#albert is too for the record

[clevereverest]

Careful • 1,951 words

[ Finch and Albert make out, but a level of vulnerability is accidentally breached.

This is a little spicy tbh BUT there’s no sex. They’re asexual and they were never going to go to that point, even though I don’t mention it. I hope you enjoy it! ]

Finch sat on the edge of his bed, the side closer to where his desk was under the window. He’d been browsing his phone mindlessly, procrastinating his school work, but even that grew boring after about fifteen minutes. He put it to sleep and placed it on his bedside table, then proceeded to fall backwards onto the mattress. 

“I don’t want to do anything,” he groaned, staring at the painted ceiling of a starry sky above him. 

“I’m sure,” Albert, Finch’s boyfriend of three and a half months, replied with a light laugh. He was over at the desk already, their laptops sitting beside each other and still shut. Like Finch, Albert hadn’t started working on anything either. 

“You make it sound like you weren’t procrastinating too,” Finch remarked. He heard movement as Albert approached, and added, “You were on your phone for as long as I was.” 

Albert conceded the point with a nod and sat beside Finch on the bed. Finch, still laying on his back, smiled brightly up at Albert — the greatest partner ever, in his humble opinion. 

They had a thing where Albert would say that he “always wants to be careful” with Finch, because he didn’t want to lose him. It was amazingly sweet, and Finch loved the sentiment. In return, Finch made sure to be someone that Albert could talk to about anything, and gently prodded Albert to open up more often. It seemed to be working out well and only improved as the days went on. 

For his first ever boyfriend, Finch was pretty sure he struck pure gold. 

“I would like to do something,” Albert said suddenly. 

His eyes were transfixed on Finch, a common habit that Finch had come to recognize over the course of their relationship. Albert just liked to watch him occasionally, no matter what he was doing, and Finch didn’t mind in the slightest. Assessing the gaze now, there was something a little deeper than innocent or idle observation, but Finch couldn’t pin it down yet. 

“Like what?” Finch prompted, his voice lowering in volume under Albert’s attention. 

Albert rested a hand on Finch’s cheek, caressing his thumb over the plane of it with a smile of his own. “Can I please kiss you?” 

Finch nodded immediately. He leaned into his partner’s warm hand and simultaneously tipped his chin up to meet Albert’s lips sooner. His hands traveled up to hold the back of Albert’s neck and waist while they kissed. It was evident after a couple seconds that this wasn’t just one long kiss, but a make out session. Finch was excited about that, and managed to pull Albert even closer. 

In doing so, Albert deepened the kiss. His free hand roamed until it found the bottom edge of Finch’s shirt, and slipped under it to brush over Finch’s side. Gasping quietly into the kiss, Finch felt lost and vaguely dazed all of a sudden. Albert leaned back to speak. 

“Is this okay, Fi?” He checked, remaining painfully still until Finch answered him. 

“Yes, it’s good,” Finch said in a rush. He was breathless enough for his boyfriend to notice and faintly smirk at. With a boost of confidence, Finch tugged at the hem of Albert’s shirt. “Take this off?” 

That smirk was clear as day now. “Anything for you, bub.” 

Finch practically melted at the nickname (he always did) and lifted off Albert’s t-shirt to reveal the beautifully toned body beneath it. He took the time to admire it all again, then let his hands move freely over Albert’s bare torso and tattooed arms while they resumed making out. Albert did almost the same thing, except he was just slowly pushing Finch’s shirt up — after a minute or two, he hadn’t asked about it. Finch was getting impatient. 

He carefully twisted out of the kiss, surprising Albert. Before his boyfriend could say anything, Finch blurted out, “Take it off already.” 

It seemed like Albert had been waiting for permission, and having gotten it, he did as he was told. Finch propped himself up while Albert removed the shirt, leaving both partners shirtless now. Albert also took a handful of moments to openly admire Finch, who blushed and tried to look away to hide it. He wasn’t necessarily self-conscious, it was more of a habit that he wasn’t overly fond of at first, but the reaction it got from his partner was worth it. 

“Hey, show me that pretty face,” Albert requested. He used two fingers to lightly push Finch’s chin back towards him so they could look each other in the eye. “That’s better.” 

Finch needed to kiss this handsome man again. Albert deserved it for how absolutely perfect he was. Taking control, Finch directed Albert to hold Finch’s sides while simultaneously pulling him closer for a searing kiss. As to be expected, Albert reciprocated, smirking at Finch’s eagerness. The couple was back to making out, and Finch barely registered when Albert shifted to straddle him, effectively pinning him to the mattress. 

Eventually, Albert broke the kiss — Finch drew in a long breath of air, unaware that he even needed the pause — and switched to kiss along Finch’s cheek and the bridge of his nose instead. Finch grinned, still processing every point of contact between his body and Albert’s, who was so much warmer and so present. By comparison, Finch tried to maintain his breathing while losing a fight to bliss. 

Albert’s kisses trailed along Finch’s jaw and reached the edge of his lips, but Finch tipped his head back slightly to avoid reconnecting there. Somehow, he managed to string together, “No, not yet. Keep going.” 

Having acted on a whim, he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted his boyfriend to do. The line of reasoning there was nonexistent. Finch was clocking out from the overwhelming sensations of this make out session — easily the most passionate one they’d had so far. Regardless, Albert seemed to understand and avoided Finch’s lips. Finishing the trail on Finch’s jaw, Albert took the next rational step: lower down, to Finch’s neck. 

For being pleasantly dazed, Finch was okay with this for a grand total of four seconds before his mind caught up and realized what was happening. 

Finch jolted underneath Albert, his breath hitching in a sudden, blind panic. Naturally, Albert reeled back in a flash, his eyes wide and expression fearful. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Fi, did I hurt you or something —?” Albert spoke in a rush, somewhat panicky himself, a byproduct of Finch’s reaction. He even went as far as trying to climb off Finch’s torso, but Finch held him in place. 

“No, no, you can stay. It’s okay, I’m okay,” Finch quickly reassured in urging. He wanted his partner’s steadfast presence to stay right where it was, especially while he was coming down from his brief show of unfiltered fear. 

The couple lapsed into silence. Finch, still laid flat on his back, waited for his heart rate to return to normal with closed eyes and deep breaths. He’d unconsciously grabbed Albert’s hands and held them over his ribcage, and Albert tentatively rubbed Finch’s knuckles to further soothe him. 

“I’m really sorry for killing the mood.” Finch kept his eyes shut as he whispered the apology to his boyfriend. 

“Don’t be sorry for being scared,” Albert said, his tone soft. “I’m really sorry for not being more careful. I should’ve asked first, and I didn’t, so I now feel like a total asshole —” 

“Sweetheart, please,” Finch gently interrupted. He looked up at his boyfriend. “We’re both kind of to blame here because we haven’t discussed all of our boundaries yet, at least on my end.” 

Albert nodded in agreement. “You’re right.” A pause, and he dropped eye contact. “So you clearly don’t like neck kisses.” 

Finch gave his answer some thought. “Technically, it felt really good for a few seconds, but then I remembered my immense fear of… things — for lack of a better term — near or touching my neck, but my throat specifically is the real problem.” 

“Why is that?” Albert asked. 

“It’s an extremely vulnerable spot on the body,” Finch explained matter-of-factly. “The skin of the throat is thin, and if too much breaks or pierces the skin, you’d just bleed out. If the right amount of —” 

“Woah, that’s grim —” 

“— pressure on your windpipe, then you’re completely cut off from oxygen —” 

“Fi, hang on —” 

“— meaning you might pass out or you could die from that too.” 

Upon seeing Albert’s worried expression, Finch awkwardly cleared his throat, far more self-conscious now. “There’s more,” he added quietly, but before Albert could stop him, Finch rambled on, “but I won’t say it because I know how this makes me sound and I should just shut up because the mood is beyond dead. I am so sorry, Al.” 

His eyes were closed again. If he was able to, Finch would’ve gotten up from his bed, but as it stood, Albert was still straddling him. And if Finch was being honest, he didn’t want his partner to move yet. What he really wanted was to go back in time by about two minutes and direct Albert’s kisses down to his shoulder or collarbone — literally anywhere past his neck. He wondered how hard it would be to request for Albert to act like this entire conversation never happened and just kiss him again, just distract him from the stupid fear he has that ruined a perfectly good make out session —

“Adrian.” 

The use of his real name pulled Finch out of his mental spiral. He returned to the searching green eyes of Albert, who offered a satisfied smile when Finch actually focused on him. 

“Thank you for telling me about your fear,” Albert said earnestly. “I didn’t know it scared you so much, and I will not, under any circumstances, kiss your neck or throat going forward. I promise to be careful with you.” 

A small smile pulled at the corners of Finch’s mouth. “Because you don’t want to lose me.” 

“Because I don’t want to lose you,” Albert echoed sweetly, squeezing Finch’s hands and leaning down to lightly kiss his forehead. “I never want to do something that scares you.” 

Finch’s automatic response was going to be ‘And I love you for that’ but he managed to say something else lovingly appreciative before those three words slipped out. They’d only been dating for three and a half months, and while he’d never had a boyfriend before, Finch had a strong feeling that saying ‘I love you’ right now was too soon. (Even if it was true already.) 

Deeming the conversation a success, Finch aimed to redirect it. He said, “Can we get back to making out, or…?” 

“Of course we can,” Albert agreed immediately, and they released their hands to hold each other in other places. “Where do you want me, bub?” 

Just with one little nickname, Finch was melting again. He reached up to pull Albert back to his lips, and they kissed like that for a while before Finch got a great idea. He slowly leaned up, still locked against Albert, and effortlessly maneuvered their positions. Once they were situated, Albert was the one laying on the mattress whereas Finch straddled him instead, and they broke apart for air. 

“That was pretty smooth,” Albert commended, short of breath and the most attractive Finch had ever seen him. 

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” Finch quipped with a grin, his cheeks flushed pink. He traced over his partner’s bare chest, causing Albert to squirm a bit, and Finch’s grin grew wider. “Can I kiss you here?” 

“Please,” was the simple permission that Finch received, and he eagerly leaned down to do just that.

[ My AO3 Dashboard • Sept. 9: On AO3! ]

[kashilascorner]

According to the Sinbad chapter the story's now set in 1838, about nine years since Dantes' escape from prison, so Albert would actually be closer to 19-21 than to 15. 🤓

Anon, I love you. I think I missed the year of reference at some point I was so genuinely confused because from context he&Franz are obviously young adults but the math was not mathing at all 😭

[starkwlkr]

cars go vroom | f1

grid mom series

Albert Park

“Where’s my girl?”

Y/n didn’t have to pick up her head to know who had arrived in the Porsche hospitality. She was currently giving her daughter, Anais, her bottle. Charlie was seated beside her cleaning up the mess he made with the formula powder.

“Hey mate, how’s fatherhood?” Lando greeted Charlie as he sat across the family of three.

“Aside from the obvious waking up in the middle of the night m, vomit down my back, and Ani being attached to her ma, can’t complain.” Charlie smiled at his little family.

“I would ask you how’s motherhood, but you were a mother before this one came into the world.” Lando stood up and immediately went to look at the babygirl in Y/n’s arms. “Oh look at that, she’s got your face!”

“It’s almost like i birthed her,” Y/n joked then adjusted Anais in her arms after the girl had finished her bottle. This was the first time Lando was meeting Anais. He wanted the couple to have some privacy while hey adjusted to their new life. “Look, baby, this gremlin is Lando.”

Anais cracked a little smile as she raised her arm to play with lando’s necklace. “Don’t worry, Ani, I’ll buy you a matching one soon.” Lando tickled her side.

“Has she met everyone else?” The Mclaren driver asked.

“No, we just got here.”

“We’ll get up woman! Anais has to meet her extended family!”

And that’s how Lando Norris ended up with a baby strapped to his chest.

Charlie and Y/n tagged along since it had been months since she saw her friends and also she wanted to meet the rookies. Obviously she had met them before, but this time, they were officially formula one drivers.

“Look, Ani! That’s my teammate Osc!” Lando pointed at the Australian who had just finished taking a photo with a fan. “Guess who found a baby?” Lando showed off Anais.

“Should you even be trusted with a baby?” Oscar approached them. “Hey, congratulations! How are you feeling?” He brought the Porsche driver into a hug.

“I’m okay, some days it’s good other days I just want to sleep the entire day but now I have a daughter.” Y/n looked over at Lando and saw him putting his sunglasses on her face.

“Any chance we’ll see you on track any time soon?”

Charlie knew Y/n wanted to be back on track as soon as she could. He wasn’t filming at the moment so he was more than happy with staying home with Anais, he told her multiple times. But the season had already started and Juan Manuel was in her seat. It didn’t feel right to her if Porsche threw him out and put her back in.

“Um, we’ll see. I’m not done racing, I still have some time left. Uh . . . I haven’t talked to anyone yet about coming back. Juan is doing a good job.” Y/n had noticed the Drive To Survive team was recording nearby. She absolutely didn’t want her daughter near them so she said her goodbye to Oscar and continued walking to visit her friends.

Lando led them to the Williams garage where Carlos and Rebecca were talking. The couple didn’t notice Lando with a baby until he said Carlos’ name in a baby voice.

“Who’s baby did you steal?” Carlos asked.

“Mine.” Y/n made her presence known which caught the couple by surprise.

“You’re back! Holy shit! Oh! Sorry!” Carlos covered his mouth when the profanity slipped from his lips.

“It’s fine, but look at you! Blue looks good on you.” Y/n gave him a hug then it was Rebecca’s turn to receive one.

“Thanks, I think Anais likes blue too.” Carlos noticed the baby taking a liking to the color as she reached for his jacket.

“Oh no, she’s papaya for life,” Lando commented but then got a playful glare from Y/n. “Okay she’s Porsche for life with an occasional mclaren cameo.”

After saying goodbye to the couple, they were on their way to the Red Bull garage. Ever since the news, Y/n had been dying to congratulate Max face to face. She knew Max would be an amazing father.

“Max!” Y/n yelled over the loud noise in the garage. The Dutchman looked at her and ran over to hug her. “I’m so fucking happy for you. Do you know the gender yet?”

“No, but we’re fine with whatever. The baby’s health is more important,” Max instantly smiled at the thought of his child. “Speaking of, is this your beautiful Anais?” He turned over to Lando and the baby.

“My one and only. And Lando is there too I guess.” Y/n laughed.

“Just for that, Ani is staying in the mclaren with my mum.” Lando pretended to leave but Anais had seen Max’s car and cracked a smile at it. “Yeah, that’s Max’s car. His and mine go vroom vroom. One day we’ll put you in there and you can drive it.”

“Don’t even think about it.” The girl’s mother warned.

“Boo! No fun!” Lando teased and he took Anais’ little hands and tried to make a thumbs down gesture, but the girl only giggled.

“Such a good big brother.” Y/n shook her head as she and Charlie said their goodbye to Max and walked to the next garage to greet her friends. Lando slowly walked behind them but would get distracted as he pointed out the track to the girl, whispering how he was going to win the race for her.

[heavenlymorals]

I feel like a lot of people forget that the Van Dir Linde gang was actually famous in their universe- Dutch Van Dir Linde was as famous as the real life Butch Cassidy. The gang had as much infamy as the Wild Bunch or the Dalton gang. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Bill Williamson, Javier Esculla, Lenny Summers, Charles Smith, Sean McGuire and more were probably as famous as the real life Doc Holliday, Jesse James, Black Bart, Rufus Buck, Ike Clanton, the Sundance Kid, Wild Bill Hickock, and more.

Sadie Adler would've been just as famous. She was a gunslinger like the real life Calamity Jane and Anne Oakley and she was an outlaw at one point like Laura Bullion, Pearl Hart, Belle Star, The Cassidy Sisters, and more.

The other women of the camp would've probably been less popular but still very intriguing figures to people in the future.

In the newspapers, we see that there are songs about Dutch's boys and books too. Trelawny mentions them being on dime novels. In the future, the pieced together story of the Van Dir Linde gang might've gotten adapted into a movie, similar to "Butch Cassidy and the Sun Dance Kid" or "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". They could've gotten biopics, documentaries, and more.

Historians and fans of the wild West era would dig up records, find pictures, and maybe even track down people who were apart of the gang, accomplices to the gang, or victims of the gang. They would try to piece together stories to figure out the mystery of what actually happened to the gang.

People would argue over things that happened in the gang and have their evidence to back it up. Letters written by gang members would become so valuable. If they ever someone come across Arthur's journal, it would probably be considered one of the most valuable pieces of documentation to ever exist for that time period.

The guns of the gang would probably be kept in museums if found. Albert Mason's portrait of Arthur Morgan would be found in history books, same as other pictures.

Dutch would probably be a very controversial figure in history- some would hail him as a failed hero and others would condemn his violence no matter the reason- they wouldn't know what the people in the gang knew- especially in the end. Same with the rest of the gang members.

They'd probably all get romanticized. Hosea and Dutch's friendship, the raising of the boys, Dutch and Annabelle and his fued with Colm, Mary and Arthur, John and his family, Javier being a revolutionary- no one would know the full story.

And then there is Jack- he may live to see the 1960s and 70s and 80s. He may have grandchildren who'd pull him into a theater to watch a retelling of the gang that he was a part of at one point. He'd be amused. He'd think that the actor playing his father was too clean looking, too pretty. He'd think that the movie Arthur was too skinny. He'd think that the man playing Dutch had a funny voice as he tried to mimic the accent. He'd laugh and make notes in his head of the historical accuracy. He'd feel sorrowful at the deaths of the characters- he knew them at some point. And no one at the theater would know that the old man with the rowdy bright eyed boys who brought him there was Jack Marston, the last of the Van Dir Linde gang.

Jack might talk about it to the public. He might do interviews. He might even write a book about his father, the infamous John Marston. Those would be priceless. Even Beecher's Hope might be kept around and visited as a historical site for history goers.

And honestly? It is such a bittersweet thing.

[yanderestarangel]

Wesker has consumed my mind entirely, so could I leave an request for him?

Albert wesker as the father of readers boyfriend, at first he didn’t pay much attention to them but the more often reader came by, the more his thoughts started to become intimate and every time reader would have a fight with his son, wesker would use it to make them doubt their relationship with his son.

Really love your fics, if you won’t do this request it’s fine, but really can’t wait to read more of your story’s! Hope you’re doing alright and take care of yourself 🫶

— HEADCANONS RE || WESKER FATHER-IN-LAW X SON-IN-LAW READER

TW ┊dark smut, ftm reader, aggression, toxic relationship, age gap, v!sex, cheating, eat out, blowjob, 69, sexual recording, sensitive themes, dead dove.

WARNING : no negativity please. If this isn’t your sort of content, block me and move on with your day<3

— SFW AND NSFW

In Wesker's eyes, at first you were just another toy for his son, you were already the third boyfriend his son had in less than three months — so the scientist didn't even look at you, just greeting you out of politeness and isolating himself again in his office to continue his work."It won't last long, I bet." Albert said to himself, referring to yet another boyfriend of his son, but he didn't get involved in matters... After all, he was a man too busy for trivial things.

You obviously tried to be a polite boy and get along with your father-in-law, but all your attempts failed as the blonde didn't even look at you — and if he did, you couldn't speak because he simply wore those sunglasses 24 of the day. It was frustrating for you every time you received a rude and rude response from your own father-in-law, making you give up on getting closer to him.

But despite his attempts to avoid you out of pure disinterest, he couldn't deny that you were getting into his routine much more than he wanted to admit. His son always brought you to spend the weekends and have lunch at his mansion, so finally the older man's eyes noticed you.

You were a kind and sweet man, different from his son who was always the same as his personality — only a little worse considering his extreme elitist upbringing. But not you, you were simple and sweet, it even surprised him how stupidly innocent you could be sometimes.

And his also knew that it wouldn't take long for his son to start a fight with you because of his stupidity.

The older blonde started to have unhealthy thoughts about you, your presence was like a balm for him, but also like an inferno that threatened to burn everything and everyone around him.

He began to wonder what it would be like to squeeze your thighs, how your soft skin would feel in his big, calloused hands — how beautiful you would look moaning and begging him to go deeper into your beautiful body... How he would be better than his son being a companion to you.

He really tried to push those thoughts away and tried to approach you like a real father-in-law would, apologizing for his previous behavior and that he was just stressed about some company matters.

But the way your face and doe eyes lit up at simply being treated well by him made the heat in his core gradually rise — every fiber of his being was pulsing and burning like a fire... Only he knows how much he controlled himself to doesn't push you against the nearest wall and make you his right there.

Albert tried to suppress the feelings of lust that were slowly threatening to rot his mind, but every time he saw your smile, even those caused by his son, he wanted to do some crazy things and take you for himself. "Fuck, I'm too old to act like a dedicated man controlled only by his desires." Wesker thought as he rested his temple on his closed fist and watched you on the other side of the room, in his mansion, hugging his son and watching a movie. But he knew that moments of peace like that would end soon, especially with his son's toxic behavior — he had already predicted this, but he never thought it would take a considerably longer time compared to other times.

Even though it took a while, it happened, you fought with your boyfriend and practically the entire gated community heard the screams. Wesker was still trying not to interfere in your two lives because of the feeling of wanting to have you for himself — but after the fifth fight where you were slapped in the face by his son, he felt obliged to break up the heated argument and take you to a safe place away from there.

Before you said anything he just took off his sunglasses and for the first time looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. "No no, you don't need to say anything kid... I know my son was a horrible man and an asshole to you. I'm on the right side, just because he's my son doesn't mean I'm going to blind myself to the horrible things he did you hear." Albert said it loud and clear, then his cold, rough hands found your face and made you focus on his face.

"Listen to me, pretty boy, you deserve someone better than him." He spoke with a tone that made you feel goosebumps, the nickname "pretty boy" came out practically erotically from his thin lips and the look with the older man's dilated pupils didn't help much with your confused feelings.

With each fight that happened in your relationship, you felt closer and closer to your father-in-law. Even starting to frequent Wesker's mansion when your boyfriend wasn't there, purposely just to be alone with the older man.

Between smiles, conversations and not-so-unconscious looks, you quickly found yourself sitting on the older man's thighs while both of you were breathing faster — unable to hold back any longer, Wesker had given in to his desires and finally kissed you, his lips on yours, in a warm and desperate kiss — his hands going to your ass squeezing the soft flesh and quickly soft moans coming out of both of you, the erection in his pants wouldn't let him lie that he wanted more than just kissing his own son-in-law. "Come on lad... I'll show you how much you need someone older who really knows how to take care of you."

Wesker's cock was thick and pulsing enough to make your brain shut down with each thrust, moaning and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as your legs trembled around his muscular torso — your pussy dripped onto his bare, skin-tight member. skin made you feel the thick, dirty tip of precum kissing your uterus and threatening to fill you at any moment. "Fuck--! open that pussy wider for me, good boy..." Wesker moaned as he grabbed your thighs and squeezed the soft flesh there, leaving marks all over it.

Having sex with your own father-in-law was dirty and wrong... But it was incredibly hot. Unlike your boyfriend, the older man really focused on your pleasure.

He smiled huskily as he saw you turn into a trembling mess barely able to suck his dick while you did a 69 in his office. "You have a charming and pretty pussy, boy," He moaned, licking and wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking hard as he felt your hand on his cock, stroking it gently. The light pressure on his dick was pleasant and arousing as it also fueled his desire to make you feel as good as he could. He kept alternating between his fingers inside you and his tongue on your clit, and every now and then, he'd let a finger slip into your ass, and a moan from your lips encouraged him to continue doing so. "Fuck, you're tight, so, so tight..." Wesker's moaned, his hands squeezing your thighs, wanting you to hold onto him, to let him know that you were enjoying it. "My son is an asshole for letting such a needy and bitchy boy like you run wild, I'm glad I got you for myself, right?"

The two of you fucked like two animals in heat, even with your boyfriend at home — every time you waited for him to sleep and ran to Wesker's office. "Do you want me to help you with this my angel?" The scientist laughed as he fingered your pussy with two thick fingers, rhythmically thrusting into your g-spot and making you roll your eyes and hold on to the wooden table that you were leaning against, making the tall man laugh.

"Shhhh, don't make any noise, be a good slut and keep those beautiful moans bottled up ok? You really are sensitive boy- holy shit, it's just my fingers and you're already squirming for me to touch that cute pussy of yours." He snapped his fingers against your pussy, a sting, but not enough to make you shudder too much as his attention was diverted to your clit, flicking it with his thumb, trying to tease you even more and make you beg for him. him again. "You want me to fuck you don't you? Then you better beg for it boy." Albert pronounced each syllable fiercely, unbuttoning his pants and once again exposing his thick, pulsing member — you could smell the musk and the heat radiating from his groin, making you drip even more and barely be able to think beyond begging him in a slurred manner to fuck you soon.

"My son should see what a whore his boyfriend is for me, you know?" He teased as he buried himself without warning into your wet heat, covering your mouth with his hand as his thrusts were animalistic but with a concern that his cock would hit all the right spots on your sensitive wall.

Fingers, tongue, dick, sex toys, everything you wanted he used for your pleasure, taking you to orgasms that you didn't even know could be so pleasurable. Besides his look conveyed more than a simple desire for you — he wanted more, a lovers' affair wouldn't satisfy him, he needed to steal you from his son.

And how to do this? Simple, record a short porn video and send it to him later — cruel? Sure, but your father-in-law was sick and obsessed with you enough to not even care about his own son.

"Look at the camera, come on my prince, be a good slut and fix your eyes on the lens." Wesker pulled your hair as he made you look at the recording instrument with your face messy and flushed with pleasure — your pussy squeezed and milked the older man's cock as he made sure to record you from every possible angle.

"Smile darling... Tell him who you belong to." He grunted in your ear, hearing you moan his name repeatedly as he increased his thrusts to the point of making your groin hurt and hot, mixing your juices and his cum that made your thighs even wetter. He held his head tightly to the camera, as a cruel smile spread across his own face. “It looks like you lost quite a boy, I never thought you were so stupid, son... But you can leave it, daddy will take good care of your... Ex-boyfriend." The blonde laughed as he came again inside your pussy, seeing you moan drunk of pleasure for him — Wesker loved you in a distorted way, but unlike his son, he really saw a future with you by his side. Like his boy, as it had to be.

[blood-smiles]

Ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable but how big are your yans peen peen (or like where does it reach i.e past their navel) I NEED TO KNOW

ARE YOU LAUGHING IN MY FACE? I AM NEVER UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THESE ASKS?? YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!! There are some who I haven’t wrote for yet but are definitely established..probably more to be coming

DICK HCS UNDER HERE!!

Alejandro (Yandere! Lawyer)

Veiny and pale, veins are slightly blue-green ish, matching with veins on his arms. Elegant, somehow. Has two moles on the top side, close to tip. Has a pink tip (FFB3BC). Very well groomed, shaved and smells good. Lets it peek from behind lingerie. Gets hard while picking out new sets to wear for you. Literally only gets hard for you. Soft: 7.2”. Hard: 8.1”

Yuuto (Yandere! Nurse)

Long, definitely smoother but has maybe one slightly visible vein on the side. Nuzzles into your palm funnily enough. Cute tip (F8C2B9). Piercings, has a Prince Albert. Shaved just in case you see him, although doesn’t really grow much hair anyway. Cum does NOT taste good (sad nurse noises). Gets huge boner when listening to your heartbeat recordings (STRICTLY). Soft: 7.4”. Hard: 8.3”

Marcelle (Yandere! Soldier)

Thick and on the heavier side. Is more girthy than long. Veins for days. Leans towards the left.  Is the most sensitive of all them freaks. Tidy enough, slightly lighter blonde hair going up his pelvic area in a bit of a happy trail. One of the only parts of his body that isn’t tanned. Freckles. Weirdly responsive. Tip color is (FFBFC1). Soft: 6.6” Hard: 7”

Juno (Yandere! Streamer)

Average. More of a shower than a grower. Light moles everywhere. Wear those slutty skirts and let it peek from under the lace. VIRGIN. Sopping wet, bro’s canoe is drooling as soon as he sees something slightly arousing . Hair is black like the roots peeking out from under his red hair on his head . Clean, very well shaved, keeps it tidy for you. Tip (F0C4B5). Soft: 5.7” Hard: 6”

Angelo (Yandere! Doll)

Honestly kinda weird. Length is adjustable. Has engraved lines around his pelvis so you can swap it out for a pussy. Has a single beauty mark on his hip. No hair at all because he is a doll so no pores. Will pierce himself if you want. Nods a lot. Gets a little flushed. Drools everywhere. Tip is a light color (FCDEDC). Soft: N/A. Hard: N/A

Lucien (Yandere! Angel)

Angelical just like him. Longer than thicker. Such soft skin. Absolutely no blemishes, no hair no nothing. Gorgeous. Curves upwards. Literally conforms to your every wish. Peaceful in some way. SO TWITCHY. so polite with it too. Gets love boners and has no idea what to do. Cum actually looks like pearly water. So sensitive too(hasn’t been touched since the earth was made). Virgin. Touches himself a lot. Tip is light and pretty (FFD5D9). Soft: (As you desire). Hard: (your every wish is granted).

Mikhail (Yandere! Model)

Actual model. Competes with Lucien in perfection. Very straight. Sometimes is so wet, precum literally dribbles down his thigh. A single vein on the bottom of his dick. If you just look at his face you can probably fool yourself into thinking he’s a girl. Is beautiful and soft to the touch. Grinds it gently against you in the mornings. So eager??? . Will walk naked in front of you just so you get a daily look. Literally competes with snow in regards of skin color. Single mole on base. has no hair at ALL(Would never let you see a single follicle). Blushes //>.<// . Tip is a pretty (FFD7E1). Soft: 6.0”. Hard: 6.6”

Susano (Yandere! Elf)

Second biggest. Very straight and pretty. Glitters slightly in the light. Rivals Angelo in cleanliness. Pretty heavy. Veins crawling up his pelvis. Cum tastes really good. Magical dih. Has white freckles and rune like markings. Shove your nail into his urethra and he will explode. Slaps against his stomach. Will put it in your hands as if it’s an offering. Rub himself against you when needy for attention. Gets extremely aroused when reading those 1800 ‘erotic’ books. Tip color is (B45A4A). Soft: 9.9”. Hard: 11”.

Briar (Yandere! Cow hybrid)

Absolute BEHEMOTH. Biggest dick on my whole roster. So heavy it won’t stand upright. Literally slouches against his thigh. Heavy enough you need both your hands and forearm power to lift it. Is the second most sensitive next to Marcelle. Doesn’t wear underwear intentionally just so you can see his dick print . Has love boners all the time and doesn’t even realize at times (it’s not his fault, he just gets such a dopamine boom when he sees you :c ). Humps your pillows while thinking of feeding you his meat or milk. Cries from pleasure. Has pretty patches of hypopigmentation(lack of melanin) on it. Tip (EAAA9E). Soft: 12.1” Hard: 13.5”

Dario (Yandere! Mortician)

Skinny ish. Has a Jacob’s ladder. Cum is tolerable. Surprisingly cums a lot and has good libido even though he looks anemic. Purple veins. Really excitable. Mushroom head. Has horse crops, you know what he uses them for already. Slutty underwear and you know it. Tip: (DAB0B0). Soft: 6.3”. Hard: 6.7”

Kairo (Yandere! Mad scientist)

Freckled. Nothing actually special. Above average. Consumes aphrodisiacs like candy. Black leather pants, need i say more?. Ginger with the slightest amount of hair, barely perceivable. Right curve. Tip color is (FFA6A6). Soft: 5.9”. Hard: 6.5”

Evelio (Yandere! Super hero)

Admirable. Has your initials tattooed on it with a tiny heart next them. Jerks his shit in public bathrooms sometimes. Good looking somehow?. Doesn’t last 5 minutes. Booty shorts with no underwear. Living off of energy drinks much like Yuuto (cum doesn’t taste good or bad just.. eh..). Breaks into your room and touches himself in front of your mirror, imagines you are the one touching him. Tip is closely colored to his skin (E5A690). Soft: 7.2” . Hard: 7.5”

Elio (Yandere! Nerd)

Cute ig. Definitely not intimidating. Stick cat ears onto it and like you have yourself a cute penis. The most virgin of them ALL. Extremely sensitive to vibrations or stimulation (if it’s coming from you). It’s still a good size though. Failed no nut November so many times it’s actually scary. Tip is one of the pinkest in my opinion (FDD4E2). Shaves only if he knows you are going to see him. Is physically ,genetically and spiritually incapable of forming a happy trail. Soft: 6”. Hard: 6.2”

[marsmaladeee]

it's been a whole year since how to build an ocean: instructions by the one and only dirtbag boyband @bearsintreesofficial was released!!! how and what!!!!

as we approach the Next Era i wanted to do a drawing to commemorate everything that's happened in this one. this is maybe my biggest drawing ever and i've put a lot of thought into it and it has soooo many references to the past era in it!! so i'll explain all those under the cut :))

i love this album so so so much and i hope this drawing conveys even a little bit of that!!!

i took everything i knew about the themes of the album and tried to distill it into one piece. the band's mentioned that the album is themed around coming home, reconnecting with your hometown, feeling lost and not really knowing your place in the world. so they're stranded in the middle of the ocean on a boat and trying to navigate their way back home!! haha. it's based more directly on a line from idwba - "when i step onto that ferry, and the man demands his pay". initially i had the boatman charon in the drawing too, but i ended up taking him out as it was kind of confusing!

i wanted it to have a kind of whimsical, fantastical vibe so there's a tree growing out of the boat. why? just for funsies!! on a qna i asked what the band thought the biggest visual symbols from this era were, and they answered maps, the ocean and scrapbooky vibes, so i've given the ocean is a big feature in the drawing. that's what the album's named after!! . callum and george are reading through some maps (callum's are screenshots of croydon on google maps or OS maps of the croydon area, and george is holding the map from the album cover). for the scrapbook vibes i've made a version that looks a bit like a scrapbook page, and a regular version as well.

over on iain and nick's side there's the cake callum baked for the baby shower announcement stream. there's a vase full of daffodils like from that one photoshoot. there's the banner they used to announce ttllm on tiktok, dj l8 nite kitten's head from the iwfc mv, and iain's infamous jleeves. there's two books in front of nick: flights by olga tokarczuk, which the album is named after, and the myth of Sisyphus by albert camus, which is referenced in injured crow. iain is drinking coffee with a raven flying above them whilst nick drinks hot chocolate, and there's also a crow with a bandaged wing - an injured crow, if you will :)

beside callum and george there's the giant mechanical skull callum gave to george on stage, the wizard hat nick had on tour and the bubble gun from the seaside tour. there's also George Jr, the raccoon hand from the spill the beans challenges on the subathon, and the chillies which were also from the subathon. there's also a can of chickpeas. this one's a funny one because iain actually told me to put it there themself! not even a joke!! i asked for an object to put in the drawing and they said a vase (which holds the daffodils) and a chickpea. i drew a can of chickpeas instead because a singular chickpea kind of just got lost in the drawing.

on the back wall of the boat there's a number of engravings. behind nick there's a bike for cycling, jaded - a song that was meant to go onto htbaoi but never made it - and a line from your favourite coat which was used as a clue for the arg leading up to the album announcement (thanks to @asherapparently for sending me that!!). the engravings on the far right side are the lil ghost from the ttllm music video, and the boatman taken directly from the album cover. i mentioned before that i had to omit him from the drawing so i thought i'd pay homage to him here.

finally, there're paper aeroplanes from your favourite coat, confetti for all you get is confetti, and the sign says '463 miles', like the bus route mentioned in henry says. on the side of the boat are a number of photos taken from instagram & twitter posts from this era, and the symbols from the album cover and the back of the vinyl are engraved onto the side of the boat - each one representing a different song. the streamers tied to the tree are in all the colours of the album.

bears in trees if you see this - your album is beautiful and wonderful and i love it dearly!!!

[cloversnstrawberries]

"eschatological hope" platonic!yandere!albert wesker & B.O.W!teen!reader [twoshot] [pt 1] ! !

masterlist !

description; You're one of many 'subjects' of a strange underground facility, one that sources their patients from survivor shelters outside of cities affected by outbreaks, specifically ones catered to children who are either orphaned or lost their parents amongst the chaos. One day, the emergency alarm begins blaring; the pre-recorded code said through the announcement system was unfamiliar.

You took it as a chance to run, to escape this hell-- it was the best opportunity you could ever ask for. Too bad it doesn't go you your way.

additional notes; hello! this definitely was just supposed to be a oneshot, but i lost hold on my self restraint and just want to really start off my resident evil writing with a bang . i really love this idea, and i'm a sucker for religious imagery and references, so :) but also, there's a scary lack of platonic!yan albert wesker... i plan to amend that in the coming weeks as i dive headfirst into this special interest on here. it's not going away. help.

also! reader is intended to be a younger teen, around ~14/15 in here, but can be interpreted as younger or older!

warnings; Child experimentation, body horror, betrayal, mentions of the apocalypse, canon-typical bloods, guts, gore, and violence, death of a child/mentioned deaths of children (not reader), child abuse, guns, general terror, non-consensual body modification (the scientists altered reader with a virus strain </3), not very yandere in this part, but oh boy will shit hit the fan in the second part, heavy religious symbolism and references (which will only get more obvious in the next part), slightly soft Albert Wesker, and there might be more that I missed! if so, please be sure to let me know!!

w/c; 7.7k (oh lord)

I was so close, you mournfully thought-- your cheek pressed to the cold tile, a guard's boot dug into the back of your skull as he put more and more pressure onto your cranium.

You were so close to make it out of here- out of here alive. You'd seen countless other... subjects, is all they saw you as; come and go from this strange, underground facility.

It always ended the same, whether or not they tried to escape.

You were a fool to think you were any different.

You'd made it the longest, survived the most tests. You were weak, muscles atrophied and dizzy from how small the portions of the meals they gave you were-- even if they could hardly be called that.

Scraps. They were just scraps, just enough to keep you alive; but just small enough to discourage this kind of stunt.

They keep you weak, keep you under their thumb until the time came to crush you down beneath it. You'd witnessed this many times-- you're not sure how many, no longer seeing a reason to keep track of the numbers.

Last you'd counted, it'd been at 38. 38 dead, either shot because they tried to escape, or...

Jamie had been a good friend to you, throughout this hell of an experience. In hushed whispers, they'd tell you stories of their life; they lived so differently from yourself, having hailed from sunny California.

You exchanged stories about the crazy weather phenomena you'd experienced, the snow storms that hit Arklay county mid-October a few years back, was traded for a story about how the highest temperature they'd suffered through was a whopping 131 degrees in the dead of summer.

But now, there was no Jamie.

There was only the thing left in their place, an awful amalgamation of... oh god, you can't even pick it apart. So many things-- eyes of a goat, five legs; two sprouting from their back like a dinosaurs spine, and one burst out of their shoulder.

Their face was near-unrecognizable, their voice no better off. You could hardly understand the words they were saying-- and they were words, you knew that much-- as they curled their hand, as crushed and mangled and deformed as it was, around your ankle.

You stood there, frozen with terror-- unknowing of what-- no, who, this was; until you caught sight of a chunk of long hair, once dyed a vibrant red atop light blonde hair-- all that was left was a faded red, their roots having grown in a good 2 or 3 inches, coming from what you assumed to the top of the thing's skull.

"Jamie?" You'd muttered, voice small and broken. You no longer tried to fight the hold on your leg, simply stared down in abject horror. You didn't notice the alarm begin to ring, nor the flashing red of the emergency lights-- the call of a code over the intercom, summoning all available personal to deal with a "Code 96".

It-- They, nodded; or it seemed like it, a jerk of what must've been their head. What came from the thing-- no, Jamie's mouth next, made your heart go from nearly beating out of your chest to terribly, deathly still, as you realize what they'd been trying to say the entire time.

"Kill... me..." they'd rasped, all semblance of their fiery but intelligent personality gone, replaced with a simple need to be put out of their misery.

You had no means to do so, but as you heard boots rushing down the echoing hallways-- making their way to the adolescent patient's barracks where they kept you all, you knew that they did.

You sunk to your knees, and you held your friend until the guards came in, one tasked with evacuating the other subjects; not wanting any to accidentally get hurt, because then that'd just be a waste of resources-- pulled you from your friend, who let out a horrifying sort of shriek.

Your hand outstretched, as they fumbled to reach out; unable to grab yours in time, you were pulled form the room just as rounds and rounds of gunshots sounded behind you. The door had barely been shut before it started, dents made in the dense metal scared you deeply-- but the bullets never did make it through the material.

Or because the experiments got to them first. The things they inject you all with, the tests and strange sets of tasks that hardly coincide with each other-- the things that somehow make nearly everyone turn into some sort of monster,

Some kept their mind, like Jamie had, and some didn’t.

You’d had an awful feeling that your time would come soon, when all the weird injections and ‘medicines’ and ‘treatments’ finally got to you.

In some ways, you’d accepted that. The fact that you’d probably never make it out, that you’d just be another lost subject. A waste of resources.

Not a living, breathing child that they stole away from a survivor’s shelter after an outbreak hit your city and you fled— and were able to do so, because you were all alone.

You had hopes and dreams— ones that would be splattered across the frigid tile floor any second now, along with your blood and brain matter.

Sometimes the guards were kind, they gave one shot right at the crown of your head— killing you instantly.

Sometimes they wanted to have a little ‘fun’ as they called it. Nobody but the guards found it fun, how they’d toy with the kids as they killed them— the scientists and ‘doctors’ found it wasteful of their time, a disgrace that they spent more time than necessary on terminating a subject.

The other kids, yourself included, found it horrifying. In the dark of night, when you all knew the cameras weren’t as heavily watched as before— the guards weren’t standing where they were supposed to in the patient barracks, you’d spread stories about how the staff were really the monsters.

You’d say that one has a second face hidden beneath her giant, fluffy blonde hair. The others kids said that one of the guards, a particularly cruel one which none of you knew the name of, secretly had a third eye— that’s why he never took off the guard gear, which most every other one did at some point, for one reason or another.

And as you lay here, feeling your nose shift as the pressure of the boot on your head increased, your face pressing harder and harder into the tile— you come to the dreadful realization that they’re going to have their ‘fun’ with you.

You hope they get in trouble with their superiors— really, you do. Because with the red emergency lights going, causing a terrible headache to form right behind your eyes— and the alarm blared, a pre-recorded voice calling over the intercom;

They shouldn’t be here, taking their sweet time with a patient that’d broken off from the rest. Honestly, you thought you could get away with it, in the chaos of them evacuating all patients; or, all patients worth saving.

Noticeably, the barracks that held the younger kids, all below 6, were not evacuated. If anything, they weren’t making any move to free the poor things— the door still locked, probably.

“You know,” The guard began to say, and you recognized that voice. Oh, oh God did you recognize it.

You thought he was nicest of the bunch— he always did his best to help you. In quiet, dark corners where the cameras wouldn’t reach, he’d give you a hug to hide the way he handed you some extra food.

Sometimes you’d smuggle it back to the barracks, to distribute among the most malnourished of you all. Sometimes he’d have you eat it right then and there, to make sure you got extra nutrients.

“So you can grow big and strong,” He’d say. That implied that’d you’d make it further than a year in this hellhole.

He’d even told you his name-- his first one, not his last one; the one he was supposed to only be known as, something he really wasn’t meant to do— he called you by your name as well, your real one, not the serial code you were assigned when you got here.

“Na-than—“ You stumbled out, letting out a cry of pain as he cruelly, oh-so-cruelly, put all of his weight on the foot currently crushing your skull.

He took it off within a few seconds, not wanting you to die so quickly. It’d be a mercy, considering what the other guards tend to do with the subjects they have their sick ‘fun’ with.

“Oh shut the hell up, you fucking brat.” He sounded so cruel. This— this couldn’t be Nathan, could it? No… they’re tricking you. He had to have been replaced, this was nothing like him—!

In a split second, you felt all encompassing relief; as he lifted his foot from the back of your head— but that relief was short-lived, as he crouched down beside you and wound his fingers through your hair,

He yanked your head up, and you made a valiant, but ultimately useless, attempt to stifle the yelp from the action.

When you did let that sound out— though, much smaller than it would’ve been had you not tried, he jostled your head around.

“I really thought you’d be the one to make it. The scientists worked really hard on your virus strain, you know that?” He said that as if it was your fault— your fault for what? You couldn’t really place your finger on.

Maybe… he’s blaming you because you’d given the scientists hope that they’d succeeded? If you had succeeded, would they have stopped the operations—

Or doubled the effort? You’re leaning more towards the latter.

“s’not my fault…” You mumbled, screwing your eyes shut. You swear that they had to have replaced all the lights with brighter, more agitating ones. It hurt to be anywhere when the lights were fully on— the blaring emergency light, bright red and spinning constantly— added another layer of it.

“Open your fucking eyes when i’m talking to you!” He yelled— oh, you’d never heard Nathan yell like that. This has to be an imposter; it had to be that the higher-ups found out how kind he was being and terminated him, one way or another.

This couldn’t be him.

Against your own wishes, but along with your better judgement— you peeled open your eyes, lips wobbling as you were forced to come face to face with both the lights, and—

The imposter had taken off his helmet, letting you have a full view of his face.

It was Nathan. No doubt about it.

“I’d say I actually liked you,” He snarled, leaning closer— your back creaking and bending as he pulled your upper half up, but your lower one stayed relatively flat on the floor. “But that’d be a lie.” There was a cruel smirk playing on the corner of his lips, nothing like the kind ones he’d always give you,

You wrenched out a sob, at which he jostled you a little more to get you to “Shut up!”

By that point, you were in absolutely no position not to follow his wishes, your life quite literally placed in the palm of his hands.

He leaned closer again, and you couldn’t help but let the tears rush down your face at the sting of hurt from his words— which only worsened as he continued on.

“The bonuses that my higher-ups gave me to act all buddy-buddy with you were pretty nice, though. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

Oh.

That… makes sense— why you two were never caught. Why he could get away with it, with stealing the food, with showing you his face, telling you his name, hugging you, comforting you—

It was all a ploy,

And for what? Maybe they thought that if the subjects had something to fight for, that they’d be more determined to make it out as a success?

That wasn’t true and you knew it— Jamie had things to fight for, but they still ended up with their mutated body looking more like swiss cheese by the end of it all.

Nathan-- no, the guard, as you refuse to associate this... monster with the man who had been so kind to you, even if, realistically, you knew they were one in the same.

That it was all just an act.

That doesn't mean you have to admit it to yourself, even if you accepted the fact in some capacity.

But... regardless, the guard, clicked his tongue, looking down upon you in a way that made you want to curl up and sob. "They thought you'd make it, you know? You were reacting so well to all the tests. The virus took hold..." You couldn't stop the confused little noise, clawing its way from the back of your throat.

Surprisingly, the guard didn't reprimand or hurt you for it. His smirk only grew to a sick, sick grin. Presumably because of the obvious show of confusion on your part,

"Oh? Did you not know? They were testing a new strain, I mean-- I'm surprised it took to you of all people!" The laugh that followed was mocking and devoid of any light. Any joy that wasn't founded in the sadistic nature of this guard. "It was modified from a strain made by a couple of traitors-- It was meant for the strongest. They just gave it to you to see where that threshold for 'strong' was!"

...Ah.

A virus? That's what this all was? You didn't know what they were putting into you all, none of the other patients had a clue about what was happening besides what was obvious. You really didn't know anything about it--

But that's it? They were putting viruses into all of you? That'd definitely explain why some ended up the way they did; some mindless, some wanting nothing but violence. The ones who didn't what such things always looked as if they did, like Jamie had.

You don't feel sick though, not how Jamie had been describing how they felt as they approached their death day, completely oblivious to what was happening-- a little more lethargic than usual, yes-- but not sick. You don't feel like your bones are about to snap, about to shift and move and rearrange themselves to turn you into a monster. You're sure you would've... felt it,

Before you could make another sound-- before the guard could continue his spiel, a new round of heavy gunfire broke out nearby-- a few turns down the long corridor, you think.

Then, screams-- so many, and.. and bones cracking, flesh ripping; it didn't sound like anyone was getting shot.

It sounded like their heads were being twisted and ripped from their neck. You witnessed that once, with a particularly violent, now-terminated, subject. That's how you recognized the awful sound as the flesh of the neck tried to follow the way their head was being turned, only to be ripped-- sinew snapping as their bodies were pushed pass the limits of human capabilties.

The alarms-- no one knew what it was about, the code they were putting through the intercoms wasn't one you recognized. It wasn't one any of you recognized-- the guards seemed... panicked, for once. Not for you all, not at all; but because they had to evacuate everyone before they could save themselves.

Something told you that this wasn't a regular sort of rampage, put on by a grotesque mimicry of one of your fellow captives.

One second, the guards fingers were twisted in your hair-- yanking you, making your neck strain painfully as he forced you to look him in the face,

And the next, your hair was released and your head lolled forward; smacking your forehead right against the tile, not enough time to brace yourself at all. You heard the guard yell out a string of curses, before he stumbled-- and you mean stumbled, up; all scary calm and malice gone.

Replaced by a primal fear and terror that you know all too well. It was a little funny, seeing the primary force behind that sort of emotion experiencing it firsthand for once.

You don't see a point in picking yourself up at first, expecting you end to be swift-- for whatever was causing the apparent massacre to come charging at you, uncaring as it twisted your neck violently; just as you're sure it'd done to all the guards a few turns ahead.

But it... a few moments pass by, and nothing of the sort happens. You don't hear anything coming for you-- no horrifying creature shambling toward you on all fours, or a mass of disgusting, pulsing and gory flesh sliding across the tile to attack you.

All you hear are calm, methodical steps coming your way. A scientist, maybe-- all the guards seemed to be in a state of panic, if that one had left you in such a rush; if they leave you alone, if they don't continue their 'fun', or pull you along to continue at another time,

Then you know something is terribly, awfully wrong.

You listened carefully to the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes against the tile floor, coming closer and closer. The scientists weren't as outwardly-cruel as the guards, didn't rough you and the others kid up like they did...

But that's not to say that they cared for you, for any of you. If what the guard said was true, that you had gotten the furthest with their experiments-- then maybe the scientist would pick you up and drag you back.

Or kill you, and study your corpse to see what made your body welcome whatever virus they'd forced onto you.

At that, you made an effort to rise from your spot on the ground. Your elbows gave out the first few times you tried, adrenaline still running through your system-- but you were shaken up, and it was always harder to get up from the floor than it was from a chair or bed.

You were so tired, frail and weak-- but still better off than most. You were one of the few that actually had a chance, and you couldn't just give that up. Even if there was nothing to fight for really, you still had to get out. You don't know why-- maybe it's just in the human nature to want to continue on despite it all.

To survive anything, no real reason behind it. Simply a primal part of you, left over from centuries past; one that not even the most disciplined could stamp down, you think.

When you did get purchase, able to push yourself up to sit on your folded legs-- biting the inside of your cheek to smother the strange sort of chirp that desperately wished to escape you.

That'd been happening recently-- producing strange noises like that of a bird, especially when in distress. You'd been able to cover them up with a cough, or stifle them either mostly or completely, but the more scared you were; the harder it became to hide them.

You managed, though-- the fear of being noticed by whoever those eerily calm, unbothered steps that was a stark contrast to the bloodbath they were certainly just waltzing right through.

One sitting, you did your best to rise from the position-- unable to get to enough leverage to rise just as you were without collapsing to the ground, you got one leg out from under yourself-- though not without great difficulty.

Just as you were about to heft yourself up into a kneeling position, sure that you'd be able to stand from there-- you heard the footsteps come to an abrupt stop; you hadn't noticed how close they were until they went silent.

Slowly, you raised your head. The dread and barely contained panic keeping you from focusing on the throbbing, world-ending headache that kicked up a notch as you looked straight on at the lights--

In front of you, down near the hallway; but not nearly far enough for your own liking, was a man you'd never seen before. Dressed in all black, he looked more like an FBI or undercover agent you'd see in a movie than anything.

Was he here to save you? You dazedly thought, but as you looked into the mans face-- his eyes hidden by simple black sunglasses, something told you that you had to run.

This man wasn't like the others-- his presence felt suffocating, like his existence alone could choke the life out from you.

Despite the headache, the aches and pain-- and the way that, deep down, you knew that you could never outrun this man... or whatever he was; that even if you were perfectly healthy, in the best shape possible, you never stood a chance, you still tried to run.

You stood abruptly, the pressure in your head becoming almost unbearable as black clouded your vision-- as disoriented and dizzy as you were, you're surprised you didn't fall right to the floor like a discarded ragdoll upon standing.

When your vision finally cleared, you met the mans gaze, and really got a look at him. The light casted behind him made him look like he had a halo-- a halo of red, like a sun delivering sailors an ill omen, bounced off of his perfectly gelled blond hair. His face was sharp, and he looked like he was in better shape than some of the guards here.

Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be wearing tactical gear-- and when you looked a little longer, realized that the strange spots of... something, wasn't a bad dye job of the fabric.

It was blood, mostly centralized to his black leather gloves, coagulated but still beading up-- one big glob fell to the floor, as the man simply stood there. Watching, waiting-- like a cat would to a mouse, staring it down and waiting for it to turn its back.

Cat's were stealth predators, more focused catching their prey off-guard rather than over powering it with sheer brute force. You're sure the man could do that-- and the reality of it all came crashing down.

He must be the one who killed the guards, the one that caused the one tormenting you to run for the hills like his life depended on it,

because it did, and yours did too.

He said nothing, as he stood there. He tilted his head, his face unreadable-- the glasses weren't helping. Slowly, as steadily as you could manage, you took a few steps back.

And then a few more, not daring to turn around until the very last minute. When he took a step forward, you turned and bolted down the hall.

You don't know where the exit is-- or, really the elevator. Or stairs-- anything to get you out from this underground hell. You stumbled as you ran, twisting and turning through the corridors; your lungs burning, head pounding and body aching--

But you never stopped running, and you wouldn't until you were safe, or you simply keeled over right then and there. You wouldn't stop running, wouldn't stop this fruitless fight until your very heart gave out--

Or you joined the number of casualties, head twisted off. You'd yet to see any bodies, any blood or gore-- or anyone else. Most of them were in the other side of the building, and you dashed toward the section with the labs and testing rooms.

There, you think you could find a weapon, or at the very least a weapon to brandish. A weapon that would do nothing, and you were well aware it would do nothing.

The man that had stood before you, the one that set off your fight-or-flight instincts like never before, couldn't have been human. He just couldn't have been. If he had been the ones to cause those terrible noises of sinew snapping and viscera splashing on the sterile, once white walls...

Then that was that, he wasn't human. You don't know what exactly he'd be, and you don't want to find out.

For one foolish, silly second-- you assumed you'd shook him off your proverbial tail. He hadn't chased after you, and even if you were malnourished and frail, you still could run fast in necessary. Could push yourself if it meant a chance for freedom, to see the sun again-- even if it'd be the last time.

it'd hurt, you think. The other patients would complain that the barracks lighting was becoming too dim, but to you-- it was always just bit too bright. What might've been bearable the day before, became uncomfortably bright the next. Not blinding like the corridor's lights were, though. And for that, you'd been thankful.

You weren't familiar with this facility-- you were aiming for the labs, but somehow wound up in going in a circle; now facing the other way, close to where you'd started.

Bodies-- all over the ground, mostly guards... a few scientists, their white coats weren't all stained-- some were a stark white against the viscera covering the hallway.

Ahead of you, the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes called your attention, and at the end of the hallway, stood the man.

It was as if he knew you'd wind up back here, like he knew how inexperienced you were in the layout of this place-- like he knew the layout himself. A smirk played at his lips, showcasing rather sharp canines. The kind that could easily tear flesh from bone with no issue.

Maybe... he was an angel of death, you surmised. It fit, it really did-- maybe that's why he made it through the hail of bullets the slain guards around you had sent his way. How he'd been able to kill them so quickly, without so much as a scratch on his person.

The need to run didn't fade, if anything it got worse-- maybe because you knew, wholly and entirely, that you can't run. Not really. If he wanted you dead, then it'd be so. He'd taken down so many trained guards, a measly, terrified child wouldn't be a problem at all.

All you can think of that could stop him, was morals. You don't think he has those-- with the sight surrounding you.

This time, when he stepped forward, you didn't make any move to take a step back. It was useless. this was all so useless. Why you? Why did it have to be you? The shelter hadn't been ideal, but it was better than this.

You sunk to the ground, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down-- trying to look away from the still-going emergency lights, the too-bright fluorescents that hung above were still on. The combination of the two made it feel like someone was tenderizing your brain with a sledgehammer constantly.

The clicks of his shoes aren't as sharp sometimes, when he steps in the puddles of blood-- they get closer, and closer... until he stands before you, only his shoes and part of his legs were visible to you.

You kept your head down, not wishing to look at your end. You want to die under the illusion that you ever had any choice in your life. That you chose your own end, and it was not brought upon you by this... angel of death.

And as you sat there, expecting the pain-- or simply a pinch before your entire world went black; shivering from both fear and the cold of the hallway, bile rising in your throat and your headache refusing to back down even a smidge; you imagine a world were you got to live a little longer.

Because, in your mind, you died the moment you entered this facility; it was a death sentence, and you should've been able to come to terms with that. It was stupid, you felt stupid for thinking you were any different to countless other kids that'd died in these halls-- some going down with a fight, others begging for their end;

"Look at me." A deep, almost... British, but not quite-- voice spoke, clear and concise. The man sounded... oddly human. You'd expected maybe a reverb of sorts, or the voice to crawl into the crevices of your brain and dig their claws in...

He was still scary, his voice sending a flash of terror through your body-- but in a way no different than the scientists were. It was a very human type of fear that his voice incited, the fear of somebody in a position of power above you.

Oh, how badly you wished to stay staring at the ground-- it was the lights, that was the problem. The man scared you, but you knew you should obey him. Maybe he'd give you a chance then.

Oddly enough, he seemed quite... patient, all things considered. he stood there for maybe a minute or so, before repeating himself. In the same tone, the same exact cadence and words.

"Look at me." He said, and something inexplicable-- something that felt rooted in your very soul, tugged at your mind. Telling you that he wouldn't be so kind if you made him ask again.

And you do, trying to keep your eyes open despite the pain that followed. Nausea rolled through you, both from the smell of blood and flesh-- it was sharp, much more noticeable then you think it should be; as if it's being held right in front of your nose-- and from how the headache worsened.

The smirk he had when he'd first spotted you had dropped, his face now a cold mask of... something. He really did look like an angel-- but the sorts found in older religious texts. neither good nor bad, simply carrying out God's will, who in of Themselves, was a contradiction.

The man reached out, and you couldn't help but jerk your head back-- he said nothing of it. In fact, you could've sworn the corners of his lips were giving way to a little smile, not just a smirk-- but it was gone before you could really register it;

But, he continued to reach out, and you stayed stock still, not wanting to test his patience again. You were already on thin ice, probably. For running from him, for making him repeat himself-- maybe he'd give you mercy, though? Because you were so young?

You weren't exactly a child, but you weren't an adult. Maybe... maybe he'd leave you be. He didn't seem to be hurting you, and when he curled his hand around your chin to push your head up just a bit more-- he was... gentle with it. In a way you hadn't experienced in so, so long from any adult.

Even Nathan hadn't been entirely soft with his movements, too used to being rough with it all; not knowing his strength, or the fragility of a subject who'd been here as long as you had.

You're surprised you were still able to run as much as you did.

The man hummed, turning your head just a tad to the left-- then gently guiding it to turn the other way. Like he was a museum curator appraising a priceless artifact.

When he turned your head to face him straight-on, you winced; the headache reaching an all time high, making you feel as if you were going to pass out form the pain at any given moment.

"Does the light bother you?" He asked, and you tried to nod-- but his grip, as gentle as it was, was all too firm. Not enough slack to complete the gesture. "Use your words." He said next, no irritation obvious in his tone.

But still, it set you on edge. How calm he was. People weren't calm like that-- but maybe angels were. That's what he had to be. He couldn't be human... he just couldn't be.

But... why would he ask that? It's not like the man cared for your well-being, right? it doesn't seem so, the question asked with an almost clinical sort of edge. Like the scientists had when they asked if there were any major concerns with your health, if you'd felt any negative side effects.

Not out of care for your person, but care for what you represented; a subject, something to test on to try and further whatever agenda or project they're assigned to.

"...Yes sir." You croaked out, shaking-- tacking on the honorific should help, yeah? The scientists always made you refer to them as such-- Sir or Ma'am, not accepting anything else. Not accepting no personal address either; that's how you get locked up in solitary for a few hours, to 'learn your lesson about disrespect'.

You were better at it than most, only being placed in solitary twice for the reason of 'disrespecting the scientists' with the lack of it.

The chuckle that followed terrified you, making your entire body lock up-- muscles pulled taut, ready to snap. Spine straight, much like a rabbit ready to bolt;

"Good to know you have manners. That'll make things easier." Your anxiety only worsened-- make what easier? What was he going to do, and how hell was your manners going the help that process?

Finally, he released your chin-- and not a moment too soon. You slumped, not from relief, but from the bone-deep exhaustion plaguing you after everything. Head lolling forward to try and avoid the bright light, you don't know how you're still even vaguely upright-- hell, how you're even still awake. You probably burned off more calories than you've collectively taken in since arriving here.

The world was spinning around you, and that notified you that you consciousness was probably something very, very short-lived. You're sure that, if you do pass out before he does whatever he does; you won't wake up again.

He says something, but the world if muffled around you-- blood rushing in your ears, making it sound like everything was underwater. You came to when he snapped his fingers in your face, it was a warning just as much as it was call for your attention.

You looked up-- or made the move to, only for him to place his hand atop your head, and gently direct you to keep your gaze down. "You'll damage your eyesight. Close them, if that helps any."

He framed it like he was offering it, offering advice-- you shut your eyes, seeing it as what it was. You had no choice in it. Whatever use he wanted you for, he didn't want your vision to be damaged for it.

You don't think the lights would damage your sight-- more just give a pounding migraine, but you do as he says regardless; he could very well just crush your skull in his hand, right then and there-- if he took down so many guards as you think he had.

For once, some higher being smiled upon you; and he moved his hand from your head, and while he was still as close as before, it was a massive weight lifted from your shoulders, not to have him making any direct contact anymore.

"I won't repeat myself again," He started off with, and you tried to show that you were listening-- he stayed quiet afterward, and you realized with a jolt, what he wanted. As soon as you realized, you aid-- almost robotically, "I understand, sir."

A few seconds passed, a heavy weight forming in your heart-- was that not what he wanted? You were tempted to open your eyes to try and see if you could get a read on his face, figure out what he was thinking; if he was about to kill you for some perceived slight.

...But would an angel do that? Even one who killed all these people? If you were still alive, then maybe he was ordered not to kill you. Or, more realistically, not specifically ordered to kill you.

Even if he wasn't an angel of death, if he was just some terrifying super-human or something of the like, he has to work under someone; right? He also said he's got a use for you.

You just hope that you picked up on the implications that he needed you alive for that use.

"Good." The man-- Angel?-- replied, as you hear fabric shifting-- the man moving, whether that be shifting on his feet or reaching into a pocket, you have no idea. "What's your serial code?"

"...I don't know it, sir." You shook-- you really didn't. Well, you didn't remember it off the top of your head, so maybe, if you explained yourself, he'd be more kind... "But if I hear it, then I'll know it's mine."

That can't be of much help. You might've just doomed yourself even worse, tacking on something like that- did he think you were wasting his time? Were you why he'd come here in the first place? That can't be it, you were never that important--

"Would you happen to be Subject 082202?" He asked-- and you recognized the number. Was he really after you? That's... that could go either one way or the either. Hope bloomed in your chest, before smothered by absolute despair.

What did he want with you?

You tried to respond, you really did-- but your voice failed you, wobbling and tried not to cry. You nodded, hoping he'd give you some leniency with it.

Surprisingly, he let it go. Didn't even comment on it-- when he spoke next, he sounded so... not happy, but--

Victorious, you think it'd be. Smug would be your next choice, the emotion in his voice was hard to pinpoint. It was barely there, but without anything else to witness or analyze-- you were stuck with trying to dissect his tone.

"Good, that's good." You heard him shift again-- the sound his shoes made against the tile suggested that he'd crouched down, and and his heavy leather coat shifted, but in what way you couldn't be sure--

More noises, ones that were meant to be quiet-- you weren't supposed to be able to pick on them, but you could. Maybe it was the fear of it all.

Then, his hand was back on your chin. Reflexively, you flinched; but he didn't reprimand you, if anything, his tone suggested that he... cared,

Maybe not for you-- probably for whatever you could do for him, but it was care regardless, and he told you "Stay still."

You did, and felt something place onto your face-- it felt like metal, warmed by a human's natural heat; it felt like a pair of glasses, the arms tucked above your ears, the metal bridge of it resting against your nose--

"Open your eyes, tell me if it's any better." The man said with a firmness that reminded you of the scientists-- or the guards. A strange mix between the two; maybe more like a cop, if you think about it hard enough. A sense of authority, firm but not demanding.

You do so-- the headache is still there, it'd gotten better when your eyes were closed. You find that, when you open your eyes, the world is a little dimmer; the headache doesn't spike as you'd expected due to it.

As you look up at the man, you realize that he doesn't have sunglasses on now-- giving you full view of his...

Yeah. The confirms it; he is absolutely not human. His eyes looked like a snakes, maybe more like a dragons; red with yellow around his slitted pupils-- instead of scaring you as it absolutely should,

It.. comforted you. Against your will, mind you-- a little bit of tension easing out of your form at the sight of them. You don't know why. It should terrify you, it should make you want to run for the hills, like he had when he first showed up--

With his eyes no longer obscured, and your headache a little dimmer, you think that you'd have a better chance at reading the emotions on his face--

He cleared his throat, bringing you back to the present-- to his question he'd had with his earlier command. You try not to test your luck, now able to give out a short, soft "Yes sir."

His hand released your chin again, and with all the energy left in you-- you tried your best not to have your head fall forward from exhaustion, from the loss of the support of his hand. he huffed, shifting a bit-- he was crouching, but no longer leaning in close, leaving you with a little bit of a personal bubble.

A sort of privilege you haven't been afforded in a long, long while. Nobody crowding in your space-- nobody poking and prodding. Just letting you exist. Simply letting you sit there, without anyone breathing down your neck-- unrestrained, able to leave (if you weren't so banged up-- and honest-to-god terrified of the man, but that's neither here nor there) if desired.

You notice now, that there is a suitcase set down by his side-- looking rather innocent. A simple brown leather one, no obvious tells of what could be inside. It looked like one of the head scientists own bag, one you always saw him carrying around. Not trusting to leave it in one place without him present, you'd guessed.

"You're the subject for the Ammit Strain, aren't you?" He asked-- he seemed to already be sure of himself, and it left you confused as to why he's asking you. Because you don't have a solid answer for him-- and that shouldn't have been expected of you to have one.

"Uhm... I-I'm not sure. I don't... know what that is." You half expect his calm, strangely patient, demeanor to change in the blink of an eye-- for his hand to shoot out and grab your neck, and twist until your world went dark. It was irrational (probably), because he said he needs you for something. Even if you don't know what it is, you're pretty sure he needs you alive for it--

it's still up in the air, though. So you don't rely on that assumption for comfort too much.

Instead of that, instead of any violent outburst or sudden shift in his approach-- he seemed to... smile a little at your response. it was small, barely noticeable unless you'd been staring at him for god knows how long--

and, oh boy, have you been staring at him. analyzing him, trying to make sense of it all. as you do, when you're stuck in a strange and scary situation such as this.

"That's alright." He leaned forward, hang outstretched-- it landed on your shoulder, in a strange... friendly sort of gesture. Like a teacher would do as they praise you for an A+ on an assignment. "I know you are."

Then why did you ask? a bold part of you made you want to say-- one you thought had been stomped down a long time ago. During your second stay in solitary, where they kept you in for 6 hours rather than the measly 45 minutes you'd been in there the first go-around.

You kept quiet, hoping that he'd give a bit of an explanation as to-- anything. But you know he probably won't, not without prompting; even then, he might be more inclined to telling you to shut up or dancing around the question then give a truthful answer-- or one at all, for that matter.

He didn't do anything of the sort, the conversation going dead as he stood-- He grabbed the briefcase from beside him, but didn't make any move to turn around.

As he looked down at you, you realized he probably wanted you to stand as well. Torn between telling him that you aren't sure you could do so, and staying quiet as to try and minimize any possible anger-- you simply sat there, unmoving. Terrified, feeling like you'd found yourself right in a damned-if-i-do, damned-if-i-don't sort of situation.

A few moments later, he seemed to realize what your silence, what your immobility signified. He walked around you, standing behind you-- and gave no warning as he leaned down and put his hands under your armpits-- pulling you that way, before maneuvering you in such a way where he could pick you up into a princess carry from there.

Out of pure reflex, you threw your arms above his shoulders-- scared of tumbling over and out of his hold. By the time you realize what you'd done, you were too scared-stiff you amend it.

He... didn't seem to mind it much, though.

The hand held underneath your knee carried the briefcase, the handle digging into your thin grey sweatpants just a tad-- not too uncomfortable, but not ideal. Like hell you were going to say anything about it, though.

As he began to walk, he suddenly asked "What's your name?"

Despite the fear, a slip in your judgement made you let out a little "huh?"

He huffed, his smile growing wider for just a second-- starting to resemble an actual one, before reverting back to the small, almost non-existent smirk he'd had before. "Your name. None of the documents said it, only referred to you as your serial number or the strain."

"Oh." This was so confusing-- he kept walking, letting you two lapse into silence; he wasn't rushing your answer, quite the opposite. He seemed to be letting you... take your time, even if it was such a simple and easy request.

Then, quietly, you said it. Almost as if you were afraid that the scientists or guards would hear, and punish you for it-- it was their way of isolating you from the outside world, telling you to forget who you were before you'd come here.

That you had no other name, nothing else to be called, besides Subject 082202.

The man heard you, though. He hummed in acknowledgement, and in a moment of reckless, almost moronic, bravery-- you ventured to ask,

"What's your name?"

Almost immediately, he answered with "Albert Wesker, but you'd do good not to use it." The name... was familiar, set off even more alarm bells than the man had before you learned of his name.

"...So just keep calling you sir?" What were you doing? Why were you doing this? How stupid were you, to push him like this--

"That's what was implied, isn't it?" He responded, the little edge painting his tone let you know that his patience must've been running thin. You shut up, smothering what you'd wanted to say--I was just making sure.

Something like that would definitely be categorized as disrespect-- to a normal person, and absolutely to the scientists-- which you'd defaulted to treating him as.

As he carried you, exhaustion having taken its toll on you-- your eyes slid shut, head falling forward and resting against his shoulder. Within a few seconds, you were out like a light.

[dilfkillerr]

˖౨ৎ ⋆｡˚﹒janitor a.i bot list update P.2

【 my janitor ai acc - @ Aresangell 】

【 my venus chub acc - @ Starangell 】

【 my cai acc - @ Angelstaar 】

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Liu Kang 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He didn't pay attention to you so you decided to record a spicy video for him, but you didn't expect him to react.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - the hot guy at your gym was flirting with you. 🏳️‍⚧️ 》 transmasc miguel au

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Priest Miguel O'Hara 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Miguel O'Hara chose to be a priest after a personal tragedy, he never faithfully believed in anything ── However, you soon changed that, and he had to fight not to give in to the sins of the flesh.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han /Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You and Bi Han were friends with benefits, but the two of you felt much more than just lust.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Tomas and you were friends for two years. It was obvious to everyone who looked at the way Vrbada spoke to you or looked at you that the ninja was completely in love with you; the less you saw it, whether because you ignored his feelings on purpose or simply couldn't see that there was much more than platonic love. However, with the arrival of your ex, he needed to act.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/ Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You couldn't become a ninja because you were too weak, but now, the grandmaster himself took care of you.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Nanami Kento - 【 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You accidentally sent a nude to your university professor.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 OC, Needy Boyfriend - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Dmitry is your rich and needy boyfriend, who needs you 24/7, especially when he wakes up without you in his bed.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Lord Raiden - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You were caught by him masturbating.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You needed money and now you have a 'sugar daddy'.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tio Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Your non blood uncle is obsessed with you. V.2

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - a family together, but apart.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Father Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You need to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. V.2

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He wants to ask you out with him.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - drinks

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Stepfather Albert Wesker - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - did you know him... V.3

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Kuai Liang - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Cramps

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Wife Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - he is your sub wife

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - boyfriend gifts

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Goth Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He liked you and your makeup. 🦇 》 gothic au

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - did you get hurt

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You were living in the house of a grumpy old man, but he os very cute... 🎀 》 DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Professor Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He's your annoying chemistry professor. 📚 》 college au

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Dracula - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - maybe he wants more than your blood. 🎀 》 DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Count Dracula Count - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you are a teacher's assistant and help him with his classes. 🎀 》DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Nanami Kento - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】dirty secret🎀 》 DILF SERIES

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Lord Raiden - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - teasing and punishment

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Ice God/Bi Han - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You are the servant of a grumpy ice god. ❄️ 》 ICE GOD/KING AU.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Mad Scientist/Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you are a wonderful experience of him. 🥼 》 MAD SCIENTIST AU

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Johnny Cage - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - aftercare

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - low self esteem | 🎀 》 daddykink version

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you got pregnant with him... 🕷️ 》 miguel o’hara x blackcat!user

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Homelander - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you are the new hero of the seven and he has his eyes on you.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Nanami Kento - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - we never talked about ***** **** ┆ 🧼 》 fight club au, you are his tyler...

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada- 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - new recruit

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- valentine's day

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Simon Riley 'Ghost' - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - slutty torture

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Lord Raiden - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - he is your father figure

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- lying between his legs

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 OC - Stepfather, Yan Jin - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - your new stepfather is rude but extremely handsome. 🎀 》DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- he needs to take care of you.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Kuai Liang - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- arranged marriage...

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】survivor.🕊️ 》TWD AU, He's Your Negan.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Titan Lord Raiden - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - reencounter

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Step!Brother, Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】breedtable ─ m!preg.🕊️ 》DARK SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Yandere! Homelander - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - a dark hero who is in love. 🕊️ 》 DARK SERIES

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Yandere!Shang Tsung - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - obsession

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - fuck buddies

[nightwingsgypsyrep]

Dick Grayson’s Circus/Showman Heritage: Some Historical Resources (and a few more general, modern ones)

This is by no means a complete list, but here’s a few resources for the history of circuses and fairgrounds (and those who run and perform in them, with an emphasis on those who are travellers/showmen/gypsies), and a handful of more general resources for our every day life. These are mostly UK based, since I am in the UK so this is what I know, but should still be useful even if you want to look at it from a particular perspective. Even if you’re not a writer, it’s still quite an interesting read! The vast majority (all except two) are free to access, as I’ve linked PDFs where available. :)

A good resource for Showman/circus history (primarily in the UK) is the National Fairground and Circus Archive, based out of the University of Sheffield. A lot of their stuff is older, but heritage is really important to our community, so it’s still absolutely worth a look. There’s also a fair bit on my family there 👀 You can find the collection here!

The World’s Fair is the newspaper for all things Showman, and is a staple of every Showman/circus home. Used for news, business, and society, every Showman is familiar with the World’s Fair (like I really can’t overhype its cultural significance). It’s traditional to announce births, christenings, engagements, weddings, and deaths in the paper. *Requires a subscription to read but still good to play around the website.

Another is the Showmen’s Guild of Great Britain. Maybe less relevant to those writing about Dick Grayson/circuses today, but still good to be aware of for its historical significance. The Guild is largely in charge of charter fairs in the UK, and though not everyone is a member - it’s not required and is really up to you based on where you travel/who you travel with - it is something which all Showmen/circus in the UK will know of. The Guild was founded in the 19th century by Lord George Sanger, proprietor of Sanger’s Circus (and my great grandad!)

Seventy Years A Showman is the autobiography of Lord George Sanger, one of the first big circus proprietors. Although brought up on the fairground, Sanger’s father was not ethnically a gypsy as he ‘fell into’ the travelling life after serving on The Victory. George and his brother John started their circus, married into prominent gypsy/circus families, and became a household name in both Showman history, and Britain as a whole, as a favourite and friend of the royal family, and the founder of the Showmen’s Guild of Great Britain. He was also some of the inspiration for The Greatest Showman, even if the film was technically about Barnum. He was eventually murdered. His wife Ellen Chapman, a lion tamer and horse performer, was very cool too (I’m not just saying this because she’s my Nan, promise)

A collection of items in the Victoria and Albert museum collection relating to Sanger.

Circopedia has pages on important figures in circus history, e.g. Billy Smart (another relation), and some images.

The book Fairfield Folk by Frances Brown (technically a distant cousin) isn’t actually about the circus, but more specifically about one particular Showman family and their lives in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Briefly touches upon some traditions, and kind of bridges the gap a little between a Romanichal identity and Showman identity. It’s worth noting that the censuses for the Matthews family is available online, and you can use it to tell quite a lot about their self identities (e.g. recording their job as ‘travelling gipsies’). *NOTE - link is to a book review, as no PDF is available!

Romany Routes is a good journal, published four times per year, often with anecdotes to certain families. Can be a fun bit of extra research for those interested in genealogy. *limited availability online, but carried by a lot of libraries!

The Instagram of George Hebborn, a traditional fairground artist.

Vanguard is a company which makes ‘chalets’ (or mobile homes, if you’re not a gypsy), the typical home of those who are still travelling. These remain in the yards where we pull in during the winter months, and is what we’d usually consider the family home. As you can see - we’re not exactly camping!

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt1

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

A/N: I know I said that its a whole one shot only but I don't think that I can do it. I have to cut it because there is a lot of history. I hope you all enjoy.

About You Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Taglist: @spideybv28 @randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine

2005, Circuito de Jerez

The earliest memory that Y/N has of Sebastian Vettel was watching him test the Williams-BMW car.

It was her first time accompanying Mark and she was still grasping some of the key concepts of Formula 1 when Sebastian headed to the car. She watched how he drives and how the team were discussing about how he is a potential driver for the seasons to come.

"You know Seb is just a year older than you" Nico Rosberg, who has been keeping you company for the testing that afternoon, stated.

"Then that will make him the youngest driver if he enters Formula 1"Y/N mused.

Y/N didn't know but she was pretty excited to see him on track. She knew that this Sebastian will change a lot of things in F1 and will probably make history. At the same time, she can't help but be a bit worried since its a dangerous sports. One second you can be living the dream and then the next you find yourself recovering in a hospital room.

Sebastian Vettel gets out of the car and lifts his visor. There was a certain spark in his eyes that Y/N didn't miss out. Its the spark that showcase how much he loved to race.

Y/N didn't miss how her heart skipped a beat.

2006, Istanbul Park

The next time that Y/N sees Sebastian Vettel was during the free practice. He was a Friday driver for BMW-Sauber and he is as impressive as the day she first saw him in Spain.

"That kid just set out the fastest lap" her brother, Mark was shocked by the time set by Sebastian.

"That kid has a name" Y/N stated "and its Sebastian"

"Oh how come you are so informed about this missy?" he wondered

"He drove with you in testing season last year remember" Y/N replied.

The replay on the screen showcases the bold moves that were made by Sebastian. It was like he was driving like he is a man on a mission. If Y/N will bet, there is a lot of teams that will be shortlisting his name to their team.

"What do you think about him?"

"A little bit of reckless, I mean 6 seconds in your formula 1 career and you already have a penalty. There must be some kind of record for that" Mark was referring to the speeding penalty that Sebastian received as soon as he left the garage.

Y/N mumbles a small hmm as she continues to watch how Sebastian moves around the track. She was sure that sooner or later, she might see Sebastian more often.

2007, Albert Park

Fridays aren't too crowded as the Sunday races but still there was a bit of pressure in Sebastian Vettel's shoulder as he entered Albert Park.

He walked the paddocks and tried to visualize himself not just a Friday driver but an actual driver for the Sunday races. He pictures the screaming crowd chanting his name, the smell of burning rubber, radio messages from the team, and even being at the podium with the champagne.

In his daydreaming, he didn't realize that he bumped into someone. All he saw was that a girl was down on the ground with papers all over.

"I'm terribly sorry. I was not looking where I was going" he apologized.

"I'm equally at fault too"The woman assured "It was not wise to type and walk especially since this whole place is swarming with people"

Sebastian helped the girl compiling the papers and he noticed how the papers seem to be like contract for sponsorship. He looked at her and tried to identify which team did she belong to but her lack of team merchandise makes it difficult.

"You're new here?"he tries to decode.

"No, I'm not. I've been coming here since 5 years ago" there was an accent in her voice. Australian, if Sebastian was right.

"Huh, you must know your way around this whole place"

She takes a closer look at him, "You're that rookie Sebastian Vettel"

Now Sebastian doesn't have a huge following that he knows of and this is probably the first time that someone outside the family knew about him. Now, he felt even more curious about the girl.

"How did you know my name"

"Hard not to especially when you set a record to having the fastest penalty in their f1 career" she joked.

Normally Sebastian will be annoyed by the reminder of his mistake last year. He choose to forget that small mishap and avoid talking about it. But this time, he felt like the giggling is contagious that he can't help but smile when talking about his mistake.

"I assure you that I'm a much more better driver now" he states, holding up his hand as if saying that he swears he is a better a driver now.

"Hoping to see you deliver Vettel" she grins.

The girl started walking away from Sebastian when it occured to him that he didn't even know her name. He rushed to catch up with her.

"Wait, I didn't get your name"

She looked at him and there seems to be a slight hesitation

"If we meet again in a formula 1 race then I'll tell you my name" then the girl walked out of his sight.

2007, Indianopolis track.

It seems that luck has been on Y/N's side because she managed to avoid Sebastian during the past races. But it seems as if this luck is running out slowly since they are bound to meet up this weekend as Sebastian was bumped from reserve driver to formula 1 driver due to the injury that Kubica sustained in Canada.

She was hanging out at one of the coffee machines when she felt somebody tap her shoulder. She gave him a smile upon recognizing him.

"Sebastian Vettel, shouldn't you be preparing in your f1 car now?"

There was a loopy grin on his face, "Mystery woman, I was beginning to think if you are just a figment of my imagination.

Y/N pressed the hot cup to his hands, "I'm very much real and not just a figment of your mind"

"So will you tell me now your name?" Sebastian wondered. He has to admit that it has been bugging him for weeks on end about who this mystery woman is. He even went to ask around the paddock but his description was very vague and no one could help him.

"Its Y/N, nice to meet you" Purposely leaving out the last name.

In Y/N's mind it was just a safety pre-caution to leave out her last name. It was for her own good as well because people tend to act differently once they hear about your big brother or your connection to the sports. For once in her life, Y/N wants to be seen as just Y/N.

Maybe she just want to prolong this little charade for a little while longer.

"Y/N nice to finally meet you"

2007, Nürburgring

Maybe its the home turf advantage that boosted his confidence but Sebastian managed to ask Y/N if she would like a tour around the place. Thankfully, she agreed. Sebastian was already blabbering about the places that they have to get to and Y/N had to remind him that they're not staying for a vacation.

He will tell you that he is not freaking out but he prepared for the whole afternoon. He even asked his mother what outfit should he wear to make it seem like a casual hangout. In his defense, he never had a lot of friends growing up and he certainly didn't have beautiful australian girls around.

"You know you don't have to bring me flowers, were just touring around"

It was his idea to bring flowers because he often sees it in airports. When someone new is in town, they bring them flowers. He felt like the orange gerberas were a good pick as advised by the florist he knows.

"But the flowers made you smile" Sebastian grinned "I'm more than pleased to have a happy tourist to tour around"

Then two engaged in a conversation about their early life. Sebastian shared stories of the town he grew up in and his stories of motorsports.Y/N, on the other hand, listened and shared some bits of her life in Australia before she traveled around the world.

Eventually the duo ended up in an orange farm, where they picked out oranges and waited for the sunrise to set in the horizon. It was a core memory that they will share with one naother.

"We should do this again sometime"Y/N suggested

"Its a breather for you and I" Sebastian agreed "Away from all the lavishness of F1 and the pressure of the sports"

"Sounds like you wanted to run away with me"

"Who wouldn't want to run away with someone like you?"

2007, Fuji Speedway.

The past few weeks has been stressful for the Webber siblings. The articles published by some news sites seems to be getting on Mark's last nerve. Everyone seems to be taunting him about how he is over a hundred of race starts already but then he still haven't won anything. The pressure is high and Mark was determined to prove them wrong.

"Mark just don't do anything stupid okay?" Y/N begs.

She watches as Mark suit up for the next race. She was already used to her brother racing but she knew this race was a little different since her brother wanted to win.

"I'm not going to be stupid Y/N, I'll drive good today and I'll get that win that they want"Mark grumbled.

Y/N handed the helmet to her brother, "Just stay safe, I don't want to lose you"

"I'll come back safe"

The race went underway and as usual, Y/N watches it in the comforts of the driver's room. She did not want too many attention focused on her and she felt like her heart might actually come out of her rib cage if she watches it on the stands.

Japan's wet races gives Y/N a heavy feeling that something bad might happen. Her heart beats rapidly as she watches cars after cars spin out or crash. She prays that none of them was Mark. or Sebastian.

There was 20 laps to go when her ears started ringing that a Red Bull has been rear-ended by a Toro Rosso.

'Please don't let it be Mark and Seb. Please don't let it be Mark and Seb'

But the voices in the Red Bull pitlanes and the storming voices of Mark confirms her worst nightmare.

"That kid is so stupid, he shouldn't have been allowed to drive" Mark roared "I had that in the bag, I was going to win"

Y/N immediately hugged her brother, "Its alright, the win will be coming soon Mark. What matters is you are safe"

There were frustrated tears from Mark as he cried in the embrace of his sister. Privacy was given to the siblings as the race continues on. She was so focused on her brother that she didn't notice that there were several messages in her phone.

Seb: Where are you? Seb: I messed up my race and Webber. Seb: Call me when you get this. Please?

2007, Shanghai International Circuit

It felt like a heavy weight on Sebastian's shoulder after he messed up. He kept on blaming himself that he did not just mess up his own race but he also messed up Webber's race. It did not help that Y/N was not replying.

The media has also been eating him up with the way that Webber responded to him. He was called a kid that did not have enough experience. It stings a lot but now he has to put up a brave face and just race.

"SEB! SEB!"

Sebastian looked back and he saw Y/N. There was no hesitation in him but he immediately hugged her. It was the only time ever since Japan that people aren't mad at him or hounding him for questions. He felt at ease to be with Y/N.

"Where have you been, I have been messaging you over the weekend"

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Y/N says "And before I forget, I made you this as a token of my apology"

In her hand, she has a paper bag. Sebastian's curiosity is piqued upon looking at the contents inside the bag. There was a tupperware with food and a sticky note in a messy handwriting "for sebastian vettel, you can do it."

"You cook?"

"I don't but hey its the thought that counts. I figure that you might need-"

Y/N doesn't have to explain a lot because Sebastian already appreciated the gesture. He hugged her again and it seems like everything just got a little bit lighter for Sebastian that weekend.

It wasn't Sebastian's weekend at all but remembering the little note, that was tucked inside his helmet, he felt a lot better. He can bounce back next season.

2008,  Autodromo Nazionale di Monza

This was the internal dilemma of being Sebastian's friend and being Mark's sister. The two of them are in different side of the coins for this season. Two drivers shared the same family with Toro Rosso being the sister family of Red Bull but it seems like that's their only similarity.

Then there was the mixed emotion. Of course, Y/N was proud of Sebastian because he is slowly improving and shining with every grand prix. She was always elated when they see each other post-qualifying or post-race at the hotel rooftop (it has been their common knowledge that they will meet up there so that they can get fresh air together). On the other hand, Y/N knows about the pressure that it is being placed with her brother. Mark has been declining and losing hope for a maiden win. He has been in the sports for some time and he believes his time should have arrived by now but he lost opportunity after opportunity.

Y/N can't fault anyone for this one. Both of them just wanted to achieve their dreams. She wished everything does not have to escalate but here they are in the 2008 Monza Grand Prix.

Sebastian Vettel was starting on pole while Mark was starting third. Everyone is buzzing about the possibility that Toro Rosso might clinch a first win before Red Bull. It was something that Y/N knew bugged Mark's mind.

It didn't help that it was a rainy start and it sort of brought her back to Japan 2007. She was not an overly religious person but she prayed to any higher being to please don't let Mark and Sebastian crash with each other again.

The race went underway and the rain was not as heavy as Japan. Still there was some crashes and some spin. But Y/N felt the conflict of emotions start again upon seeing how Mark started to drop places while Sebastian pulled away from the rest.

Y/N went out of the driver room when it was nearing the end of the lap. She didn't know whether she should run and congratulate Sebastian or she should stay behind and comfort his brother.

Of course, blood is thicker than water.

Mark looks absolutely defeated as people started to ask him about how he is feeling when their sister group got its first win before them or how did he manage to mess up his 3rd position to eight.

"Just please give him some space, we will be answering the questions later" Y/N stepped up. Right now she was not Mark's sister but rather Mark's assistant.

Y/N helped Mark to go back to his driver's room so he can get a few minutes to himself before he gets questioned by the media again.

"It feels like shit. I feel like I can't do anything right" Mark threw his gloves across the room.

"It wasn't your time yet Mark" Y/N replied. Its like a broken record at this point which frustrates Mark.

"Then when will it be my time? Sebastian has been here for just a year or so and he already have a grand prix victory"

Y/N knew that this was the dam breaking. No words can comfort her brother right now so she just went to give him a hug. She could only wish in silence that Mark gets his win eventually.

On the other side of the paddock, there was cheering. Sebastian Vettel was in cloud 9 as he saw the Toro Rosso mechanics and engineers calls out his name. Everyone was in full party mode that they have even tossed Sebastian up in the air.

Everyone wanted to talk to him. They wanted to ask him about how he is feeling or how he created history today. He was the youngest driver to have a maiden win and the first one to bring victory to Toro Rosso.

But Sebastian eyes seem to search for someone in the crowd. He wouldn't voice it out but there was a certain woman he was hoping to see when he stepped into the podium. It had a slight twinge in his heart but the roaring crowd silenced that feeling.

'Maybe I'll see her later' Sebastian thought.

However, there was no Y/N in sight for the rest of the weekend.

2008, Marina Bay Street Circuit

Sebastian was still experiencing the highs of his Monza win and the Singapore GP has also been a good race for him. He might not have a podium finish but 5th was good enough. However if there was one thing that bothered Sebastian was the lack of Y/N sightings.

He tried messaging her after Monza but there was no reply. He thinks its probably weird that he didn't even get a congratulations because surely Y/N would know about it. There might be a couple of reasons why she didn't see it which is a) she was sick or b) she resigned.

Sebastian was gunning for the first choice because surely Y/N won't just resign without saying goodbye.

So imagine his surprise when he saw the woman that has been bugging his mind at the exit of the pitlane.

"You could have answered my texts you know" that was Sebastian's greeting to her

Y/N seems to be caught off-guard by Sebastian's presence. She was still in her work outfit Sebastian takes note as she was carrying a tote bag.

"I'm sorry. It just got a little busy for me"

Sebastian nods, he understands how having a job here is quite difficult. He could not fault her for that.

"Why not lets celebrate? I won in Monza and I finished fifth here"Sebastian offered "Consider it as your make up dinner for not congratulating me"

There was that hesitant smile gracing her face again and it reminded Sebastian of the first time she didn't tell her name. She seems extremely conflicted.

"Seb I would love to but I still have to do some work and-"

"Y/N, there you are"

Sebastian and Y/N whipped their head to the source of the voice. Mark Webber started walking towards them. It confused Sebastian as to why he knew Y/N but then he remembered that Mark was probably the one that Y/N has been working with.

"I told you to wait for me"Mark says as he picked up the bag of Y/N "I was just fixing some things with Christian"

"I can carry my stuffs myself Mark" Y/N replied

"But you have been walking in your heels the whole day, it's going to make you cranky sooner or later" Mark quipped back.

Now this confused Sebastian. It seems like their dynamics is not just work related but rather something personal. He also felt like he has missed a whole chapter and he feels very invisible at the moment.

"You two know each other?"Sebastian managed to ask.

There was a panic in Y/N eyes as if she wanted to explain but it was Mark that beat her to it.

"Of course, I know her" Mark admitted "Why wouldn't I know my sister?"

And it was that moment that Sebastian pieced out why she haven't been able to message him or why she was MIA as well in Japan. He felt stupid because he never inquired why she didn't give out her last name or why she was booked at the same hotel as the drivers.

Great just fucking great.

2008, Interlagos

It was eating her alive that Sebastian is not in speaking terms with her.

In hindsight, she understands that sooner or later, she has to tell him about who really is. She just didn't know that it will be as early and as unprepared as what happened in Singapore. She also got an earful from Mark who questioned how did she manage to meet Sebastian and why does it seem like the two are close with each other.

Honestly, she can't wait for the season to be over so that she can rest from all the drama but she knows that she has to make amends before winter break starts.

And so she slipped to the Toro Rosso garage, under the disguise that as Mark's assistant, she has to talk to Sebastian. So here she is in Sebastian's driver room, waiting for him to arrive.

"Can't I deal with this after-"Sebastian immediately stopped in his tracks upon seeing Y/N "Oh its you"

Silence enveloped the two of them. Y/N has a practiced script in her head but no words doesn't want to come out.

"I'm giving you five minutes or I'm kicking you out" Sebastian warned.

"I just came here to say that I am sorry. It wasn't really my intention to deceive you. I just wanted to be friends with you without my last name being too intimidating. I know that its terrible but I was going to tell you my name someday but Mark just got into the way and its all shit"

She was word-vomitting, she was sure of it. But hey its better than keeping everything as a burden on the shoulders.

"Say something please?" Y/N wondered with Sebastian's silence.

"You could have told me, don't you trust me?"

"I trust you Sebastian. Its just, its really complicated to be seen as Mark's sister or Mark's assistant. I just want to be just Y/N when I'm with you"Y/N sighs.

Y/N felt bummed as she thought she could fix this before winter break starts but she knows he might need some time.

"I know that its not easy to forgive me. Its selfish of me to do that so I won't force you to forgive me" she says "I'll give you some time to collect your thoughts"

Y/N reached out for the door when she felt a hand tugging her back. She saw Sebastian reaching out.

"Just give me some time"

"I will. Don't worry" she understands "I have to say I'm really proud of you this season. You did well Seb"

There was that silence when Sebastian held her. She knows things are far from okay and there is the upcoming season that has the possibility of Sebastian being upgraded to Red Bull but in this moment, none of that matters. Its just them. Just Y/N and Seb.

[clevereverest]

@newsiesficchallenges Day 5 of blorbo week!!!

I did Finch again because while I haven’t done any of the event things for specifically just Albert yet, at least one other person already did him today (that got reblogged, anyway). I wanted to make a picrew for a character that no one else has done yet! :D

[felassan]

The Flame Eternal

By Sylvia Feketekuty | Art by Albert Urmanov

Synopsis: "A pair of necromancers investigate what torments a distressed inhabitant of the Grand Necropolis."

"Thirty years ago, in 9:22 Dragon… “Well? You tore me away from an experiment for this, Volkarin.” The shorter necromancer caught a hissing monster of bone and dried gristle in a skein of light. A twist of her hand, and it was ripped apart. “What does the wretched thing want?” Emmrich Volkarin adjusted his collar pin. “Just a moment, Johanna.” “Fine.” Johanna Hezenkoss scowled at the skull cradled in Emmrich’s hand. “Anything to stop that howling.” The skull had started screaming, ceaselessly screaming, inside its niche in the Cobalt Ossuary of the Grand Necropolis. An attendant had noted it, informed the Mourn Watch, and a pair of necromancers had been dispatched. They came to a junction. Emmrich placed the shrilling skull on a plinth. “What insights on the dead it could—” “You already told me about your paper.” “Come now!” Emmrich turned. “What sort of passion drives one spirit above the rest? What tangle of thoughts and heart returned this soul?” “Mawkish drivel.” “You must admit it’s an interesting variation on possession!” The skull’s shrieks bounced through the corridor. “It’s only some petty spirit too weak to become a demon.” Johanna ducked under a collapsed lintel. Statues of corpses lined the passage. A flick of her hand, and a green bolt of light smashed into a lanky shape lurking at the end. The demon twisted up, wreathed in smoke, as another volley hit. It gnashed its teeth and collapsed into itself. “There. It should be safe for your corpse whispering.” Emmrich closed his eyes. Whispers came, and when he spoke, the air vibrated. “By breath and shadow. By endless night. Tell us what haunts you.” The skull’s sockets flared green. “Divided. Cold. Two graves where there should be one!” “Twaddle.” “Johanna!” Emmrich cleared his throat and turned back to the skull. “Tell me: what will grant you rest?” “Take this one… to sunken black walls… by silver flames…” The skull’s glow flickered, faded. It resumed its earsplitting shrieks. “You possess a grand talent, Volkarin.” Johanna gave the smallest inclination of her head. “And you’ve honed your command of sub-astral manifestation.” Emmrich beamed. “Why thank you.” “But what does this wailing nuisance want down in the Crescent Fane?” *** Emmrich leaned over a coffin ringed by bowls of silver fire. He placed the skull next to the body of an old woman, humbly dressed but crowned with white roses. The screaming stopped. “Mathilde…” “Your wife left gently, in her sleep, last midnight.” Emmrich smiled. “The records confirm she also wished to be interred together. You’ll not be parted again.” There was a sigh. Did the old woman’s mouth quirk, or was that the dancing flames? Johanna snorted. “All that fury, ending in another grave.” “Oh, I don’t know.” Emmrich ran a hand along the coffin’s snowy marble. “It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection. Besides, you did see this through.” “Someone had to ensure you weren’t beheaded while chattering with the dead.” “I am grateful for enduring friendships, as well.” “Bah!” They made their way back up the Grand Necropolis in companionable silence."

[source]

[yanderestarangel]

♡ — 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐑𝐄 | 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘'𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃!𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐑

— TW: smut, praise, dark themes, age gap, light yandere, age gap, friend of your farher!albert wesker, v!sex, manipulation, nsfw, distorted mind, oral, afab anatomy, blackmail, recorded sex, daddykink, no pronouns used besides 'you'.

♡—Wesker was a sick man, he knew that, but Albert's darkest desires could not be ignored for long. He was your dad's co-worker, and to tell the truth, he hated the man, however, there was something about your father that interested him... You.

♡— Wesker, unfortunately for you, laid eyes on you, it was just small glances behind the dark lenses of his glasses, but soon after, you were already in the scientist's darkest thoughts. He thought you were a precious thing, a little pearl that needed to be protected by him, so he decided to get even closer to your dad, it was so easy to manipulate the man and infiltrate your family that Albert found it pathetic, but he needed you... Being close to you, you were eating away at his mind with every bitter second that passed in the older man's abjacent solitude.

♡— Wesker could just get rid of anyone in the worst way possible and lock you up in a place isolated from everything and everyone, make you his untouched little doll, lock you in a glass dome and watch you all day — he could force you to loving him, worshiping him like a god, he wanted to make you walk on the ground he walks on and see your tongue lick every drop of his seed, things escalated very quickly for him, but he didn't care, in the blonde's head, he was a superior being, and could do anything he wanted.

♡— Wesker researched every strong and weak point of your personality, in a few days he had a folder and raw files of hours and hours of recordings of you, either with the wiretap he secretly placed on your cell phone, or with the cameras hidden behind home — which he put it when he went to your house, to drink some wine and hand over some papers from the umbrella to your dad — or for the hours he spent stalking every post of yours on the internet. He knew everything about you... Absolutely everything, you were his obsession, you were his property and his alone... It didn't take long for you to realize that.

♡— Wesker began with calm touches, as if he were watering a flower, wetting your petals of desire with the nectar of hot, forbidden touches. He would pay you so much attention, wearing the best smile behind his serious and cold face, his lips would always have an expression of comfort for you — He would always shower you with sweet nicknames, telling you how proud he is of you always giving your best to you. college grades, or how good you were. He would divert your father's attention just to visit you in your room, giving you expensive gifts that you had wanted for a long time. "— I just remembered you baby, it suits your eyes, don't worry about the value sweetheart." Albert would speak in a hoarse tone, placing the emerald necklace around your neck, brushing his fingers for too long on your skin and leaving soon after, leaving you with a confused feeling in your chest and a heat in your core.

♡— Wesker has been mentally writing down the best nicknames he can think of. "— My Prince/Princess, My doll, My baby boy/baby girl, My little gem, My good boy/girl, honey, darling, dear, sweet little thing." And all of them are accompanied by mischievous phrases and smiles. " — Good job prince/princess, you did well... Keep it up." " — you really are a cute little thing, aren't you? Making Daddy happy." The scientist would purr in your ear, away from your father's eyes... Not that he cares much, but he loves the feeling of adrenaline, seeing your face blush, you would be a mess for a simple compliment or word of affirmation... It was so cute to him, like a stalking prey, a deer lost and beautiful in the snow.

♡— Wesker knew that resisting his charm was never an option, and it wouldn't be. He is a man who knows how to play his cards right, and it wouldn't take long for him to trap you in his web of manipulation and possession, he would make you his body, mind and soul, break you to the breaking point.

♡— Wesker would have luxurious dinners at his penthouse, calling his family, an excuse to see you again. He would get your dad drunk enough to pull you to some corner of the house and pull down your clothes, slapping your ass hard as he knelt kissing your clit, forcing you to lean against the cold wall while he fucked you out. "— Fuck imagine if your father comes in here and sees his sweet son/daughter like that? Fucking his friend?" Albert smiled mischievously, as he inserted two thick fingers into your hole, stretching you to the sides, leaving you well prepared for him. He would hold you with his strong arms, taking you to the table where your father slept drunk, fucking you in front of the man's sleepy body. " — Fucking h-hell Mmm- imagine if he wakes up? Seeing you like this? Seeing that you're nothing but a fucking slut." He babbled, pushing the base of his dick into your cunt, while you covered your moans with your hand, feeling your eyes roll back into your head with pleasure.

♡— Wesker will fuck you in your own house, making an excuse for your father who needs to recommend some colleges to you, while he aggressively beats you on the mattress, tying your ankles with his tie, while overstimulating your pussy, inserting his shaft repeatedly into your uterus, he'll just take out even the tip and put it all in at once with a sadistic smile on his thin lips. "—I could fuck you like this all day."

♡— Wesker would say such dirty and sweet things to you while turning you into a dumb mess. " — Your sweet little pussy is made for my cock, isn't it?" His free hand reaches down to caress your breasts, pinching and pinching your sensitive nipples, eliciting more moans from your lips. He continues to tease and torment you, pushing you closer to the edge of orgasm before pulling back, prolonging your agony - and his, you could beg and whimper, as he takes a cell phone out of his pocket, focusing on your wet, abused hole. " — Oh, you little slut," he grows. " —I love the way you look when my cock stretches you out like this Ah- Fuck sweetheart-" And just as you're about to fall, he slows down once again, prolonging your ecstasy, the buildup almost unbearable. "—Not yet, my dear," he whispers in your ear, his voice filled with wicked delight. "—You will come when I say so. Only when I give you permission."

♡— Wesker will take several photos of your body covered in semen, in compromising positions and with his dick in your mouth, videos, gifs or any digital media available, he will manipulate and chat you so that you are always his, always stay on his side.

" — You will never run away from me, my little pet... Or else... Your father and all your family, friends... They will know what a whore you are, so just be good and keep your mouth shut, pretty boys/girls don't think."

©𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙇 2023

[momoliee]

Orbs, On the Movements of the Earth

Just watched the finale, and i’ve got to say, i was moved. The ending left me breathless, in the best way possible.

I don’t even know where to begin, but i will start with the most obvious: the second Rafal, or Rafal2. I fully believe that Rafal 1 has died, and that Rafal2 is not an alternative universe, as the ending involved the letter to pototski. Then who is Rafal2? Well, my theory is that Rafal2 is meant to represent the idea that even if Rafal1 died, there was always gonna be other Rafals out there, with the same thirst for curiosity, with the same desire to pursue knowledge. I think Rafal2 is meant to show us that the passion behind learning can never be lost, it can never end with the death of a person, cause one day, someone else will be born with that very same passion, and even if they also die, then another and another will be born. Rafal1 died too young, but in the very same town, another Rafal was born, with the same convictions, the same thirst for knowledge, the same belief in the power of curiosity. And i think that’s beautiful, the concept that the pursuit of truth doesnt die with us, that someone else will inherit our will, even if we dont pass it down directly.

Building on to the point of ‘passing down’, a theme on which our story heavily relies on, i love how the priest that gave albert the final push to go to university, was implied to be the same inquisitor whose friend died after freeing jolenta, all those episodes ago. He talks about how he regrets letting his friend die, how he knew his friend did the right thing, and how he carried the burden of that event. I love how, just when we thought all our characters died and the chain of ‘passing down the torch’ was cut off, there was an unexpected and weak thread woven somewhere else. I love how the now priest, previously inquisitor, inherited his friend’s doubt for the system. He inherited his friend’s sense of justice, he inherited his friend’s will, and he passed it down to albert. That chain was never cut off, it was just passed down in an alternative roundabout way.

And finally, onto our miracle: the letter. The letter is a marvel. The letter exists simply to show that this anime was never about refuting religion, it was about believing, having faith, having hope. and how God does not betray His believer’s hopes. Every time they passed down the “10% profit to pototski”, they passed down the hope that their will wont be lost. they hoped, they had faith, up until Draka released that bird. And all of that was answered, by a miracle, a coincidence, of albert passing by and hearing one sentence, of the question mark that that sentence generated. that was all it took for our characters’ efforts and sacrifices to not go to waste. even after they were long gone, they were still rewarded for their hard work.

Our story is just a hypothesis on everything that couldve happened in history, all the records that were lost, all the people who were erased. it’s a speculation, a theory, about “people from the 15th century”. One important sentence that was said was, “the truth is not conceived, it is discovered.” so when one person dies, the truth does not die with them, another person just rediscovers it. How albert wasn’t the person who conceived, he was the one who discovered, discovered what all our dead characters tried so hard to keep passing on.

I think our author is trying to tell us not to absolutely believe, not to cease thinking, but to doubt. to be curious, to chase after knowledge, to discover truths, to doubt those truths, to start over, and most importantly, to always pass the torch. And even if we one day will be scattered to ashes, someone else will be born, to finish what we started. and that is how our will, will always live on, never to be suppressed.

[fascinating-yarn]

So You Want To Know About Chess The Musical

So you want to know about Chess. The first piece of advice I have to give you is:

Step 0: Are you sure?

Because trust me, it's a whole lot weirder than you think, even if you know that the story is, in fact, only very little about chess (the board game). But if you are sure, because you have a friend who, like me, can't stop talking about it, then, you're ready to begin with step one.

Step 1: Listen to the concept album

Yes, there are plenty of recordings of the full show that are easily accessible on YouTube. Do not be fooled. With very minor exceptions, they will not elucidate anything at all. Trust me, even if your favorite actor is in one of them, start here. You will have time to get back to them later, trust me. It helps to read the synopsis of the album while listening; this has been kindly transcribed here by @alovebizarre.

Already hooked? Yeah, probably. Now you understand why all of us got stuck down here in our circle of complaining about this show. We, too, all thought it was going to be good based on the concept album.

Step 1.5: Watch the 1989 concert

This is mostly the songs of the concept album and retains the two male leads, but has Judy Kuhn playing Florence, the female lead. It's a strong concert and only cuts one song, and adds another ("Someone Else's Story", the show's only breakout hit not on the album). There is plot narration in Swedish, but one of the versions on YouTube has been subtitled in English

Step 2: Acquaint yourself with The Big Four

Now you know the music but the plot may still not be totally clear. The next step is to get to know the major variations. These are, generally:

The 1986 London version (and derivatives)

The 1988 Broadway version (and derivatives)

The 1990 Sydney version (there aren't really derivatives for this one but the material shows up Everywhere)

The 2002 Swedish version aka Chess på svenska (and derivatives)

Now, you can watch the original productions of all of these, but the issue is that the first two are both... not great. So here are some alternatives.

Step 2a: London Alternatives

The London version is mostly an expansion of the plot of the concept album, with changes - most of the structural changes were initiated by director Michael Bennett, who left the production before rehearsals due to his illness, while most of the more distinct changes of themes are from later director Trevor Nunn.

There are videos of the original production, but they're generally poorly filmed and suffer from major generation loss. There was no cast album, but the score has been recorded twice: in 2002 with the cast of a Danish touring production (released as "Chess: Complete Cast Album," but recalled soon after and not on streaming) and in 2008 at the Royal Albert Hall (this is on streaming as "Chess in Concert" - one of two albums of that name).

Any one will give you an idea of the script, but the original London production is generally the most musically cohesive. The Royal Albert Hall version has some minor script changes, most of which make no real difference, but makes some bizarre choices in terms of transition music and is generally a poorly produced album. The Danish album is likewise not very strong.

The Royal Albert Hall concert was professionally filmed but the audio is poorly mixed and the show's cast varies from a few great performances to some that are... not so much. It's also got a track record of making people either latch on immediately or be totally turned away from the show, so watch at your own risk. For a possibly better experience, watch the original London production.

Step 2b: Broadway Alternatives

The original Broadway production still has a bit of a bad reputation in the fandom, but people have generally warmed up to it. The new book, by American playwright Richard Nelson, is generally strong (if a bit overlong) until about halfway through Act Two --- at which point it suddenly isn't anymore. The original production itself doesn't help, and though there are some good moments, it was not very well directed and some of Nelson's best scenes suffer.

Firstly, you should listen to the Broadway cast album. The cast is the best part of the show and does some incredible things. The new music isn't quite as good as the original material, but is still strong and worth knowing.

In terms of the actual book, your best chance at a good experience experience is probably the 1990 Long Beach production directed by David H. Bell and starring Jodi Benson, which has a watchable video online. There are some script changes, which serve to adjust the script to be less cynical, more palatable, and better paced. After this, do go back and watch the original cast, as it generally has a stronger overall cast and some scenes are genuinely great with them.

Step 2c: Sydney and Svenska

The Sydney production closed early due to the economic recession in Australia, and the script has never been revived, but parts of it appear all over the place, especially in the London derivatives of the early 1990s. It takes bits of the plots of both London and Broadway, and becomes its own thing. It is worth knowing, and there is a mostly bearable bootleg on YouTube.

If Sydney is its own thing for being a combination of London and Broadway, Svenska is its own thing because it resembles neither. The plot is streamlined to the essentials and takes place over a much shorter period of time, plus it has two new songs. There is a proshot that has been uploaded to YouTube with subtitles, and a very good cast album. There have been some productions since based on the script, but the original is still going to be your best starting point.

Step 3: Into The Abyss

There are so many other productions and they're all a little different from each other. Most are based on London or Broadway, but some are an odd combination resulting from people who wanted to produce the London version in the US being forced to retrofit the Broadway version (unavailable for US licensing until 2008). A non-exhaustive list is:

1990 US Tour: An early attempt to jump off the Broadway script into something new, this production stars 42.9% of the original Broadway cast of Falsettos and has some wild stuff. Don't watch till you know Broadway, since it has been known to sour people's opinions on the show.

1992 Off-Broadway: Preserved only in an incomplete, poor-quality audio bootleg, plus a slightly more complete script from a lost recording, this script is Tim Rice's first (but not last) attempt at making something definitive post-Broadway. It is one of the most bizarre scripts out there and should really be experienced late to be fully appreciated.

2003 Actors' Fund Benefit Concert: This one-night only concert is preserved on a leaked (but poor quality) archival video and a higher quality rehearsal performance. The script is an attempted hybrid of the London and Broadway scripts, but leans mostly on the London script with a few Broadway changes that serve really only to stay within the legal requirements of production still in place at the time (and doubly important due to Nelson's personal support of the concert).

2018 Kennedy Center Concert Series/2022 Entertainment Workers' Fund Benefit Concert: This script was eyeing Broadway for about five years but is no longer in the works as the rights were pulled. (Update: new info indicates this production is alive again and has booked a theatre to open fall of 2025.) With a new book by Danny Strong, based on the London plot but with the details changed significantly, this production takes a more overtly political spin on the show and grounds it in actual political events. Start with the 2018 version, as it's generally agreed to be better than the later concert version.

2018 London Revival: To call this production a revival is generous, being staged by the English National Opera for a limited run and generally not being considered very important. It became well known mostly for being associated with the Kennedy Center production and the general knowledge that Rice was looking to bring the show back to Broadway. Despite that, this script is entirely unrelated to the Kennedy Center version and is mostly an onstage expansion of the concept album with the show being influenced heavily by Benny and Bjorn.

With all of these I have but one piece of final advice and that is:

Step 4: Be wary of The Discourse

This is not meant to scare you away from the fandom at all. I promise we're all very friendly and most of the discussions are quite civil. But every fan has very strong opinions about this show. I have tried to present this post as neutrally as possible but my bias has absolutely creeped in and you've already been influenced by my opinions on it. Some productions (notably the Kennedy Center script) are very divisive and I encourage you to consume them yourself and forming your own opinions.

And that is how to get into Chess. If you want to. It may not be the wisest decision, but hey, we all made the same mistake.