you loved it. He allowed it for now-- because he was a gracious, forgiving man.

“Shock,” Miguel shuffled at the button and zipper of his pants, freeing himself from his slacks. He spat into his palm, stroking over his fleshy length, squishing his cock against your foot. Your toes curled over his cockhead, engrossed in Miguel’s rumbling pants, the soft pleasure that bloomed from his chest. Your eyes trained on his lips, the slight breath suckled between his teeth. Your fingers glazed over your stiff clit, pausing as though you needed his permission, just how he wanted it. Your sweet submission.

His eyebrow perked. “You can touch it.”

“Oh,” you glanced down, tracing the way Miguel fisted himself, swirling up to his cockhead, along fat veins and the bubble of salty fluid on his tip. His permission seemed to spur something else in you, flicking your swollen clit to the sound of his pleasured growling, your own pleasure growing in tandem with his.

“¡Ya!” he annunciated, watching as you failed to stop. All at once he stopped his ministrations. A sigh escaped his chest as he pushed himself up, smacking your hand away from your puffy cunt. His cock bobbed between your bodies. You wanted to touch it, but couldn’t.

"Wait," you cried out. His cock twitched as he lowered his hips down, drawing sweet lubricant on his cock, stroking your pussy. He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a warm kiss. He dipped his hand down, his cockhead prodding and poking, dipping lower with the aid of his hand.

“MiggyI’mavirgin,” you said all at once, his cockhead nudged against your entrance. Miguel’s head about snapped as he looked up, eyes popped wide open in disbelief. Before he could quite form a coherent thought, your hands shot out to grip his suit vest, stopping him where he was.

“¿Qué dejiste? Say that again?”

“I haven’t… I haven't had sex,” you murmured. He hadn’t put it together. Your shyness, the awkward way you shuffled around, loosening your bra and hiding your perfect breasts from his eyes. The words were finally out in the open but didn't register.

"A..." Miguel fisted his cock, once, then twice, shifting back to kneel before you. Your eyes fell on his muscular thighs, the way his hand fisted his dick. “You’re a virgin?”

“I’m too old for this,” you mumbled, hiding your eyes with your palms. Miguel shifted to cast aside your hands from your eyes, his muscular body caging you underneath, looking for an explanation. “I just. Between school, work, I never had time.”

Not that he was complaining.

"No boyfriend?"

You shook your head. He couldn't believe his luck. Not only were you gorgeous, but you were untouched. His, completely and fully. He liked it better that way-- to be the first memory smeared in your head. So that when you looked back on this moment, right now, it would forever be marked by his face.

"It's mine," he blurted out all at once. "I want your first to be mine."

His hand dropped down to your cunt. The pad of his middle finger worked at your entrance as though he were exploring the truth of your statement, stretching you with the aid of his fingers. You were tight, it had to be true.

You nodded, face buried deep in your arm. It didn’t take but moments for him to draw his hand back, suckling the lubricant from his fingertips. You distantly registered his words, “Damn it, you... you don't know what you do to me.”

Before you could say a word more, Miguel positioned the head of his dick against your slippery virgin hole. You clenched, glancing down between your bodies again, as you had a dozen times, anxiously waiting. Miguel hushed you, the repetitive shushing of his lips soothing you into complacency, forcing your muscles to relax. “It might hurt. But the pain won’t last,” he assured you.

He rolled his hips forward. His sharp exhale shook with every centimeter that gave way. Your walls were forced apart, suffocating you on the shock of adjusting to having someone, no not someone, Miguel-- your Miguel, sinking into your tense body. He throbbed, twitching in your body. His hands fisted in the aged couch, catching the breath in his chest.

“Ay, Miggy,” your nails dug into his shirt, loose around his firm muscles. “Miggy, no puedo,”

“You can, you’re so good, eres tan buena,” Miguel swept your lips between his, taking the moment of your surprise to bury himself further, swallowed by your cunt that resisted his intrusion. Your lips fluttered in the kiss, keened out a cry. The pain of his dick, forcing its way through your passage is quelled by the knowledge that he’s here, with you, his girth forcing you apart, stretching you apart, seating himself flush against your womb. His voice was caramelized, sugared over, and so good. “Look at how well you’re taking me already.”

“Coño, that’s a tight pussy,” He slid his hips back, the warm sensation of his withdrawal pulling free before shoving back in, a cry shoving forth from your lips, filling his office and the connected lab with your cries. He might have heard someone draw the door open, his hips driving back in, centered on the magnificent groans that stuttered free from your chest with Miguel’s careful thrusts. You keened his name, a repetitious Miggy, Miggy, Miggy-- it was Aaron, probably. He recognized the way his feet drug on the floor.

He hoped he didn’t just hear it. He hoped he saw it too, the way his balls slapped against your ass, the mess of blood soaking the already unhygienic couch, the way his cock pulsed. You were blissed out, so full and well of him like no one else ever had-- because you were his, and his alone. It wasn’t just sex. It was more than that. From Aaron, whose shuffled steps fell out of his office, to any other little bitch in the office who had their own gain.

“Damn,” Miguel shifted back, hooking his hand around your thigh to drag you back onto his dick. He swirled his thumb against your stiff clit, whirling it around in one circle, then another, and by the third your knees knocked together, bearing down on his cock to hold him still. “I can’t--” you stuttered out, I can’t--”

“You’re going to,” he hissed. “You’re going to cum right here, right now, split open on my dick.”

With another circle, you croaked an ugly cry, a terrible, ugly cry that Miguel couldn’t find any more beautiful as your body buzzed around him, tightening and squeezing your already tight cunt around him. Blissful pleasure radiated there, riding his dick for the friction against your virgin walls, your thoughts fading into a realm of insistent pleasure, where thoughts were space mush.

Miguel withstood the pressure on his cock, clamping his hand down on your hip. His thrusts stuttered, filling your belly with whip after whip with his full hot cum. Your body twitched in the throes of his orgasm. He tracked his eyes down to your body, withdrawing with a bubbly pop of his dick from your abused hole, the intermingling of cum and virginal blood dribbling down your cheeks.

Your gaze tracked Miguel, pressing his lips toward yours one more time. You shifted on the couch, legs pathetically tremoring. Miguel chuckled and walked toward his electric kettle, papers crunching underneath his feet, “Don’t bother moving. Not that you could, anyway.”

He warmed a warm cloth with hot water, testing its temperature on his palm before sitting beside your crumpled legs, spreading your legs to clean his mess and sooth the abrasive way he took you. He spread your lips, ensuring you were clean before he would flip the cloth, dropping it on top of your vulva.

“You know you’re mine,” he asked, though it came out as a statement. With another cloth, Miguel cleaned his soft cock of the mess, exhaustion of the sex and what was to come returning to his gentle, deep voice.

“Sí,” you answered.

“And you’d do anything for me. Only me.”

The words were laced with something more than a suggestion, but an affirmation of your loyalty. Your love. You pushed yourself up, hanging off his arm after he tucked himself into his pants. “Para siempre.”

He leaned down, plucking the bundle with his sequenced DNA information. Your eyes coursed the information on the page, darting up to his tired eyes. You wanted to ask why or what he knew. Miguel knew it didn't matter. You were his now, from the top of your head to the bottom of your gorgeous toes. You trusted him fully. As you should. With the empty vial of Rapture sitting beside him, forgotten, he spared you a mincing smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Good. Let's fix our project.”

#miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spider 2099 imagine #across the spiderverse imagine #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #spider 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut

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petrichor-idyllic · 6 months

Text

@lu-thinkingstuff I accidentally deleted the original ask (and the entire fuckin fic I'd nearly finished along with it) so have a screenshot of your ask I managed to keep. Sorry.

I'm writing this as a standalone piece, but it can be read as a prequel to quite a few of my pieces if you please.

INDOCTRINATION

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. I know the request is fem!reader, but I guess this can be read as gender neutral since I don't think I used any pronous to refer to you, apart from you obviously lmao. Follows no cannon events. I am making this shit up. Can be read as a prequel to "Life before Drowning", any other of my fitting work, or as a standalone. Whatever ya want. References to the simulation sky that's in the books - if you're reading this as a movie fic, then let's pretend this is a failed WICKED experiment.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, annoying WICKED shenanigans, traumatised children, Ratman.

You met Minho when you were seven. Maybe eight.

The last few weeks had been a blur of chaos you can barely remember. With the Flare finally taking its victims in your hometown, families flocked to their last resort, donating their children to WICKED.

Most children weren't picked.

Of course, they weren't. Most children aren't immune. The occasional normal child was also plucked from the masses and swept away from the warmth of their families to the cold, white walls of WICKED's laboratories. But that was rare, and they were only ever valued as a control variable in whatever twisted experiments they took part in.

Not that you ever knew that.

The potential horrors didn't matter to most parents; yours included. Mothers and Fathers desperately passing their remaining blood to men in masks in hopes of saving their loved ones. There really wasn't much choice.

You were given even less choice as you were one of the lucky ones to be picked.

A white room became your home for several weeks. They made you forget your parents - those parents who willingly passed you into Ava Paige's custody in hopes you'd have at least a fleeting chance of survival on the infected planet.

They took your name, too. Your personality. The few memories you'd managed to develop so young. All of it; gone.

You were almost in a state of shock when they finally said you could leave your pristine tiled prison cell.

Following your capture through the endless high-tech halls and flawless clean corridors, you reach a large dining hall. Several long tables fill the room, along with the high-pitched chattering voices of children. The kids vary in age - some older, some younger, but that doesn't matter. They're all talking.

"Grab your food and find a seat." The booming, hollow voice of the balding man in a labcoat reaches your ears, and you can't even begin to process what he's saying.

"W-what?" Your voice is barely a whisper as you squeak out a response.

"Join the queue, and then find somewhere to sit. Your lunch break doesn't last long." He gives you no chance to ask anything else as he turns and walks back down the corridor. Leaving you with very little choice but to continue into the room.

Getting the food is the easy bit; a tray full of a passing excuse for food and a small cup of juice. Finding somewhere to sit is the problem. You mindlessly search for an empty seat, though your gaze mainly lingers on the masked individuals lining the room; armed and dangerous.

"Psst. Don't stare. They don't like it when you stare."

Your head snaps towards a voice. An Asian boy, about your age, leans over the table top, hand cupped around his mouth as he whisper-yells at you, like he's pretending to be subtle.

"...What?" You stare back at him as a grin creeps across his face as he sits back down.

"Those freaks? Duh? Don't stare at 'em. They'll snap at you." When you don't respond, the boy starts to sense your unease. "...You gonna sit down or what?" He vaguely gestures to the empty space on the bench across from him. It takes you a second to move, but he seems relieved when you do. "You got a name?"

"Uh, (Y/N)... I think."

"You think?" He scoffs as you struggle to get your leg over the slightly wobbly bench. You think it's wobbly, or maybe you're shaking too much; it's hard to tell.

"Well, yeah - that's not my real name, is it?" Your response leaves the boy unsure how to react. You're... not wrong.

"Huh. I guess. I'm Minho." He says with a grin. "And even if it ain't my real name, they made a good choice. It suits me, right?"

For the first time since you'd arrived, you find yourself smiling. Minho is charming, for a kid. He's already got an air of confidence about him, which is almost reassuring in this situation.

"Yeah," you giggle, "I guess it does suit you."

And that is how you met Minho. Reckless, cocky, funny, brilliant Minho. And by brilliant, I mean he is a brilliantly bad influence.

It's not like you got to see him very often - just over lunch and the rare breaks you both got at the same time. But when you did, it was always fun. You even developed a little group, mainly including Minho's friends - he has enough charisma for both of you.

The first time Minho snuck into your room, you were eleven.

It's the middle of the night, the faint sounds of footsteps from WICKED guards echoing through the small white room you reside in at nights. It's all background noise, now, you barely even notice it as you drift off to sleep.

Until the loud clattering of the vent hitting the floor makes you jump out of your skin, shooting up in bed.

"...shit." Minho murmurs as he peers into your room.

"Minho?" You whisper-yell at the sudden intrusion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep." He responds, matching your tone as he attempts to clamber out of the vent and onto the safety on the floor below.

"So, you decided to break into my room?" You climb out of bed, coming to assist your best friend as he slides down your wall.

"Yeah. Figured I'd give you a visit."

You cross your arms, eyebrow cocked as you glare at your friend. "Are you insane? We're gonna get in so much trouble if you get caught." You grumble at him, swallowing your initial shock (and your small smile thanks to his presence.)

"So? What are they gonna do?" Minho dusts himself off. "Make me train more? Poke me with another needle? However shall I cope?" His sarcasm results in another eye roll from you, but you can't help but chuckle as you shove him, playfully - but warning.

"They could lock you in your room for a week." A beat passes. "Again."

"Great." He grins. "Means I get some peace. Sleep away my problems."

"You're such a dick."

"You love me, really." He flashes you another signature cocky grin.

You don't even dignify that with a response. "What exactly are we doing then? Just... hanging out in my room?"

Minho hesitates, then looks back at the vent, then you again as a sly smile slowly creeps across his face. "I think I have a better idea."

And that is how you end up crawling through a vent in the middle of the night, and following your chaotic friend through the facility. Minho is a lot calmer than you are; cracking jokes, whistling and generally being a cocky little shit. You, however, are hissing at him every thirty seconds to shut the fuck up.

Somehow, you both stumble into a vacant hall. Well, Minho dragged you through another vent and whilst he gracefully jumped down, you fell in a heap on the floor.

"Christ-" you grumble as you dust yourself off, looking around the room. It's dark, unusually so - the only light creeping in from under the locked door to the room from the buzzing halogen bulbs. "Where are we?"

Despite your low tone, Minho doesn't do much to hide his voice. "Dunno. Damn - this place is huge!" The boy chuckles to himself, dragging his hand across the wall to navigate, the sound of his words, and comfort, creeping away from your reach.

"Minho-" you say into the void, further panic swelling in your gut.

"Yo, I think I found a light switch."

Before you can object that this is a bad idea, there's a hollow click, quickly follow by a binding light.

You weren't expecting it; expecting the same dull bulbs that consume the WICKED labs. But what you get is anything but.

The entire ceiling springs to life, imitating the bright blue of the sky you haven't seen since you found yourself in WICKED's custody.

"Holy shit-" Minho gawks upwards as he stares, too, finally in your line of sight.

The fake sky is scarily realistic - the glow of the sun, the faint fluffy clouds floating across the screen. You're not even sure you could call it a screen, honestly. There's not lines, or glitches or lagging from the technology. It looks so real. Like you could reach out and feel the damp clouds through your fingers, the heat of the sun on your skin.

You look at Minho, who looks at you at the same time. Both of you have no words; how could you? But your silence and exchanges looks say everything words could - what the actual fuck is this?

"...this is.." Minho starts, losing himself quickly.

"..beautiful." You finish for him.

"I was gonna say freaky." He responds, earning a chuckle from you as you wander into the middle of the room. "Hey, there's other buttons-" He says, gesturing to the control panel on the wall that he originally assumed was a light switch.

With the click of his fingers, dark clouds start to fill the fake-sky, creating a dimmer, more stormy atmosphere. But there's no rain. Just clouds.

Those seem to be the only two weather modes as Minho keeps switching between the two. Cloudy and sunny. It's definitely not quite advanced enough to imitate the real thing.

"Look- there's a time monitor." Minho mumbles as he moves a slider. The sky dims, as bright sunset colours fill the ceiling before it creeps into dusk, and then into a series of bright stars.

Minho's goofy grin says enough as he moves away from the controls, joining you in the middle of the room. You barely even notice him until he's crouching the lie on the floor.

"What are you doing?" You raise an eyebrow at him as he moves to lay on his back, looking up.

"Star-gazing, duh. What does it look like?" He says as he smiles at you, before gesturing for you to join him.

"We're gonna get caught-"

"Will you relax?" He chuckles, leaning up on his arms. "When are we ever gonna get a chance to do this for real? Might aswell enjoy it whilst we have the chance."

"It's fake." You cross your arms defiantly.

"Still pretty. Still better than our boring white rooms." He retorts. "C'mon."

You sighs, but relent as you move to lay next to him.

He's right. It really is pretty. The mimic stars sparkle and flutter, and suddenly the labs and the experiments feel worlds away, even if your escape is an extention of your captives skills.

Minho suddenly starts chuckling.

"What? What's so funny?" You say, turning your head to look at him.

"Nothing." He shrugs. "Just thinkin' that if Thomas was here, he'd probably be telling us about all those star thingies."

"...star thingies?"

"Yeah. You know? Those... stars that are, like, in a pattern."

"...constellations?" You can't help the amused smile creeping across your face at your friends ignorance.

"Yeah- those. They got names don't they?" Minho turns to look at you. "Thomas is such a dork. He'd know all of them."

You shake your head as you look back up at the ceiling, but Minho keeps looking at you.

"We should tell the others." You say, not noticing his gaze.

"What?"

"About this room. Newt and Sonya would love this."

"I thought you didn't want to get caught?" He chuckles and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah- but this is cool. They should see it."

A beat passes as Minho continues to look at you. "Nah."

"Nah?" You look at him, surprised by this. He's rebellious and fiery and is normally the first to drag everyone into schemes and fun despite the risks.

"Nah... this is... ours." He says, smiling softly at you, before he shifts slightly to slips his fingers between yours, looking back up. "Just ours."

And that's what it became.

At least once a week, you and Minho would sneak around and into this secret special room. You'd spend hours talking and messing around, and somehow, you didn't get caught. Or maybe some of the kinder WICKED people were turning a blind eye to two kids enjoying themselves.

Who knows.

It was like this for about a year. Maybe a year and a half.

But, things took a turn.

Minho was starting to revieve praise for his athleticism. He became one of the most physically capable subjects, and it was impossible to get him away from a rigged-up treadmill. So, by the end of the day, he was exhausted. Too tired to be crawling around vents with you.

You were thirteen, maybe fourteen when Minho ended up crawling though your vents again.

Hearing the familiar noise, you're out of your bed before he's even here, your bare feet already on the cold floor as he appears.

"Minho-?"

"I know. I know." He grumbles. "I'm sorry." He says, before you can even get so much as a word in, and it leaves you stunned.

"For what?"

"For like... not being here. For neglecting you, I guess." He shrugs as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Neglect-?" You cut yourself off. "Dude, they've been working you to the bone. You don't have to apologise."

He sighs, seemingly of relief. "Yeah, well, I still feel like a dick. You're my best friend."

"Well, you're here now." You attempt to reassure him. "We can go back to the sky room."

He shakes his head. "Nah. I was thinking we could go exploring." He flashes that damn grin at you again.

"...exploring?" You raise a brow, crossing your arms.

"Yeah. Yanno- like me, Newt and Thomas used to do."

"I never joined in with that."

"Well- you should've. And we were exploring when we found the sky room, so you're no so innocent." He chuckles, and you can't help but admit he's right. Yet, he continues at your hesitation. "Look, we found that room by chance. Surely there's more cool and interesting things to find. I'm getting bored of looking at the same fake sky everyday."

Something in that comment stings. You'd never gotten bored of that pretend sky. Maybe because you'd always been with him - and you could never get bored of him.

"C'mon." He drags out the syllable. "One night of exploration. Just one. Who knows how far they'll be making me run from now on. Better take the chance whilst you have it."

You playfully shove him at this. "...fine. One time only. Okay?"

"Okay." He smiles. "Let's go."

So, once again, you find yourself creeping around the sleeping facility with your far too confident best friend.

Though, when Minho reaches a locked door, you would've never expected him to slip an excess card out of his shoe, swiping it into the card reader.

"What? Where did you get that?" You hiss, wide-eyed and stunned.

"Some dumb lab-coat dude left it on the side. So, I picked it up. Finders, keepers." He says as he pushes the door open.

Sneaky around is one thing, finding hidden rooms through vents - but stealing an ID card is something else. You're literally never going to see each other again if you get caught. Not that you get chance to voice your concerns as Minho walks into the room.

This sinking feeling creeps into your gut, yet, you can't find it in yourself to tell Minho. What if he really is starting to find you boring? Being whiney to him about this would only confirm that. You don't need him getting closer with someone else, especially not the flocks of girls in the dining hall who have started taking interest in the boy since he started his physical training.

Okay. Maybe this is creeping beyond friendship. It was years ago, but you're always thinking about the way he held your hand the first time you found that room. How it was just yours. Your special place, just for the two of you. And he doesn't want to go there anymore?

You've never felt so insecure.

So, you keep quiet.

The first room is full of labelled chemicals you don't understand.

The second is full of strange, clouded tubes, with slimy, creatures with metal arms. Even Minho was eager to leave that one - to remain ignorant for his own bliss, pulling you along once you stop to stare into the tubes. You suspect Thomas mentioned something to him. Thomas has always been Ava's favourite.

Though, the third is far less scary. It's a office - well, more like a small library with a computer and a desk. Filing cabinets liter the walls with endless documents.

Minho lets out a low whistle. "A computer." He grins, casually sliding into the office chair as he starts fiddling with the computer. Having most of the common sense in this friendship, you've assumed that the computer is password locked.

Which is confirmed by Minho's hushed cursing.

So, you start looking through the documents in the drawers. A lot of them are medical files and general testing that you don't really understand.

Though, a few documents contain blueprints and titles such as "the Maze Trails" and "The Scorch Trails". They're detailed and confusing.

"Minho-" you gets his attention, passing him the notes as he's distracted from the computer, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he looks through them.

He doesn't get much time to comment as you find another interesting drawer; labelled "Subjects."

Flicking through a few, you recognise the pictures of the people you've spent the last few years with. Teresa. Thomas. Gally.

You stumble upon Minho's- grinning at his awful mugshot style photo. A7. The Leader. They've already got him marked down pretty faithfully.

Though, something consistent through all the documents is the phrase "status: Immune." Something about that stands out to you, for some reason.

That is until you reach Newt's file.

Staus: Nonimmune. Control Variable.

Nonimmune?

Nonimmune.

"Uh, Minho-?"

"These maps are insane." He mumbles, still examining the blueprints. "Do you reckon these are those big plans Thomas is always yapping about?" He picks his head up to look at you, noticing your face drop, concern written throughout your features. "What? What is it?"

"...we're all immune to the Flare, right? That's why they're testing us. To find a cure?" You don't even look up at him.

"Yeah..? Why else would we be here?" His grin is there, same as always, but now it's uneasy and uncertain. You look at him, before walking over and slapping Newt's file onto the table.

It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does, his face drops, and he just looks at you.

Before any words are exchanged, footsteps can be heard from down a corridor.

"Shit-" you both scramble, collecting all the papers and stuffing them in whatever drawer they came from (or whichever is closest.)

It's a mad dash to get out of the room - adrenaline and fear coursing through you both. You didn't even find your own file.

Are you immune? Could the Flare get you?

Little do you know, Minho is internally freaking out over the same thing.

In your panic, your silence evades you, which alerts whatever guard was prowling the building.

"Quick! Up here!" Minho commands as he struggles to open a vent, giving you a leg up before yanking himself up the wall and diving in.

You don't even know where you're crawling to, you're just trying to rush away. But, eventually, it goes quiet, only the sounds of yours and Minho's panting in the small vent system.

"We have to tell Newt." You say, managing to turn in the small space to face him. Minho hesitates for a moment, but nods.

Of course you have to tell him.

"Yeah, at lunch, tomorrow. We'll tell him. But right now, we have to get back to our rooms. They'll be checking." You nod in agreement. "Let's get you back first."

Minho has a far better memory than you, leading you back to the safety of the room before he turns to navigate the way back to his.

"Minho-" you say, turning to look at him once your feet hut the floor, a sense of dread overwhelming you.

"..yeah?"

You can only look at him. There's so much you want to say, but none of it want to come out. Some deep gut feeling screams at you that this is the end, but you tell yourself you're being silly.

His blank expression pushes you to talk, though.

"Just.. be careful."

He offers a warm smile, but rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. See you at lunch tomorrow."

Your attempt to mimic his expression falls flat as he shimmies back into the vent and on his way.

You didn't know how accurate your instincts would be.

The next day, you make your way to the lunch hall. You're late- your lab testing ended up being longer than possible. But when you enter the dining hall, Minho's absence is quickly noted.

Though, you do spot Newt. Maybe Minho's running has gone overtime, again?

"Newt-" you shout him, jogging across the hall. "Have you seen Minho? We need to talk to you."

Newt doesn't even have to say anything as he glances at Thomas, whose eyes are burning into the table in front of him. There's some sense of desperation in Newt's expression, mixed with grief and regret, but like he can't say anything.

It makes your stomach flip and your heart stop as you open your mouth to speak, but you don't get any sound out.

"(Y/N)." Janson's annoying voice sends a chill down your spine as you turn to look at him. Two guards stand by his sides, his forced grimace doesn't reach his cold, unforgiving gaze. "I need a word."

Janson gestures for you to walk with him and you swallow a lump in your throat. Your first instinct is to run. Like Minho thought you. But in a room full of people? It's not like your quiet escapades in the middle of the night.

Your feet are like concrete as you force yourself to walk towards him.

Janson walks in front of you, the guards behind you. You're trapped, and even if you did run, that wouldn't change anything as he leads you into a room. It's a room you're familiar with.

It's where you have one-on-one progress conversations with Janson to discuss how you're doing. Minho spent more time in here than you ever did, but that doesn't mean the confines space doesn't fill you with anxiety, even in normal circumstances.

You take your place in the cold chair as Janson sits across from you, the slab of metal that is meant to be a table keeping you separated feels like a godsend. Though, not much of one with the guards breathing down your neck.

"...Where's Minho?" You manage to croak, attempting to mimic your missing friends confidence.

"He's been dealt with." Janson says, and your blood runs cold.

"What- what does that mean?"

"I'm sure you already know what that means. From your adventures last night." The world stops.

You knew.

You knew it was a bad idea and your own insecurities led you to keeping your mouth shut and hiding away from your concerns. What? Because of a stupid crush? Your own feelings of inadequacy have led to Minho's demise. And it's soul-crushing.

"I-I don't understand." You words falter, any false confidence quickly shattering.

"It's a shame. Really. It is." Janson nods as he leans forward, his elbows on the table. "We let yours and Subject A7's strange relationship slide because it was showing promising results. New waves in the Killzone we were examining. I knew we should've stopped it." He sighs. "...and now, you know too much."

"Where is he?" You spit, fists clenched, unused adrenaline causing you to tremble.

"I told you." Janson hisses. "You already know. But don't worry. You're not going to remember any of this." Janson nods towards the guards.

"What-" your words catch at a sharp sting in the side of your neck as one of the masked-men injects a burning liquid into you. You gasp, grasping the side of your neck. "What have you done?"

Your words slur slightly as a dull buzz fizzles into your vision, your head feeling light.

"My job." Janson leans back as he watches you sway in your seat. "What was always going to happen."

You can't even respond as your limp body slips out of the seat, and your consciousness leaves you before you even hit the floor.

WHOOP WHOOP. 1K BABYYYYY.

I guess this is my 1k follower post - and it's angst. That's typical of me. Sorry for the massive gap since I last posted something, but everyone's support has given me a drive to write. Well, at least finish writing this. Sorry if its not everything you wanted, but I've always felt there's something so much sadder about not getting that chance to say goodbye to someone, and things fizzing out instead of a bang.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed :)

#🌿 petri tmr #🍃 petri tmr #🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri tmr minho #tmr minho #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #the maze runner #minho x reader #tmr fanfiction #minho maze runner #minho tmr x reader

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gyuzpurizzn · 11 months

Text

it was better to let you go than me hurting you more - c.yj

pairing: yeonjun x reader

warning: exes to ??

wc: 844

a/n: im not sure about this guys…. ERRR THIS IS KINDA BAD. its ok. YOLO! but anyways omg. THIS YEONJUN POST. you guys know i had to.

note: listen to talk by beabadoobee!

part 1.

four years later.

holy shit.

you see your ex, yeonjun.

he’s down the street, with his friends, beomgyu and taehyun if you remember clearly.

he looks different, his hair wasn’t green anymore, it’s now ginger.

you see him walking towards the cafe you were at, you prayed and prayed that him and his friends turn their feet around and go to another place.

the cafe’s bell ding, notifying that a customer walked in.

lord, you wanted to bury yourself ten feet underground.

you hoped that he doesn’t see you, unfortunately for you, his friend taehyun saw you.

“dude, isn’t that yn?” taehyun asked yeonjun.

“where?” yeonjun asked taehyun, shocked.

clearly not expecting to hear that name in so long.

he didn’t like how you two ended, sure he had a lot on his plate at that time, but he shouldn’t have been that harsh to you.

the biggest thing he regretted was not fighting harder enough for your relationship.

few months after the breakup, he was miserable and he missed you like crazy.

he lost the one thing that helped him get through life.

—

taehyun pointed to where you were sitting.

you tried to act like you hadn’t just heard taehyun and went on your phone and just started blasting music.

you looked up for a moment and see that yeonjun was walking towards you.

you started freaking out.

what were you supposed to say to him?

fuck. fuck. fuck.

yeonjun tapped your shoulders.

you then took out your airpods and looked up at him.

“yeonjun?” you asked, pretending that you didn’t see him come in.

“hi, yn i haven’t seen you in so long.”

you wonder why.

“yeonjun, hi how are you?”

“i’m good, how about you?”

“im fantastic” forcing out a fake smile.

“mind if i sit down?”

“no, not at all. go ahead.”

when in fact, you did mind.

it was silent for a minute or two, before yeonjun started speaking.

he takes a deep breathe and started.

“i wasn’t expecting to do this today, but i just wanted to apologize. for what happened between us two. i hated the way i handled things. my biggest regret was not fighting for you, but at that time i let the insecurities and thoughts get the best of me. i did not know what i was thinking, i was young and immature back then. and i also had a lot of stuff going on in my life at that moment, and i didn’t wanna burden you with my problems. i know that is not an excuse for the way i treated you, but i hope you can understand. i didn’t mean to hurt you the way i did yn, you didn’t deserve that.”

you didn’t know what to say.

you were left speechless.

you didn’t even know where to begin.

you felt a tear slid down your face.

yeonjun leaning over the table to wipe it.

“sorry, did i go over the boundaries?” he asked

“no, it’s okay. it’s just that this was very unexpected” you let out a laugh.

“i know and im sorry, you don’t have to say anything.”

“don’t be sorry, yeonjun. it’s okay, really. i appreciate the apology.”

“of course, yn. like i said you didn’t deserve the way i treated you four years ago.”

“i just have one comment, yeonjun.”

“what is it?” yeonjun asked curiously.

“you should have told me you were going through something, i know that you didn’t want me to feel burdened by your problems, but i wouldn’t have cared. we could have gone through it together, like we always did.” you said as your voice begins to break.

yeonjun sucks in a breath and responded, “ it was better to let you go than me hurting you more. i wasn’t in the right mind back then. i didn’t want you to keep hurting because i saw the way you looked whenever we fought. i couldn’t stand it.”

“that’s the thing yeonjun. you were hurting more than me, you needed someone to help you. and i wasn’t there to do that, if only, you talked to me about your problems. then maybe we didn’t have to end the way we ended. maybe just maybe we would have still been together.”

“i know yn, and i regretted everything. i swear, i wanted to run right back in your arms the second we broke up.”

you thought about it. long and hard.

“yeonjun. i’m willing to give us a second chance.”

“are you serious right now, yn?”

“so serious. but let’s take things slow.”

“oh my god, you just made me the happiest man on earth. i do not deserve you, yn. i promise to be better for you.” yeonjun said smiling like he won a lottery.

“another thing, yeonjun.”

“hmm?”

“promise to talk to me when you’re having problems or any thoughts at all. i want to help you.”

“same goes for you, okay?”

“okay.”

yeonjun pulling out his pinky.

you laughed at his silliness.

you then bring out your pinky, interlocking them.

“i promise.”

#kpop #kpop imagines #tomorrow x together #choi yeonjun #yeonjun #txt imagines #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun angst #txt angst #fanfics #exes

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skzstoryvault · 3 months

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Erase and Rewind (angst, fluff, smut - Hyunjin - Final part)

F!Reader

ex!Chan

good friend Hyunjin

multi chapter story

this chapter: feelings and smut

Chan broke up with reader

Reader is moving on

Hyunjin is being a supportive friend

Featuring insecurities, internalised misogyny and self-hate

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real persons depicted here. They all deserve the world.

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

*** Part 3

You were single for two Valentine’s Days and for two White Days now, and other than staying in and distracting yourself with action movies, you did not feel the seasonal sadness affect you. Not to mention, there were other friends of yours who weren’t big on celebrating those things and who invited you to their houses for casual gatherings. Minho hosted a silent rave at his house one year (which Chan and his girlfriend skipped), Felix invited himself over one White Day, with cake ingredients and his infectious good mood. You were doing great.

This year, for White Day, Hyunjin declared the entire world could fuck off with its lovey dovey shit and he invited you for an art experience at a gallery which provided huge canvases, non-toxic paints and small thongs for the clients to use for painting on each other, then rolling across the canvasses and creating their own unique art pieces. “Uh… this is a literal string. My whole dick is out.” Hyunjin said from the changing booth next to yours.

“My outfit has no bra. Granted there’s not much that can go in it but I bet you didn’t sign up to see my nips on this God’s fine day.” “Shall I tell the staff we’re not doing it? If you’re uncomfortable?” “How much did you look forward to this, Hyune? And also, this must have been such a headache to organise, for you, with how booked you are. And aren’t you uncomfortable?” “Well, I really wanted to do it. I thought it would be nice for us to have this special thing in common.”

“Tell you what. Let’s still do it - butt naked. I know you love me and won’t laugh at me, and the same goes for me too.” “Fuck yes!” Hyunjin burst out of his booth, naked and in flip flops. “Jewellery - on or off?” You thought for a bit. “Off, I’d say, we don’t want the canvas to snag. Or for you to be up at three am, cleaning out paint from your custom diamond pieces with the toothbrush.”

“One less thing to jiggle around.” He said, heading for the canvases. “These really are big.” You exited your booth too, joining him, also in your birthday suit. “Shall we begin? Please, no pastels for me.” By the time he was halfway done with putting paint on you, you noticed him fidgeting and noticed why, as well. “Look, it happens, okay? You’re young and fit, a breeze coming in through the open window can give you a semi. It’s fine.” “It’s not a breeze though, it’s you. “ Hyunjin said. “You’re just so fine, and the fact that you wanted us to do this, even naked… so hot. But don’t worry, I’ll behave. I know how you feel about sex with men lately.”

“Er, that was almost two years ago. The sex itself is not the issue, the other shit it came with is. And… you think that’s the issue??? Hold up… excuse me for presuming here but… I didn’t think you’d be into me. Chan said you don’t like women.”

“He… what?” Hyunjin gasped so hard you feared he might straight up hyperventilate. “Or… that’s what I understood. I don’t remember the exact phrasing but he said that if you fished in the same pond no one would ever be so much as noticed by girls.” “Well maybe I don’t crop dust my charms all over the world because I’m not about all that. Whenever my hormones are taking the reigns, I use that energy and that drive to make art, to dance, to train, to push myself harder. To be the perfect whore for Stay so they’ll give me the most attention. I really don’t think I have to be a slave to every erection that comes and goes. I guess from the others’ end it might look different.” He said, looking down at his now behaving dick. “Case in point. Although I’ve been insanely attracted to you since we met, but then you went for Channie and I thought, eh, we’re not the same type, I’m not even an option. I’m not as confident and in charge as him and I’m shy so I… decided I would take any kind of place in your life you deigned to give me. But then he broke up with you, like a donkey, I might add, and you were so hurt and defeated, I though it inappropriate to still have a crush on you. I didn’t want to feel like I was friends with you for… predatory reasons. Just know that I think you’re everything and also… there’s these. Warning, I am not trying to be a pervert but look… I’ve had it done in Japan.” The madman. The absolute, perfect, amazing dumbass, you thought, looking at the twin scars.

You pointed to yours, now faded and pretty much invisible unless you drew attention to them.

“We… we actually match.” You said, feeling tears threaten to spill. “Jinnie… I’m going to cry! But… are you sure? That’s pretty extreme.” “I am crying! And yes, I am very sure. I can always adopt a child who needs love, and between you and me every time I hear people say how beautiful my kids will be with this creepy sort of entitlement… I used to shudder, now I can laugh about it.” He said, scooching closer to hug you. “We’re mixing up our paints. And… and I can’t believe I scrounged up the balls to tell you. And you like it? Like… me?” “Jinnie… you’ve given me back to me this past year plus. And it’s not just gratitude, don’t think you have to work hard to earn my affection, but… you carved out all the darkness from my world and replaced it with your colours. I should be so lucky to have your love, in this way or another. Your love is worth the risk. You’ve taught me there are no guarantees beyond what we choose to give each other today. And I want your love, if you want mine in return.”

Hyunjin just sobbed harder, everything else forgotten for a long, elastic moment stretching outside of time, in which the two of you sat naked and entangled in the middle of a tarp, covered in colours. Still crying, Hyunjin took your hand and helped you up. He rolled you across your canvas and you moved him across his own. You then stood, together, looking at your finished art pieces from further away. “They’re beautiful, Jinnie.” You said, moving closer to him and taking his hand in yours. “And they match perfectly. Like us.” He said, finally finding your lips with his, enveloping you in his arms and holding you close, glued to him.

It didn’t even feel like you were naked with him then. He made you feel so safe and seen, you forgot you were supposed to feel self-conscious.

You went back to your place after the gallery, to wash the rest of the colours off and to continue your make-out session. Still damp and with steam coming off of your skins, you collapsed between your sheets together, kissing ravenously, hands roaming and mapping previously off limits parts. You ended up in a tangle of limbs on the bed, Hyunjin’s cock down your throat and his tongue in your pussy. The way you both pulled and squeezed at each other’s skin, trying to get deeper, closer, was matched only by the neediness in your sounds. You had always guessed Hyunjin was the vocal type, now you knew for sure and his gone moans and whimpers made your core clench painfully and your walls slicker. It felt good and normal, that sense of vulnerability you hadn’t liked before nowhere to be found. You knew, deep in the back of your mind, that you and Hyunjin were thick as thieves and even if he did move on from you sexually, he would never cut you out of his life and allow you to fade into the faceless crowd of people who orbit him but are inconsequential to him. He comes without warning, from you running a wet finger over his hole and you pull back a bit so you wouldn’t choke or hurt him, focusing on drinking him down and not spilling a drop. He tastes so clean and familiar, and you know it’s psychological, this part - the thought that taking his come inside you can’t harm you or change the course of your life to a trajectory not of your choosing. This is, of course, in line with how Hyunjin makes you feel in every other way: seen, protected and cared for. Like a precious secret or a superpower.

You don’t expect to come, you’re too lost in the tsunami of emotions crashing down on you, and usually when there’s a disconnect between mind and body, nothing happens, but this time, Hyunjin pushes you down that steep slide by simply keeping at devouring you with his lips, his tongue, his long and gentle fingers. You don’t expect it, yet you start shaking like a leaf in autumn and feel yourself gush all over his face, an actual scream tearing out from you at how unexpectedly intense it feels.

By the time you can breathe normally again and can string two thoughts together, Hyunjin is still panting and his skin feels like it’s burning. He’s sweating profusely, like from an hour-long dance practice. His hands are still idly caressing you where he can reach, your thighs, your hips, your belly.

“Give me a moment and I’ll fuck you until we black out.” He says, his intoxicatingly appealing confidence making you shiver again. “Going to fuck every memory of Channie-hyung from you so you’re all mine.”

It’s a double-edged sword kind of comment that could land well or really badly, but the fact that he risked it for your own benefit is incredible.

Hyunjin already pieced all the broken parts of you together and glued them with his gold. You don’t know why or how, certainly not because you’re special - because you know you’re not. But on the other hand, he went all in too, and if it’s all a cruel prank or some background bet with the boys, it’s a damn high value one. “You being in your head, listening to your mean girl voice?” Hyunjin asks, sitting up and coming to caress your face. “Tell me.” He adds, leaning down to lick your lips into opening, sucking your lower one and then biting into it just the right amount so it stings but doesn’t hurt. “I want you fully here for what I’m going to do to you.”

His words make you gasp. “I’m still wondering why you chose me. I’m just a girl. Not even the prettiest.”

“To me you are THE girl.” Hyunjin says, bringing a hand up to caress your lips with careful, featherlight fingertips. “You can learn so much about a person when you dance with them, it’s so intimate and electric. I’ve never felt like this, like I want to take all of you and put you inside me and protect you from the world.”

His words send pure pleasure sparking up and down your spine, you never expected someone would feel like this about you and he’s right, that feeling when you dance together, that you are one soul in two bodies - you’ve felt it too and it was all-overpowering.

You close your eyes briefly, against the tide of rushing sensations coursing through you. Underneath, like the dark waters of the ocean, are your feelings, which are also stirring. You could love Hyunjin in the same all-consuming, all-overtaking way he acts towards you. The feeling of safety he gives you is unlike anything you’ve felt before and makes you want to go anywhere he wants to take you.

You become aware of the closeness of your bodies, the way your heated skins touch almost all over, with Hyunjin now half on top of you, with a leg bent and thrown possessively over you. His cock is pressed against your hip, leaking on your skin there, hard already. Everything about him is so ethereally beautiful, from his pillowy soft lips and his spindly, strong and gentle fingers, to his cock, long and thick and now hard again. You run the hand currently not carding through his hair down along the thigh he had flung across you, and the muscles shift subtly beneath your fingertips. He makes a completely ruined sound, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them to look at you. “Can I? Please, can I?”

“Yes, Jinnie, you can always have me. I’m all yours now.”

“Only mine, too.” He whispers, as though he’s manifesting it for himself. “Help me? I don’t want to mess this up.” You nod, reaching down and guiding him to rest against your entrance. One deep breath later and you’re breaching yourself before he takes over, pushing in just the tiniest bit. The stretch is just on this side of pain, after so long. You’re turned on out of your mind though, and he can slide in easily, but you want to feel more of that stretch. “Slowly, until you bottom out. I want to feel all of this.” You say, voice coming out raspy and breathless. “Heavens, Jinnie - you feel perfect.”

He lets out a breath he’s been holding for ages, it seems, lowering his forehead to yours. “I’m afraid to move. If I do, I’ll bust.” He says, his eyes closed. You could be with him like this forever. Him above you, inside you, trembling like a leaf from all the things rushing through him. He never looks more gorgeous than he does in moments like this one, fully naked with you, inside out, no make-up, no retouches. Soon, he does move - halfway propped up on an arm while the other one is under you, pulling you closer and anchoring him to you, wrecked-sounding and with eyes squeezed closed, lower lip chewed up and hair sticking in wet tendrils to his face and neck. He looks like a god.

It takes him a bit to find an angle and a pace he can sustain, and all the pressing and wriggling around just pushes him closer into you, so close that every movement of his hips is felt in your clit, and you just know it’s a matter of when by now, not if he makes you come. “I can’t… fuck, I can’t…” he pants out in frustration. “I can’t hold it long enough, I’m sorry.” He adds, collapsing on you and peppering apologetic kisses all over your face and neck.

You know he means he can’t hold a steady rhythm in this position, not long enough to get you both to that place where you both fall over the edge.

“Kneel up, baby. Sit back and spread your legs beneath me.” You guide him. He can definitely do it, he has the strength for it, and the hubris needed to attempt to pull off the switch in position while still inside you.

“Oh… my… God!” He exclaims when it works and he finds himself with you in his lap, with your legs on either side of him, grinding on his length which is now buried impossibly deeper inside you. His first reaction once he’s sat down and his heels are digging into the sheets is to pull you close and bury his face in your neck, leaving a deep mark at the spot where your neck meets the shoulder. For a moment, he forgets to move up into you, distracted by how much closer he can have you now, how much easier it is to reach your neck, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts, your nipples. “Are you close, baby?” You press out, wanting his focus. If he forgets himself now, the rhythmic squeezing of your walls around his cock buried deep inside you and the maddening, overwhelming feel of his lips and fingers on your nipples will throw you over the edge and leave him behind. And any other time, that would be perfectly fine, but you need him with you this time, the first time of many.

“Yes, fuck, this is so… it’s everything!” He pants. “I was close since you let me in. I’m barely holding on, so you don’t think I-” He gets cut off by the next squeeze of your walls around his length when you’re seated flush in his lap. “Oh fu-” Hyunjin goes cross-eyed briefly, holding on to you and pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you and locking you in, your front glued to his.

Seeing him lose it for you, because of you, throws you over the edge too, sparks of pleasure turning into currents shooting up and down your spine, spreading tingles all over you, all the way to your toes. As soon as your heavy breathing goes down a bit, you lean in and kiss Hyunjin, stealing his breath and licking along his now spit-slick lips. He’s going slack beneath you and you push him backwards so he ends up lying down on the bed. You follow, his softening cock slipping out of you, causing you both to whine at the loss of contact and the sound of your bodies separating wetly.

“That was… holy… I knew it would be good but… because it was with you, it was out of this world. I felt like I died and got zapped back to life.” Hyunjin speaks, his words leaving his chest slowly. He sounds so dreamy and relaxed, like he might fall asleep while talking. “I want to do it again and again, till I can’t move or remember my name. I want to let you try everything on me. Tie me up, fuck me, blindfold me, spank me, pi-” “Jinnie!” You chime from your comfy spot on top of him. “I appreciate the enthusiasm. I guess we have to stay together for a little while so we can try all the things you want.”

“I want that. I want to try it all with you.” He says, sounding far away and half into the land of dreams already. “Wanna keep you fucked out and pleased all the time. Or… uhhh, do things in your own time? I want to tell Stay about you right away, to sort the haters out and to be able to be together like normal people.” "You don't have to. People are full of hate, Jinnie. I want you to keep being the loveable brat, the prince and the spoiled baby in public. You should be Stay's best and cutest husband, it's good for your career. Better than announcing a girlfriend." "But... won't you hate being kept a secret?" "Babe, I'm being selfish. I don't want the world to be in on our relationship. And well, statistically, we have more of a chance to last as a couple if we don't invite everyone else out there into it." "Then I'll do what feels right for you. I like being an idol and I love being yours now. If I can continue doing both... all the better. And we can keep hanging out like before, I need to see you every day when I'm around here." “Mmm, good thing you said that, I don’t want us to go from being besties to only being strictly dickly.” You say, finding a comfortable spot to snuggle next to your boyfriend. “A lot of people have dicks, but there’s only one of you, my good sweet Hyune.”

“Don’t stop, go on,” he says, his eyes closed and a smile tugging on his lip corners.

“You are so good to me, my baby. You gave me my joy back.” You say. “Wanna keep you to myself for so long.”

You’re not sure he heard the last part, since he’s already snoring softly, like a cat purring itself to sleep. But the words that left your lips are enough of a shock to you already. It’s the truth. Hyunjin never cared how much of a mess you were. To him, you’re the hottest thing in the world and he gave you more than 100% of himself in every way.

#skz fic #fic #bang chan angst #ex bang chan #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin smut #friend hyunjin #erase and rewind #f!reader #smut with feelings #lover hyunjin #first time

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bugwolfsstuff · 7 months

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I said i was gonna rant and by the gods im gonna rant

[This is not gonna make sense and more me shrieking at the gods cus Loki is my blorbo and i hate that Rick fucked up and made him abusive when the first book was litterally implying that he cares about his kids and making him sympathetic.]

Love how i completely forgot Heimdall was there too between reading this in school and getting home lmao. My phone guy is just that forgettable.

ALSO THATS WHY YOUR DOING THIS? THATS THE REASON YOUR GOING WITH RICK?

They got roasted too hard so theyre gonna kill two innocent kids, mulitate their corpses and use those corpses to chain their father while dripping acid on him?

It was (slightly) more understandable when it was cus Baldur (even tho hes probably happier with Hel anyways) died.

Cus like an eye for an eye.... (even tho that was much more than an eye, more like two eyes, a heart and a leg.)

Actually no scratch that killing Baldur technically was an eye for an eye if you think about it.

(Odin took three of Loki's kids, Loki took his son, his daughter in law and then the same son again when he refused to cry to bring him back. Thats also three. Thats one of the reasons i excuse Baldur dying)

I know Magnus probably either didn't realise what was going on here or if he did it didnt register in his brain the whole story. Which, fair enough, directly after this he listens to Kvasir getting cut up by a chainsaw (good, its clear if it weren't for him Loki, Narvi, Vali and Sigyn would've been probably fine) and then watches Alex get thrown out by his.....sperm donor. So what happens to Loki is not at the top of his concerns rn but i really hope he confronts Frey about it later. Cus Magnus has been shown to emphasize with Loki on this. AND THOSE WERE FUCKING CHILDREN! AND THEY WERE KILLED BECAUSE THEY WERE LOKI'S CHILDREN!

WHO ELSE ARE CHILDREN OF LOKI THAT HE CARES DEEPLY ABOUT?

SAMIRAH AND ALEX

Basically i want Magnus to yell at the gods the way Percy does. Because like Luke everything was probably WAS the gods fault.

And before you come at me with the whole 'prophecy has to happen' thing. Save your breath because most of you have no problem with blaming the gods when it came to luke in pjo and this is kinda similar.

Who was to say that Fenris, Hel and Jörmungandr would have caused ragnarok if the Aesir (mostly Odin) didnt take them from their home and seperate them?

Whos to say Loki would start Ragnarok if Odin didnt break their oath and take his children?

Or :

Let his mouth get sewn shut after he got everyone shit (Sif's new hair, Mjollnir, Draupnir, Gungnir, Skidbladnir and Gullinbursti) because suddenly oaths matter now, Odin.

Kill his innocent children (its not stated in myth or mcga how old Narvi and Vali were/are but the general consensus is that they were young), possibly made him watch said children get murdered (Sword of summer its stated by Loki that the gods watched in amusement as Vali disemboweled Narvi but that could be hyperbole) and had a snake drip acid onto his face.

If there was any good in Loki at any point (which there might be. He actually seems pretty chill in sword of summer) then its been snuffed out now.

Thanks Odin.

You signed your death warrant.

Whats that saying again?

He who tries to prevent fate is doomed to cause it?

Or something like that i cant remember the phrase.

I have more to say yet i cant quite articulate it. So im gonna end it here.

Also i am really in the mood for writing a oneshot of the day they caught Loki in Loki's—or maybe Sigyn's? Pov.

#Imagine if Rick didnt fuck up and made Loki sympathetic instead of abusive and pure EVIL #frey mcga #Mcga Odin #Fuck that guy #loki mcga #mcga loki #Love that guy. Girl. Sometimes horse #wolffox speaks #Alot she speaks alot.#More yelling actually #mcga #magnus chase and the hammer of thor #magnus chase and the sword of summer #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #magnus chase and the ship of the dead #Imagine the fear Loki felt when he was caught #Or maybe he didnt realize he pushed to far this time? Maybe he thought it was gonna all be okay.#Then he saw his sons.

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kitkatnerds3 · 1 year

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BSD S5 EP 9

I have not finished the episode yet but I've just gotten to the Fukufuku backstory (specifically the part where they just met and its night and they're lying on the floor together) and, these two are fucking dark timeline Renga from sk8! 'The way of the sword is enjoyable!' and 'I'm going to master the sword alongside you' vs 'skating is fun!' and 'I want to skate with you infinitely' I swear Fukuchi even did the same hand movement that Reki did at some point. Energetic sunshine (at least at the moment) x calm and collected. I am getting such strong Renga vibes from that scene and it's driving me insane.

OK I JUST WATCHED TWO (2) SECONDS FURTHER AND NOW WE'RE IN A FUCKING SHOJO ANIME! BONES LOVES OLD MAN YAOI SO MUCH! THIS IS SO GAY! WHY ARE THERE SO MANY CHERRY BLOSSOMS!!? A CHERRY BLOSSOM PETAL IN THE SHAPE OF A HEART JUST FELL INTO FUKUZAWAS SAKE(?) AND THEN BROKE INTO TWO. THEY'RE NOT EVEN BEING SUBTLE WITH THE 'THIS (ROMANTIC) RELATIONSHIP IS ABOUT TO GO O SHIT' -NESS

DONT DO SYMBOLISM WITH THE FUCKING BIRDS YOU DUMB SHOW! I SEE WHAT YOU'RE FUCKING DOING! For context, they were having a conversation but the focus was on these two egrets? herons? anyways, and then one of them just flew off when Fukuchi said that he was gonna be promoted and sent to the battlefield , which is what separated these two. I'm going to die, I'm not entirely sure why but I am. /pos

Fuck it, I'm committing to the live blog. enjoy seeing my live uncut reactions folks!

The animation is so pretty bro, bones adores their old man yaoi.

Ok, old man yaoi backstory is over , and before I move on to the next thing I just wanna say, young Fukuzawa was so fucking cute! He was an old man even when he was a baby! he was adorable! and honestly so was Fukuchi! I'm very sad that he became the way he is now, war really does stuff to people, huh?

Ok I'm a little bit confused, I didn't realize that he had told that United Nations guy the half-truth. But whatever, that's on me I guess.

OK! JESUS FUCK THE MORE I HERE ABOUT THE WAR THE WORSE IT GETS. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE SOLDIERS HAD TO EAT EACHOTHER AND WERE SHOT FOR TRYING TO DESERT! MAYBE I SHOUD HAVE EXPECTED THAT IT IS WAR BUT JESUS CHRIST!

God, Fukufuku are so gay. I know that stabbing someone isn't exactly romantic but he Fukuzawa did the thing where you grab onto the other persons clothes and after Fukuchi stabbed him his head ended up resting on his chest. This is PEAK romantic tradgedy.

Teruko, I love you. She looks so pretty and she is so hecking smart and I just adore her. She let Atsushi go! Woohoo!! Also, Atsushi's hallucinations are really coming in full force, huh? He is seeing so many people.

Dazai and Sigma are so silly, I love them, Dazai stop flirting for two fucking seconds challenge. Also, it's fun to hear that Dazai is screwing around with Sigma while thinking of Kunikida! Truly every ship is being fed this season! Except sskk, but we did get Aku in Atsushi's hallucinations doing a thing so that's kinda a win for the gays!

Wow! What a nice elevator! I'm sure nothing bad will happen here!

Oh catgirl, you left us too soon.

I must say, I don't really have much to say on the Meursault section. It was good! The animation was great as it usually is for the Meursault sections, Sigma was so pretty I love him and! Dazai did the thing where he played with Sigma's hair! Woo! Fyodor was his usual level of kinda ugly in anime form, Dazai is showing emotions! more of the sillies, Dazai fucking stood on Sigma, which is delightful, aaaaaaand it's started to flood! Fuck!

Anyways, back to the very start of this episode before I was overcome by the homosexual-ness of Fukufuku, Aya Bram Kunikida and Tanizaki got yoinked! Fuck! I still have a theory that Tanizaki could be doing an illusion and I will make a post about it one day. And also, please excuse me for saying this because while I am still upset about Ranpo being hurt... watching Fukuchi pick him up by the scruff of his neck like a cat was kinda hilarious. Also, Teruko I love you. You're the only hunting dog that heard about Fukuchi's real identity and didn't immediately die. Girlboss fr. Also also, where are Lucy Kyouka and Yosano :D? W-where did they go? Asagiri please I need to see my girls.

And to once again revisit the old gays, Holy Shit that was so gay. Nobody told me that the Fukufuku backstory was a Sports Anime tm that turned into a war drama in the second season! I knew we said they were divorced but I never realized just how married they were before the separation! Wow! Fukuzawa smiled so softly at Fukuchi! They were such sweet kids! Aagh!

This was a good episode! I liked this! Excited for next Wungo Wednesday!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd season 5 #bsd fukuzawa #bsd fukuchi #bsd fukufuku #sk8 renga #bsd teruko #bsd dazai #bsd sigma #bsd fyodor #good episode! :D

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pandocachan · 12 days

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Green Fairy

Maomao was definitely trying to avoid getting any sleep that night.

Actually, she was trying not to find herself alone with her thoughts, much less with Lakan. She was now at some random gathering with the two sailors that were earlier playing the instruments at the forecastle. After the commotion of her singing, the weird tactician stuck like a tick and was following her around making the puppy eyes. When the sailors offered her to have a drink, she didn’t think twice and accepted it. Unfortunately, Lakan decided to come along.

Most people there were male ship workers but there were also four other women who were dressed as servants. There was drinking and laughing in a pretty much relaxing atmosphere. This encouraged Maomao to have some alcohol as well.

“Honestly, I thought that the tactician-dono was a cocky prick. He actually looks like a pretty simple man.” A tall sailor with a long beard and a shaved head commented when seeing Lakan looking pleased that someone had brought a Shogi board to the place.

“Despite all of his weirdness, yes, he is.” Maomao agreed.

“Lass, you are tough, aren’t you? This is your third sake bottle!” The young drummer sailor looked amazed at her.

“Yeah, I’m pretty resistant, although today I wish I wasn’t.” She said after having another shot.

“Matters of the heart, my lady?” The older sailor asked.

“Matters of life and death, and everything in between.” The apothecary answered pouring herself another sake shot.

“Yo, look what I have here!” A young military official greeted them and put a greenish-blue bottle on the table. Maomao noticed that she couldn't read the label. It had pretty odd inscriptions on it.

“What is this?” The young sailor asked.

“It’s called absinthe. Ol’ Jia over there brought it from his last trip to the West.” The man replied pouring it into an empty glass. The liquid was green and had a strong alcohol smell.

“I’ll pass. I have seen what this drink can do even to strong men and it’s not pretty.” The bald sailor said.

“Why do you say that?” Maomao asked.

“The people of the West commonly refer to this drink as ‘green fairy’ due to its hallucinogen effects. As you can imagine, it’s not too difficult to get devoted to the green fairy so the person shortly becomes a living-dead creature until death comes to take its prize.” He explained.

Maomao’s eyes sparkled and her hand reached to the glass.

“Hey, wait, you have to dilute it with water!” The official warned but it was too late.

The anise-flavoured taste came into her mouth followed by a tongue-numbing.

“Shit, this girl is crazy!” The young sailor was startled.

“Excuse me.” The apothecary said and left the table.

Maomao decided to have a sit far away from the crowd. She wanted to thoroughly pay attention to every reaction her body would have from now on.

She started to become really aware of her heartbeats, which were pounding too fast for someone who was standing still. There were no windows in there and her nostrils began to really capture the smell of alcohol, tobacco, and sweat that dominated the environment. Despite the loudness around her, all she could hear now was a buzz. Her vision was somewhat impaired as well. She could only focus on a small area at a time, everything else was a hazy fog. That was when her gaze fell on a tall, muscular lean-built young military official. His long waist-length dark hair was completely loose and his lightly-tanned skin contrasted with his hazel eyes.

The apothecary wet her lips with her tongue. This is a very nice male specimen. She thought as she felt a coil in her lower abdomen and a familiar tightening between her legs.

“Ok, this is getting interesting.” She mumbled to herself while placing one hand over her belly.

Maomao hardly thinks about sex for her own pleasure. She was far from being asexual or frigid, but the rare times when she chooses to satisfy herself, she finds it difficult to let her imagination run riot. Maybe because she has always been exposed to sex in a very crude way, giving her almost nothing to fantasize about. To think about laying down with a man simply by her own will and not due to violation or to fulfill a duty is definitely a challenge. She had tried to think about doing women too, but even though she does find the female body beautiful, it is that part that make men, well, men, that comes to her mind during her orgasms.

“Are you feeling well?” A familiar voice reached her ears.

“Sir Lihaku!” Maomao said a little bit too excited, which made the young official look suspiciously at her.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked.

“Perhaps. A little.” She sustained her mischievous smile.

“I’ll take you back to your dorm.” Lihaku said grabbing her left arm and lifting her up.

“Noooo, I don’t want to!" Maomao threw herself to the other side, forcing the man to hold her by the waist.

“Seriously, you’re not only looking weird, but you’re acting weird.” He shook his head.

“Hey, do you know that official over there?” She pointed out to the man she was admiring before.

“Yes, that’s Sir Ruhio. He’s a mid-rank official of the Royal Cavalry.” Lihaku answered.

“Can you introduce him to me?” The mischievous smile was back again.

“Why?” He raised one brow.

“I would like to work on my horsemanship.” She replied trying to suppress a giggle.

“I can help you with that.” The official argued.

“But I want him, not you. You belong to Pairin.” Maomao answered.

“Oooh, so that's what you're talking about.” Lihaku said shifting his gaze to the man. “I don’t think the Moon Prince will be happy with that.”

“Fuck the Moon Prince!” She growled furiously.

“Shhhhh!! Are you trying to get us both beheaded?!” He covered her mouth with the hand that was previously holding her arm.

“Let go of me!” She pushed him away.

“Is this gentleman bothering you, my lady?” The older sailor appeared behind her.

“No, it’s ok, he’s...” Maomao looked at Lihaku, who was glaring at her with furrowed eyebrows. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

“Perhaps it would be best for you to retire to your room. There are only men left in here now, it is not appropriate for a lady to stay any longer.” The man suggested glaring at the official.

“I appreciate your chivalry, sir. Yes, I will take my leave.” She politely replied and left followed by Lihaku.

__________________________________

Chapter 3

#fanfic #apothecary diaries #fanfiction #jinshi x maomao #jinmao #kusuriya no hitorigoto

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sodacomets · 11 months

Text

IwaOi Soulmate AU ✨

(story under the cut)

I’m writing a series of Haikyuu short stories except each one is based on one of those story ideas I keep seeing on here!

I’m new-ish to writing and to Tumblr so excuse any questionable things. Also, feel free to suggest more ideas if you have any (tell me who to credit if possible)!

credit for this idea: @rubyrushha (whose blog appears to have been deleted) on Tumblr

Soulmates are not an uncommon thing. Every universe has its own version of them, be it the idea that “someday, you’ll meet the one for you”, the red string of fate that connects fated lovers, or in my case, having the first words a person’s soulmate will say to them appear on their skin when they turn 16.

The words would only disappear when you found your soulmate.

I never quite liked the concept of soulmarks and knew from a young age that no matter what mine said, my sister and nephew would tease me about it relentlessly. So when the dreaded day finally came, I wasn’t excited in the least. It didn’t help that I woke up from a mediocre night's sleep to find my family and relatives downstairs with an obnoxious amount of shiny balloons, each reading “HAPPY BIRTHDAY”, meandering about the living room, and “fuck you!” imprinted on my arm.

I half-heartedly covered the words with my sister’s concealer and then dodged everyone’s questions as best I could. I may have been an expert in the concealing of unwanted marks via makeup, but some things just can’t be hidden for long.

When I showed up to volleyball practice the next day, I tried to keep my jacket on for as long as possible, and hoped that no one would see my arm. Unfortunately, the coaches didn’t like that.

I tried to explain to them that the girls from my fanclub just really liked our new jackets and could no longer stand to see me in the abomination that was our regular uniforms. Maybe I oversold it a little because my teammates quickly grew suspicious.

“He’s a pompous ass most of the time, but this is too much, even for him!”

“Wait. Wasn’t his birthday a couple days ago?”

“OH SHIT! That’s what he’s trying to hide.”

As one can imagine, these kinds of reactions segued into teasing and a barrage of “fuck you”s from the rest of our teammates who, as I had found out, had very little respect for their captain and resident pretty setter.

Later, even the other teams found out about my soulmark and I found out about theirs. Most notably, Kenma and Kuroo from Nekoma had each other as soulmates, and their marks said some insignificant things from when they met as kids. Bokuto and Akaashi of Fukurodani were also soulmates. Their marks had said “Do you have like… a weird dick or something?” and “No, Bokuto, my penis is perfectly normal.” respectively. Admittedly, theirs were worse than mine. And gave me more questions than answers. But at least theirs were gone now.

After graduating highschool, and leaving behind my teammates, who finally showed some appreciation for me now that I was leaving, my soulmark fell into the back of my mind. The rumors, speculations, and jokes had long since died down. It was for the best since there had been a very uncomfortable time in which girls from my fanclub would come up to me and cuss me out. Each would walk away, dejected upon realizing they were not, in fact, my soulmate.

All that’s to say, the peace was much appreciated. I could focus on volleyball, setting, and college classes. And seducing the odd boy or girl I sat next to in the lecture halls. None of them were my soulmate, but that didn’t stop me from taking them out and having an amazing time.

It had been great.

Until one day in my 3rd year when I was walking down the street. I had my face buried in my phone screen, perusing some piece of volleyball news or another. Cliche as it sounds, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and aggressively slammed into another guy walking the opposite way. The books he was holding fell to the ground, some pages taking considerable damage. Both of us tumbled to the ground as well. I looked up from my dazed state and saw that the person I crashed into was an older boy, college-age maybe, with short, spiky, horrendously unstyled brown hair and a plain sort of appearance, albeit with a substantial build and a very, very pissed off look. I felt compelled to do something about his hair. Brush out the uncontrollable spikes, at least.

He gathered his books, some of which I helped to pick up, and stood to walk away. His jacket caught on one of the buttons on his jeans, lending to a rather disheveled look. Under his breath, he muttered something about being late, followed by a creative string of insults and capped off with a “fuck you!”

I looked down at my arm for confirmation. It was him.

Immediately, I whipped my head around and chased after him, nearly tripping, and grabbed his shoulder. He turned quickly and glared up at me. As I began regretting my decision, I took a closer look at him. He was shorter than me. 5’10, maybe? His eyes were hard-set but pretty, a sort of greenish-brown that would look outright offensive in any other context.

I returned his harsh gaze with one of my own, and used my teeth to pull up the left sleeve of my light-brown sweater. Then, l practically shoved the already-fading letters into his face.

“YOU’RE THE MOTHERFUCKER THAT GAVE ME THE WORST FUCKING SOULMARK EVER! WELL GUESS WHAT? I WILL NEVER LET THIS GO! THERE IS NOTHING WORSE THAN HAVING THE WORDS “Fuck you!” PERMANENTLY MARKED ON YOUR SKIN! FOR YEARS!”

The other boy's gaze softened a bit and turned into one of amusement rather than annoyance. He removed my arm from its place on his shoulder and rolled up his own sleeve, revealing a dense cluster of fading words, all crammed on there in a too-tight sort of scrawl.

#Haikyuu #soulmate au #iwaoi au #fluff?#not technically ship-specific?#except makki and mattsun make a brief appearance

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sunrizef1 · 2 months

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TLH calling out VVD is nothing to do with Lewis' win. So what has wins got to do with any of this? It's curious you saying you 'love Lewis' but shitting on him in the same breath for not winning. Have you not been watching the races? Winning =/= performance. Good examples are Hulk last race / Alonso being the 2nd best if not best driver last year without a win in 12 years / Marc Marquez etc.

Also you're apprarently a Lewis fan but so blasé about AD21. Give me an example of a bigger robbery by officials in any sport? You can't, and fans are still angry about it. The point is sporting corruption shouldn't be celebrated - I heard many English commentators criticising the penalty, clearly they have more integrity than VVD, right? The fact he was cheering his countryman is no excuse.

I haven't seen him called a flop, they are calling karma, where sporting integrity only matters when its his own team apparently.. he gleefully celebrated a blatant robbery 3 years ago, fast forward now where he's crying foul at a 50/50 penalty being given(in a game his team were soundly beaten). Maybe direct your anger at the FIA who caused all this, not fans pointing out hypocrisy of a millionaire footballer.

I'm not sure where I shit on Lewis.

Its a fact that he has not won in three years. That's not something I'm chanting from the rooftops because I'm so happy about it. Its just an undeniable fact.

I'm a Logan fan!!! I'm well aware that winning does not equal performance because I cheered harder than I ever had for a p11 in silverstone!

I regularly refer to Lewis as an 8x wdc because of the robbery that Abu dhabi 21 was. But that was three years ago. Both max and Lewis have moved on within their personal relationship and they don't talk about it in public anymore.

I can't find it in myself to be hung up on something that happened three years ago when I could focus on his successes in real time.

I, of course, care that it happened. And I can acknowledge that its a robbery while also being completely fine with a football player i like being a fan of the person on the other end of it.

“Gleefully celebrated a blatant robbery”

Van dijk is one of if not the most prolific Dutch athlete of our time. Max seems to be on the way to replace him in that title, though, so it only makes sense that he would put out a 4 word tweet to celebrate this young athtlete who he's friends with and who probably looks up to him.

Virgil is not a pundit. Beside going to the occasional race, he does not align himself with f1 or its politics. I'm also pretty sure he's friends with Lewis! His opinion on formula 1 and the robberies that come with it do not matter. I wouldn't listen to him if he spoke about ad21 because he's a footballer. (He probably, honestly, had no idea something wrong had happened when he made that tweet.)

Football, on the other hand, I definitely would! And I do! He's the captain of his team so when he thinks somethings wrong, he's expected to speak on it. People all of over the world have been debating the legitimacy of that penalty since it happened. His own people think it wasn't correct so who is he to say “yeah it was a penalty”. You never want to lose a game so I think him having bias in decisions made against his team makes perfect sense. He's always gonna think 50/50 decisions should go his way because he wants to win.

And in reference to Lewis fans rt’ing his og tweet, they've been doing it for years. Every single time he does something or loses a game, that tweet is back.

Regardless of your opinion on both the game and Abu dhabi, this is gross, petty behavior

Also “hand of god” is arguably just as bad but no one really adds an asterisk to that world cup win

They write it off as ref error and they stick the star on the jersey anyway

As a lfc fan, I see referee corruption every single weekend. We had the most incorrect decisions of any single team and even got an apology out of PGMOL.

I'm not defending ad21 because it was stupid and Lewis deserved the win.

I'm just saying that van dijk shouldn't be abused for tweeting a congrats. Max fans celebrate that win constantly.

An entire country still wants Henry dead for scoring a goal after the ref didn't call a handball.

Usa got knocked out of what might've been their only world cup win after a ref didn't give a goal.

England lost the world cup final after a false goal was given.

Deflategate saw a team win the Superbowl after fully cheating for the whole game.

Maybe I'm not constantly thinking about ad21 is because I'm so used to refs and officials being completely incompetent all the time.

Liverpool should've won the league and I think we would've been in much better shape if not for the game-losing mistakes refs made the entire season.

Another example of winning=/= performance is the fact that vvd doesn't have the balon dor he deserves. He was arguably the best player in the world at the time but he didn't win and the award was given to messi.

None of this is structured and I was just kind of rambling but my final thought is just that I think its kinda stupid to shit on a player for tweeting something vaguely positive.

TLDR: vvd’s a footballer, his opinions on football robberies matter more than his opinion on f1. Lewis is the goat but its stupid to shit on someone for being a max fan. Lh44 hive will not give that tweet up and bring it up constantly. Ad21 was a robbery but that's not vvds fault.

Edit: just realised they said the Netherlands were soundly beaten which is why vvd should be mad about the penalty…

It was 2-1! 😭

The penalties the only reason they won, what are you talking about???? Did you even watch the game??? 😭

#idk if I even said anything useful in there lol #hope that makes any sense at all #just for context #I'm a bigger fan of vvd than I am of Lewis #always have been #always will be #so it makes sense that I defend him with my life over agreeing with the people being mean to him #idk man #hope this clears things up at least a little #I don't want to fight but I don't think I'm being unreasonable #Virgil van dijk #Liverpool fc #Lewis Hamilton #also if I seem blase about ad21 its because its being used to talk crap about the person I like the most out of the three #I seem anti-lewis cuz I'm pro-virgil

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pollyna · 2 years

Text

Navy regs are in books that quote books that quote books. Ron has all of them somewhere in the house, with Tom's precise handwriting pointing out all the spelling issues and doing the theoretical maths his degree didn't help him to understand. In a less neat calligraphy, in some pages, Nick's notes are mixed with doodles and his own notes. Of Annapolis he will forever remember the heat and the hours in class, before their callsigns, when Nick used to make him late because he had to kiss him one minute more and Tom had the most convenient, and convicing, excuse for them.

(Maybe he could find some of those books and show them to Bradley the next time he's going to come around. He could probably appreciate them? Or maybe he should ask Maverick?)

Regs say no tattoo, but regs say a lot of shit Ice used to correct back then and that he corrected during the years. Regs say no tattoos, and Tom said they were stupid, so Ron got his first, then his second, and half of his right sleeve. The only people who know of them are his friends, his doctors, his mirror and his tattoo artist. Having to wear a shirt all day, and a jacket for most of it, has its advantages, even if he fucking hates being an admiral most of the time. But it's almost time; another couple of years, and he's going to retire and never again put a foot on a Navy base.

The studio isn't the biggest in town, but Ron knows the artist and their dad, and they are both the best for what he needs. He's so focused on the piece of paper between his hands that he almost misses two young women saluting him, with a half-panicked Adrmial Kerner, sir!

At ease, Lieutenants, glad to see someone knows where to get good ones. He smiles because he knows they shouldn't be there, but he shouldn't be either, so it's not really a problem. He's going to add something when something, someone, hugs his leg and has all his attention. Oh, who do we have here? George? You're so big now, boy! he picks up the kid. Mom is waiting for you! he points towards one of the rooms, and, in less than five steps he takes, George tells him all he can fit in, and it's a lot.

(Ron finds himself wondering if Bradley was the same at that age.)

So you're already back for the next piece, uhuh? a voice asks. You know, I can't live without you, hon, he answers, laughing loudly. They laugh with him, but it dies when he passes them the piece of paper. I'm so sorry, Ron, they murmur, and he finds himself smiling lightly, trying not to cry again, thank you Carly.

He takes off his jacket and then his shirt, and his right arm is colorful but not whole. Are you ready, big guy? they smile, dipping the tattoo gun in the red ink as ready as I was the first time he answers. Carly draws and talks, asking questions about the kid (he's a man now and he's almost as tall as me), about the kids (if they destroyed the base while I was gone, at least they're going to let me retire), about Tom and there, Ron has to take a breath because it fucking hurts. He doesn't know if it's the point they're working on or missing Tom or both, but he has to ask Carly to stop for a minute. (He was-the last few days were the hardest. Did you know he used to write mathematical formulas when he was bored during lessons? He and Nick were good friends, Tom was the reason behind the Mother Goose. I miss him. I miss them all Carly). Almost five hours have passed by the time it's done, and by that point they're humming random songs and listening to the description of the rock George found outside his school that same morning. All done, Admiral. You already know what you have to do, right? I'd like to see you next week to check on some of the edges around the elbow, but it's already looking pretty great. Ron barely hears her because he's so intent on looking at his arm, where now Tom's name is adorning his arm, just inches away from Nick and Carole's. Yeah, yeah whenever you want Carl'.

(It's seven in the evening and the cemetery is empty. The bouquet is a happy one, and his shirt leaves are already up. It's done, I finally finished it. He starts and you're here all together now. I miss both of you. I hope Tom's there too. I hope you're all okay now.)

The regs say no tattoos, and Tom said fuck 'em all, and now they are all there while he flies and teaches and lives another day, under his uniform and out in the open.

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ghastlybin · 2 years

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Reader has a strong passion for everything is creepy and dark and she likes to visit old castles and mansions. In one one her trips, she goes in a real beautiful gothic castle but she find the owner: Kim Bora (also SuA is a vampire and they fall in love)

Dude, vampire SuA can on GOD ruin me I am not kidding I don’t even really care for vampires as much as other mythical beings but this is an exception fr and I think I like vampires a little more now that Bora is one SHEESH 🥵 as always, thank you so much for requesting btw!! So sorry if this is late or bad💜💜🫶🫶🥹 ily though but goodnight lol

Pairing: Vampire! SuA x GN Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Genre/contents: Maybe a mixture of angst and fluff? Vampire AU

TW: talks of blood & blood sucking, missing people, implied m u r d e r, cannibal mention but no cannibals involved, I know veins are triggers for some people, these are all just mentions though I’m not detailed about these things but to be safe I will include them here anyway

Note: y’all already know I have to overexplain myself lmao I’m bad at fluff relating to falling in love so please excuse my attempt at it, I also love horror/creepy/dark things so… Yeah. I loved this request sm!! :,) Also also, I lowkey (like 5%) based Bora’s castle off of Castle Dimitrescu from Resident Evil Village because it was a pretty cool & beautiful fcking castle in the game if I gotta say :,) except the window entrance ofc I improvised that shit lol but I hope you enjoy it and that it’s up to your standards, otherwise please please let me know! I’m always open for constructive criticism. 🥹 Adios, until next time

Fck it we’re using this gif again.

On the way out of town, you’ll feel bittersweet, and all the more refreshing, the feeling of leaving the city in your rearview.

Where the roads get narrowly winding and more flora is evident around you and the further the road takes you, you see why you left the city.

And why you may never return.

It was beautiful.

The way certain things unsettled most, how with just the right amount of shade you could turn something completely mundane and make it dark.

From the webs of spiders to coffins, to the macabre style contained in the form of artwork, stories, the horror, even.

The eerie allure of the darkness had to it.

The century-old castles, mansions, and even regular townhomes- All untouched and deprived of signs of life, and at the same time they looked lived in.

The haunting beauty of it all.

You were in the chokehold of all things creepy, all things dark, and a deep-set curiosity.

You didn’t mind the way it all made you feel. Some would say you’re just braver than the rest, others would say you’re weird or that you’ve simply just embraced the darkness.

Maybe you were brave.

Maybe they were weird for not seeing the way you saw things.

Maybe you have embraced the darkness.

You were never afraid of the dark.

You loved it. Growing up, you imagined yourself living in a dark castle or mansion that gave everyone in town eerie chills that would unnerve them to look at, and yet they were still very beautiful to look at.

The other kids back then would debate which urban legend they believed Castle Bora held more.

The one where a vampire was living there in that unexplored, untouched, and far from society-castle- where it was meant to be. That Bora was the name of the vampire living there.

Or the one where Bora was a cannibalistic witch that would lure young people into her Castle to feed on their blood to keep her youth.

You argued that that was still a vampire, not a witch at all, and there was a vastly large difference between vampires, cannibals, and witches.

No one ever listened to your explanations.

But you at least knew the difference between the three.

Castle Bora.

Its grand walls encompassed the area, the pointed arches, the vaulted ceilings that were located on the inside, and the grey tint to the exterior topped off the beauty of the castle altogether.

You knew since you were a kid that you would explore the castle.

You’ve explored Castle Handong, Castle Yoohyeon, and even Castle Yubin before it had closed off to the public for reasons unknown.

Castle Bora has been your goal exploration and the day had finally come.

You had enough money for the transportation, you knew the route thereafter that too had been kept hidden from the public after someone had gone missing when going that same route.

An explorer of old castles and mansions, they said.

That only made you anticipate the trip more. The fascination of what was out there with you and this beautiful castle.

You weren’t crazy, and you didn’t have a death wish.

But you were going to explore this castle.

If that meant sharing the same fate? Well, death was never one of your fears anyway.

The long, winding road stretched on as you drove, excitement building up inside of you as you were finally going to live out your childhood dream.

The paved roads turned into dirt, the trees became more close-knit, and civilization was far beyond you.

And there it was, Castle Bora. Home to the late Kim Bora.

You pulled over to a stop just before the road had been cut off before the gates.

The centuries-old castle looked to be well taken care of, to your surprise. You stopped your car and grabbed a camera and a notepad to transfer to your journal later on before heading for the front gates.

To further your surprise, the gates opened with ease, the loud creak it made was the only sound accompanying you in the isolated area.

The main door was locked, to your dismay, but you’ve never been one to give up. Not when you were this close to getting in.

One thing you learned from the other castles was; there is always at least one window unlocked.

Luckily, you found that one window and it let you into a room that exited into something reminiscent of a main hall located on the other side of the main entrance.

You marveled at the sight.

The beautiful exterior, the chandelier that hung in the middle of the main hall with stairs spiraling upwards, and the wallpaper that had been maintained for centuries.

You took as many photos as you could as well as notes to help keep the memory fresh in your mind for later.

You began to ascend the stairs but were immediately greeted by a rough shove back down the stairs.

Luckily you were only two steps up and didn’t fall as hard as it felt.

Your camera was still intact, but it had slid across the slippery linoleum tiles of the main hall along with your notepad.

“Breaking into my castle, taking photos, notes… Who are you and why shouldn’t I kill you right here?”

You were in a trance seeing the woman descending the stairs and hovering over you. Her beauty was mesmerizing in ways you couldn’t begin to describe,

“I didn’t know someone lived here.”

The woman pulled you up to your feet, harshly by the collar of your shirt.

“No one warned you about me?” She bore a hole into your eyes and for a minute, you felt her peering into your soul.

“Bora?” The corners of your mouth curled upwards. “It’s so cool to meet you.”

Bora blinked, taken aback as she let go of your shirt. “Why aren’t you screaming?”

“That would be rude, wouldn’t it?” You fixed your shirt and retrieved your camera and notepad.

“Everyone screams when they see me.”

You checked your camera to see if it was still functioning. “Why?”

You met her eyes right as she snarled, showing you her fangs and running her tongue under the sharp tip.

“You should fear me.”

And you smiled, even more captivated by her.

“I should,” you took a step closer to her. “But I don’t. You are my role model.”

Bora glared at you, but only for a second and out of disbelief.

You were the first human that hadn’t screamed or tried running away from her. The first human she didn’t immediately lunge at and suck the blood right out of your veins.

The first time she had ever been called a role model.

“If you aren’t going to kick me out, might I request a tour of this beautiful castle?” You mentally prepared yourself for the rejection, seeing as you did break in thinking no one lived here.

But Bora accepted.

She showed you around the entire castle and even let you take more photos and notes. She watched the excited gleam in your eyes the further in she took you.

Everything about her castle she thought was average, you treated it as gold. She appreciated that you were careful as to not make any messes and asked her before you took any other pictures.

It was when you had tilted your head to view a sculpture she had on display for centuries, that she saw the crook of your beck exposed and the veins lying under the layers of skin that could be easily broken by her fangs.

And for the first time in centuries, she fought the urge. The craving or need to taste your blood.

The hunger she felt within.

She wanted you.

But she fought it. She fought it because she was your role model.

She fought it because of how appreciative you were during the tour of her castle.

She fought it because you were the first person in centuries that didn’t treat her as a monster.

Bora wasn’t a witch or a cannibal.

But she was a vampire and vampires have needs too.

“Are your fangs real?” You asked.

Bora snapped out of her craving for sinking her teeth into your neck with a nod.

“So you’re a vampire?” Saying that out loud, you felt silly. Who would ask something like that in someone else’s home?

“Yes.” Bora uttered. You smiled, fascinated.

“Cool.”

“It’s cool until you have to watch every mortal you love die before you.”

Your smile faded a little, and a hint of guilt surfaced.

“Do you want to turn me?”

“Absolutely not.” Bora immediately shook her head. She would never wish her condition on anyone else.

The pain and isolation she’s faced.

Even now, meeting you, she wouldn’t consider it. She was beginning to like your company too.

But she would never simply turn anyone.

“Shame. I wouldn’t mind living here forever.” You spoke, closing your notepad as the tour ended.

“Guess it’s time for me to go?” You looked at her expectantly, hoping she would lead you back to the main entrance.

Hearing you say that, Bora felt the isolation over the centuries kicking in again.

You were invested in her castle, you even broke in to see it. That kind of dedication was admirable to her. And now you were talking about leaving.

Possibly never seeing her again.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Bora blurted, immediately trying to remain cool.

“I promise, it’s not human meat or blood.”

“I would love to.” You smiled, accepting her offer without a moment's hesitation.

She wondered if you’d still have said yes if it were human meat and blood she’d be serving.

You were someone Bora liked having around, despite you breaking in and her almost pouncing on you first thing.

You were someone Bora yearned for in her period of isolation.

Maybe not you specifically, but someone who didn’t run away screaming in terror. Someone who didn’t seem to care that she was a monster.

It scared her to have met you.

Seeing your face, hearing your voice, the faint scent of your blood as you stood beside her, walking beside her, and how she might lunge at you at any given moment if the urge got too strong.

No.

Bora wasn’t afraid because you were a human vessel full of fresh blood.

She was afraid for the first time in centuries, she felt a beat in her chest where her heart should be.

She was afraid of how alive you made her feel by meeting you.

She was afraid you, too, would leave.

“Right this way.”

Bora hoped you would visit her again.

And with a smile, you would vow to.

Back in the city, you’ll smell the pollution of car exhaust and hear cars honking, people chattering, and school or church bells ringing.

And you’ll wish you had never returned.

#dreamcatcher x reader #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher au #dreamcatcher sua #dreamcatcher sua x reader #dreamcatcher bora

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clocks-are-round · 1 year

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might continue with rest of characters but i got nervous about writing one for tucker haha i’m not really confident about writing

disclaimer: i have been awake for 20 something hours and might change a lot later. rough draft

pink.

it was so beautiful in all its shades. and donut could name many of them from a young age. he memorized the crayons and the flowers in the garden. fuschia, hot pink, salmon, baby pink, carnations, roses, tulips.

he stopped telling people his favorite color after his dad threw away his costumes and “girly toys” as punishment. his favorite color was red now. at least it wasn’t too far away from his secret favorite.

top secret. secret agents. a secret identity. alter ego. he would be the knight to rescue the princess, but in his mind he would picture being the princess. play the role. act. theatre. pretend. daydream. wish.

donut didn’t want to be a girl he decided one day on the farm while doing his daily chores, though he liked “feminine” things. “sissy” things, his dad would say. he wanted to be the princess not because he wasn’t a prince but because he was tired of only being allowed to do princely things. he wanted to be protected by someone one day not because he couldn’t protect himself but because he didn’t want to always be the strong macho protector he felt people expected him to be. that his dad expected him to be.

—

red.

he sipped from his mug. “the blood of my enemies” was what this one said. the only blood he’d seen on the job was when the intern had a nosebleed in the break room. until now. sarge examined the hefty paper cut. his grandfather sure as hell had worse than this on a good day. he died a hero and his office-working grandson was too chickenshit to follow his glorious warpath. he had a family to support… what if he left and never came back? got caught up in the thrill?

if he put one foot out of his current march he’d have nothing holding him to what he was supposed to do. a stable breadwinner for the fling that turned into a newborn and expectations of a life he never wanted. would she understand? would she pull him closer and constrain him, or encourage him to go? maybe she’d get back that red flush in her dimpled cheeks she had before they settled down into the stagnant life they had. back when she smiled. she’d be the fiery woman he’d gotten stiff for at the school dance so many years ago. and she’d find a life that kept that flame going because the life with him sure as shit wasn’t lighting either of their fires.

were these excuses? should he bother with explanation? he was itching to change his name and start a new life in the stars, fighting in memory of his grandfather. a sergeant, and a hero. he could be too

—

orange.

‘not yellow, orange,’ grif told his sister, who shrugged and said, ‘same thing.’

it really wasn’t. he’d never fault kai, she was colorblind, but they were extremely different.

yellow was the tacky suitcase dad carried in when he got back from one of his ‘business trips.’ and the hot wheels car that looked like it was found in a ditch, all scratched up, because dad spent the family’s money on himself until mom got fed up after one too many loans and kicked him out.

gold was mom’s leotard at the circus. shiny and reflective under her dark beard. it attracted attention, it was her job. she could do better. grif was sure of it. but she was afraid to take a leap out of the comfort of the familiar. she came home at varied hours in varying moods and grif loved her but he was tired. so tired of never knowing what to expect. the most routine he had was school, but the rest of his life was being pulled every which way. so so tired.

orange was the apron in the kitchen. the walls in his and kai’s bedroom, their retreat from the world to rest and hang out. the best sunsets over the ocean that made you forget everything else for a while.

orange was the best parts of life.

yellow.

what even was color? like obviously color was color but like, seemed kind of overrated. kaikaina got by just fine seeing the world in shades of grey, smutty reference absolutely intended. for real though, people were SO OBSESSED with color. thinking of things ‘in black and white’, fucking racism and colorism too, like even rainbows apparently set some people off.

yellow was supposed to be happiness, for some reason. but it was also the ‘icky’ parts of life. yellow made people think of piss, which was gross— unless you’re into that but kai wasn’t although she gave it a try with that one guy from Kentucky— but also so real, y’know? kai liked to look on the positive side of things but also she craved the real. the gritty grossness of being human. passion wasn’t all butterflies and kisses in the moonlight. for her it was going to the edges of her limits, finding new things to love about sex, love, life.

she wasn’t the girl she was in high school. it started as wanting to prove to herself… something. that she was enough or something. but she left that first experience wanting more. wanting to feel every body shape, learn the best ways to have a good time, to connect with people emotionally and physically, one or both, to feel and feel and feel.

yellow was bright. yellow was in your face. yellow was the girl dismissed as frigid and not beautiful enough, but yellow didn’t care because yellow celebrated life.

#red vs blue #rvb #rvb my fics #rough draft

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psychic-refugee · 1 year

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A few new developments…Shitshow 1 might be in some legit deep shit if she released those photos.

I have posted previously that the accusers may not ever see a suit from him because they literally aren’t worth it.

For the CSAM, I was really hands off because I hadn’t seen the photos, I didn’t see the original tweet spreading them, and didn’t have any of the facts. Perhaps it was my naivety, but I had assumed two things. 1) these images had been made as a “gift” to a girlfriend of his. 13 is really young IMO, but I was like, ok that’s the world we live in these days, and I didn’t actually know how old he was in the photos. 2) I thought the first instance of the pics being shared online or the police made aware was recently.

In general, I thought how it went was PHW gave these pics to a GF. The GF maybe shared with someone as a “OMG, look what PHW gave me, should I send him mine?” So, someone in that friend group more or less kept the pics because…??? Pics go from friend to friend bc kids are dumb and have no real sense of consequences yet, then they somehow made their way to Shitshow 1. My assumption was that an actual friend had leaked those pics, hopefully without malice, and Shitshow for her own reasons didn’t want to bust them out. So, she made up the “chatroom” excuse.

I am of the belief the reddit post was her, and so maybe she had also secretly posted on the other website hoping someone would recognize him and point it out for her.

I was of the opinion that PHW wouldn’t waste his time because he’d have to press charges and then go through the whole ordeal of verifying/giving testimony of when those pics were taken and who he shared them with. If he pressed charges, then it’s his and the Crown’s burden to prove that the pics are indeed CSAM.

The pics were already taken down off the one website and I thought more or less scrubbed from Twitter piecemeal as soon as the images were reported. I didn’t think he would get restitution, again the accusers are broke. He makes more acting and networking, so perhaps he hoped he could just wash his hands of this once the circus ran its course.

Even if police want to press charges, it’s hard to get a conviction if the victim in question won’t cooperate.

Now we have new facts.

I’ve seen posts where his mother (whom I would call a reliable fact witness) says neither was the case. The reality was that he was victimized, and the police had been involved several years ago.

Why would this matter? It matters because the police already have on record PHW’s age and victimization. These photos are probably in a CSAM database and have been since he was 13 (late 2014ish). PHW isn’t needed to establish anything and may not even need to attend court at all. The court will already know these images are for sure CSAM.

There are also special task forces continuously tracking down known CSAM, so the police might have been on Shitshow’s trail from the get go. As soon as they’re alerted that a known CSAM has surfaced, they get a warrant to monitor your shit to track it down and see if you have more. See generally Josh Duggar case.

Because of the nature of CSAM and how nothing can truly go away on the internet, the courts aren’t going to make the victims show up every time they bust someone with the shared material. Unfortunately, some CSAM is very well known and “popular.” They have the facts and can proceed without the victims.

If he doesn’t have one already, then at most PHW would give a Victim Impact Statement via letter and the judge will read it out loud and take it into consideration when sentencing. Given the absolute shitshow Accuser 1 made of the whole ordeal and how bad she looks, I have high doubts the judge will be lenient to her.

We also have to question how Shitshow got her hands on these if he had only given them to someone who had catfished him.

I think we can agree the whole “chatroom” excuse is bullshit.

I think some really shady shit has gone down, like maybe someone gossiped about his victimization and then someone might have gone to the dark web to find them kind of shady shit.

We’re talking about photos that are ~8 years old with limited people who would have had them or even known about them.

Shitshow 1 made up the origin of those pics for a reason.

Chica Shitshow…you have some explaining to do.

I say this with utmost seriousness, sincerity, and the deepest belief that everyone deserves to be rigorously and genuinely defended in court…you need a lawyer.

#I Stand With Percy #Percy Found Not Guilty #TW Mentions CSAM #TW Mentions Catfishing

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 1 year

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Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Acrida

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth, Dick Grayson & Donna Troy, Graysonfam, Dickkory

Summary:

The Acrida Protocol, a plan created by the Justice League, required its members to provide immediate aid to those superheroes who would call upon it, especially in the case of time travel.

After a mission gone wrong, Dick and Donna find themselves stranded in 2005. They've been trained for this scenario, they know what to do, they just need to find someone who will fix their time-travel devices and help them get home.

But not before they help a young nurse and a special baby escape a demonic cult chasing them and get to the sanctuary of a convent in Ohio.

This note is long so bear with me

Throughout the process of writing this story, I've had (still have) many complicated, conflicted feelings. And with the show coming to an end, I'll be honest with you. This fic... I almost didn't release it. In fact, there were a couple of times when I almost deleted the whole thing - I'm glad I didn't but I was pretty damn close. Because every time in the recent months when I sat down to write it, I heard this intrusive voice in my head saying "Why the fuck do you even bother? This is not Dickkory, no one's gonna give a shit. Don't waste your time." So I'd close the blank page and let it lay dormant for months until that miniscule spark of hope would tell me it's actually worth it to finish it.

There's a saying about fanfiction that you write it for yourself. For the things you love. And that's true - but there's much more to it. You write it so you can reach others who love the same thing you do, whether it'd be one person or a thousand. But when you see how slowly, that one or a thousand dissipates, already one foot out the door with their focus elsewhere, when the weight on your shoulders gets heavier because you create create create without the ability to for once consume because you come to a pretty scary realization that if it wasn't for you creating, there would be no new fan content for this thing to consume - because no one else is creating, the ao3 tag is dry as hell because no one else but you is writing for this thing anymore, no one else seems to care enough to do so. The whole experience was and still is really alienating and it took me some time to process it, took spilling my guts to the closest people I have within this fandom to actually come to terms with it and start letting it go.

So, this one is for me. A self pat on the back. You did good, you gave your heart and soul to it, it's time to go now. It's me quietly leaving the room full of people turned the other way, busy shouting profanities at a show they love so much because they didn't quite get what they wanted. That's fine. Valid. My heart breaks for you, truly and I wish I could do something about it but unfortunately, I can't. And I understand the frustration, I didn't quite get what I wanted either. A month or two ago I would've been shouting profanities and throwing tomatoes as well. But a wise woman and a dear friend once told me: you gotta remember what house you're in. So, I'm taking what I got and take my leave. Leaving this behind in hopes that maybe, if you decide to read it, it will at the very least help you get your mind off the swirl of emotion in your heart, even if just for a moment.

I'm not going to pretend it's some epic, amazing story. It's an idea that got rooted in my brain right after season 1 (so it's been growing there for 4 years), a tiny seed with nothing but a blurry concept and no details. I tried to commit to it, give it a good plot and I can say that what I came up with isn't that bad. But it's not elaborate, it's just one giant excuse for me to give Dick Grayson a chance to get to know his adopted daughter when she was just a tiny baby, to get to hold her and care for her and play with her, and have a myriad of complicated feelings about the whole experience.

Maybe it's my last Titans fic, maybe it isn't. Time will tell. There's still one Titans-related project I am actually, truly excited about, the sequel we promised and I know it will happen because the story is too precious to me, to us, to not see it through. But other than that... you can catch me over at The Last of Us side of AO3 from now on. Here, I guess it's lights out.

Chapters dropping whenever. I'll try to do it weekly, I have 4 chapters done, probably out of 5 or 6, but I'm still writing and at first I planned to not post anything until the story is finished but tbh I need to get it out of my system. Release it for the world to claim it. There was an option to wait until it's done and just drop the whole thing at once but... fuck it. It's out when it's out. I know I must sound defeated to you, and to some degree I am. But I'm also letting go of all these negative emotions by starting to release this story so I can enjoy the series finale with no heavy weight on my heart, shed some tears of joy instead of sadness or frustration as I say goodbye to my favorite fictional family and go celebrate an incredible run of an incredible show with my closest fandom friends. And I do love this story, I actually wrote some things today that I'm really happy about and excited to share, and I hope that you, if you decide to read it, will love it as well.

I'm not tagging anyone, here at least. I'll share it separately with the people I care about and let them decide what to do with it. If you find it, you decide to read it - great, good to see you, take a seat and enjoy the ride. Hit that subscribe button on AO3 if you want to follow or if you really want to be tagged here, let me know so I can start from chapter 2. If not, well, let's just let it get buried, maybe someone will find it someday.

All that's left for me to do is write a little bit more to finish this story and properly catch up on the fics from my friends, which is a slow process, I know, but I'm getting there.

As always, enjoy.

#dc titans #titans #tv: titans #dcu titans #titans fic #titans s4 #titans season 4 #dick grayson #kory anders #rachel roth #garfield logan #donna troy #graysonfam #dickkory

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sweepseven · 2 years

Text

Cirque du Soleil: O and KÀ viewing notes, post-pan edition!

First trip to Las Vegas since the pandemic and holy shit!! Was it a TIME. The When We Were Young festival was my excuse to be there, but I can’t set foot in that town without fitting in at least one Cirque show. I managed O and Ka and a last-second Atomic Saloon decision and oh my god did I have the visit of a lifetime. I’ll keep this post strictly to the circus shows, but like. Truly it was nuts.

Anyway! O! I cannot overstate how happy I was to see this show again. This turned out to be my 50th ever Cirque performance and I couldn’t have asked for more. The detail most worth reporting is that according to a friend in the box office, whispers say the show is due for a refresh in January! It's been 24 years and O has never had a facelift! This is so so exciting! There's so much new technology they can integrate into the show, potentially new acts (though I can't imagine O without any one of its current acts), maybe even new music...I can't wait.

Richard MacDonald refreshed the sculpture gallery the very day I arrived in town and of course they're all incredible. He was there and apparently I just missed him when I went to pick up our tickets - too bad, I wanted to say hi!

Our performance was flawless, as always. One flyer fell during bateau but every other detail in the show went beautifully. I had three contortionists, and for some reason I am cursed to only ever see solo swinging trapeze but whatever, it was amazing regardless. The singers were going fucking hard, especially on Tzelma, and their little dance during Simcha was worth the cost of admission alone. I just love seeing them have fun. Crowd was solid, probably 75% full, which for O is more than plenty. There were nothing but empty rows behind us so my friends and I moved back a little ways so we could chat. I've never gotten to talk through an entire performance and it was such a treat hearing my friends react, ask questions, and just engage with the show with so much enthusiasm.

Last thing for O is that the day of the show I received a kind of "keep the magic going" email from Cirque offering up to 50% off LOVE and Ka, which is insane! Like, an almost alarmingly steep discount! And of course everyone likes to say both those shows are on the eternal chopping block, so I was a little 👀 about it. Still, hot tip for all: if you're seeing multiple Cirque shows in LV, maybe take the gamble on seats and wait until the day of your first, get that email, then book the others. I wouldn't expect to see an offer for a discount on O or Mystere, but worth a shot!

That said if anyone would like this offer, lmk and I'll gladly forward you the email. It's good until 12/31 and I won't be back in time to take advantage of it!

Next up was Atomic Saloon and I'll just say that show is an absolute fucking blast and if you can go, do. Fernando Miro is living his best life times a thousand. There's a dog. There's some of the most convincing physical acting I've ever ever seen, and I won't go into more detail for the sake of preserving the surprise for you. See this show. The end. Period.

So now Ka! By this point in the trip I am utterly fucking tapped. We had seen and done so so much between the shows, the festival, the partying, everything. I had the wildest nights I've ever had in that city and by that point it was all really taking its toll. So my attitude going in was very "Ka, I love you, but Jesus fucking Christ." Until then I thought it was impossible to feel disappointed that I had Cirque tickets. But I achieved it. Like that's how rough it was lol

That feeling lifted like a fog the minute the music started. I was so exhausted and out of it that I got an almost totally fresh perspective on a show I've seen now six times: it was just happening before my eyes and I was along for the ride. The boat rowed in and I was immediately transported. I forgot how much I missed this show, and watching each character go by as the stage rotated honestly felt like seeing old friends after years apart. And in a way that's exactly what happened! Watching the Chief Archer's Daughter put on her makeup so slowly and gently, the Firefly Boy sprinkling a handful of petals, the Jester eating his grapes, all of it felt as warm and welcoming as a long delayed embrace.

I'll be quick about acts for the most part: Pageant has some updated choreography that was very fun, Icarian games killed it, Storm isn't quite as fun to watch up close as it is from further back, the turtle scene was shorter and tighter (YAAAY), Pursuit was exact as tense and exciting as you could dream, batons remains perfect, idk why I can't care about that wheel of death act but I can't, and Battle was fine.

But listen!!! Kerren McKeeman as the Twin Sister is! A! Revelation! She's a phenomenal performer and utterly shines in the role. The straps act has some updates to highlight her strengths, and at one point she based the Firefly Boy in a lift and I lost my goddamn mind. Their chemistry together is unmatched, probably the best I've seen for this act. At the end she kisses him fully on the lips. Girl just goes for it. I wanted to cheer. I'll reiterate that I wanted to cheer, I who has spent thousands and thousands of words writing out the Firefly Boy entirely to make room for an impossible romance in goddamn clown fanfiction. Amazing act by amazing performers.

Other details of note: Forest has new bugs! The potato bug is BACK and badder than ever. Firefly Boy pets it like it's the family dog or something. Adorable. The snake was out tonight for some reasons, but there was a giant dragonfly-like one instead that I'd never seen before. There was also a green scorpion-ish thing that I don't think is new new but I don't recall from other viewings. The Counselor had new eyebrows - thicker and more sculpted. Both Firefly Boy and CAD had new, more extravagant costumes for the curtain call. Love Dance and Firefly Both have updated arrangements that I'm not sure I like yet: both give a more theatrical, sparkling impression but might not fit as well with the rest of the show's style. Def didn't hate either one. And did they turn up the volume on the seat speakers? Because holy shit were we rocking. The band killed it all night. The power of this show’s music cannot be overstated.

Okay, character details! Ie the most interesting part to me by a mile:

We had Tricia Woo as the Twin Sister and I completely adored her. She was so energetic and expressive and her chemistry with Peng was adorable. Specific shout out to her raw emotion as the ship sinks. She calls out the nanny's name over and over in this desperate scream, and never has that act had the impact on me that it did tonight. It made The Deep so much more powerful.

TS is visibly afraid of the Counselor's Son when he and his pops crash the function. In fact most everyone was, which was new and interesting to me. CAD isn't just perplexed by his pursuit of her, she's actively nervous of it and him. She turns from him in the Den, she startles when he touches her, and she cowers at his finale reappearance. It was a little chilling - you can’t help but wonder what he has done to get such a reputation.

Jason Biltz delivered yet another excellent turn as CS but it lacked the clarity I've seen in other performances. Tonight the character seemed to favor the path of least resistance and and tbh comes across as a master gaslighter: on multiple occasions he puts his hands up defensively as if asking "why are you so upset?" when he has clearly done something out of line, and he hunches his shoulders as though trying to appear smaller. He does appear to court CAD for 90% political reasons, but come Love Dance he looks truly heartbroken. And then later he doesn’t seem to give a remote shit that she just watched her father die right before her eyes, nor is he at all bothered by the way she's held with a literal knife to her throat. And if he’s always looking for an easy way out, why does he still protest the attack on the Imperialists at the beginning? What's the truth, Rensai, you goddamn snake??

Despite somewhat hazy motivations, Jason plays this bastard as ruthlessly, brutally passionate. It's honestly remarkable. His pride at his every entrance, the deliberate dramatics of his firepowder presentation, his restless and energetic pacing during the wheel of death’s construction, all of it makes him look like the real powder keg about to explode. And when that's exactly what happens, you can't help but feel like you should have seen it coming. I stand by my claim that almost every other singular character in this show could be written out except him: he is essential to the narrative and theme.

The first archer to try to present CAD with a gift was a WOMAN. It was something new, some weapon or something I don't know the name of. Kind of a weighted chain that she whipped around like water meteors. Regardless: BI CAD???? I lost it.

If anyone ever asks you to describe non-sexual human intimacy, show them Shadowplay. It is just desperately tender. The Court Jester tends to the Twin Brother's hand with such delicacy - he removes the bandage, of course, but then has TB hold his palms up so the jester can smooth them with his own. He passes the bandage gently over them, and the gesture is miniscule but it feels like something out of a broader practice. A way to prep TB for the shadow puppets to come while also guiding him away from the tragedy of what they just escaped and into this deliberate moment of peace and rest.

My hasty post-show notes say "TS and FB FUCK but TB and CAD are taking it slow :)" and I'm still kind of laughing about it. There's a distinct difference in the way the twins approach each of their new relationships. TS and Firefly Boy are magnetic and give the immediate impression that they can't keep their hands off each other. Meanwhile TB and CAD are very reserved - more whispers in ears, blushes, and hesitation to hold hands. It's an adorable contrast.

Noriko continues to reign supreme. She gave the most adorable, startled little sound when TB kissed her.

Peng for president. He’s the best. He’s the best. He.

And to cap it all off, I swear that theater was 80-90% full. Better than I’ve ever ever seen it. I was thrilled for the artists to get the recognition they deserve in a space so massive. I hope they felt the energy because what they gave to us that night was utterly electric.

All in all a wholly epic weekend. And O got to be my 50th! See ya at 100, CdS. Feeling very lucky, grateful, and verrrry tired. Back in LV in January for Mystere and hopefully LOVE. 💛💚

#cirque du soleil #o #ka #atomic saloon #reviews #las vegas #circus

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