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#becomings pride 2021
jude-shotto · 2 years
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An Apocalypse AU art Collab w/@klayr-de-gall!!
The prompt I gave them was "Free Time"
A game from Klayr's amazing lineart : Do you see the symbol 👀?
Close-ups under the cut ^^
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meirimerens · 10 months
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i'll write it down so hopefully i don't have to walk anyone else through that for the twelfth time since i've had this blog it's been a Long Time Comin especially since a previous version of this has been in da drafts since 2021 i'm also going to try to be as loving and like clear and concise (i am Not mad this is is not a Mad post i'm not sure how the tone will come across because. it's a poast innit but i'm just trying to be. at the very least informative)
i promise you that the homosexual blogger who has a homosexual headcanon about a character whose interactions with the opposite gender can be read as entirely platonic and even demeaning in ways Does Not need to be told on their own blog, in which they extensively share their art or writing or discussions about thinking of this character as homosexual, after they haven't asked, that you personally think that character likes the opposite gender (too) actually. they know. they do know. most people think most characters like the opposite gender. most people think most living people do.
you are within your god-given rights to make your own posts and your own writings and your own arts and talk about it when asked it's a free fucking website babeeyy and to associate and discuss between people who share the same headcanon as you do dearly and heartily but i Promise, I Promise you no homosexual with their homosexual headcanons for characters whose interactions with the opposite sex can be read as completely devoid of romance needs to be reminded, when they didn't ask, that you don't see it that way. they've seen it around. they've been around. we've seen it. we know.
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sorenwuzhere · 6 months
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The Day After
cw: dubcon, male reader, overstimulation, implied prior engagement in sexual activities, ooc, porn without plot A/N: I have never read or watched Jujutsu Kaisen and I don't think I will have time to do so anytime soon so don't expect an accurate writing of Toji. I just wrote this purely for the horny lol. This is also a pretty old draft I wrote this back in 2021 and haven't edited it, just wanted to get rid of it from my google docs. Anyway, enjoy or don't.
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Toji’s eyes fluttered open just doing that seemed hard, a familiar ache in his lower abdomen and his ass. Memories of last night came flooding back, he opened his eyes fully and saw your naked body lying next to him, sleeping peacefully, it’s almost like you weren’t the person who fucked him until he passed out last night. He groaned in annoyance, partly from the pain that’s coursing through his body and the other from the fact that he wasn’t able to top you last night, there was also a bit of anxiety from you telling people about this, but it turned him on more than anything even though he was too prideful to admit it. He tries to get up but is immediately pulled down, he looks up and finds you pinning him from above
“Where are you going, To-ji” you asked the smaller man, saying his name mockingly, he tsked at you before answering
“I’m going to get something to drink” he replied
“Hm, why do you have to go anywhere for that? I have something for you to drink here” you replied slowly stroking your dick, smirking upon seeing the faint blush on the tips of Toji’s ears
“W-what the fuck are you saying” Toji replied after much thinking, silently cursing himself for stuttering, you smirked raising your eyebrows in amusement, you hold your dick on your hand jerking it off faster, Toji quickly catches you doing so and tries to hide the fear and anticipation 
“What- you’re-” before he could even finish you place your dick on top of his chest, pushing his pecs together, his pink cheeks blooms into a bloody red, words stuck in his throat
“Hah, so all it takes for you to shut up is a cock? I knew you were a slut” you spoke after a while, he opens his mouth to give you a snide remark but before a sound could even get out of his mouth, you thrust your dick inside him, his eyes widen in surprise and he gags from the sudden thrust
“There you go, just shut up and take it like the slut you are, yeah?” Toji closed his eyes as he unconsciously nodded his head, swirling his tongue on the tip of your cock to try and take a taste of you. You snort at his face, you haven’t even done much yet but he’s already so pliant, looks like fucking him dumb last night did the trick.
Again you thrust your hips to his mouth and he quickly responds licking your cock all over and bobbing his head the best he can, Toji brought up his hands to his chest and brought them together to give you more stimulation, he pushes his body up to rub you, you sigh in pleasure, breathing becoming more ragged as he continues, you continue on thrusting your hips in a slow steady rhythm, you stop for a moment and he looks up at you as if searching for an answer why you stopped but he didn’t have the chance to ask why when he felt your tip prodding his entrance teasingly, small whimpers escapes his lips while you tease him with your tip, he was getting frustrated he just wanted you inside of him already! 
“Are you putting it inside or not?” he glares at you, you hum amused at him for snapping at you, you snicker then finally snapped your hips forward to get your cock inside him, despite how much you fucked him last night his hole was so tight, sucking you in so eagerly.
Toji moaned at the feeling of your cock inside him, no matter how much you pounded him last night he couldn’t get used to the feeling of your cock inside him, it was just too much, your scent, your size, your stare, everything was so overwhelming and he wasn’t sure how to deal with all of these things at once, it was almost suffocating and although he would never admit it out loud he wouldn’t mind drowning in your presence.
You wanted to wait for him to relax but recalling how much shit he’s given you, you pushed the thought back and started thrusting into his tight hole. Toji was caught off guard. He didn't expect you to go immediately; he thought you’d at least be considerate enough for him to get ready, but he found it quite…hot.
“Hah, you’re hole just tightened, is this turning you on? What a slut" You asked the small man, he let out a choked moan, he couldn’t catch his breath from your pounding, how do you still have this much energy after everything you did to him last night.
Toji looked dazed, all you could do is chuckle at his expression, putting his legs on your shoulders and pressing his chest with yours, you trailed kisses down his neck and then bit onto his skin that was already full of bruises, he screamed as he feels blood trickle down his neck
“Ngh- not- AHH!” again he was cut off by his moans as you set a punishing pace, pounding into him roughly
“Haah! Agh Ahn~ W-wai- you fucking- ba- Hahh~ bastard” Toji kept getting cut off by his moans, it was actually quite impressive despite how fast you’re going, you wonder how fast you’ll need to thrust for him to shut up
Finally you stopped thrusting after a bit, he pants and tries to catch his breath propping himself up using his elbows to look at you
“What? Tired already? Thought you were going to shut me up with your dick? You ca-” Toji let out a silent scream, you thrust into him again this time harder, faster, rougher, he didn’t even know that was possible, what is with this inhumane speed? 
“Hmm? Why are you quiet now? Isn’t. This. What. You. Wanted?” you asked, thrusting harder into him to emphasize your words, all he could do as a reply was to moan and whine he couldn’t let a single word out because of the sudden shock of you thrusting in him
“That’s more like it, you’re prettier just being an obedient little slut so just stay that way, alright?” you taunt the man, he nodded dumbly too fucked out to register your words. You chuckle, he definitely looked better dumbed down like this. 
Toji suddenly shivered and you took that as a sign that you found his spot, you smirk at him and adjust his legs to hit his spot precisely, pistolling your hips you aim for his spot and thrust into him fast and rough, just how he liked it
“Mhh- Ahh! Ngh I- going to- ha- ack!” Toji tried to tell you that he was close but he was so fucked out that you can’t understand anything he’s saying but the tightening of his ass, his shivering, his lolled out tongue and his rolled back eyes spoke for itself
“Hah, cumming already? Aren’t you a certified whore how can you not take at least this much?” you said, getting cut off to breathe every once and again from how fast you were thrusting
“Ngh- can- please cum–!” he said again trying to warn you, opening his mouth wide a scream ripped out of his throat as he came all over his stomach and chest, some of it landing on your stomach, but even as he just came you still haven’t stopped thrusting, sobbing, Toji tried to push you away
“N-No mo– Ah~ ngh- plea- I- haah~” sobbing in between his words, you don’t bother trying to understand his words, just indulging yourself with his inside and chasing your own high you were even more turned on by him sobbing underneath you, Toji was terrified to feel you grow bigger in him, how was that even possible? 
“You- just now you- nggh~ I— haah~ wai-” Toji couldn’t let out coherent words anymore he was so drunk at the feeling of you, he can’t handle this any longer, just how much more will you keep going? 
Finally after what seemed like forever, Toji felt your cum fill him up and pushed him to the edge as he came again moaning your name. Toji pants, sighing in relief as he tried to catch his breath, his relieve was short lived as you pushed out of him and lift him up to make him lay on his stomach then push inside of him again
“Haah! Ngh~ Please I can’t anymore, no- m-ngh- haah~ more p-leashee~!” Toji’s begging fell onto deaf ears as you adjusted his hips, putting his knees on the bed and lifting his ass before pulling out until only your tip remained in him before slamming in again and again not letting him catch his breath.
Toji clutched the sheets and again tried to get away from you, crawling away, but your hard and fast thrusts made his legs wobbly and he couldn't find the strength to keep on moving.
You smirk as you feel him stop trying to get away and slowly giving in to your touch. You lean down to his ear and nibble on his earlobe 
“That’s it, did you figure it out? Below me is where you belong, so stay still~” you whispered huskily in his ear, Toji felt shivers down his spine upon feeling your hot breath on his nape and hearing your husky voice that’s a bit out of breath from how fast you were going.
Feeling his hole suddenly tighten you groaned causing his hole to tighten around you even more, ah did he find that hot? Toji was easier than you thought. Hearing you chuckle right beside his ear, Toji felt his face getting hot, what the hell is up with him? Why is he feeling this way? Over a chuckle? How fucking pathetic
“You keep on squeezing me Toji, what are you thinking inside that pretty little head of yours hm?” you comment, and to your delight that made him tighten around you even more
“Haha, you make me feel so good baby, let me repay the favor~” you whisper teasingly, adjusting your grip and the position of your thrusts, you thrust into him perfectly hitting his prostate, Toji gasped. 
You began hammering into him smashing his prostate repeatedly, the poor boy couldn’t even let out a whole moan as he keeps getting cut off from more of his moans, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he clutches the sheets harder, he bites onto the pillow below him feeling ashamed of the loud moans he keeps on releasing. 
You brought your hand down his face and forced him to look at you before you went down and crashed your lips with him, your other hand going down to his dick stroking him rough and fast, Toji gasped as you had planned, you shoved your tongue inside his mouth, exploring the inside of his mouth kissing him feverishly.
Toji feels himself melt and become more pliant to your touches once he feels your tongue inside his mouth, gulping in his moans and kissing him as if you’ve starved and his lips are the only things that can satiate your hunger, and he wasn’t wrong— you have waited way too long for this, you’re going to take every chance you get and make sure he won’t be able to forget the way you touched him and played with his body as you please like no one did before.
Separating from his lips you place your hand on his tits, you start to squeeze and massage them, pinching his nipples and playing with it. Toji's breath becomes ragged and whines every now and then slips from his mouth, everything was so overwhelming, just then his vision turned white and again he came onto the sheets, tears pricking his eyes and falling down his cheeks onto the sheets, not long after you came inside him 
“Haa I- hngh~ are- mmh!” Not understanding what he’s trying to say, you caught his lips in yours and kissed again, Toji noticed a trace of gentleness and savored every single bit of it until it quickly disappeared. 
Feeling him stop from moving you separated your lips from him, seeing him passed out you quirked your eyebrow, you contemplated if you were going to continue or let him rest, glancing at his face to see his peaceful expression one more time, you came to the decision that you’d let Toji take a rest for now.
Pulling out of him you picked him up and laid him down on his back, taking out the sheets and venturing into the bathroom to fetch wet towels to wipe his body down with. After replacing the sheets and cleaning Toji and yourself up, you lay down beside him, pulling him close to you. You convince yourself it’s just because it was cold and wanted some source of warmth, before closing your eyes and falling asleep.
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coefore · 1 month
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I did it! This is an IDW AU born while watching The Green Knight (2021), specifically from one movie shot that I'd like to redraw. I was torn on whether or not to draw them all as robots or humans, so I started making designs for their human counterparts first - mostly because it is more fun to come up with clothes and accessories. I will eventually tackle a robot version. This is a long post, btw!
Indeed, this is a completely separate version from the Lion King AU I had come up with a couple of years ago, I just borrowed the crowns because I really liked those designs lol.
But let's set the stage under the cut. You can listen to the playlist on spotify dedicated to it: I've placed the songs in sequence so that they can create a certain vibe for the scenes I had in mind. You can read the plot part while listening.
Some character traits
This royalty au supposes a parliamentary monarchy (like the UK, Spain or Japan). This work is an in-between of later Roman/early Medieval aesthetics and some Futuristic Stuff. The Autobot brand is the royal family crest, while the Decepticon brand can be used to signal the Protector and their entourage, but only in formal settings outside the nation. Usually, the Protector can show elements of the Decepticon colours (red) in their attires.
Optimus Prime
Optimus is prideful and domineering: he knows he has the power to do real damage to people. After all, he was born into royalty and has known no other life. He has anger outbursts, but that's a side effect of his paranoia. At the start of the story, he is not the prime yet. He's around 23-24, already suffering from a mental affliction much like schizophrenia, but, just as in ye old days, the court and his father (Zeta) are not really concerned about his odd behaviours. "He is just volatile", you know. He is also dramatic, making big scenes when his emotions are too cooped up. Optimus, though, is not intentionally cruel - this isn't a Shattered Glass au where he wants some kind of bloodlust sated. He has a deep inner mind, feeling much more like a philosopher and a writer than a brute. This makes him a little naive, too, having people in court (like Prowl) taking advantage of him - and sometimes even Megatron uses his influence on Optimus to stir him where he wants to. He reads a lot, is curious, and is deeply in love with Megatron - sometimes becoming a little cringy about it. He can be a bit of a goofball, telling jokes and being rather affectionate with his family. Sadly, he's a Pisces.
Megatron
Megatron is a diligent engineer who just so happens to pick the Prime's son's interest at some point while assisting his father (Terminus, a strict, distant man) in a job at court. Optimus and Megatron are the same age. He is aloof, quiet and a very good listener. That means he often allows people to speak over him or for him - that doesn't mean, however, that he isn't going to correct them or speak his mind. He is just a careful man. Coming from a rather cold family environment, he has a hard time expressing his emotions, both verbally and physically: he kisses and hugs, sure, but that doesn't come naturally to him. After becoming protector, he has a hard time getting used to the court lifestyle since he is quite bothered by the intricacies of royal "rituals", may they be clothing, hairstyles or make-up choices. Or Starscream fussing over him about that all day. He also often stands up against abuse of power, especially from Optimus. They fight quite a lot. He enjoys drawing (buildings, like architecture) and reading novels, but he's not particularly cultured. He is also, sadly, an Aquarius. (And transgender, but this has no political or social bearing in the story besides being Rodimus' biological carrier).
Prowl
Prowl is about fifteen years older than Optimus, becoming his advisor once Zeta Prime passes in "a tragic accident". He is ambitious, cunning and... Deceptive. His ultimate goal is to push Optimus to insanity, convince the parliament he is unfit to rule and become reagent in his stead. This would allow him to create an oligarchy with other senators. His words always support Optimus' delusions, abusing the Prime's naivety for his scheming. Prowl thinks of Optimus as an idiot lucky enough to be born in a high position in the social pyramid. He has attempted various times to "warn" Megatron, one of the few people who is extremely suspicious of Prowl. And by warn, I mean having him pushed down the stairs, giving him a nice broken leg. He also acts suspiciously around Rodimus.
Zeta Prime
Zeta Prime was a balanced, careful ruler. He held concerns about his son's future, as he thought Optimus wasn't fit for a leading role. He was a stern man and often frustrated by Optimus' antics. However, their relationship was on good terms. He was "found" dead by Prowl during a political meeting abroad, as he was standing in for Alpha Trion (Zeta's advisor), prompting Optimus' coronation. Zeta wasn't sick, but all primes in this AU suffer from haemophilia (a hereditary illness that makes it harder for the body to stop bleeding).
Rodimus
Rodimus was born three years into Optimus' primacy. He was brought up in a restrictive environment, as Megatron grew more suspicious of Prowl, fearing for Rodimus' safety. That translated into Rodimus feeling anxious when Megatron's not around (for too long, at least) and becoming a little jealous of him, even if it's Optimus taking Megatron's attention. Rodimus uses "dad" for Megatron and "Father" for Optimus. He doesn't like Optimus too much, usually bearing his presence and ignoring him whenever he can, but deep down he worries about his father, too. He is a very knowledgeable child with a vast vocabulary, as he enjoys books of every kind and, just like his dad, he is a good listener, learning a lot from the "adult conversations" around him. Rodimus is often seen together with Starscream (his nanny, in a way lol), who he is fond of but has difficulties showing it. He becomes Prime-to-be at the age of 16, like all Primes.
Starscream
Starscream was the royal alchemist, an inspired researcher and a man of science. He is loyal and has strong opinions on many subjects, especially on morals and ethics. That is also why, during Zeta's late reign, he was demoted to servant with the accusation of insubordination. He is still a high-grade servant, usually dealing with bureaucracy... Until a new Protector shows up, that is. As soon as Megatron becomes a Protector-to-be, he is assigned the role of first maid in assisting him, a task he takes very seriously. Although Megatron's distance and lack of interactions with him drive him quite mad at first, he slowly realises they're quite compatible. Their relationship evolves into confidants and then friends, as Megatron often takes Starscream's side. Also, Starscream has been suspicious of Prowl since day one. He enjoys Rodimus until he starts being a little opinionated pest-- but he's fond of the child, even as he grows older and more anxious. His hobby is sneaking into the court laboratories and fixing whatever annotations made by other alchemists he deems wrong.
Skywarp & Thundercracker
They are part of the Protector's entourage (and Starscream's brothers). Skywarp is a little airheaded, a bit clumsy, and usually focuses on entertainment, mostly writing poems and songs. He is the only one who knows all the intricate inner passages of the court's buildings by heart, meaning he never gets lost. Thundercracker, on the other hand, is a bit more cocky. He is built like a brick, so he helps with manual tasks and is a decent leader, usually picking up the ranks when Starscream is busy. Both of them were not demoted like their brother, they just started working at the court as high-grade servants. They are very loyal to Megatron, although they treat him more like a royal than a friend.
The Plot (generally speaking)
Optimus is interested in this one engineer working at the court he has seen a couple of times in the last few months. He is gorgeous, and it sounds like a fun time to fill in his afternoons, maybe even getting some sex out of it. That's a thing he hasn't lacked in his life, like most royals he was used to having sex workers available at whim. However, Megatron doesn't seem too affected by the Prime-to-be's attention. He is very deadpan and interested in him as a person; he finds Optimus interesting and funny, so, in a matter of weeks, they kind of hit it off, Optimus falling madly in love with this man, spending most of the time daydreaming and absolutely useless at his duties, much to Zeta's dismay.
As this love story progresses over the next couple of years, Prowl's machination starts rolling out: being a young overachiever, he patiently waits for the chance to get rid of Zeta in a way that doesn't point directly to him. After all, Prowl is trusted and seen as loyal and caring for the Primes he serves; he is an incredibly talented actor, having the support of a few Autobot senators, too. On an out-of-country political trip, he lets Zeta bleed to death, coming back home in a hurry to announce the Prime's death and rushing Optimus' coronation. At this point, Optimus is not mentally ready to hold that position; he is quickly pushed to marry Megatron, making him his Protector. In a matter of a year and a half, Optimus' mental state quickly deteriorates, allowing Prowl to take hold of the neo-Prime's decisions.
Optimus' mental illness worsens, which stresses Megatron into stirring his husband away from Prowl. Rodimus is born in that worried, paranoid environment. Although mostly wanted by Optimus as one of his fixations (and also discouraged by Prowl himself), Rodimus brings more stability to the court. Megatron finally takes hold of Optimus' volatile behaviour as Rodimus grows older, making the Prime doubt his advisor's suggestions more than once. Prowl, thus, "warns" Megatron to lay low, having him pushed down the stairs. The goal wasn't to kill Megatron but to show him Prowl could. As Rodimus turns seven, Megatron becomes more anxious and paranoid, rubbing that over to his son. Optimus doesn't allow them to go around the court or outside without being accompanied.
Prowl's hold on Optimus slowly slips away. At the time of Rodimus' coronation as a Prime-to-be, during a medical examination for his haemophilia, the court physician (Ratchet) tells him he needs to be careful, as that illness was Zeta's cause of death. That was a known thing, of course, but it made Optimus think over the mechanics of his father's death in a way only an obsession-driven man can. He confides with Megatron over his suspicion of Prowl killing his father, and finally, they seem to be on the same page on this...
This is somehow the story up to now. I don't know if I'll update it further. I just enjoy the idea of whatever can happen in this setting. I hope you enjoyed reading this wall of text.
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msafterhours · 11 days
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Saccharine | Act Two
Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi
[Act 1] Act 2 (~14.7k words) [Act 3]
Note: this is not intended as a standalone story. If you haven’t already read Act One, I’d highly recommend doing so before reading further so that you don’t miss out on important context.
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As the dawn of the final day of 2021 breaks over the horizon, you finish acquiring the answer to your earlier inquiry. Apparently, nothing awaits, as for the first time in a long while, swaths of darkness have been painted over your hours of slumber. It’s been a stark contrast, even compared to the mundane manifestations that have previously filled insignificant periods. Especially for a mind as active as yours, it’s become an unwelcome disruption to your expected existence, plunging you into a deep fatigue that you’ve been unable to shake. And to top it all off, another disruption awaits you upon awakening—this time landing squarely in your inbox.
ASong4You: I’m going to be with Soyeon the whole broadcast, so if we’re going to meet up again, it’ll have to be at or after the afterparty ASong4You: Should I look for you somewhere?
For as much as she dislikes being called cute, it’s honestly adorable how straight she’s playing this. As if it’s completely normal to have someone make you see stars upon the first time meeting them in person. But the truth of how rattled she is reveals itself in the vulnerability she’s exposed. So, you might as well pretend to play along. Somewhat.
TurnThePage: Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s easy to find me at the afterparty TurnThePage: We’ll see how it goes from there
The read notification acts as enough of a response for you, and you close the app. Until a realization hits and you reopen it.
TurnThePage: Also bring me my fucking scarf
You see another read receipt and the beginnings of a message, but then, a pause. You immediately know; you can hear the laughter she’s undoubtedly doubled over with—the memory echoing in your mind clearer than the chirps of the birds outside your window.
ASong4You: Fuck no, this thing’s comfy as hell TurnThePage: THAT’S THE POINT ASong4You: Alright fine, but only if you ask nicely
You nearly do as she asks, but pride jumps in front of the word “please” in your mental dictionary and refuses to allow you access. So—just like you’ve always done—you pivot.
TurnThePage: What if I come gift wrapped with a little bow on top
This time, the memory echoes resonate through your mind long before your phone vibrates with a response. The clarity is borderline concerning, but you cast it aside as you return to her response.
ASong4You: Then you just might get me to do as you ask TurnThePage: I still don’t get why I have to do something to get my stuff back ASong4You: To be fair you never had to give me it in the first place TurnThePage: To be fair, they’re still there, aren’t they?
Read? Yes.
Replied to? Of course not. All you’re left with is a protracted silence that paints a picture worth a thousand words.
TurnThePage: You know what, maybe just keep it for now TurnThePage: You never know when you might need it, especially at this time of year … ASong4You: I swear to god I’m going to give you bruises that’ll make mine look like fingerprints in comparison TurnThePage: Wouldn’t want it any other way.
What a way to start the morning. Your routine passes by in a flash, leaving you facing a familiar screen and the unfamiliar dilemma of what to do with a few hours of free time. Your mind casts itself back to her earlier statement and her plans for the day, inspiring an idea that influences your plans for its remainder. While you may have professional obligations at this event, there’s no reason you can’t benefit from some personal profits along the way. So, you send a few quick emails that net quicker responses, and from there, you’re off to the races. You stockpile a selection of questions, feebly attempting to justify this personal project’s importance, and, a few hours later, you leave. Well ahead of schedule; just in case.
You arrive alone, head held high as you greet the familiar security staff who wave you right on by. This time, you're more selective in your choice of targets—more specific in the questions you ask them. You keep the conversations short, just barely long enough to glean the necessary information without claiming a spot amongst their memories of the night. No more than an hour passes before you know exactly where every performer will be and when they'll be there, affording you clarity on where you want to be and where you need to avoid.
Your efficiency is quickly rewarded as once again, even though you have hours until the broadcast goes live, the performers begin arriving in droves. With your opportunity fast approaching, you tap into the vast repository of knowledge you’ve gleaned over the past couple of years and make a few stops along the way towards your destination. Once your hands are full of items that you know idols tend to request during waiting periods—water, fans, phone chargers, etc.—you step into the waiting room reserved for an absolute all-star lineup of idols tonight.
One by one by two by one they arrive until ultimately you’re flanked by five. Some of the hottest faces in the industry—figuratively and literally—sit around the table with you, shining brighter than spotlights as you all share war stories and discuss the year in retrospect. Hwang Yeji, leader of ITZY, is happy to share about her members’ Christmas craziness and her own ambitious New Year’s resolutions. Kim Minju, Music Core host and alleged actress, shares about her particular difficulty facing the struggles that all the IZ*ONE members must be feeling post disbandment. An Yujin and Jang Wonyoung, maknaes of the aforementioned group and mega stars of their new one IVE, provide their own insights on the struggles and successes of the past year of their lives. But it’s the sixth member of the conversation you have the most questions for. Because Cho Miyeon is the one who sits alongside you as you ask her question after question about the time spent since she last stood under the spotlight seven months ago.
Under this pretense of an interview—some project about this year being the liberation from lockdowns and what it means to those with fans around the world—you foster familiarity and fondness in the hearts of these fellow aspirants, these industry peers that a fool might allow themselves to call “friends”. Your initial questions are precise, measured, and specifically aimed towards achieving one goal in particular: endearing yourself to the ally of your enemy before your date with the devil. Even as the performers come and go, changing outfits and patiently sitting until their perfect faces are painted enough to be “presentable”, you keep the conversation alive. At first, you keep the flame lit with convenient kindling, sharing stories you’ll happily let leave this room and asking questions you prepared well in advance. However, the group’s congregation precedes two hours of waiting for the broadcast to begin—and that’s not even mentioning the two or so more that’ll pass before they’re scheduled to go on stage. In an effort to hold back the darkness, your stories become less selective and secrets begin to slip past your lips amidst the sea of words pouring out from all involved. You respond to a question about how you choose the topics to write about, then add on an explanation of how you choose what not to write. From there, the conversation shifts, and Yeji ends up sharing a dream that’s been haunting her—one about love and loss and the end of life. You share your sympathies and nearly get far more specific about your own experiences before you catch yourself and course correct, leading the conversation elsewhere. The IVE duo puts forth quite the interesting tale of adapting to dorm life with their new quartet of members and the difficulties of rewriting their tendencies from living with the IZ*ONE members. Once again, you share a similar story and then a bit more, telling of your own shock when your editor had recently been fired and the difficulties of finding a suitable replacement. Not every thread of conversation ends up involving you, but many do, leaving you with an ever-shrinking suite of “safe” stories to share. It truly is a lovely interview. It's also the least important reason you're there.
You’re fascinated by how the conversation ebbs and flows, especially as Yeji leaves for her group’s performance and the IVE duo departs twice to do the same. It leaves you with further opportunity to inject a deeper sense of intimacy into the conversation, inviting the others to join you in confiding your concerns. Minju seems all too happy to oblige in one such moment, divulging to you and Miyeon the depths of her fears of irrelevancy in an industry so cutthroat—especially with a future so unclear. Before you can even begin to offer a response, Miyeon—someone who’s had no need to initiate a conversation due to the frequency of questions directed towards her—speaks up, sharing her own struggles in the aftermath of Soojin’s departure. You offer her the respect of absolute silence as she reassures Minju, revealing the significance of the impact losing only a single member had on her and empathizing with Minju’s struggles in facing a similar feeling but with such greater magnitude. It strikes you suddenly how precarious the platform of popularity must be for these rising stars to feel such fear in the face of the unknowns awaiting them on the other side of midnight. Once the magnitude of the moment has lessened, you offer what empty empathy you can before deciding on a more tangible course of action: deleting the recording, erasing the entirety of three hours of a potential transcript in an attempt to protect their privacy. Both immediately offer their genuine gratitude as they look to you with shock clearly visible in their eyes, refusing to allow you to diminish the significance even as you put forth a paltry attempt to brush it off with a claim that you can use some old recordings or something. Eventually, you all drop it and move on, even if they don’t share your reason for doing so. They never realize why you’re so willing to lie, why you couldn’t care less about the recording. Only you truly know that you’ll never be able to forget this conversation.
In hindsight, you'll find it funny how everything unfolded. Coming in, you intended to be memorable. You wanted to be likable. You needed Miyeon to smile upon hearing your name. In all aspects of your planning, you succeeded. You just never accounted for the effect she'd have on you.
The missing trio returns shortly after, and the conversation thankfully returns fully to simpler topics, allowing you a brief respite. You can’t help but let your posture slip as well, resting your head on the back of the couch as your body slumps to the side. It isn’t until you feel the couch shift slightly that you realize you’ve halved the distance between you and Miyeon, who seems to adjust her own position on the couch. But she doesn’t pull away. She moves closer … just slightly. Not enough to close the gap, but enough to tease the possibility. Even for you, someone so perfect at performing the part you need to play, it’s enticing—even more so when considering the events of the past week. With your current position atop the peak of anticipation, a strong breeze could be more than enough to unseat you, and instead there’s a raging storm of possibility seated less than a meter away from you, demanding you detour away from your current path. Somehow, you manage to resist your urges, reminding yourself you’ve come too far to divert from the opportunity at the end of the tunnel. As tempting of an unknown as Miyeon might be, you know you’ll never forgive yourself if you miss out on the opportunity to know her.
What is it about her that leaves you desperately investing time and effort into figuring it out?
How does she seem to have the most specific comments at the most opportune times?
Why the fuck is Song Yuqi the reason you can’t sleep at night?
Regardless, it ultimately matters little, as it’s minutes later when you rejoin the conversation and less than an hour before the quintet is called to get ready to perform. You stand as well, offering them thanks for their time and well-wishes for their performance before mirroring their hopes to see each other at the afterparty. Miyeon is the last to leave, reaching back to close the door and holding your eyes for two moments longer than you’d expect before shutting it and leaving you alone.
-x-
Roughly ten minutes later, their performance comes on the broadcast and you enjoy the f(x) homage before quickly tuning out upon its conclusion. With another two hours to go before the broadcast’s end and the subsequent mass exodus to the hotel hosting the afterparty, you concede to your fatigue and decide to rest your eyes. One set alarm later, the world around you fades and you drift off into the darkness. Upon your arrival in dreamland, you’re surprised at the darkness’ refusal to disperse, leaving you blind within an expanse of eruptions. On one side of you, you can hear the crashing of lightning as a thunderstorm rains down its wrath, while on the other, you can hear the crackle of flame as it spreads and ignites vast swathes of this obscured landscape. No matter where you try to look or turn, the dueling elements match your movements, perfectly mirroring one another as they come ever closer. Just as you’re about to melt under their might, you are quite literally saved by the bell as your alarm clock rouses you back into reality.
Only five minutes of the broadcast before the real party starts. Literally. You stand, stretch, then step out of the room riddled with remnants of secrets shared over the past six or so hours. Within the halls of the venue, you can hear the voices of the groups as they sing their final performance of 2021, leaving you alone among the staff and solo performers. Solo performers like Miyeon, whose gaze immediately captivates you as she confidently closes the distance.
“Hey you. How’s it going?”
“Doing good, kinda just still getting my bearings after waking up,” you answer, intentionally letting a yawn escape to sell the point. “What about you?”
“Well, I was looking for Soyeon, but I think my other members might have left a long time ago. Maybe I’ll see them at the afterparty but … wait, did you say waking up? What have you been doing for the past two hours?” Miyeon asks, jealousy spreading across her face as she arches a judgemental eyebrow.
You put forth your best sheepish expression as you explain, “Ah, gotcha. But, uh, yeah … I watched your performance—you were amazing by the way—and then decided to take a nap. It’s been a long day, so catching up for a couple of hours was very helpful.”
Miyeon’s eyes roll and arms cross as she scoffs, “Lucky you, I’m still exhausted!”
“I mean, I’ve heard caffeine can’t fix everything,” you say, teeing up your suggestion as you capture her eyes once more. “But it’s definitely worth a shot.”
“Or two,” she immediately adds, smiling in a way you can’t help but mirror. “You think anywhere’s going to be open tonight?”
“Speaking as a self-aware coffee addict myself,” you dramatically declare. “I’m absolutely sure someone was smart enough to stay open and cater to those in desperate need.”
You feel the corners of your lips climb up your cheeks as her eyes light up, brighter than a flash of lightning as she responds, “God, I hope you’re right! Then let’s go; you want a ride?”
“Of course, after you! We’ve been here for far too long.”
Your conversation from before resumes seamlessly, allowing you to speculate with her about the inevitable insanity that’s sure to define the upcoming countdown. From within the tinted windows of the company car you can see the last nightfall of 2021, a year you’ll define by shadows and the lights that cast them. It’s borderline hilarious how backwards this entire year has seemed, with your capitalization on lockdowns leading to terminally online fans thrusting you into the spotlight while (G)I-DLE’s scandal forced them to take a step back into the darkness. Some might take this opportunity to reflect, maybe even celebrate their growth and accomplishments; you know, ask the world to give them their flowers or something. Not you. You’d rather guarantee tomorrow’s bloom by spending today sowing seeds. So, you make absolutely sure to get Miyeon’s drink order right before you run inside and order the trio of drinks. One for you, one for Miyeon, and one for her manager. Just in case, because you’ll never know when you’ll need to cash in on the priceless value of a good word.
Later—a week, month, year from now—you won’t remember the words shared in the back seat of the car chauffeuring you to the hotel. Some matter, more than usual, but none of them resonate soundly enough to derail the train of thought chugging along through your mind: why does Miyeon, this wonderful girl who smells faintly of roses and whose cheeks get rosy pink near the end of her drink, tolerate her transgressions? You want nothing more than to ask, but you keep your cards close to your chest, knowing that now isn’t the time to reveal your hand. You’ve come too far to risk going all in now.
You need not test your patience for long, for shortly after your brief diversion, you hit a cluster of traffic outside the hotel—an impeccable indicator of your intended timing. Even from a distance, you can see the ever-shifting stream of stars shuffling into the hotel’s lobby, where you’re sure that a whole galaxy of partygoers awaits within. Almost immediately, you shift the conversation towards the delicacies on display, getting Miyeon’s perspective on her peers and their approach to parties. On one hand, it’s fascinating getting insights directly from someone within the ecosystem rather than interpreting the ripples that reach the edges of the pond. On the other, it creates the exact kind of conversation you’d hoped to inspire—a cautious yet fervent discussion of many of the quiet things everyone’s dying to say aloud. And with a significant number of idols across a multitude of generations congregating in the area, you have plenty of kindling to keep the passionate conversation ablaze, all the way through the line of cars and even up to the entrance itself.
You arrive together, head down slightly as you whisper back and forth with Miyeon, continuing your soft scrutiny of the other arrivals. Once inside, even though there’s a sea of individuals milling about, your eyes immediately find your intended target. Near one of the back left doors out of the main hall stands the only person who matters—a short little blonde wearing a cute black dress and an expression so shocked you’re surprised the whole building hasn’t short circuited. You find satisfaction in the surprise in her eyes as she desperately attempts to process your arrival. In that stunned countenance, in the vulnerability visible, you find your victory. You find the moment you’ve dedicated the entire final day of the year to. Now to find a drink.
After bidding Miyeon a fond farewell and wishing her luck in finding her other group members, you take your leave and begin wading through the crowd, intent on reaching a high-visibility area. You can't even make it over to the punch table before her hand is clasped around your throat.
No words are spoken. None are necessary. You knew the implication of your actions. You knew full well the exact contents of the message you'd send by arriving with another member of her group. And as you look down at her, you're met by the fire in her eyes burning bright blue, hotter than you've ever seen. Her seething expression presents a question. Your shameless smile presents your own. Somewhere along this charged connection between you two, a spark ignites the fuse. There's no backing out now.
It's only a matter of time before you two burn this whole damned building to the ground.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world.
“Just for once, won’t you fucking listen?” she asks, pulling her hand away and balling it into a fist as her voice drops dangerously low. “I know you think you have your reasons for hating me and I’ll even concede that some of them might be valid, but you have no reason to hurt her or any of my friends. So fuck off.”
You don't offer a response—at least not directly. You brush past her, gesturing for her to follow as you make your way towards your original destination: the bar and, most importantly, away from the center of the crowd.
Your tone is hushed as you speak, drawing her closer to you. It’s not a visual you’re especially fond of, but a necessary sacrifice in the name of privacy. “I’m not gonna stand here and lie to you by saying that my reasons for talking with Miyeon are entirely altruistic,” you concede, pausing for a moment as you smile at the bartender and give him your order. “But I am speaking the truth when I say I have no intentions of letting her get caught in the crossfire. Unlike some, I’m considerate enough to keep innocents from getting involved.”
You turn back and witness her reaction, drinking in the delicious disbelief as she declares, “How dare you! I give everything to make sure they’re not affected by my actions!”
Someone else might have believed her, but you know better. “What about the audio tech you punched while filming with your members?”
You find another flash of vulnerability in her eyes, but in a blink, it disappears, hidden behind her defenses. “That was the third shoot in a row he’d made a mistake and clearly he wasn’t listening to the previous warnings!”
“And the outfit you ripped in half mere hours before performing?” you ask, taking your drink from the bartender and sliding him a fair bit more than its cost. You give him a certain type of smile and he nods in recognition, swearing silence and allowing you to dedicate the entirety of your attention to the interrogation at hand as you resume walking towards the fringes of the lobby.
“The stylist showed up hungover with multiple botched outfits for our first ever awards show!” she fires back as she follows close behind.
Another sip. Another step. Anything to create some semblance of distance away from the crowd. “And the CUBE employee guidelines? The list of rules that every new hire needs to know in order to protect themselves from you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she huffs, but the sudden hurt in her eyes reveals the truth behind her lies.
“Alright, I’m sure you have plenty of excuses ready, but I think you’re intentionally avoiding the obvious question,” you say, stretching out the silence with another slow swig from the glass as you continue to walk. “Don’t you think that the best way to protect your friends from collateral damage is by not causing it in the first place?”
Her eyes avert once more, refusing to acknowledge you or the truth. “It’s not that simple. Just—god fucking damnit—please don’t rope her into this. I don’t know who’s told you those stories or what they’ve told you, but …”
She trails off suddenly, cut short by the singsong sounds of a familiar friend’s words on the wind. For once, you have no trouble finding her eyes as both of you tense upon hearing Miyeon’s voice in the crowd, moving in your direction.
“Well, it’s been fun, but I know that she’s looking for you, so—”
“I’m not done with you yet.” Her voice cuts in, ending your sentence as her eyes sweep across the room, scouring the sea of stars as she searches for the voice in question. “You’re coming with me—I’ve been here before and I know somewhere private we can finish this conversation.”
You raise your hands in mock surrender, smiling wide as you respond, “Very well, princess. Lead the way.”
“Do not fucking call me that,” she growls, grabbing your arm and all but dragging you towards a pair of nondescript doors amongst many others decorating the wall. Her surprising strength aside, you’re happy to oblige, following in her footsteps as the proximity lets you catch a whiff of something unfamiliar on the lips you’d so closely acquainted yourself with. With a sudden realization, you receive an unspoken answer to the question of what she’d been doing prior to your arrival; you discover what’s fueling the fire behind her eyes. You realize that she’s running on liquid courage as she quietly opens the door and pushes you inside. All the bright lights fade as she slips past and the door closes behind you, plunging you both into darkness.
Your mind’s still working in overdrive as you stand in the darkness, but as you place your drink down and break the silence, you can’t help but test just how long her fuse truly is. “Really, a supply closet? Could you get more cliché?”.
Even before she turns on the light—even before she turns and you see the fire in her eyes—you know your words have acted as a final spark just based on her posture alone. Because she does turn on the light and she does turn to face you. But she doesn’t look at you the same way. You’re no longer the threat you might have been ten minutes ago. No, when she looks at you now, she wears the cruel confidence of a huntress ready to strike. Guess who that leaves to play the part of the prey.
“Here’s the fucking problem.” A single step forward, shortening the gap between you two. “You have so much shit to answer for …” Another, and she’s halfway to you. “But I’m so fucking sick of hearing you talk.” Once more, and you have to hold your breath to keep from fanning the flames of the inferno looking up at you. “So I’m gonna make you forget every sob story you’ve heard about me.” She continues, pushing her body against yours until you’re backed up against the wall. “Because I’m not the Disney villain they make me out to be …” Her hand wraps around the back of your head, pulling you close as she whispers in your ear, “I’m so much fucking worse.”
Her fangs flash for a moment before plunging into the side of your neck, nearly piercing your flesh as she hungrily sucks at your skin. Immediately, your hands latch onto her sides, desperate for any semblance of a tether to reality as your adrenaline skyrockets and your head spins. You try to snake a hand up her shirt—try to find some possibility of going on the offensive—but she immediately pounces, smacking it away as her own hands start exploring.
“Oh, not so tough now that I’ve got you right where I want you, hm?” she taunts, denying your ability to catch your breath or muster a response as she crashes her lips against yours. It’s so unlike you to be caught without an answer—so unlike you to be the one without a plan. Last time, things were under your control, but this time, any inhibitions you might have expected her to carry seem to have been left at the door. This time, she’s the one with hands up your shirt, scratching and clawing and exploring every centimeter of the chest that contains your pounding heart. Your hands shift down, finding a perfect fit as you cup the curve of her ass and lean into the kiss. The sweetness of cherry clashes with the familiar burn of hard liquor, adding to the endless list of sensations vying for your attention.
Your eyes finally snap open as her lips unlatch from yours and her hands pull away, allowing you the briefest of moments to inhale some much-needed oxygen. Even in her silence, you feel her emotions emanating throughout the room. Temptation. Jubilation. Vexation. Exhilaration. Oh, and lust. So much fucking lust. All it takes is the tiniest raise of her eyebrows and a hint of a smirk to fuel the flames as she sinks to her knees. There’s a dark edge to her words as her eyeline meets your beltline and she chuckles, “Wow … looks like someone’s excited to see me.”
You can’t help but let out a small laugh of your own as you wonder how you’ve let things get this far. It’s you. It’s her. It’s the fact that you’re about to do this in a fucking storage closet of all places. The fact that you managed to survive meeting her and still came back for more. None of the choices that’ve led you to this moment have been correct, but you’re already flying Bad Decision Airlines, so why not fly first class? “Aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”
Her eyes roll with the poise of a practiced gymnast as she deftly unbuckles your belt and unbuttons the top of your slacks. The ungodly glint in her eyes gleams once more as she leans forward and captures the zipper between her teeth, dragging it down as she looks up at you with wicked intent. Go ahead, you hear through unspoken words. Keep pretending like you’re in control—like you’re not putty in my hands.
Your pants hit the floor, and you’re concerningly convinced that your pride’s soon to follow. Her hands glide up your legs, ghosting over your calves and teasing your thighs before snaking their way inside the underwear your cock has been straining against since you first laid eyes on her. Immediately upon contact, you can’t help but shiver. Not because of the cold—that’d be impossible with this much heat in the room. It’s the culmination of the anticipation that’s been building within you all week, no, for months now. If not longer. … Definitely longer.
And it’s all been leading up to this: your cock pulsing with anticipation as she drags your underwear down and takes it in her hands, letting her warm breath wash over it as her tongue runs over her lips and she reaches out to—
You both freeze, locking eyes. She sees the conflict in your eyes. You see the concern in hers. You both stop—separating as she rises from the ground and you get dressed in a hurry—because you both heard the same songbird from before, this time singing your name as she searches through the crowd.
“What. The. Fuck.” Her not-quite-question hangs in the air, acting as accusation, bewilderment, chagrin, distrust—nearly a whole alphabet of bad vibes—all at once.
You raise your hands in the air, attempting to act innocent for once. “Hey, I wouldn’t lie to you.” Obviously, that’s a lie and it slips seamlessly off your tongue. “I had no ill intentions when getting to know Miyeon better and growing our professional friendship.” That’s a lie too. “I was genuinely enjoying talking with her.” That one … isn’t?
Ultimately, her skepticism never leaves, but she forces herself to do so. After taking a quick peek out of the door, she slips out, rejoining the ever-shifting mess of a crowd that continues to speak so many words while saying so little.
-x-
Shortly after—specifically after finishing your drink—you do the same, sneaking out and finally joining the New Year’s Eve party in earnest. You rub shoulders with a couple managers, compliment the dress of a soloist, and even round out the numbers for one group’s drinking game.
Once you finally step back and return to the periphery to get a refill, you get a wonderful view of the lobby and the celebration of the industry you’ve spent the past four years trying to conquer. Surface level analysis would likely call it beautiful; those with a bit more insight might point out the darker components that keep the machine running smoothly. But as entrenched as you are, you know the truth can be found somewhere between the two extremes. Nights like tonight, where the honest truths spoken earlier drown out the honeyed lies you hear all around you, remind you that the pressure exerted by the spotlight on these young stars surrounding you can produce truly resplendent diamonds. And looking out across the floor, it brings a smile to your face to see so many shining so brightly.
It’s just such a fucking shame that leverage is only found in the darkest rooms of the penthouse suite. As much as you’d like to linger on the line of thought, a familiar flash of brilliant blonde in the corner of your eye cuts it short. A quick glance confirms your suspicions: it’s a bad idea led by the best of intentions.
“Hey, you,” a bubbly voice calls to you.
“Oh, hey Miyeon,” you say, allowing the warm smile to naturally develop even as you struggle to silence your internal screaming. “How're you?”
“I'm good, glad I finally found you!” she exclaims, shining brightly as ever. “What’ve you been up to, enjoying the party so far?”
“Oh, you know. Mostly just making the rounds, getting to know people better. Listening to their jokes, laughing at most of them while finding few of them funny,” you say, sharing a shocking number of words for them all to be true. “What about you?”
“I found my pseudo-siblings! It’s always nice to catch up with Sana and Jiwon, especially since it’s been a little while since a big in-person event like this has happened,” Miyeon explains, smile unwavering even as you see her mind cast back to the past two years. “But all that aside, I wanted to introduce you to my groupmate and very close friend, Yuqi.”
Your eyes lock. Your breath catches as your throat dries up. Somewhere in the background, the music shifts to a slower song and you can even swear that the lighting changes slightly, casting a golden glow on her face. Maybe it’s all just your imagination.
What’s undeniably real is the smirk she wears so well, silently presenting you with a question even as the arch of your eyebrow presents your own. For once, she drapes herself in shockingly steady confidence, causing you to almost feel proud of how well she’s hiding the shared history between you two. This time she’s the one who shatters the brief silence, bowing slightly as she says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’ve heard nothing but good things.”
You mirror her bow, painting on your own smile as you respond, “The pleasure’s all mine; I’ve heard so much about you too. How’ve you been enjoying the party so far?”
You watch as her smirk widens, showing hints of the predatory smile she wore not too long ago. There’s no stopping your own expression as it morphs to mirror hers. Both of you know full well how much danger you’re putting yourselves in—how little subtlety there is to the game you’re playing. Each of you toes the line of letting slip your little secret, but neither of you seems to care. Instead, she simply says, “Oh, it’s been fine so far. Uneventful compared to what’s coming.”
“Indeed,” you volley back. “This is my first time at one of these New Year’s parties. Do you know if there’s usually a big event around midnight?”
“Isn’t there always?” Yuqi asks, chuckling incredulously as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Some people definitely stick around for the countdown,” Miyeon explains, her smile warm and welcoming.
“And the others?” you ask, clearly offering the bait for Yuqi to pounce on if she so desires. But she’s not the one to do so.
“There’s a reason the invitations suggested booking a room in advance,” Miyeon adds, allowing the implication to hang in the air as hints of humor find a home in her smile.
“Then I should be glad I’m so good at following directions,” you jest, refusing to grant Yuqi the satisfaction of allowing her to stare into your soul as you hold Miyeon’s gaze.
“Indeed,” you hear Yuqi growl from behind surely gritted teeth. “It’s so nice to come to one of these parties and not have to worry about unexpected circumstances.”
“Normally I’d agree,” you begin, finally flashing a genuine smile in her direction. “But what better time to have fun than tonight?”
“Fun?” she echoes, ghosts of a smile teasing the corners of her lips as her competitive spirit rises once more. It’s impossible to miss the unspoken challenge in her words; she’s daring you to define your definition of fun, like she’s dying to know if it matches hers.
"Isn't that what these parties are about?" you reply evenly, ever the professional. "A chance to let loose without the scrutiny of the public eye."
Her laugh is hollow and haughty as she shakes her head, seemingly in disbelief at your response. “You’ve clearly never been to one of these parties before.”
“Even the tiniest of leaks is too much of a risk for everyone here,” Miyeon explains amiably. “Too much to lose, nowhere near enough to gain.”
“At least not on this floor,” you add, allowing the unspoken words to speak volumes as you raise your glass for a toast.
This time, the humor reaches Yuqi’s eyes as her icy demeanor begins to thaw. “Now you’re getting it.”
With a clink of your glasses, the conversation shifts, weaving its way from topic to topic as the three of you discuss the cities you most want to visit, music of all languages, first impressions, and so, so much more. Expectations be damned, it isn’t anywhere near the clusterfuck you’d feared it’d be—if anything, it’s nothing short of really fucking fun. The chemistry you three share is vivid without straying into volatility, and as much as you hate to admit it, the conversation is at its most vivacious during the interactions between yourself and Yuqi. You, for once, hold nothing back: sharing stories freely and firing off joke after joke without a second thought. Miyeon acts flawlessly as the bridge between you two—quietly contributing to most of the conversation yet eager to jump in on a topic she’s excited about—acting as the light that allows your duet to shine. That, of course, leaves Yuqi as your partner in this performance, but not the Yuqi you’ve come to know. She seems different in this environment—less ferocity, more sincerity. As much as each of you still has a part to play, the lack of tension makes her all the more enthralling, drawing you in as her genuine laughter slices through the intoxicating haze permeating the party. But the shocks don’t end there.
The first time Yuqi tells a joke, you’re caught so off-guard that you can’t help but burst into laughter. The second time, you’re more prepared, yet you’re still left in stitches. And the third—where you end up saying the punchline in unison with her—strikes all of you out. Tears form in the corner of your eyes and stream down the faces of the other two, leaving you all gasping for air even as you laugh so hard it hurts. As you regain your composure, you look through blurry eyes and catch a flash of something in Miyeon’s expression. It’s hard to pin down—a quirk of the mouth or a twitch of the nose—but there’s something hidden somewhere under her radiance that you fear is recognition. It certainly doesn’t help when she excuses herself for a moment, leaving you and Yuqi alone as she goes to refill her drink.
“I never would have thought you’d be a fan of the NBA,” you admit, turning and meeting her eyes with ease.
“Funny you should say that. I’d never have imagined you’d be someone who loves hot pot too! There’s this place in Beijing that’s to die for; you’ll have to try it sometime,” she says with an effortless smile. On instinct, you smile back, but just like that—a single mention of China—and you’re back in the real world.
The one where her vile actions are afterthoughts and her victims’ faces are forgotten. “Maybe I’ll have to go there next time I’m in the country,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you struggle to quell the surging storm.
The one where she’s been invited to these kinds of parties from day one while your invitation has been four years in the making. Her eyes twinkle excitedly as she asks, “Oh, have you visited before?”
The one where she seems incapable of losing while even a chance of victory costs you everything. “Twice, actually,” you explain, sighing deeply. “Once to Beijing, and once to Hangzhou.”
The one where she’s gotten under your skin, leaving you defenseless as she holds a gun to your heart. “Sounds like some bad memories,” she comments, a combination of curiosity and concern across her countenance as she refuses to let your gaze escape hers.
The one where you’ll do anything to hide the shameful fact that you wanted nothing more than to exactly what she wanted and scream her name that night in Hangzhou. So, you make sure she’ll forget you ever mentioned it. “Well, the last time I was in Beijing was almost four years ago, when someone spent well over ten minutes verbally assaulting a poor production assistant. So there’s that.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you can feel their edge sever any connection that’d been built up over the course of the previous conversation. Her casual posture is cast aside as recognition and resentment both register, leaving only a smothering silence in the space between you two. Those eyes—sparkling just a moment ago with genuine interest—harden into smoky quartz. The edges of her lips thin and tighten, the earlier cheer fading into a cold, impassive line.
"You're judging me for something that happened four years ago?" she counters, voice low and coated in disbelief. “Most people would have forgotten something like that by now.”
“Most people don’t have the petrified visage of a poor stylist recounting your misdeeds burned into their memory.”
“Is that so?” she deadpans. “Tell me, was it Xuě? Lìlì? Who told you that story?” You meet her questions with silence, and she immediately pounces on the opportunity to continue on. “You don’t even know. You’re desperately clinging to a long dead justification and attempting to bring me down alongside it.”
Your blood returns to a familiar boil—the type only she can bring out of you—as you respond, “My sincerest apologies for the lapse in memory, but who are you to speak of justifications? The reason I can’t remember her name is because I was too stunned by the vitriol you were screaming into some poor man’s ear one room away from me!”
“He’d sabotaged my schedule, trying to make me miss an evaluation just before the final lineup was decided! He was trying to ruin my career!” Her reply climbs in volume, threatening to draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity as your tempers begin to flare and clash against one another once more.
“And why do you think he wanted to see you fail?” you ask, whispered words slipping out in a single breath. From your lips, a question. To her ears, an accusation. In both your minds, you know full well that the only part that matters is that it’s the beginning of an impasse. So now, you’re both stuck staring, waiting for the other to make the first move.
You just happen to be the first to do so. “We need to stop this; we’re getting nowhere, and we’re never going to get anywhere,” you say, exerting tremendous effort to keep your voice steady even as the pounding headache threatens your rhythm. “At least not on this floor.”
The look she gives you is incredulous, but you know her too well to miss the signs of intrigue hidden just beneath her mask. “What the fuck are you on about?”
“We’re both staying here, right?” you ask, pausing for a moment and earning a nod of confirmation. “Then we have a chance to truly make tonight memorable … maybe even have some fun along the way.”
“I don’t think I like where this is going,” she says aloud, but her eyes silently plead for you to continue.
Your smile stretches wide as the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable and dangerous as your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I think you will. I’ll message you my room number and we’ll go our separate ways—you can tell Miyeon that I was too tired to stay or something. You’re welcome to visit my room at any time, but if you decide not to, we’ll both have a quiet New Year’s Eve.”
“That isn’t much of a game,” she says, eyes narrowing in anticipation. “There’s a catch, isn’t there? There always is with you.”
“Of course, why play without stakes?” you confirm, laughing hollowly as you continue to dig your own grave. You’re too far in at this point—too invested in the lie to let it slide now. The game you two have played has always been dangerous, but now, with your pride on the line, you’ll accept nothing but a victory. You can’t lose to her. “I know that you’re coming back with a new album soon. If you manage to make it to midnight—if you win—I’ll make sure you shine brightest in the most glowing review I’ll ever write. And that’ll be it. We’ll both leave this hotel tomorrow and go back to our normal lives, pretending that none of this ever happened.”
“And if I don’t?” she asks, trying her best to remain calm.
She’s always brought out the worst in you. “Then you’ll come to my room and we’ll finally finish what we’ve been building up to for months.” It’s about time you showed it. “But I’ll write an article dragging the whole fucking group through the mud in the harshest condemnation you’ve ever seen, and the only consolation you’ll have is that only you and I will know it’s all your fault.”
“You wouldn’t,” she immediately retorts, but one look at the unhinged dance of flames in your eyes and she knows better than to test your resolve. “Fuck. You would. You absolutely fucking would. Why are you like this?”
It takes you a moment to gather your strength, but you reach deep into your bag of tricks and pull out a neglected yet powerful weapon: the truth. “Because I’m tired of seeing you escape the consequences of your actions. I want to see you make a decision that matters for once. And honestly, I’m just curious if you’re going to be able to sleep at night knowing you missed the chance for me to make all your dreams come true.”
You see hints of the ghost of her competitive spirit once more in her eyes, but it remains mostly hidden, obscured by the smolders left in the wake of the fire that burned so bright. “Yeah? My dreams are pretty hot.”
“Yeah? Mine too,” you fire back a moment later than you should, seriously unnerved once again by the specificity of her words. “Seems like we’ll both have to bring our best when you visit my room.”
“You’re so, so wrong …” she whispers, words exiting her mouth as if unbidden, captured by a phantom and transported to your ears against her will.
“I’ll leave you with your thoughts,” you whisper, leaning close to personally deliver your parting remarks into her ear. “Now, be a good little professional and smile as you walk away. You wouldn't want people to get the right idea about us, would you?”
You send one last synthetic smirk her way before departing, making your way towards the elevator as you check the time: a bit past ten, which means you’ll have to wait less than two hours for your answer. As you ride up to your floor, you send her your room number, closing the app before checking to see if she’d read your message. As you exit the empty elevator and see a flash of color in your periphery, your mind races with potential ideas. You immediately jump back in, hitting the button for another floor as you decide on a couple of places you’d like to stop by. Your mind is made up by the time the doors open once more, and you begin your preparations in full.
Regardless of the outcome, it’s going to be a long night.
-x-
No one ever views a high-tension elevator ride as a descent. Why would they? After all, the person closer to the top literally has the higher ground. However, the grimacing visage of the lone individual riding down towards another's room tells another story entirely, one that unveils just how little control they have over the situation.
The stop is sudden, shattering their reverie. A chime pierces the silence. The doors part, revealing a mockery of a red carpet and an empty vase before them. The figure exits, walking as slowly as they can bear. They reach an intersection and avoid the right choice. They walk towards the door in question. A single step. Then another. A third. A fourth. A fifth. A stop. A turn. A sigh.
An extended arm. An icy feeling. Cold metal. Another turn. Another sigh. An unlocked door. As expected.
The handle twists and the door swings open, revealing the dimly lit interior. What little light fills the shrouded space is amplified by the faint scent of rose. One sense is clear. Anticipation. The other is crystal. The sharp laughter of its inhabitant. Taunting. Beckoning. The lone figure allows the door to slam. They walk forward, braving the abyss.
-x-
The absurdity of the whole fucking situation hits you as you hear the hinges creak, ripping a cackle from deep within as you lay atop the bed. The door slams, and the soft sound of footsteps lasts only but a moment before emerging from the hallway is none other than the guest of honor, Song Yuqi. You capture her eyes and brace yourself for the heat, but the stare that meets yours is anything but. Her bloodshot gaze struggles to find your eyes as her eyelids fight an increasingly losing battle against the pull of gravity. Even as her sagging shoulders straighten slightly at the sight of you, it’s impossible to miss the lack of grace she normally displays. “Long nights?”
“And longer days,” she responds, clearly fighting back a yawn even as she paints on an insipid smirk.
“I know the feeling all too well,” you say, hints of sympathy beginning to seep through into your speech. “Come, share a drink with me. Maybe it’ll help ease your mind.”
Your words seem to inspire a slight awakening in her as she looks around and truly witnesses your handiwork for the first time. In your hand, a glass, with an identical twin on the bedside table alongside a bottle of your favorite wine. Scattered all around the room sit petals of rose, carefully arranged and lying so patiently as they paint a picture of your intended mood. You expected her to be here. You can only wonder if she ever believed differently.
“I could, but that isn’t why I’m here,” she says, sashaying across the room and leaning in close. “Besides,” she continues, overtly tipping your wine glass, allowing its contents to paint your shirt a dark burgundy. “We really need to do something about those dirty dirty clothes.”
You refuse to break eye contact, but your muscles tense at the chill running down your chest and staining your skin. Your hand shifts in a wordless challenge—one she’s all too willing to partake in—tipping the glass back towards her and causing a free flow once more. Admittedly, the effect of the sanguine liquid isn’t as dramatic flowing down the silk of her black dress as it is on your white shirt, but the view of her cleavage coated in crimson sends your heart rate into the stratosphere.
“We really do.” Your words barely have to travel as you stand and close what little distance remains between you two, casting the wineglass aside as you pull her into a passionate kiss. Her whole body melts into yours as your tongues clash, both of you fighting for superiority even now as you slowly push her back. You can feel the force of her heart, frenetically beating against her ribcage like a drum even as you both stumble and crash towards the bathroom. Once within, you push open the shower door, haphazardly turning the handle somewhere near the top as the deluge drenches you both. The sudden cold is a shock to both of you, earning simultaneous gasps as you watch the water coat her flowing golden hair before descending upon the midnight silk of her dress.
As the temperature rises, so too does the heat. Her soaked attire begins to cling to the curves of her body, and you're more than happy to do the same. Your hands grip and grasp at her breasts once again, savoring how perfectly they seem to fit against your palms. Hers find your hair, tugging insistently and intertwining pleasure and pain in the way only she seems to have perfected.
“Ffuuucckk.” The groan she elicits from you slips past your lips and behind hers almost instantly, sending shockwaves that resonate into the kiss neither of you has allowed to break since the water's initial shock. You barely have to wait before your moans are mirrored as she murmurs back, “God, the way you—fuck—how can you …”
The most minute of mercies is all you're willing to offer as you detach from her lips, instead tracing a perfect mirror of the path you'd taken sometime between a couple days and a lifetime ago: starting right behind her ear before nibbling on her earlobe, the lightest of kisses on her cheek and along her jawline, past the reminders of your indecencies, then finally all the way down the throbbing vein of her neck.
“I need to be inside of you,” you say, searching for her eyes and finding them somewhere amidst the storm.
“Right fucking now.” She finishes the sentence for you, nodding in agreement and gripping the hem of her dress as you tear off your belt.
Some part of you deep within sends a prayer of gratitude to the shower’s architect as you utilize the vast expanse of its luxurious interior to slam her into one of the drier walls outside the direct flow of the water. Her once-slumped shoulders heave from a lack of air and anything but a lack of anticipation, eyes wide and wild as they invite you to approach. You're all too eager to accept, planting one hand on her shoulder as the other reaches past your waist and finally frees your cock from the confines of your clothing. After blindly pulling her well-drenched panties to the side, you look her in the eyes once again—make sure that she knows the precipice you stand atop and that she's willing to jump with you. With the smallest of nods and not even a hint of hesitation, she steps up to the edge alongside you. Together, you take the plunge.
Immediately, the friction overwhelms your senses as you push into her, earning echoing moans from you both as you shudder at the sensation. “Fucking hell, you're incredible,” you growl, unable to silence the admission as you desperately focus your entire being into slowly progressing deeper.
“Keep fucking going,” she’s quick to growl back. “Don't you dare fucking stop until you're fully buried inside of me.”
"Of course, princess,” you manage to say even as you struggle to breathe. “Your wish is my command.”
"Fuck you, stop calling me that," she hisses through gritted teeth. "If you wanted a princess so bad, you should have invited Miyeon."
"But darling," you declare, drama dripping off your words. "I thought you wanted me to stay away from your friends? Or is it different now, now that I've got you exactly where you want you? Do you want them here to watch as you whimper and writhe under my touch, wetter than the ocean yet begging for more?"
“I fucking hate—” You cut her loathing short as you bury yourself to the hilt, ripping another round of moans from you both. Even as the heat between you two and in the nearby pipes rises, you can't help but revel in it, savoring the taste of your victory. You give her no chance to conclude her thought as you up the intensity, slamming your hips into hers at an ever-ascending rate.
While one hand remains bound to her breast, the other finds a home tangled in the soaked strands of her hair. Intentionally or otherwise, your hold on her tightens as the vice grip of her cunt further suffocates your shaft, granting you both the friction you've been desperately craving. The water quickly becomes the second biggest drowning hazard as waves of pleasure threaten to overwhelm you both—pushing you to the edge of ecstasy and tempting you to tip over it. “Holy fuck,” she sobs, voice strangled, scratchy, and nearly silent beneath the downpour. “You—you—”
This time, you're kind enough to allow her to attempt to continue, but her verbal communication skills fail her entirely. On the other hand, her body seems all too willing to tell you the whole story and a bit more. She's absolutely gushing around your cock as she clings onto you with more than just hands, seemingly unwilling to crest the climax without you in lock-step behind her. Unfortunately, the universe seems even less willing to cater to her requests than you are, sending her careening off the clifftop without even a morsel of remorse. The spectacle is sensational, leaving you so close to finishing alongside her, but you’re anything but done here.
It takes a herculean effort, but you manage to pull out of her, causing her eyes to shoot open for the first time in forever as she stares daggers into your soul. Your view is incredible: you see her makeup, running and ruined as her tears fall alongside the shower's flow down her face. As much as you'd like to suffer under the scrutiny of her stunned stare forever, you have a better idea. You toy with her slight frame once more, flipping her around with ease as you push her face first against the shower's glass wall. Within seconds, you're back inside her, thrusting like a madman as cries of ecstasy escape her once more.
“You like that?” you taunt, mind racing a mile a minute as your thoughts try to keep pace with your thrusts. “Like the preview of what's to come?”
“What … the fuck … are you talking about?” she gasps between broken breaths.
"Oh, you couldn't possibly have thought that this would be the end, did you?” you ask, expecting anything but an answer as she looks over her shoulder and you watch the danger in her stare dance behind her eyes. “No no no, next I'm going to take you back out there and fuck you against the window so that anyone who looks up is met with the glorious sight of how much of a slut you are.”
Even through her streaks of tears—born of both pleasure of pain—your inciting yet inviting words are met by both defiance and delight alike. Her voice never wavers as she warns, “I fucking dare you to try it. You're just as likely to get burned as I am.”
Your eyebrow arches, intrigue clear in your expression as you comment, “I thought we agreed that we both like to play with fire.”
“Keep fanning the flames and you just might find out,” she says, the amusement in her smirk standing strong even as you continue ravaging her insides. Somewhere—hidden amid the seabed beneath the waves of pleasure rocking her body—she even finds the audacity to wink and you both find yourselves wearing a certain type of smile. The type you both wear so well; the one only worn in each other's presence.
The shower's flow and slapping of skin keeps the silence at bay as your serenade of sin shifts from semi-verbal back to solely physical. Her lower lip finds a familiar home between her teeth as you turn her to face you once more and choose to plant your own pair atop one of her swollen nipples. You're all too willing to nip, suck, and tease at the sensitive nub, elevating her moans even further until your profusion of pleasures pushes her past a fever pitch.
“Fuck me damnit,” she demands, accentuating her point with a roll of her hips that sends a spike of dopamine through every inch of your body. “Fuck me and don't you dare fucking stop until I cum all over your cock again.”
Your mind wants nothing more than to retort, but your body has higher priorities, using that precious oxygen to power your thrusts as you lead the chase towards your shared climax. It'd be a kindness to give her exactly what she wants, but for once, you're willing to indulge her desires, especially since you conveniently seem to want the same thing. So, you fight, prolonging the burn in the hopes that you can bask in the flames of her desire a little longer, long enough to let it scorch you to cinders until there’s nothing left but the ashes of your self-control.
You only have to stretch your efforts across a minute at most before you’re met with a familiar sight. Even though you've only seen them twice before, you immediately recognize the signs of her oncoming orgasm—the shaking of her shoulders and the hiccups in her throat that convey an uncannily familiar feeling. “I'm close,” you whisper as you rest your forehead against hers. “Where should—”
“Inside!” she rasps, straining to choke out every word. “Do it damn you—I want to feel you shaking as you shoot every last drop inside of me.”
“Jesus fucking christ—” Your reply comes to a sudden end as you cut your words short, knowing better than to ask for mercies she'll never give. Instead, you do your best to cling to whatever coherence remains after the damage her words dealt, desperate to experience the absolution that only the statuette of sin in your arms can offer. And offer it she shall, as it's only moments later that her orgasm overtakes her, suffocating your cock with her tightness as the pace of your thrusting is brought to a near stop. Any grievances you might have had are gone in an instant as the sight of what you do to her sends you soaring over the peak after her, twitching and thrusting until you bury your entire length as deep as she can take. Rope after rope of your cum act as the strokes of a brush as you paint her insides white, defiling her in a wholly new way that neither of you could possibly enjoy more.
Eventually, your orgasm comes to a stop, but you refuse to. Neither of you gets a moment to rest as you instead resume fucking her, sending shockwaves up her spine and down your shaft as overstimulation brings you both to the familiar convergence of pain and pleasure. Every alarm bell in your body rings in unison, begging you to grant it respite from the overwhelming sensitivity as you continue to fuck your cum into her. But just as you've always done when it comes to Yuqi, you ignore every warning sign in sight as you keep thrusting, continuing your assault long after she's burst through her breaking point once more. Her third orgasm hits harder than the previous two combined, forcing you to keep her upright as you give her everything she's ever asked for and more.
Her shaking form eventually stills and you finally yield, granting her the most miniscule of mercies by withdrawing your cock from her. She immediately slides down the glass of the wall, collapsing onto the floor as you try to steady yourself and stay standing. In your efforts to do so, your hand finds the shower's handle and you cease its flow, allowing the echoes of your extended recoveries to resonate throughout the space.
Black spots cloud the edges of your vision as your muscles ache in the best kind of way. A minute later, when your sight finally returns in full, you're met by the picturesque sight of Song Yuqi—one of K-Pop's brightest rising stars—burnt out and panting at your feet as she too tries to come to terms with what just occurred. After another minute, you finally bring your breathing under control, but she's the first to find her voice.
“You … holy fuck,” she whimpers, gaze still hazy as she searches for yours.
“Yeah,” you say, eternally grateful for the eloquence gained through years of writing experience. “I've never …”
“Yeah?” she asks, rubbing her eyes and finally lifting the fog. “Never what?”
“Any of it—hell, all of it—nothing's ever come close to what just happened,” you admit, offering her a helping hand she’s more than willing to take. “Don't you dare lie to me and say you're any different.”
“No, never,” she tells you, allowing the truth to finally be out in the open.
With so little distance between you two, there’s nowhere to hide as you hold each other close, daring the other to be the first to break. There’s something in her eyes that threatens to bind or blind you—something you dare not confront. Not tonight. Maybe never. So, under the weight of her stare, you allow yourself to be the first to look away. “We should get out of these clothes before we catch something serious,” you murmur vaguely in her direction. “I’ll lay everything out to dry; you take a shower and I’ll follow suit once you’re done. That sound good?”
“Something like that.”
Her monotone delivery leaves you with nothing but questions, but you know better than to allow yourself to search her face for answers. Instead, you step outside the shower, dripping moisture all over the floor as you finally strip out of the saturated suit you’ve sported since sunrise. Once naked, you turn to her and try your best not to stare as you take her bundle of clothes before she steps back into the shower. It’s only a brief moment, yet it’s the first time you see her fully bare, leaving even the most inspired corners of your imagination looking like a child’s scrawling in comparison to the artistry that is her body. While you’re sad to see her go, you love to watch her leave—eyes glued to the slight bounce of her ass and rippling of her toned thighs as she walks out of your sight and under the water flow once more.
As she washes away the traces of your transgressions, you do your best to lay everything out to dry. You hastily unfold her balled up dress and lay it out across the bathroom sink, then make your way back out to the room and lay your own clothing across the table and chairs in the corner of the room. You can’t help but crack a hint of a smile at the rose petals still lying in wait, but your eyes truly come to a halt upon the wine entering your view. Barely even a decision is made before you’re striding across the floor, stopping only once the bottle is within reach and the cork has been yanked out once more. The glasses you’d requested are forgotten as you instead drink straight from the bottle, savoring the flavor as its contents dull your senses and wash away your inhibitions. It’s a familiar feeling and a far better friend than you’d like to admit.
You barely even have to kill time before you hear the shower cease once more, giving you your cue to reenter the bathroom and be greeted by the goddess’ mortal form once more. The simple act of her standing there is a gift to you as your perspective presents you with a view of her perfectly smooth skin acting as the backdrop to the droplets’ descent, her towel telling the stupefying story of her subtle curves as it hugs her hips in an impossibly tight embrace. Your eyes fight gravity as they yield to temptation, traveling up the tense muscles of her back and past the sharp edges of her shoulders, continuing ever upwards until they pass her long locks of brilliant blonde; continuing still, all the way until you catch a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror and how they've been observing you ogling her.
“You should hop in the shower. I still need to dry my hair,” she suggests, surprisingly sparing you the shame of having been caught staring.
“Yeah,” you say weakly, averting your eyes and walking away. The heat of the water immediately relieves your tension, allowing you a moment you refuse to use for reflection. Instead, you rush through your cleaning routine, barely registering any external stimuli as you singularly focus on your sole goal. When you shut the water off a couple minutes later, you’re met solely by silence. When you step out of the shower, you’re met by your reflection as the only other inhabitant of the bathroom. And once you’re fully dried off and step back into the bedroom, you’re met with a sight shocking enough to restart your heart. She’s there, on your bed, hair splayed out like a curtain of gold laid upon the pillow as the familiar pink and red of rose petals laid delicately atop your skin, obscuring your view of her chest and cunt.
“This won’t do …” she drawls, dissatisfaction salient in each sultry syllable as her eyes lock on to the destination of roughly all of your blood flow. “You’re not nearly hard enough for me.”
With a single, impossibly deep breath, she blows away the rose petals, revealing the obsidian lace of the lingerie she somehow dried during your shower. Without hesitation, your body begins to address the object of her anger, growing painfully hard and even more so as she curls a single finger, beckoning you over with a look that could set the Han River ablaze.
You’re all too happy to oblige. As you draw closer, you notice her freshly applied makeup: smokey eyeshadow and ruby red lips that paint a crystal-clear message in your mind. She’s not here to fuck around. She’s here to fuck you within an inch of your life.
The bed is more than large enough for two, and as you lay beside her, you amend one of your earlier observations; while her bra has remained dry, her panties are absolutely fucking soaked. You turn to her, opening your mouth and intending to ask her how she did any of this, but a single finger laid upon your lips locks them and keeps you silent. Her lithe form easily climbs atop you, straddling your hips as she leans in, giving you a fucking fantastic view of her cleavage once again as she nibbles on your earlobe.
“My fucking turn.”
With a roll of her hips, she grinds against your shaft, making your cock burn with sensation as the lace drags up and down the sensitive skin. At this angle—you beneath her as she coaxes everything she wants from you and more—you’re caught under the cruelty of her grin as the light casts shadows that accentuate rather than hide her beauty. Another roll, another realization. She’s got you cornered—physically, mentally—she might as well have a gun to your chest and yet, there’s a thrill coursing through your veins. When she captures your lips, she does so with a ravenous frenzy, teeth sinking into your lower lip and pressing until they’re dripping with the blood she craves. There’s no mistaking the fact that you’re the prey she’s been hunting. All that’s left to decide is whether or not you want to escape, and you’re leaning towards no.
"Are you scared?" she asks. It doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like a challenge.
"No," you answer truthfully, knowing full well that in the midst of this chaos—this maelstrom of ash and anticipation—fear has no place. “I can handle the heat.”
“Can you now?” Her laughter is a wicked, dancing flame that sears your senses as you witness her smile run ruthlessly red as she licks the remnants of your blood off her upper lip. “If that’s the case …” she trails off for a moment, reaching back and grasping your length with the unimaginably smooth skin of her hand. “Then don’t come crying if you end up getting burned.”
In the next breath, she takes yours away, sinking onto your shaft with a devastating aggression. Immediately, your lungs begin to tense and strain, desperately searching for air amongst the shallow gasps you sneak in between the slamming of her hips. It’s futile. When she feels like this—hot, wet, and walls wrapped around you so impossibly tightly—you’re better off attempting to offer up a prayer than trying to seize control.
Her onslaught leaves you reeling, back arching and fingers digging into the curves of her hips as you chase an even greater high. She’s relentless, unyielding, as if she refuses to allow you even the slightest opportunity to halt her momentum. Even as she gasps in exertion, it still adds to your torment, sending you tumbling ever closer to the edge of pleasure and pain alike. Her nails rake down your chest, carving molten mementos of her insatiable desire that you won’t soon forget, yet the more these sensations blend beautifully amidst this consuming chaos, the more irresistible it becomes. The way she rides you is primal, rough, yet somehow, unmistakably her. Demonic laughter echoes throughout the room as she rolls her hips ruthlessly, yet still it brazenly teases a promise of the pleasure to come.
Her body moves rhythmically against yours, riding up and down the length of your shaft at an incredible tempo as your heart rate soars ever upward. Your vision is pulled in a million different directions as every aspect of her figure demands your undivided attention—the ghosts of her fingertips as she delicately traces the lines of your abs, the faint hint of her nipples poking against the constrictive fabric of her bra, the unrestrained glee in her grin as she triumphs over the echoes of fatigue and maintains her ceaseless assault. Ultimately, your wandering eyes come to a stop at the sight of her evocative visage, long locks framing her face like a curtain, shielding the rest of the world from the harrowing beauty of this huntress whose sight searches solely for you. You can sense the wicked satisfaction in her gaze, a feral delight in seeing you under her control. Her voice is a low purr that vibrates through your core as she leans in even closer. "Scared now?”
"Never," you choke out in response, swallowing hard as her breath cascades over the sensitive skin of your neck.
She chuckles lightly, "We'll see about that."
You respond not with words, but with a tighter grip on her hips as you sense an opening and thrust up into her, disrupting her tempo with ease and issuing a silent challenge. She gasps in response, and there are hints of flushes—flashes of hunger—across those features hidden in shadow. Her satisfied smirk fades from her face, displaying instead a delirious delight that makes your pounding heart skip a beat. “Such audacity,” she murmurs, subtle signs of mirth showing in her shaking voice.
She’s quick to adapt to the new tempo, moving in perfect synchronization with your thrusts instead of attempting to seize back sole control. Somewhere along the thread that’s inexplicably tied you two together, you find harmony, allowing you to match each other’s strikes with dangerous precision. Her hands climb your body, tangling themselves in your hair and tugging harshly enough to send shivers down your spine. You cling onto her as if she’s the only thing keeping your consciousness intact, fingers digging into her hips deep enough to bruise as each stroke causes an explosion of sensation across your entire being. It’s an intricate dance of power and pleasure: intoxicating, addicting, and—just like she’s always been—impossible to resist. 
Amid the rasps of fuck and you and I and oh my god and yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssss, you see a flash of inspiration in her eyes, warning you even before she acts that she’s up to no good. A groan of frustration is ripped from your chest as she slows the pace, leaving you burning with a desire for more pace, more friction, more her, but if the look of bliss on her face at the long, slow strokes is any indication, you’re likely to be left wanting. It’s even worse when she stops entirely, hand wrapping around your throat, desperate for air even as she refuses to allow you any. It gives you a second to stare, to really take in the sight of her as she studies you right back. Even like this, the “flaws” in her appearance—hair disheveled, bra crooked, panties tugged aside, makeup marred by exertion—only serve to further showcase her perfection, leaving you hungry for more. You relax your clenched fingers and grant her hips the slightest of respites as you reach behind her back and unclasp her bra, finally freeing her breasts and their stiff peaks that call your name. Her panties present a bit of a conundrum, but you’re so intoxicated by the image of her you refuse to be reasonable. You muster up your initiative as your hands slide down her sides and rip them to shreds, finally revealing her in her glorious entirety.
“Those were expensive, you know,” she spits, but the words don’t hold as much venom as they normally do.
You shrug, wrapping your hand around hers on your throat as you reply, “So was my scarf.”
And then you both get back to trying to fuck the other into an early grave.
There’s a tempest of wills clashing—her burning desire against your ceaseless refusal to relent—that elevates you both past any limits you might have believed you’d had. The size of your hand dwarfs hers, but there’s an undercurrent of understanding, even as she so clearly communicates the threat she poses. Her eyes, shrouded in shadow, catalog every twitch of your body beneath her. She releases her grip on you before pushing herself up against your chest, bracing her palms as she arches her back in the most alluringly seductive way. The freedom granted to your airflow is for naught as the sight of her leaves you without breath, thought, or any way of slowing the climax you’re suddenly hurtling towards.
“You’re so fucking hard for me,” she whispers, cruelty and craving alike coloring her countenance as she captures your eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you need? If you ask nicely, I might even give it to you.”
“In your fucking dreams,” you fire back, a feral smirk spreading across your face as the opening notes of her melodic laughter play for you. 
But her song stalls as her breath hitches, hiccups of pain and pleasure overpowering her as you feel the quakes overtake her. You wrap your arms around her back, pulling her close as her orgasm overwhelms her, coating your shaft and gushing down your thighs as she reaches the pinnacle of euphoria. Her teeth sink into your shoulder, seeking stability instead of sanguine satisfaction as her moans send vibrations across your skin, sweeping you up in the ecstasy she’s experiencing. You groan in agonizing pleasure as you meet her atop cloud nine, wincing at the magmatic flow of your white-hot cum shoots into her. In each other's arms you find incomparable pleasure, traveling together all the way from the ninth circle of hell to the seventh heaven.
You stay inside her longer than you need to, long enough for both of you to catch your breath. With a regretful groan, you pull out of her, opening up the floodgates of both of your cum to flow freely down her beautifully bruised thighs. You look to her, desperate to call for a draw, but instead you’re met with the face wearing the weight of weariness and shadowy eyes that seem to see right through you. Before she can even offer a single word, she collapses, tumbling to your side and laying her face against a pillow before going still.
-x-
After a brief confirmation of a pulse, you pull the sheets and covers over her, leaving her in silence before heading into the bathroom and cleaning yourself up. Upon your return, you’re anything but surprised to see that she’s gone, drifted off to dreamland, taken by tranquility. The sight steals your breath away, stunning you as your mind grapples with the notion that this peaceful sleeping angel inhabits the same body as the devil who rode you ‘til rapture mere minutes ago. You muster up a couple crumbs of courtesy as you quietly move through your hotel room, pulling on an old pair of jeans and a shirt you’d rather hide beneath the hoodie you instead hang on the door before sneaking out into the silence of the hallway.
You take a left, then a right, pause, then walk past the vase you’d raided earlier and choose to descend as the elevator doors close behind you. On the back wall sits a mirror and trapped within stands your reflection, staring through you as you study yourself. Your practiced posture protects the truth of the present—prevents the outside world from seeing the fatigue pervasive throughout your system. You’re shaking out of your reverie by the sound of a ding and the sliding of doors, revealing your desired floor behind you. You back out, refusing to break eye contact until the doors do the deed for you. You sigh, turn, shake your head, then trek forwards towards your destination. Ahead—beneath a wooden slab stained with stories—sits a suite of stools, empty and for the taking. You mount one and offer a small nod to the bartender, who seems surprised by your presence, though not your appearance.
“Long night?” he asks, grabbing a glass and setting it atop a coaster as he finds the answer in your eyes long before you vocalize it.
“I mean, yeah,” you chuckle, running your finger around the rim of the glass. “In all the best ways. Surprise me.”
His eyebrow rises as he catches the glass you slide back to him, pondering for a moment before turning and scouring the shelves. “Oh yeah? Then how come you’re here, especially now? Don’t get many visitors this late after hours.”
“There’s, uh …” you pause, considering how much honesty you want to offer before resigning yourself to sharing it in full. “There’s a girl in my hotel room. You can guess what we did there, but she’s asleep now and I don’t want to be there when she wakes up.”
“That’s a new one,” he responds, hints of a surprised smile spreading across his face as he slides back the glass, now containing a connoisseur’s drink of choice. “Though I’ll admit that still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“Thanks,” you say, picking up the cup and swirling the liquid around, allowing the aroma to saturate your senses as the dark liquid sloshes around and splashes the frozen orb within. “Honestly, I’m hoping that with a little time, I might just find it at the bottom of this glass.”
“Then happy hunting, friend. Let me know if I can get you anything else,” he offers before turning to resume his cleaning.
“Will do,” you reply, raising your drink in thanks as the snug solace of silence settles over the space. A sip, a thought. Another, for naught. Try as you might, you can’t seem to wrap your head around why you feel the way you do. Theoretically, this “should” be the perfect justification for you to rip her next promotion to absolute shreds. You “should” be foaming at the mouth at this opportunity, the chance for you to give her what she deserves. This is the stuff of dreams, right? It “should” be.
You “should” be a lot of things. Conscience-stricken should not be one of them. Yet here you are. Regretful. Hesitant. Weak. Everything you shouldn’t be. Everything you hated being. Everything you swore you’d never be again.
And somehow, Song fucking Yuqi has the power to bring all of that out of you.
You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. About her. More than you’d like to admit, yet likely not as much as you should. But it’s only here, in this drunken stupor amidst the forgotten hours of the night, that you finally take the time to truly reflect on your relationship thus far. You’re one of many who’s watched her shine brightest under the spotlight’s glow, but one of few who’s seen who she is in the dark. You’re aware of the disdain lurking behind every easy smile she gives, yet the taste of her cherry lipstick is more familiar than your morning coffee. You’ve heard all the honeyed lies she whispers so freely, but no one else knows how sweet she sounds when screaming your name. You might be the only one who knows she’s a nightmare masquerading as a dream, but you’re undeniably unsure whether it’s one you want to wake up from. So many thoughts, but not even a hint of the truth you’re hunting for.
But then, somewhere in the haze, you finally find the missing piece: it’s the hypocrisy of it all that drives you mad. It's the fact that she gets to have her cake and eat it too; the fact that she gets to grow her fame without growing as a person. It's the fact that you had to get your first editor—your friend—fired because he was limiting your creative freedom. It’s the fact that her group can undergo a massive scandal and have it all swept under the rug in less than six months’ time. It's the fact that you've had to abandon the unknown groups with the most compelling stories because they're not the ones who generate views. It's the fact that you've had to budget for the price of your ambition while she can max out her social credit without a second thought.
Worst of all, it’s the fact that you’re stuck wide awake in the lost hours of the day with nothing but her on your mind while she sleeps serenely in a suite paid for by the fruits of your labor. You've long since come to terms with the fact that she's living rent-free in your head; now you're just disputing her claim to the master bedroom and both parking spots. The possibility that you might be living in your worst nightmare—that you might have become an afterthought—fills you with an icy foreboding that even a thousand scalding showers couldn’t thaw. And there’s still nothing you can do about it.
If you’re being honest, there might never be.
You slam back the rest of your drink, desperate to display a degree of decisiveness wherever possible. You’re gentler when you set it back on the coaster, but there’s still enough force to cause the bartender to turn.
“So, did you find what you were looking for?” he asks, looking down at the glass before meeting your eyes once again.
“Can’t say I did,” you chuckle darkly, pausing for a moment before sliding it back to him. “But it couldn’t hurt to check again.”
Continued in Act Three …
(I’d like to express my appreciation to @capslocked for both their direct and indirect contributions to this fic. They’ve been the biggest catalyst for my growth as a writer the past couple months and I can’t thank them enough for their time and patience. Once you’re done with this fic, please do yourself a favor and go read “Starlet” if you’re in the mood for more Miyeon & Yuqi content. Once you’re done with that, please do me a favor and bully them into writing Part 2, tyvm!)
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cenorii · 7 months
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In 2021, dirty secrets about the use of bioweapons are revealed inside BSAA + there are direct hints in Umbrella Corps that Wesker is alive. I just combine the two puzzle pieces together in my head. So let's look at another interesting post-2009 scenario.
AU - ELEGY OF FREE RADICALS
Chris was once careless about eliminating Wesker. Knowing his nature, he still didn't check Wesker's presumed place of death properly. Relying on his own luck, Chris left the place of battle and never returned there. But he had to go back. It has become his mistake.
Chris reported the scene of the victory to the BSAA. Rotten BSAA could have used that data in any way they wanted. Like going back there and checking out the volcano. They could have indicated on the documents that they were headed to clear the area of the remnants of Uroboros, but in fact to search for Wesker's remains to get rich off the sale and study of his unique biomaterial. But what they didn't expect was to find him alive. Badly injured, helpless, but somehow alive.
Taking advantage of the weakness of the still living organism, he was taken to the secret laboratory of the headquarters. Now Wesker could be under the supervision of BSAA scientists for a very long time. He's much more useful alive than dead. His knowledge, skills, all of it could be utilized. And it was also possible to conduct endless experiments on his unusual body... Testing the limits of his abilities, testing various poisons, looking at the lethality of their new weapons, and etc. He was once again a puppet, as he had once been in Spencer's hands, from which he had miraculously escaped.
The BSAA kept Wesker's abilities under strict control, he was trivially stripped of any PG67A/W injections, replaced with an alternative that was only necessary for his body to regenerate damage after the battle in the volcano, but didn't provide any additional benefits. So he would remain weak but healthy.
Another remedy was also applied to him, eliminating the consequences of merging with the Uroboros, which modified his body in a volcano. It was discovered in 2011, after the events of Revelations 2. It was rude to call it just a serum, it was something more, because it did not remove the virus itself from the body, but brought it into a more stable form, allowing Wesker to take his ordinary appearance. With him, in this form, it became easier for employees to work.
The BSAA restored Wesker, stripped of his strength, any dignity, as well as his freedom. He was bedridden for several years and various weapons were tested on him, then recorded how his body reacted and at what rate it recovered. An immobilized lab rat, a deserved punishment for someone like him? Perhaps. It was thanks to his "sacrifice" that the anti-regeneration weapon was invented, which had once come in handy for Chris in the battle against Mold.
Just think… how many things could the BSAA have invented using the infinite resources of Wesker's body? He was terrified of these thoughts. Terror at the realization that he had no chance of escape, that he was trapped here forever, that he would continue to have his organs taken out of him and be forced into endless pain. He reflected that he hadn't actually managed to do so many contradictory things to deserve eternal torment. And it's better to let him die than to endure this hell. But his own body played a cruel joke without dying. It was an expert on regeneration. His pride was trampled when he begged for death.
BSAA absolutely did not spend any painkillers and sleeping pills on Wesker, absolutely all experiments were carried out when he was conscious. They had already spent a lot of money on him during his recovery, it was a waste to spend even more on someone who could repair any of his damage.
Pain and terror haunted him for six years. He cursed what he used to idolize in himself.
And then he was forced to work for them. In 6 years he had grown accustomed to the constant pain and had already learned to see himself as nothing, sending his consciousness into free floating. Deep in his thoughts, he created a place where he learned to ignore the endless physical torment. But when he was put on his feet and pulled out of this place… Wesker was even more devastated.
It was unusual for him to suddenly return to normal work, all this created a mess in his head, reality seemed to be nonsense. The usual paperwork after hell? Are you kidding me?!
Morally, he was destroyed. His psyche was severely damaged. Wesker from the "torture room" was locked in a cell that looked like a combination of a room and a laboratory. For fear of being put back on the operating table again, he dutifully began to work and develop various things that BSAA would use in the future. But it wasn't life either. Weakened body, lack of abilities... he wanted to die, but he couldn't afford it, because he was practically immortal. Although, even if he used a weapon that stops regeneration on himself... he still wouldn't kill himself.
«Not here»
«Not like this»
At times he thought he was balancing on the fine line between normalcy and insanity. He saw people at best once every two weeks who came to check on his work and were not at all talkative. Wesker had always been convinced he didn't need company, but 12 years without socializing had made him question his beliefs.
Once a month he was provided with food, and then carelessly, because he didn't need food. His body, experiencing hunger, could devour itself and regenerate immediately.
The only reason he was given a room and released from the operating table was because the organization wanted to see what he could offer them. Of course, they didn't stop studying his unusual body and conducting experiments, but Wesker was already in charge of the process himself. Independently amputated his limbs and so on. Only closer to 2019 were these experiments stopped, because they had extracted all possible benefits from his body.
Wesker remotely, horrified, realized that thanks to his body he would live much longer than the average person, if not forever. Which led him to believe that he would be kept in this cage for centuries. BSAA would close, others would take their place, find him, torture him again. And so on in a circle, for all eternity, as long as human society and greed existed. This had to end... but how? A plan was needed, a complex one that could not be unraveled.
His life and existence was a BSAA mystery from 2009-2021. For 12 long years he was not allowed out of the walls of this cell.
Of course he wanted to escape, he had many unrealistic thoughts in his head about it. He was also interested in meeting Chris, aged, changed. To see his reaction, genuine shock rather than the anger he'd reacted to Wesker's earlier 'resurrections'. Is Chris even still alive today? What year is it now?
But this life couldn't go on forever, the BSAA was cracking at the seams. In 2021 it was revealed that they were using B.O.W. soldiers, something Chris couldn't ignore. So he headed over to European headquarters to deal with it - right where his nemesis was located, a complete headache. Chris couldn't accept that his organization, which was fighting biological weapons, would use them. It didn't fit in his head. He had long ago stopped trusting the BSAA, but this was the last straw.
Arriving there, Chris did not expect to meet someone in the basement laboratories whom he had buried a long time ago.
What was he going to do with him? Shoot him in the head without any thought? That would have been logical and in Redfield's character, but over the years he'd stopped being a complete hothead, learned to think first and then act. Gained a little equanimity.
It will turn out that it was Wesker who was involved in the creation of the B.O.W. in BSAA. Especially since these soldiers are improved clones of Chris himself. Who else could have come up with such an idea? Only to a man who thought Chris was "one of his best men".
For the past 6 years, Wesker has been forced to be an advisor to BSAA, sharing all the knowledge and ideas. He might have been able to pull it all off, if only to get back at that organization, turning Chris' anger on it, and turning his attention to himself at the same time. After all, only this "one of his best men" was the only one who could save him. Yes, Wesker was pathetic. He felt he wasn't even worthy of his former name, being so pathetic as to enlist the help of his enemy. But it was the only option. There was no more talk of pride.
However, it didn't matter now, Chris had come here to punish the founders, so their prisoner, their chief counselor, might prove to be the best informant. And an ally.
Natural intuition made Chris believe his former enemy, the biggest manipulator of them all. As if he was definitely not lying now, because he was in such a big asshole that he couldn't let his words sound unconvincing. Earlier, Chris would have easily recognized his lies, but not now. Right now, completely honest and dull eyes were looking at him from beneath translucent glasses. So damn pitiful that Chris automatically assumed the role of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.
Chris was quickly combine the information together in his head: the situation, the physique, the setting... His opponent had been held hostage by his own ambition, it couldn't help but bring a smile to Redfield's face. But he hid it in his thoughts, because he deemed it inappropriate once he read Wesker's imprisonment papers. Chris had some free time to devote to the situation.
He read about what had been done to Wesker. About all the torture. And Redfield clutched his head, when he got to the description of his ammunition that he'd used against Mold a couple years ago. He was terrified that this weapon had been created in such a gruesome way... through the suffering of his enemy, who, even considering all his guilt, didn't deserve all this. Chris felt that Wesker should have died and rid the world of himself rather than suffer endlessly. Even for him, he thought it was inhumane.
The first thing Wesker said to Chris was: - Now you've taken on the role of captain of the «alpha» too. This jabbed Chris slightly, but he noticed how the hostage said it without malice. Redfield involuntarily remembered 1998, the mansion, the betrayal, the deaths of the Alpha and Bravo group...
The compartment Wesker was in was to him both an office and a laboratory, and a room. A kind of prison, which he could not leave on his own because of his weak physical condition. He was weakened by the daily injections putting his viruses inside his body to sleep.
Releasing him and examining him at arm's length, Chris made sure that in the state Wesker was in now, he posed no danger, just an ordinary disgust. He resembled only a pale copy of his former self.
The BSAA operative dragged him carelessly behind him like some sack of garbage, concerned only with keeping the information in his head intact. But in his mind Chris still held images of what the BSAA bastards were doing here to Wesker. He didn't want to feel sorry for him, but he couldn't control it, Redfield had never been heartless. Initially he had only cared about information, but it wasn't long before he didn't even notice how protective he had become of him. As if a friend, which in truth, he never was. His captive's behavior was different from what Chris remembered. It was different, like a throwback to the past. Perhaps 12 years of imprisonment had had that effect on him.
He was docile, which wasn't surprising, since Wesker had been treated like an object by the organization, and the operating table had been a good teaching moment. Chris couldn't believe that after so many years of hell his former enemy's mind was still intact, that he hadn't lost his mind and was capable of dialog.
Time passed unnoticed during the proceedings with the BSAA about B.O.W., eventually the organization was destroyed and all its equipment, along with Chris's squad, transferred to TerraSave.
Chris during all of this had to sign Wesker into the Hound Wolf Squad as either a prisoner or an advisor. To keep him from getting shut down again, that was the deal. He helps them, they help him. Over time, he was getting back to normal. The food and good company had done their job.
However, Chris didn't know that his new ally hadn't lost all of his strength, and the ones he had were sleeping under the influence of the medicament. But time passed, the medicament slowly stopped working without new doses, and Wesker understood it perfectly well. And felt it. It didn't affect his appearance, so he could play his role for as long as he wanted. But was it a role? Sure he was portraying a courtesy that annoyed Chris to the point of nausea, but it was partially sincere. Having broken with his past at the fault of the BSAA, Wesker could only hope to find a new purpose. After all, as Spencer had raised him, there is no life without purpose.
Therefore, was it so necessary for him to betray Hound Wolf Squad? Would it be beneficial to him? Chris is a strong point. He has no doubt that if he kills Redfield - another will take his place, and will definitely get him into the basement wheel of samsara. So Wesker had no grand plans yet. After all, any of them would be doomed to failure as long as there was anyone in the world capable of resisting.
But Chris risked to give him a goal, which, however, called impossible - to become the best version of himself. To help the Hound Wolf Squad, to work with TerraSave, to use his knowledge for something other than endless failed experiments. Stop being Spencer's failed experiment. The only option Chris would give him a chance at.
Those words stuck in Wesker's head for a long time. Mentioning the old man was like a low blow. Chris knew where it hurt the most.
It had been several years since Wesker had joined Redfield's team. All that time he'd been hiding his abilities so as not to lose the fragile trust in his person. But the truth couldn't help but surface one day....
On one of the missions connected with B.O.W., the blade of an exploding helicopter blew off Wesker's head, and then another piece of debris cut his body in half.
But he didn't die.
Chris was enraged. With resentment, he felt cheated. What else could he have expected?
First, the black mass connected the body, restoring functionality to it, and then this silent carcass picked up the head. It was slow. It looked helpless and creepy. Chris's squad was on edge, but he ordered to wait. The black substance emerged from the base of the neck and attached the head to itself, then the calm expression on the reanimated head changed to horror. Was he in unbearable pain from the newly received oxygen? Or from the fusion of tendons?
When Wesker recovered, he couldn't at first think of a response to Chris' "explain yourself!"
Everyone's fragile trust collapsed, but not Redfield's, for he knew that if his former adversary had wanted to betray him, he would have betrayed him long ago, he wouldn't have let himself be so ridiculously exposed. Especially after all the torture he'd endured. Chris could understand why Wesker was hiding his powers. Redfield had stepped on the same rake of trust again, convincing himself that he had everything under control.
Wesker, ever since the prototype had merged with Uroboros in his body, had acquired a number of flaws, chief among them an unbearable sensitivity to pain. The only time he could not feel pain was when he was BSAA injected with force restraining drugs. But without them, all the disadvantages came out.
Whereas before he could recover from any wound without feeling anything but minor damage, now the pain was so obvious that every regeneration was accompanied by agony. Especially if it was a burn, for heat is a major weakness for Uroboros. The healing places on his body, after that helicopter situation, hurt like hell.
He was closer to human now than he had been before, and Chris seemed to realize that. That was why he hadn't killed him a second time, but had accepted him back into his squad. It was not only a gesture of goodwill, but also a precaution, a way to keep a dangerous object as close to him as possible so he wouldn't do anything.
How long will they have to cut off the heads of hydra in the face of the creators of bioweapons?
- Why do you trust me, Chris?
- I still believe that anyone can become the best version of themselves. We should prioritize fighting for the future to give someone a quiet life that you and I have been robbed of. I know about Project W. Together we can stop new organizations and prevent many tragedies like this from happening again. And you can help us, Wesker. BSAA took away your choice, but I'm giving it to you now.
Wesker at first couldn't find the words to respond, but after a moment he barely audibly whispered: "Thank you."
From a man who never thanked anyone, Chris was shocked to hear that. And he was proud of him. Had he forgiven him? No, his deeds were unforgivable. But Chris wasn't the kind of man who would turn his back on his one chance to make things right, to make things right on Earth, to save someone's life. In this truce, he sees a future that's bright for everyone.
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waitmyturtles · 14 days
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The Lower House (House of Representatives) will be hearing Thailand’s marriage equality bill at 9:30 am Bangkok time (10:30 pm Eastern for those of us in the States). The bill, if passed, would still have to be approved in Thailand’s Senate.
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Below the fold is Bloomberg.com's report on the happenings (source):
Bill to Legalize Same-Sex Marriage in Thailand Heads to Parliament
Bill is supported by most major parties, needs king approval
Thailand would be first in region to codify marriage equality
By Patpicha Tanakasempipat, March 26, 2024 at 2:00 PM PDT
A bill to legalize same-sex marriage could face a vote in Thailand’s parliament as early as Wednesday. If it passes, the country will be the first in Southeast Asia to establish marriage rights for gay and lesbian couples.
The House of Representatives will take up the legislation, technically an amendment to the Civil and Commercial Code, for second and third readings when it meets at 9 a.m. Lawmakers may vote later in the day.
The bill would legalize marriage for same-sex partners aged 18 and above, along with rights to inheritance, tax allowances and child adoption, among others. Prime Minister Srettha Thavisin’s administration has made it a signature issue, and advocates say it would also burnish Thailand’s reputation as an LGBTQ-friendly tourist destination.
Taiwan and Nepal are the only places in Asia that currently recognize same-sex marriage, and recent efforts elsewhere in the region have had mixed results. Hong Kong has yet to comply with a 2023 court order to establish laws recognizing same-sex partnerships, and India’s Supreme Court refused to legalize same-sex marriage, saying it’s an issue for parliament to consider.
The Thai bill would change the composition of a marriage from “a man and a woman” to “two individuals,” and change the official legal status from “husband and wife” to “married couple.”
Thai laws have protected LGBTQ people from most kinds of discrimination since 2015, but attempts to formalize marriage rights have stalled. In 2021, the Constitutional Court upheld the law recognizing marriage as exclusively between a man and a woman. Last year, a bill to recognize same-sex civil partnerships failed to clear parliament ahead of elections.
Rights advocates have higher hopes for the bill pending now, noting that it has broad support from most of the major parties. If it passes, it will need to be approved by the Senate and endorsed by the King. Then it would be published in the Royal Gazette and take effect 120 days later.
Srettha’s government has also promised to work on a bill to recognize gender identity, and the health ministry has also proposed legalizing commercial surrogacy to allow LGBTQ couples to adopt children. Thailand is seeking to host the WorldPride events in Bangkok in 2028.
Legalizing same-sex marriage could have positive effects on tourism, which contributes about 12% to the nation’s $500 billion economy. In 2019, before the pandemic froze international tourism, LGBTQ travel and tourism to Thailand generated about $6.5 billion, or 1.2% of gross domestic product, according to industry consultant LGBT Capital.
Formal recognition could boost the reputation of a place already considered one of Asia’s best for LGBTQ visitors, said Wittaya Luangsasipong, managing director of Siam Pride, an LGBTQ-friendly travel agency in Bangkok.
“It will become a selling point for Thailand and raise our strength in the global stage,” Wittaya said. “It will create a relaxed and safe atmosphere for tourism and help attract more and more LGBTQ visitors. We could also see more weddings by LGBTQ couples, which could generate income across industries and local communities.”
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loud-whistling-yes · 3 months
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All i know is the Season 9 of Hermitcraft, hc x dsmp crossover and Tilly do us apart. The rest you mention is foreign to me. So yeah and also I agreed that no person should see the entirety of dsmp history. Like damn... many things have occur in a short period of time?!
Glad you've asked! Here is a list of things part of mcyt history that has happened in the last 4 years:
Hermitcraft season 7 will be 4 years old in a month (February 2020)
The dsmp will be 4 too in a few months (April 2020)
Dream SMP War by Sadist, the video that caused one of the largest surges of popularity for the dsmp, turns 4 in August
Doomsday celebrated it's 3rd anniversary about a week ago (6th January 2021)
Yes. Almost ALL of the dsmp story up to that point happened within the span of about 5 months. From the VERY BEGINNING OF THE DISC SAGA TO THE TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF LMANBURG. It all took place from July to early January. What the fuck.
3rd life will be turning 3 in April (April 2021)
Penismp turns 3 in May. I cannot stress this enough. Remember the fake smp that predated goncharov BY A FUCKING YEAR AND A HALF and trended 3rd on Tumblr for 2 days straight??? That was almost 3 years ago now.
The surge of popularity for Passerine happens around May of 2021, following Sadist's animation Sunsprite's Eulogy
Empires season 1 will be 3 years old in June
Hermitcraft season 8 will also be 3 in June (exactly one week apart! Esmp started on 12th June while hcs8 started on the 19th)
Yes, you heard it right, the life series and empires predate season 8! Pearl and Gem became hermits roughly a week AFTER the cactus ring.
June 2021 is ALSO the month where MCC Pride 2021 took place. Y'know, the one with Wilbur's office on fire and technoblade getting nicknamed Tech by grian. THIS IS ALSO turning 3 this year. June 2021 was a wild month.
Techno's escape from prison will be 3 years old this year too. September fucking 2021. It's been 3 years since this happened.
The canary's curse has been a concept in the fandom for a little over 2 years now, following jimmy's final death in last life (early November 2021)
Moon Big also occurred around this time frame, which means it's turning 3 this year!
Mangoball becomes a dsmp fandom staple around early December 2021
The 2 year anniversary of @/chrisrin's curses last life animation is in 2 days! (16th January 2022)
Following the end of empires season 1, hermitcraft season 8 and the lore drought of the dsmp, this is where the big Content Drought of 2022 happens. This is where dreamempirescraft became a thing. This is also where that drawing came from.
Hermitcraft season 9 will also be 2 soon (March 2022). Longest season, everyone.
Double life is currently a year and a half old! (June 2022) Every mention of tilly, pearl being the devil, the scarlet pearl, something wicked this way comes, ALL of it, came from a year and a half ago
Yes, this means that season 9 saw the beginning and end of not one, not two, but THREE seasons of the life series. Longest season, everyone.
Speaking of longest season, anyone remember the esmp crossover? This will also turn 2 this year (November 2022)
Qsmp is about to turn a year old soon! This is less of a fact to make you feel old but a fact that makes you think "ALL THAT IN LESS THAN A YEAR?????", and you'd be right! What the fuck! How did this all happen in less than a year!
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didn't want to add to your post bc i'm not welsh (but asian) and haven't lived in the uk for a while so by no means is this on the same level as the celtophobia experienced by welsh people, but thank you so much for bringing up that "hahaaha your words are so complicated, too complicated for meee" thing that english people do! it's so spot on, right down to that stupid laugh! i work in academia too and i swear i've only ever seen the english do it*-- not just with names/terms/places in lectures but even refusing to say the names of speakers that they introduce at conferences. it's like there's pride in that behaviour, as if they think makes them sound humble rather than incredibly insensitive and ignorant. the other day i saw an english comedian on tv apologize (apologize!) for pronouncing a french word CORRECTLY (while commentating eurovision, of all things) because she knew it was "making her sound pretentious". like what is wrong with these people!
(* not that non-english people are always respectful about non-english/minority languages, but i've never seen them refuse to pronounce something or do "the laugh" + i've experienced a lot more non-english people at least saying "i hope i pronounced this correctly, please correct me if i'm wrong", which is marginally better. i wish more people were like you with the tanzanian terms)
anyway, i hope that lecturer faces consequences for being so unprofessional.
Oh yeah, this is a HUGE part of the problem! The one I always bring up is Amanda Holden announcing the UK Eurovision voting results in 2021. Like EVERY OTHER ANNOUNCER, she had learned how to say 'Good evening' in French and Dutch ("Bon Soir, Goedenavond."); and then, unlike literally any other announcer, IMMEDIATELY followed it up with "That means good evening in French and Dutch, but I've got no idea which is which! Tee hee!"
Friend, I can tell you now - Welsh language social media had a fucking field day.
But yeah, they are highly motivated, culturally, by the idea that respecting someone else's language is cringeworthy and pretentious. They can't handle the idea of losing face and being embarrassed in case they get it wrong, so it becomes turned around - if saying it right is pretentious, then socially, they no longer have to do it and risk embarrassment. It would now be embarrassing to do it right. Genius! They're off the hook!
Anyway, it's bad enough when they do it to us, but it's worse when they do it to Asian languages and cultures, so I offer you a fist bump of solidarity.
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blueiskewl · 1 year
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Archaeologists at Pompeii Has Turned up a New Cache of Ancient Cookware
The ancient city of Pompeii has long been celebrated as one of the richest archaeological sites of all time, and now its surrounding suburbs are finally getting their due attention. Researchers have announced new additions to the growing list of unique finds that have recently been made at a nearby villa, Civita Giuliana.
These items of pottery include fired ceramic bowls found upside down along the walls of a room that was likely part of the servants’s quarters within a vast residential complex. It is assumed that this crockery was in situ at the time of the final phase of the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 C.E.
Two years ago, the site made headlines for the stunning discovery of a ceremonial chariot decorated with silver reliefs, a stable containing the remains of a horse still dressed in a caparison as well as evidence of what may have been a small slave family in an adjoining room. In 2020, two bodies that are believed to be a man and a slave attempting to escape the eruption were also found.
The dig began in 2017, but attempts to unearth the secrets of Civita Giuliana have long been impeded by looters who targeted the site as its more remote position left it relatively unprotected.
To counter these illegal excavations, a memorandum of understanding was signed by the prosecutor’s office for the local city and commune of Torre Annunziata and the Archaeological Park of Pompeii in 2019 and renewed in 2021. This unique partnership is the first of its kind in ensuring collaboration and mutual support between archaeological researchers and law enforcement.
“In a territory so rich in history and yet so abused, which still hides important traces of the past, as the discoveries of recent years have shown, it is essential that the protection of cultural heritage and legality go hand in hand,” said Massimo Osanna, former director of the Archaeological Park of Pompeii.
The agreement has allowed supported researchers in a new scientific investigation of the site, which includes stratigraphic studies to reveal details about daily Roman life that aren’t well documented in written sources from the period.
This study has required the closure of a modern road running through the site, which had already been made structurally vulnerable by the elaborate network of underground tunnels made and used by looters. The Civita Giuliana villa will become part of the wider Pompeii system and will eventually welcome tourists.
“These finds demonstrate the commitment and ability of the state to stem the scourge of clandestine excavations and the trade in archaeological goods,” said Italy’s minister of culture Gennaro Sangiuliano. “Pompeii is the pride of Italy and it is our intention to further defend and promote a heritage that is unique worldwide.”
By Jo Lawson-Tancred.
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harvardfineartslib · 2 months
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The art of embroidery in Palestine, practices, skills, knowledge, and rituals was inscribed into UNESCO’s Intergovernmental Committee for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2021.
According to the Nomination file No. 01722 for inscription in 2021 on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, it was described as:
“The art of embroidery is widespread in all cities, villages, and camps of Palestine, and is rooted there since the Canaanite era. The Palestinian embroidery was affected by the multiplicity of places in which it originated or moved to and due to the inter-cultural process after the exodus of the Palestinians in 1948, but the style and method of embroidery remained the same. Palestinian women carried their embroidery art with them to their places of refuge in all parts of the world as a symbol of national identity and pride. In view of the development in the means of communication and outreach, embroidery has become widespread and influential in neighbouring countries, as it has taken modern patterns while retaining the known traditional form that is distinguished from the rest of the forms of embroidery in the world as it carries the story of Palestinian women and summarizes their style and their relationship to land and life.”
February is National Embroidery Month. We want to highlight this beautiful heritage of embroidery in Palestine, amid destruction of cultural and historical heritage sites in Gaza. According to an article on the Guardian on February 4th, more than 200 buildings of cultural or historical significance have been destroyed in Gaza.
Palestinian cross-stitch embroidery, “fallahi” comes from the word “fallaha” which means farm woman, because it was embroidered mostly by village women.
Palestinian embroidery : traditional "Fallahi" cross-stitch Kawar, Widad and Nasir, Tania Tamari 2nd edition. Beirut : Al-Mo'assasa al-Aarabiyyah Lidirasat wa al-Nashr, 2003. English HOLLIS number: 990093496510203941
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norris55s · 7 days
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norris55s social media aus
a list of all my social media aus and works in progress.
i write for any driver included on the masterlist. you can make requests on my ask box, although it might take me a while!
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lando norris
mastermind - the one where y/n kelce has a plan involving lando.
you're the only friend i need - the one where y/n and lando are (more than) platonic soulmates.
reputation series
reputation - the one where y/n has a big, bad reputation. this is why we can't have nice things - the one where y/n brings everyone their karma. call it what you want - the one where y/n wins.
the party series
a little party never killed nobody - the one where y/n and lando like to celebrate. party for two - the one where lando wants to have y/n all to himself. work in progress.
oscar piastri
the feels - the one where oscar is a big fan of y/n.
med school - the one where y/n is becoming a doctor, much to oscar's pride.
carlos sainz
forever - the one where y/n and carlos are a not so well kept secret.
lucky - the one where y/n likes horses, and carlos likes y/n.
i swear i don't love the drama (it loves me) - the one where y/n has had enough of people mistreating carlos, and she is letting the world know
charles leclerc
she devil - the one where y/n is charles' ice cold teammate, and she melts.
april fool's - the one where charles and y/n trick everyone into thinking their favorite couple is broke up.
the summer i turned pretty - the one where y/n is in love with charles, and arthur is in love with y/n. work in progress.
max verstappen
we're on each other's team - the one where Y/N gives Max a run for his money.
finish line - the one where Y/N makes Max a champion.
the great war - the one where Y/N and Max survive the 2021 championship battle.
lewis hamilton
coming soon...
logan sargeant
coming soon...
pato o’ward
coming soon…
arthur leclerc
the summer i turned pretty - the one where y/n is in love with charles, and arthur is in love with y/n. work in progress.
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annieqattheperipheral · 5 months
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you have to read this in full!!
i gotchu from behind the $wall:
The day Luke Prokop shook the hockey world by coming out, he needed to get away.
And stop looking at his constantly buzzing phone.
It was July 21, 2021, and the right-shot defenseman had just become the first openly gay hockey player under an NHL contract. The Nashville Predators’ No. 73 pick in the 2020 draft was just 19 years old and hadn’t even turned pro yet. He didn’t know how it would impact his future. His nerves were fried.
But one text message was impossible to ignore. He didn’t recognize the number but certainly knew the name.
“Hey, it’s Auston Matthews. I wanted to congratulate you. I look forward to sharing the ice with you someday.”
Prokop was blown away. The Toronto Maple Leafs superstar wasn’t the most famous person to reach out — that honor goes to Elton John — but the fact that so many NHLers, including one of the league’s best and most powerful players, were offering support meant a lot.
Now 21, Prokop still hasn’t taken the NHL ice, but on Wednesday he took a step forward, being recalled by the Predators’ AHL affiliate in Milwaukee. He could become the first openly gay player to appear in an AHL game Friday night for the Admirals in Rockford.
As difficult as the decision to come out was, Prokop told The Athletic in an extended conversation recently that he’s been mentally and physically freed by it. He doesn’t have to hide. He can be himself, on and off the ice. Heck, he can even date.
“It’s been massive,” he said.
Teammates and fans have welcomed him in his journey toward the NHL so far, from Calgary, Edmonton and Seattle of the junior WHL to, most recently, Atlanta of the ECHL. They treated him like he was any other player.
Not that there’s not room to grow. Prokop figured more players would come out after he did. They haven’t, not that he would rush anyone’s decision on that. He’s also been disappointed by the developments over the past few years with the NHL’s inclusion efforts, including the Pride tape “debacle.”
He can only control his own actions, though, and doesn’t regret his decision.
“I’d like to think I’m a realistic person,” Prokop said. “I know hockey is not going to be forever. As much as (when I came out) I would have loved to keep playing, I was OK with not playing any more if it didn’t work out — just being able to live my life the way I wanted, to be myself.
“But now, I don’t want to stop playing. It was definitely nerve-wracking. You never know what the reaction is going to be inside hockey, outside hockey, because no one has done it before. We kind of went out on a limb and hoped for the best. It’s been way more positive than we thought it’d be. You’re going to have some keyboard warriors, which there were a few, but I was expecting more.
“I did not expect the amount of support I got from NHL players. That was really cool.”
- - - - - - -
The Matthews text and Elton John phone call the morning after were memorable, with the gay rock legend welcoming him to the community and offering his email address if Prokop ever needed anything.
Prokop found even more comfort in a moment that came a few days later — the first time he played hockey since his announcement. It was a four-on-four league in Edmonton at Meadows Rec Center, a place where pros and NHLers competed and kept in shape during the offseason.
Prokop was on a team with Colton and Kirby Dach. The other team had Philadelphia Flyers goalie Carter Hart and the Boston Bruins’ Jake DeBrusk. During warmups, Prokop found himself near mid-ice. The first guy to approach him was DeBrusk. The two had met previously through mutual friends. DeBrusk tapped Prokop’s shin pads with his stick.
“Congrats,” he told him. “I’m really happy for you. If you need anything, let me know.”
“I didn’t know what the reaction would be,” Prokop said. “So that meant a lot.”
Prokop was returning that year to the Calgary Hitmen (WHL), the junior team he had played for the previous four seasons. But there had been a lot of turnover on the roster and, of course, a lot had changed for Prokop. So he decided to address the team in its first meeting in training camp.
“Everyone knows what I did last summer,” he told his team. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. There might be a lot of media asking you for an interview. If you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to do them. If you have any questions for me, come ask me. I’m an open book. I just don’t want you guys to feel uncomfortable.”
In that dressing room, Prokop had heard plenty of the uncomfortable language that’s not uncommon for any locker room. He even admitted using it. He didn’t want to out himself. He wanted to act straight, be “one of the guys.”
“I heard it, but it wasn’t all the time,” he said. “I also took it from the perspective that these guys don’t know any better. It’s hockey language. It’s how guys talk. They don’t mean it in a harmful way. They use the word ‘gay’ as a filler at the end of a sentence to make something stupid. ‘Well, that’s so gay.’ I wasn’t comfortable with it, but I used it myself. I didn’t want to seem like I was out of the mix.
“Some guys texted me (after I came out), ‘F—, sorry if I said anything to offend you when we played.’ I’d just say, ‘Guys, you had no idea.’ The lesson is you don’t know what everyone is going through. The words you say do matter. Make sure you think before you speak. It’s a silly rule you learn in kindergarten. It applies to life when you’re 22 or 35 and never goes away.
“The way hockey is going with the language, guys are naturally changing their language. I’ve heard a change in language on every team I’ve been on.”
Prokop said that season was the best of his career, both from a production standpoint and a personal one. He was traded to the Edmonton Oil Kings early in the season and had 10 goals and 33 points in 55 games for them, helping them win the WHL’s Ed Chynoweth Cup and advance to the Memorial Cup.
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Luke Prokop won the WHL’s Ed Chynoweth Cup with the Oil Kings in 2022. (Courtesy of Oilers Entertainment Group)
Luke Pierce, then an assistant coach for Edmonton and now the head coach, said the staff and management had discussions with the leadership group before acquiring Prokop — making sure they were comfortable with it, feeling out whether their room could handle the attention. Pierce said he asked one of the captains, Blues prospect Jake Neighbours, for his perspective. Neighbours had known Prokop since they were 10 or 11, growing up playing in spring tournaments together. He told Pierce and the staff there would be “zero issue” and he’d be a great addition.
Neighbours said nothing really changed, that Prokop “fit right in” to the team. Pierce at first wondered if players would have any issue with rooming assignments on the road, but nobody blinked. Pierce noted that Prokop would joke about situations and even opened up about his boyfriend coming to visit.
“He put everybody at ease,” Pierce said. “I often tell people, if the outside world could see how the group of men interacted, it would be just a tremendous inspiration on how we should treat everybody.”
Pierce and Prokop pointed out how this generation is more comfortable and equipped to handle LGBTQ+ inclusion issues. Everyone seems to know someone, be friends with someone, or be related to someone in the community.
“I just don’t think guys really care anymore,” Prokop said. “They might be nervous as they have this stereotype version of what a gay guy might look like, sound like, act like. Like me, coming to a team, they think I’ll act a certain way, look a certain way, but they’ll realize three minutes into talking to me that I’m not that.
“Hockey is part of me. It’s who I am. Guys totally forget (about me being gay) when I’m at the rink. They’re not afraid to ask questions. But other than that, it never really comes up. That’s how I wanted it to be. I wanted them to know, but we can all go out and play. I never wanted to be a distraction.”
- - - - - - -
The NHL’s decisions around Pride jerseys and stick tape weren’t a distraction, Prokop said, but he has gotten frustrated about it.
He understood the issue over wearing sweaters during warmups — “jerseys weren’t really their choice” — but lamented that the fact the focus was on the handful of players who refused to wear them and not all the others who did. The NHL’s initial banning of Pride stick tape, then its reversal, was a whole other topic.
“To take away choices from players was really confusing,” Prokop said. “Some of them don’t really care. For some, it was near and dear to their heart. To take it away was mind-boggling. From the players’ side, the support was there. Zach Hyman talked about it, Travis Dermott. I like what they did. They didn’t make a big deal about it before — they just did it. Let fans see the rest, and it’ll take care of itself. There’s a massive amount of support from players in the NHL.”
What do the Pride tape and sweaters mean for someone in the LGBTQ+ community?
Prokop didn’t recall noticing them growing up going to Oilers games. He never got to see someone who was gay using Pride tape on the TV screen. He had to deal with it himself — “jump over those barriers without any help.” But Prokop continued pursuing his hockey career whereas “a lot of people don’t feel comfortable pursuing their career without that exposure, without feeling like they’re being seen.”
“I think with the Pride tape stuff, they were trying to show support for their older fans,” Prokop said of the NHL. “The fans that have been watching hockey for 40-50 years. That’s not how you grow the game. You want to get the younger generation, put these guys in the best situation to promote the game. Sometimes I don’t think the NHL does that the correct way. The Pride tape is one example.”
Prokop has been part of two Pride nights since he came out, one with the Edmonton Oil Kings and another with Seattle. The Oil Kings staff approached him after not having that event on their promotional calendar. They planned it in two weeks and it was a big hit, with around 8,000 fans in attendance.
“Some guys told me it was the most impactful game they’d been in during their career,” Prokop said. “They said they didn’t realize how many Queer fans they had. I don’t think they realize how much my community watches hockey, plays hockey and cares about hockey.
The Seattle Pride night was fan-driven, which made it unique. Thunderbirds fans noticed that other rival teams had a special night for Pride and made a push for their own, making bracelets and T-shirts. Prokop told teammates they didn’t have to wear the stick tape — he knows how superstitious hockey players are. They all wore some, for him.
“I always look at the perspective, the other side of Pride nights — why do you have them if no one on the team is gay?” Prokop said. “The point is that it’s for the fans. For me, it means a lot to play in them to show my community and be a representative on the ice.”
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While education is important, Prokop said any real change in the NHL when it comes to inclusion will start with other players coming out. He’s not putting any timeline or pressure on that. He didn’t have one. But that’s when players in the league will see a different perspective, get more comfortable with it.
“Otherwise, it’s always going to be a story,” Prokop said. “I also can see why guys don’t want to come out. Especially in the NHL. They’ve been very successful, so why change? I kind of saw that from the perspective when the whole Pride jersey story came out. My phone was blowing up. I don’t think guys want to have to deal with that. There was a responsibility for me to talk about these topics. I don’t think guys want to do that. I can see it from that side, why they don’t want to come out.
“I don’t think anything is going to change unless someone else does. Someone else will step up. It’s only a matter of time. I thought there’d maybe be two, three of us by now. But it hasn’t happened. But I know there’s going to be someone else soon. It’s math. There’s what, 700 players in the league? There’s definitely a few more.”
- - - - - - -
While there have been some derogatory comments coming from the stands on a few occasions, Prokop has been encouraged there have been none from opposing players.
“Zero,” he said.
Most of the feedback he’s received, even on social media, has been positive. And it’s not just the comments like Matthews’ that stick with him. Two high schoolers in Seattle, Kaitlin and Jo, reached out to him over Instagram. They are part of the LGBTQ+ community and were struggling.
“Like everyone, they just wanted someone to talk to,” Prokop said.
Part of Prokop’s pregame routine is usually to hang by the bench and listen to music. On many occasions, Kaitlin and Jo would come by and the three of them would just chat for 10, 12 minutes. They’re the fans that Prokop saw every game above the tunnel on his way to the dressing room. They’ve stayed in touch. Prokop even did a Zoom meeting with their high school class last month. “They have a special place in my heart,” he said.
When, and if, Prokop makes his NHL debut, he says he’ll have a special secret plan for them.
Whether Prokop lives his NHL dream remains to be seen. He’s praised the Predators for their support from the first time he did a group video call with the staff. Former NHLer Mark Borowiecki, now a development coach, has been someone Prokop has leaned on often, not only for on-ice advice but for help getting through things mentally.
Scott Nichol, the Predators’ assistant GM, likes Prokop’s potential.
“Big right-shot defensemen that can skate, move the puck. They don’t grow on trees,” he said. “He just needs to polish up his game in some areas in the defensive zone. He’s got the tools. He’s got the skating ability. It’s just patience and embrace the process.”
Prokop is grateful for his support group, from his parents, Al and Nicole, to his brother, Josh, and sister, Alanna. He’s kept in touch with Heather Lefebvre, who is a specialist in hockey engagement and alumni relations with the Oilers Entertainment Group. They talk almost every day. What sticks out to Lefebvre is how young Prokop was when he came out (19), and while he wears this “trailblazer” cap, he’s still standing alone.
“I think this generation is more ready for it than past generations, for sure,” Lefebvre said. “It says a lot to me that nobody else has come out in the year and a half since he has. He’s the only openly gay player under NHL contract, but he’s not the only gay player under NHL contract.
“That’s where I think we have work to do. Is it great that he’s been accepted and can do his thing? Yes. But he looks at the positives, which makes me really happy for him. But that doesn’t mean there’s no negative.”
Prokop takes the positives in his off-ice life, too. He lives with Alanna in the offseason back home in Edmonton. He’s found teammates to share in his hobbies, like golf (he plays 40 to 50 rounds a year). He loves to read, from biographies to sci-fi. He watches basketball more than hockey and has more than 25 jerseys. He cooks. He got into puzzles during the pandemic and is bullish about doing them on his own.
Prokop also feels comfortable getting out there on the dating scene and not having to hide it from teammates.
“Obviously, the lifestyle of a hockey player is tough for some people,” he said. “I’m trying to find the right person to connect with. I’m a softie, a romantic guy. I love love. I’m always on the lookout for that right person to spend the rest of my life with.”
Prokop doesn’t see the label of being the first openly gay player under NHL contract as a weight. It’s more of a responsibility. He has a platform and wants to use it. He’s realistic, “dreaming about winning the community service award more than the Norris Trophy.”
Making the AHL jump or someday the NHL jump won’t define him.
“One of my main goals when I came out is that if I could have an impact on one person outside of my family and friends in my lifetime, I’ve done my job,” he said. “I think I’ve done that and more. And I want to continue to do that.”
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oh-saints · 1 year
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ruben dias and daughter of pep guardiola.
man.. when i got this request, all i keep thinking about is some forbidden, enemy-to-lovers trope so here it is! i hope you like it!
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enemy
you and rúben dias can never be in the same room and it's the main reason why your father's head balding. so what changes?
rúben dias x guardiola!reader
word count: 4.2k
tw: 18+ for graphic sexual contents included inside (aka a sprinkle of smut); drinking, swearing, unprotected sex (and some angry/hate sex)
note: i was writing something along the line of enemy-to-lovers but got stuck midway until this request came in from @kkilp so here we are. my first smut? dang that feels weird saying it was also inspired mildly by anthony and kate of bridgerton (TV series; s2, 2021) but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so ofc this is not proof-read and feedbacks are always welcome! (now lemme go back to repent my sin and go back writing the charles leclerc story i've got...)
“another flower from your daughter, isn’t it?”
rúben could hear one of the coaching staffs commented pep as the spaniard walked in with a huge bouquet of varied flowers on his arms, almost blinding the old man’s sight for direction. pep only laughed to answer his staff’s clarificatory question because it had indeed become a habit for that particular daughter of his to send a humongous array of flowers to her father whenever he and his team won something.
last night happened to be the time when the team had won another EPL title. thus, the biggest arrangement being sent to her father’s office. it was funny for some as she always matches the size to the prestigious level of a trophy.
but of course the entire building loves her. she’d sent each and everyone in this building a bouquet, directly to their houses, albeit in smaller size than the ones delivered for her father. but still, complete with the words hard work always pays off. congratulations, champions! typed perfectly in the middle of the card.
being a florist, she’d also send a basket to anyone who was celebrating with carnations, anyone who was newly having kids with hydrangeas, anyone who was injured with sunflowers.
but him.
he’d like to think himself as someone not petty so no—it wasn’t because he didn’t get a bouquet for himself. he could buy himself one so big the smell would’ve made him throw up for days if a mere basket of flowers was his problem. he just didn’t understand why people couldn’t see how she acted beyond the artificial care and love she’d faked behind those flowers.
rúben was probably the only one who couldn’t relate towards all of the love directed towards her. he could only hope the people would soon belief what he’d gone through, as everybody thought he was crazy for saying she was cold, aloof and rather unfriendly as of late.
as of late being the key word here because god damnit, they used to be so… close? well, he thought they were close but it seemed that for her, they were amicable at best. because one day, she just started to shut him off and she wasn’t shy to show him that. and only to him, no one else. no one of close friends would—and could—do that overnight.
it was similar to those mean girls kind of story plot where you know she’d give you scrutiny so directly but so indirectly in the eyes of everyone else. except that the ending was no where near, unfortunately, for she was now sporting off the cold shoulder to him throughout the whole EPL celebratory party.
rúben was inclined to believe she intended to rile him up even, as she danced the night away with those crazy drunkards he called his teammates. jack, kyle, john amongst the name. he prides himself in moderate amount every time he drinks and he intends to keep it while he’s still an active athlete, but fucking hell did he want to drink till his head bang in the same rhythm as the bass pounding the dance floor.
he just wanted to barge in the midst of the group and had fun with her, just like they used to back when he was still in his freshman year on the etihad side. if she didn’t like it, then good. it gave him the chance for confrontation of whatever it is she was doing.
fuck it, he’d said to himself as he got up from his seat, tired of being the sober friend to a bunch of kids. might as well have my fair share of fun, even if it didn’t involve getting her into the picture.
but in all honesty, she’d seen this move of his. this was what solidified her justification of staying away from him. the moment he was bored out of his mind, that was when he started preying for another long-legged bimbo to bring home.
she could only pray for the woman’s well-being afterwards because she’d learned it the hard way.
for her, rúben was siren personified. he’d talk his way to your pants, feeding you to his soul until you’re left dry. thank god he didn’t make it way past the whole sexual thing—she’d kept him at bay for so long that he’d got bored and the moment she was about to give in was the moment she found out about him moving on.
that night, when she dropped by his house for an impromptu netflix and chill session, when she was ready to accept whatever his advances that night. only for his leading lady to greet her by the door, wearing only lingerie and his shirt unbuttoned.
despite them going apart now, it never soothed her heartbreak.
but she had to see him all the time, thanks to her father’s job. that fact upset her beyond belief that she couldn’t seem to escape him. especially when everyone talks highly of him, when everyone loves him.
there were so many times she wanted to spill out the hot tea but she resisted because it wouldn’t do any good—for her, for him, for her father, for anyone. people would take her as a bitter bitch that didn’t get the dick, she’d held higher regards for herself than to stoop so low.
“let him go and have fun with me.”
the club’s lightning was too dark for her to make out who the hell that was, whispering behind her like he had the world in his palm. obnoxious dick, she’d muttered to herself.
“what did you just say?”
“go away.”
men, couldn’t take a no for his answer as he grabbed her wrist rather harsh, trying to exert some power over her. “no, you didn’t—"
“she said go away, mate,” weird how she knew it was rúben standing behind her before she could see him. “which part of that sentence did you not understand? should i cut off your hands instead?”
the stranger tried to hard not to be intimidated by rúben’s stare but his grip on her hands said the otherwise. “you wouldn’t.”
“would you like to try?”
if she wasn’t just assaulted by the man, she would’ve taken a pity because rúben seething anger and deep distaste like you’re a disgusting human being that doesn’t deserve to live wasn’t something she’d like to experience herself.
“are you okay?”
she didn’t realise she was watching the man scurried off as if he’d caught on fire when rúben went ahead and touched her herself. she’d froze at her place, not knowing where to stand because his hand was placed exactly where the unwanted touch happened—partly she got reminded of what had just happened to her, partly she’d gladly take rúben’s touch over anyone else she didn’t know of.
“hey, you’re okay?”
she couldn’t comprehend what was happening and it felt suffocating to be the centre of everyone’s attention, so she dashed for the restroom for a bit of space.
“talk to me,” she could hear rúben’s voice from the other side of the door, solid 10 minutes after she entered the loo. he’d understood, she whispered to herself as if it was a wonder rúben was smarter than he let on. “please say you’re okay.”
as if she didn’t know the rúben that deserted her for another woman.
god, she hated him for doing this to her. “go away, rúben!”
“like hell i will,” he spat ferociously behind the doors that it startled her. but the soft voice that followed after was more shocking it ran shivers down her back. “i need to know you’re okay.”
the caring thought that laced his words didn’t escape her because she knew, no matter of an asshole rúben was, rúben was always genuine with his words. it was his past actions and the difference between actions and words that scarred her for life—well, at least up until now.
but it was enough for her to choose to shut up instead of acting based on her turmoil of emotions. she’d silently tidy up, fixing her hair and lipstick, while watching the women coming out of the loos one by one till it was only her left. in hope he’d left if she stayed inside for far too long for his liking, then she could sneak out of this place from the backdoor.
all plans were shattered, though, when the door slammed wide open and revealed rúben bulldozing his way inside like a monster truck exhibition. the veins on his arms and neck was bulging angrily, as angry as his face.
“what the fu—”
“i said i need to know you’re okay,” after he spit the words as if that should be obvious to her, he then proceeded to lock the door behind him. “didn’t you hear?”
cowards, afraid anyone walk on you in a woman’s bathroom? “i did, but it doesn’t mean i have to answer you.”
“puta madre,” if she didn’t hold on to the painful memory he’d learned spanish from the ex-girlfriend she met one night too long ago, she’d go meek and weak at his impeccable multilingual tongue. “you’re so frustrating! why is it so hard for you to tell me so?”
“why do want to know?”
“because some asshole just groped you in the ass!” one of his hands shot towards her direction, gesturing from her head to toe in frustration. of her not seeing his point. “surely you’re not okay. no one is after such terrible event.”
“there, you said it youself. i’m not okay,” she rolled her eyes at his reply, hands folding in front of her chest. “why do you care, anyway?”
he shot him a look that was scaring her, and not of the violence he was capable of doing. “do i have to have a reason to care about you?”
“go back in there, rúben,” she tried to stand her ground, faking a rather tired expression when, in fact, she was masking her fear as he dared himself to step closer to her direction. “your drunk friends need your care more than i do.”
his eyes remained intense, burning her down as if she was merely a clothing to burn, as he stepped in front of her. his strong aura forced her to look up at him, and she tried to put some defiance into it in order to show she was in control. or trying to.
“but i don’t care about them,” he lowered his voice as he didn’t see the need to speak louder when his opponent was right under his nose. he knew he’d got her when she shifted her stance from the right leg to her left one. “i care about you.”
the statement obviously caught her off guard, as outmost surprised laced the pair of eyes that—luckily—resembled her mother more. rúben took the chance to close down the gap between their lips, as fast as lightning before she changed her mind, goading her to open up.
as soon as he heard her groaning in surrender, the inside of him ignited in delight. rúben pushed more than what she thought she could give, for he knew she could give more than she thought. his effort drove her to the edge of the sink behind her and she grunted at the crash against the porcelain, but bloody hell the sound effected rúben so much he felt blood rushing south and adrenaline took over his brain.
he’d lifted her up and placed her on the sink in a pace so swift she’d only managed to blink once. he’d slid his hands down her calf, up north towards the rim of her sundress, and she gasped at his ardent touch. felt so hot against the air conditioner of a room so big but only filled with the two of them.
rúben took the liberty to explore her mouth the moment the passage was opened. despite having his eyes closed, he savoured each and every stroke he made for the mental map of hers and he savoured the feeling of her hands sliding everywhere her hands could reach in desperation to hold on for herself while her body unconsciously gave away her control the moment rúben touched the edges of her panties.
she’d arched her back so flexibly rúben had to pull back a bit and admired the crescent shape she was bending herself to be. but not even the moon could compare with the beauty puny in his hands, with pink mauve lipstick smeared lightly and dishevelled hair against the mirror.
“god, you’re beautiful,” and it was all it took for her to sit up and grab his shirt to forcefully meet her lips halfway.
and for rúben, nothing was sexier than when a woman tried to put up a fight against him, even after well-knowing he’d win anyway. so he’d let her think she won, nuzzling his nose downwards, smelling her perfume, her body odour and her desperation all in one. he’d left kisses on his way down, the same moment his hands peeled down the flimsy strap of her sundress, and he swore he’d never touch finer things than the shape of her.
he’d palmed every surface his hands could reach, and took every choked breaths she emitted from his touch. but when he touched the centre of her underwear and felt the drip she was heavily producing, he’d become a goner. he couldn’t take it anymore.
without detaching his lips from her healthy skin, he pulled back an inch to give himself space to undo his pants. when she realised this, she’d drop her hands from his hair and shoulder to help him stash away the jeans. they laughed at this somehow, before they turned muted when rúben dias junior was out of the cage, standing tall and unwavering like him.
the anticipation killed him because jesus christ, with the desire running down her face, he wouldn’t be able to do much anymore. so he kissed her before she could have any second thoughts while his hands aligned himself to her. the first skin-to-skin contact left them breathless, in every literal sense of the word, and rúben could see what she was feeling before she could say anything. the way she closed her eyes in ecstasy as he slipped himself inside of her couldn’t lie.
“oh shit,” he’d read normally women was the only who went all goo at a drop to a man’s voice, but this time rúben could piss himself hearing her doing it. “that feels so good.”
eyes closed, slow pants coming out of that gaping mouth and fucking hell she looks amazingly sexy. and she feels like how she looked like, good god. rúben couldn’t stop his hands from grabbing the sides of her face, some hairs scrunched in them, accidentally closing some parts of her mouth but it didn’t stop her from letting out hot, broken breaths when rúben started moving out of her.
“fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” the portugese giant nipped the bottom lips that looked so juicy from all the kisses exchanged between them, from him. “all for me, huh?”
“yes, you—oh!” she yelped like a siren when rúben slammed himself back to her. “do it right, rúben. do me right.”
rúben didn’t need further command to that, for sure.
she moaned so disgustingly dirty as he guided his cock back and forth, inside and out the now-slick fold, to the brink of heaven on earth. every time he pulled out, she’d moan in pleading, desperate to have all of him inside of her that anyone hearing her whimper would definitely take a pity on her.
“fuck! right there!” she screamed in pleasure as she held rúben’s wrist that was holding her in the face and she wasn’t lying about it. with the way she was rocking his girth and the pressure she’d put on her grip, she was close to the edge. “right there, right there!”
“come on, baby. let go for me.”
fuuuuuuck! ugh, fuck, fuck!
“oh yes, that’s right, baby,” he was now panting so hard the mirror above her was now covered in mist, but how could he stop himself when he looked down and there was the most amazing sight he’d set his eyes on. he ended where she began and she ended where he began. “that’s my girl.”
something inside of her clicked like the electric circuit and all the sudden it was black. but not a frightening blackout, more like black with stars on the back of her head. “fuck, rúben—”
rúben?
rúben dias?
the moment her brain registered the voice indeed belong to rúben dias, she went completely still that rúben had to break her moment. “hey, what’s wrong?”
she badly wished the earth could swallow her right now. the girth still inside of her be damned.
she pressed the crescent eyelids he’d come to love, for they looked as pretty as the moon outside, in a manner rúben didn’t want to know why. because it looked like she didn’t want to open her eyes to meet his. because it looked like regret.
“baby—”
“don’t, rúben.”
she cut him off with the sharpest blade available under her arsenal, her intonation, and at that moment it felt like those film moments when he froze after she stabbed her, digesting the pain and the shock that blanketed the moment.
“what did i do wrong?”
“this, rúben,” and she clenched her jaw, as if it pained her. as if it didn’t pain him to look at the expression she was sporting on her face now—here comes the old, cold you, rúben regretfully noted. “this is what’s wrong. what are you thinking?”
and there was the pair of eyes he loved, for they always speak the truth words lie about. but this time, rúben wished she didn’t open them, for they always speak the truth words lie about, and this time eyes and mouth were seething with anger.
“am i just another rebound for you?”
now that was a serious accusation. “where the hell does that come from?”
“you don’t like me, rúben,” if she wasn’t spitting stupid thoughts, rúben would certainly take the pleasure to fawn over her fiery stance right now. nothing pleased him more than putting people down to follow the order, and she certainly exuded rebellion from her eyes alone. “you never do.”
his large hand jumped to pull her face upwards to face him, rather powerfully to show who’s the boss and she just crossed the line. the movement caused his dick to slide back deeper into her, unexpectedly that she had to hold herself from moaning at the feeling—this feeling as a whole, more likely—but the distance he eliminated between them allowed him to inhale her suppressed whimper.
peering down to her in an arrogance manner she wanted to wipe from the faces of the earth, rúben raised his left eyebrow, challenging her back. “if i don’t like you, why did i just fuck your brains out?”
“as i said—”
“rebounds, you say?” and he didn’t intend to let her speak, as he instead pulled her closer to him by the waist. the sensation he could pull out of her mouth was the only thing he allowed between them, broken gasps and all. “if you know me as well as you think you are, then tell me,”
her chest was burning at the sensation he was whispering so close to her, inhaling what she exhaled, inhaling what he exhaled. on fire at the sensation of him pulling out slowly from her at the same time the hand on her waist travelled inside, towards the aching clit deprived of the friction from his groin.
“tell me, baby,” god, rúben wanted to close off the gaping mouth, as shut as the fluttering eyelids. “have you ever heard of me doing that? have you ever seen me, with your own eyes, doing that?”
“rúben—”
his hand was so close yet so far, caressing the insides of her thighs, and she hated the fact she needed him to touch her. now, or else she’d combust. “answer me.”
“no—”
“there you go,” and there was the satisfaction he’d recognised from the arch of her back and neck, as he hurled himself back to her soft spot, allowing him to pepper kisses along the underside of her chin, down along her throat, nailing her in her place further. “god, if only you knew…”
only when rúben pulled away from the space in the middle of her decolletages did she open her eyes once more, and she was rendered rather speechless at how rúben was looking at her. she was almost scared to ask but knew she needed the answer. “knew what?”
“it’s maddening,” the hand in her face moved to a different angle, now his forefinger was tracing the edges of her lips. the very one he destroyed with the harsh, heated kisses they exchanged. his artwork. “how much you consume my very being.”
before her heart could leap out of its place, rúben kissed her lips once more with so much fervour and everything else remained in his body. different to their earlier kisses full of lust, this one was lingering but unspeakable feeling and passion and lust and love.
love?
whatever they were feeling certainly wasn’t love, was it? they hate each other, for fuck’s sake.
“eyes on me, querida,” rúben’s voice snapped her thoughts away and she obeyed him, forgetting how easy it was to spare this particular man the hatred. before she saw that ex-girlfriend of his on the doorsteps, before she resorted to her self-defence mechanism.
“hello, there,” and he felt her melting away, as he recognised the whimpers she let out this time while he was rocking their boat in rhythm back and forth was nothing sort of what she gave 15 minutes ago. “there’s the eyes i love the most.”
love?
but before her mind could drift somewhere else, rúben finished off what he started. he drove her to the end fast and without mercy this time, leaving him helpless under his control of pace. his hand was no longer feathering the skin, they’d made themselves useful by dipping into the blossoming bud between rúben and her. the crude touch against her soft, plump crown was the striking contrast she needed to release herself for the second time, all frustration and thoughts were now focused on the finishing line. so focused that she didn’t feel herself shaking, trembling as rúben assaulted all of her senses—his kiss, his touch, his smell, his drive.
rúben sensed her going weaker from his all-out attack, not wanting to hold back himself either, not when he finally had her within his whim. he took her hands to curl them behind his neck and pulled up her knees so he could lift her up before turning their position around. he was now sitting on the lid of the toilet nearby while she sunk down on him and good fucking lord did she wrap him, all of his 9-inches, so tightly and so deeply like she was made for him.
and she felt it, too, for she sling her arms on his shoulder, hanging for her dear life. rúben couldn’t help but pull her in his grasp, closer than before—no air, no space between them—and the feeling of conjoining with her altogether almost undid him before her he had to stop himself from moving. rúben rested his head on her chest, wanting to calm himself down first as he placed open-mouthed kisses and nips on the outline of her nipples, but the action seemed to turn her on as he felt her clenching around him.
“fuck, don’t stop,” he involuntarily said, and she took it as an invitation to take the wheel from him and ride them out. “fuck, baby. fuck yes, i’m coming.”
“oh, yes, yes, yes!” she’d screamed as rúben manoeuvred her hips back and forth. combined that with the sinful components of his mouth against her breast, licking and sucking the sensitive bud like there was no tomorrow, it didn’t take long for her to reach her, by far, most satisfying high. “oh joder, rúben!”
she’d relish the feeling of soaring high in the sky all over again as she came down to earth. rúben was already holding her by the waist and a small part of her back so she didn’t crumble down trembling messily, small kisses were already scattered all over the hollow part on her shoulder blades, like he didn’t care if she just pulled out his hair so hard she was now afraid he’d catch up to her father’s balding.
“i love you,” but this time she didn’t go all ice on him. “i’m sorry i made you think the otherwise.”
and rúben, being the perfect gentleman, proved how sorry he was by sending her a bouquet of flower the next day. her, a florist, a bunch of imported fresh white tulips before she could wake up and go to the flower market early in the morning. how he did that when it wasn’t tulip season, she didn’t know, and the effort didn’t pass as overlooked by her eyes.
yes, the effort of scouting the rare tulips, but most of all the effort he’d go just to saywhat the flowers implied; i’m sorry. just like his words.
of course he was forgiven.
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blorbocedes · 1 month
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“Toto Wolff has had a meeting with Jos Verstappen in the Bahrain paddock. When asked about the possibility of Verstappen joining Mercedes in 2025, Wolff responded: “Anything is possible.”
This comes after reports that Jos Verstappen said that the Red Bull team could “explode”, and it is “in danger of being torn apart” if Christian Horner stays on as team principal.”
User blorbocedes, is it over?
there is one man in redbull who is completely irreplaceable. and that is max verstappen.
max verstappen is not leaving redbull while it's the fastest car. and he's not leaving for fucking mercedes, which isn't on pace to be second fastest car
sure you can argue "max is leaving to protest alleged sexual harasser team principal" and I would love to live in the world where men cared about women at the detriment of their own careers, but if this was true then max wouldn't hug said alleged team principal after a race win, or go up laugh with him of his own volition during practice. he quite simply does not care, he's just here to race
verstappen's camp ofc cares, and max lets them run it how they see fit in his best interests.
we know Jos doesn't like Horner, and he released articles since last year and even recently that he doesn't fuck with him for reasons he won't say. also not out of any ethical considerations (let's hear what the wifebeater has to say about the mistreatment of women), but because we can guess -- Jos does not like Checo, and Horner backs Checo. regardless, the reason does not matter — he wants Horner out.
After Redbull's former owner Dietrich died, there was a power vacuum in redbull and Horner stood a lot to gain as TP and CEO to become de-facto sole benefactor. RB Austria, the parent company, does not want that. During Dietrich's tenure, he trusted Helmut completely to make decisions on hiring new drivers, and we know Marko and Horner disagreed on promoting NDV, with Marko getting his way in the end and then quickly being embarrassed. Helmut and Jos are quite friendly, the way he isn't with Horner. You see the power struggle.
Jos has always had contact with Toto because he wanted to get 16 year old Max in Mercedes, and Toto couldn't. Every time Max's contract negotiations would come up, there would be Mercedes rumours and talks so that Redbull would clamp down and give team Max whatever they wanted (centre the whole team around him.) They maintained this relationship until 2021 silverstone.
Jos talking to Toto now is essentially drawing a line in the sand that either Max, the boy wonder champion this whole team is built around goes or Horner goes. Max wont go. But to earn that, Redbull has always caved and given Max what he wants.
and ofc Toto took the call because Max is forever his "one that got away" and would welcome in that silver shitbox with open arms, not that Max would accept
Is it over? Well, if Redbull is stupid enough to keep that liability of a team principal and tie their sinking ship to a man who creeped on his employee instead of keeping their multiple world champion and strongest driver on the grid happy then they deserve the pride before the fall, and lose it all.
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variousqueerthings · 2 years
Text
happy pride reccing some anti-assimilationist, anti-capitalist, and abolitionist books and texts
BOOKS
Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? edited by Matilda Bernstein Sycamore (2012)
"Whatever happened to sexual flamboyance and gender liberation, an end to marriage, the military, and the nuclear family? As backrooms are shut down to make way for wedding vows, and gay sexual culture morphs into "straight-acting dudes hangin' out," what are the possibilities for a defiant faggotry that challenges the assimilationist norms of a corporate-cozy lifestyle?"
Transgender Liberation: A Movement Whose Time Has Come by Leslie Feinberg (1992)
This pamphlet is an attempt to trace the historic rise of an oppression that, as yet, has no commonly agreed name. We are talking here about people who defy the ‘man’-made boundaries of gender.
Transgender Warriors: Making history from Joan of Arc to Dennis Rodman by Leslie Feinberg (1996)
[Leslie Feinberg's] book celebrated the resistance to transphobia and a vision of trans liberation articulated from the perspective of class struggle. It understood that no liberation from transphobia or any of the divisive and violent oppressions in class society is possible without the transformation of capitalism into socialism.
The Faggots & Their Friends Between Revolutions by Larry Mitchell (1977)
Stories told of these times make the faggots and their friends weep. The second revolutions made many of the people less poor and a small group of men without color very rich. With craftiness and wit the faggots and their friends are able to live in this time, some in comfort and some in defiance.
Also this interview
Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation edited by Kate Bornstein, and S. Bear Bergman (2010)
Today's transgenders and other sex/gender radicals are writing a drastically new world into being.
Made In India: Decolonizations, Queer Sexualities, Trans/National Projects by Suparna Bhaskaran (2004)
Made In India explores the making of "queer" and "heterosexual" consciousness and identities in light of economic privatization, global condom enterprises, sexuality-focused NGOs, the Bollywood-ization of beauty contests, and trans/national activism.
That's Revolting: Queer Strategies For Resisting Assimilation edited by Matilda Bernstein Sycamore (2008)
As the growing gay mainstream prioritises the attainment of straight privilege over all else, it drains queer identity of any meaning, relevance or cultural value.
How To Blow Up A Pipeline by Andreas Malm (2021)
Malm argues that sabotage is a logical form of climate activism, and criticizes both pacifism within the climate movement and "climate fatalism" outside it.
On Connection by Kae Tempest (2020)
On Connection is medicine for these wounded times.
Are Prisons Obsolete by Angela Y. Davies (2003)
If you know anything about Angela Davis—anti-racist activist, Marxist-feminist scholar—you know that her answer to the question posed in the title is "Yes." This is a short primer on the prison abolition movement
Becoming Abolitionists: Police, Protests, and the Pursuit of Freedom by Derecka Purnell
This profound, urgent, beautiful, and necessary book is an invitation to imagine and organize for a less violent and more liberatory world.
Black Marxism by Cedric Johnson (1983)
Influenced by many African American and Black economists and radical thinkers of the 19th century, Robinson creates a historical-critical analysis of Marxism and the Eurocentric tradition from which it evolved. The book does not build from nor reiterate Marxist thought, but rather introduces racial analysis to the Marxist tradition.
The Transgender Issue: An Argument For Justice by Shon Faye (2021)
[Shon Faye] provides a compelling, wide-ranging analysis of trans lives from youth to old age, exploring work, family, housing, healthcare, the prison system and trans participation in the LGBTQ+ and feminist communities, in contemporary Britain and beyond.
Burn The Binary: selected writings on the politics of being trans, genderqueer, and non-binary by Riki Wilchins (2017)
This single volume offers a selection of Riki’s most penetrating and insightful pieces, as well as the best of two decades of Riki’s online columns for The Advocate never before collected, from "Where Have All the Butches Gone," to "Attack of the 6-Foot Intersex People"
ARTICLES
Assuming The Perspective Of The Ancestor by Claire Schwartz (2022)
Philosopher Olúfẹ́mi O. Táíwò on building constructive, future-oriented politics, at scale.
The Gender Binary Is A Tool For White Supremacy by Kravitz Marshall (2020)
A brief history of gender expansiveness - and how colonialism slaughtered it
Meet Chris Smalls, the man who organized Amazon workers in New York By Anna Betts, Greg Jaffe, and Rachel Lerman (2022)
The fired worker and former rapper did what nobody else has done in the U.S.
The Nuclear Family Was A Mistake by David Brooks (2020)
The family structure we’ve held up as the cultural ideal for the past half century has been a catastrophe for many. It’s time to figure out better ways to live together.
Universal basic income seems to improve employment and well-being by Donna Lu (2020)
Extinction Isn’t the Worst That Can Happen by Kai Heron (2021)
"This brings us to the third problem with eschatological framings of the climate crisis: they overlook the fact that for many, the end of the world has already happened. In October last year, Nemonte Nenquimo, a Waorani woman, mother and leader, wrote a desperate letter to the western world reminding us that for Indigenous peoples, “the fires are raging still”."
MISC
Manifesto: An Aromantic Manifesto by yingchen and yingtong
free to read
their tumblr (with further resources)
Essay: I Dream Of Canteens by Rebecca May Johnson (2019)
There is a space for everyone. A space, a glass of water, and a plug socket.* Chairs and tables and cleaned toilets. So many chairs so that no one is without one.
Acceptance Speech (video and text): The National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters speech by Ursula Le Guin
Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope.
And here's a video to cleanse the soul: bell hooks: Transgression
bell hooks & Gloria Steinem at Eugene Lang College
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