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fearfulfertility · 3 months ago

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CONFIDENTIAL LOGISTICS REPORT

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date: [REDACTED]

To: Director [REDACTED]

From: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Subject: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Executive Summary

This report outlines the ongoing expansion of DRC-operated paternity compounds across several strategic locations nationwide. In response to increasing insemination rates and projected surrogacy demands, we have begun constructing new high-capacity compounds to accommodate more surrogates. These expansions will enable the DRC to streamline the conscription process, optimize surrogacy cycles, and ensure our ability to meet the population sustainability targets outlined for the next fiscal period.

The new compounds focus on enhanced security, specialized medical equipment, and increased surrogacy capacity.

I. Facility Expansion Overview

Strategic Locations and Site Selection

To ensure regional coverage and minimize travel time to detain and inseminated surrogates, the DRC has approved the construction of [REDACTED] new paternity compounds in FEMA Zones 4, 6, 7, and 8. These facilities will be situated in [REDACTED] areas, selected for their proximity to population centers, existing transport infrastructure, and relative isolation, ensuring operational security.

Zone 4: Atlanta, GA

Zone 6: Houston, TX

Zone 7: Omaha, NE

Zone 8: Denver, CO

Each compound is designed to accommodate [REDACTED] surrogates at any given time, with the ability to scale up to [REDACTED] in emergencies. Construction is scheduled for completion within the next [REDACTED] months, with the first inspections set to begin by [REDACTED] this year.

Paternity Compound Design Features:

High-Capacity Paternity Wards: Each compound contains specialized wards designed to manage surrogates carrying up to sedecatuplets (16), with private rooms for those at risk of premature labor.

Enhanced Monitoring Systems: Advanced surveillance and biometric monitoring ensure constant oversight and swift response to emergencies.

Security Enhancements: Reinforced containment protocols, secure access points, and patrol routes have been established to prevent unauthorized access and ensure surrogate compliance.

II. Specialized Equipment and Medical Support

Given the unique demands and expectations placed on surrogates, each paternity compound will be equipped with advanced medical infrastructure to ensure the safety and effective management of extreme weight gain, reduced mobility, and increased risks of organ stress.

Key Equipment and Infrastructure:

Reinforced Support Beds: Traditional hospital beds have proven insufficient for surrogates carrying high multiples, whose pregnancies can lead to total weight gains exceeding 200 lbs. Each ward will feature reinforced, adjustable support beds capable of accommodating extreme weights. These beds will be equipped with pressure-relief systems to minimize discomfort and reduce the risk of bedsores for near-immobile surrogates.

“I hate that I’m here! But… all I have is this bed! I can’t move, I can’t breathe half the time, but at least I have a fucking memory foam mattress!” - Surrogate S118-176-J, 27 days pregnant with decatuplets (10)

Automated Feeding & Hydration Systems: Automated systems will ensure continuous nutrition and hydration to support surrogates with reduced mobility. Given the caloric intake requirements for such pregnancies, these systems will monitor and adjust fluid and nutrient delivery, reducing the need for frequent staff intervention.

“I’m basically just a machine now, aren’t I? They hook me up, pump me full of these stupid protein shakes, and keep me breathing so I can keep carrying these bowling ball-sized kids. It’s disgusting!” - Surrogate S117-138-N, 18 days pregnant with quattuordecatuplets (14)

Custom Mobility Aids: Custom-designed lift systems and mobility aids will be integrated into each ward to facilitate the movement of surrogates. These devices will allow for safe repositioning, transfers to specialized birthing chairs, and support during transport.

“I don’t know how they expect us to move with this much weight on us. Even standing feels like my legs are going to snap. Those lifts? They’re humiliating... but without them, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed at all.” - Surrogate S120-494-P, 30 days into a sedecatuplets (16) pregnancy

Advanced Fetal Monitoring: Each compound will have real-time ultrasound and biometric monitoring stations to track fetal development. Given the accelerated gestational period, these systems will continuously update fetal positioning, size, and viability, enabling rapid response to complications.

"It’s terrifying. Knowing how big they are, how many there are… they’re not coming out normal. When I finally pop them all out, they’ll get better care than I ever did!" - Surrogate S119-667-N, 22 days pregnant with hendecatuplets (14)

Dedicated Obstetrics & Neonatal Care Units: Immediate neonatal care is essential, and each compound will include state-of-the-art neonatal intensive care units (NICUs) to support newborns. Advanced incubators and respiratory support systems will ensure the survival of even the most premature babies.

"They always tell me how important it is to ensure the babies survive, even if I don’t. I get it, I do… but knowing there’s a whole team of people ready to take over the second I’m gone? It’s like they’ve already decided how this ends." - Surrogate S117-856-M, 8 days pregnant with tridecatuplets (13)

Pain Management and Sedation Systems: Surrogates will experience extreme discomfort and physical strain. Each paternity ward will be equipped with integrated IV pain management systems, allowing for both localized and systemic pain relief. Sedation protocols can be initiated remotely if a surrogate's distress becomes vocal, ensuring they can not incite civil disorder.

“I’m so big I can’t even see my dick, which is now buried under all these babies and fat. I’d be lying if I said the meds didn't help to blitz me out of my mind... a caring them I'm a gigantic incubator now.” - Surrogate S119-461-L, 11 days pregnant with dodecatuplets (12)

Future Equipment Developments: Research teams are exploring next-generation mobility aids, including exoskeleton support harnesses, to provide mobility assistance for late-term surrogates. These innovations aim to improve surrogate survival to deliver full-term pregnancies. Once available, prototypes will be tested in select compounds.

III. Expansion Strategy: Future Projections and Scaling

Projected Surrogacy Demand: With the increase in insemination rates, each compound is expected to handle up to [REDACTED] inseminations per month once fully operational. This translates to a need for approximately [REDACTED] newborns annually to meet population sustainability targets. Our current projections indicate that these numbers are achievable.

IV. Conclusion and Recommendations

The successful construction and operation of these new paternity compounds are critical to effectively maintaining the DRC’s ability to enforce surrogacy mandates. Our specialized equipment and infrastructure improvements will ensure we meet demands while preserving control over our surrogate.

Report submitted by: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

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To: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

From: Director [REDACTED], DRC

Subject: RE: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Dear Mr. [REDACTED],

I’ve reviewed the latest progress report on the new Paternity Compounds, and I must commend your team on the impressive strides made thus far, even with the ambitious timeline we’ve set.

I have been particularly interested in the improvements to our birthing suites. As you are well aware, managing multiple pregnancies presents unique challenges.

We are entering a critical phase. I want to emphasize that these upcoming births will set a precedent for all future operations. The successful use of these new facilities will allow us to demonstrate that our methods ensure the next generation's survival and that we can handle the demands without sacrificing efficiency or outcomes.

I look forward to seeing the first results when the initial surrogates reach full term and the birthing suites are fully operational.

Keep up the excellent work, and do not hesitate to reach out if additional resources or support are needed to ensure success.

Regards, Director [REDACTED]

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#ai mpreg #male pregnancy #mpreg #mpreg kink #mpreg belly #pregnant man #mpreg morph #mpreg caption #mpregbelly #mpregstory #mpreg birth #mpreg art #mpreg story #mpregnancy #mpreg roleplay #male pregnant #caucasianmpreg

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gothhabiba · 11 months ago

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[ID: Graphic reading "Palestine is not for sale: Bathurst & Clark St W, March 7th, Thursday, 2pm". An illustration shows a silhouette of Palestine with roots growing into the ground from its southern tip. End ID]

Real estate events are taking place throughout this month across the U.S and Canada to sell properties built on stolen Palestinian land. These property projects situated in locations like Modiin, Ma’ale Adumim, Neve Daniel and Efrat are considered Israeli settlements which are a violation of international law. Join communities of Turtle Island to say no to the sale of stolen Palestinian land. This is a strategic action and only suitable for adults.

from @torontoforpalestine and @pymtoronto on Instagram.

#Palestine #gaza genocide #Gaza under attack #Toronto #action

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faerytreealtars · 24 days ago

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[ Artwork used for piles are all by JosieWren ]

Pile One - Green Woman.

Cards - Queen of Cups, Strength & Five of Swords.

Spirit is saying loud and clear that the blessing they bring your way is something you may not notice physically, at least not at first because they are helping you, help yourself! Those who struggle with limiting thoughts, anxiety that keeps your mind racing all day and night or even feeling too much just for being yourself. Say goodbye to those struggles, take a breath, and allow your body to release. Treat your emotions like the messengers they are, be gentle and kind to yourself and give yourself some grace... You are only a little human living in a big chaotic world no one is asking for perfection except perhaps you, yourself. I see that spirit is blessing you with the recognition to realise your strength. Your strength has brought you here to this moment and you have done so well, worked so hard, Be proud of yourself and recognise your achievements. You can't attract more or rush more blessings if you're failing to notice the blessing of NOW. Spirit says to practice more breathwork as you carry on through this journey. So to finish off, the blessings that spirit is bringing your way is the freedom to be yourself and embrace the moment more often so you can live more happily and less anxiously. As the wise man Newt Scamander once said "Worrying means you suffer twice oh and before I sign off on your reading I just heard "If you have a dream, just do it, you can't strategize it for that is not the mysterious way that spirit provides"

Pile Two - Woman of Ferns Cards: Two of Cups, Ten of Pentacles & The Sun

Spirit is announcing an end to relationships and connections that are not authentic, true or aligning with your divine soul. I see new people coming into your life in the form of deep loving friendships and perhaps a few romances for those who are open to it. These new friends will help you attract more joyful moments and adventures into your life and share with them making loads of new memories to reflect upon fondly. For a tiny amount of you, I see that at least one of these new connections you make will allow you to have a dream come to life in the career sphere in a collaborative effort and create something that will provide long-lasting abundance to you and any future family that you may have. Now, before you run off in glee and excitement for these new connections Spirit has some advice they wish to share. Firstly remain open-minded you may find connection with the most unlikeliest of people, those who you may think you have nothing in common with based on first appearances. I'm seeing the image of Elphaba and Glinda from Wicked and hearing the song "What is this feeling?" so that's a BIG hint from spirit. Secondly, you need to make an effort too, not anything that feels forced off course but for those who are more introverted, quiet or shy (I'm in this gang too so don't worry I'm not judging but Spirit is kind of gently scolding me now too, so you're not alone!) don't be afraid to show your interest back and open up more, you can't attract your soul tribe if you aren't letting the world see your "vibes" and also I'm hearing don't procrastinate on joining in on clubs, causes or community lead projects out of fears of not fitting in. It's time make this the year you live with no regrets and try everything you feel called towards.

Pile Three - Moth Winged Faery Cards: The World, Five of Cups & Five of Wands

With the world and two court cards with the number 5 present I see your blessing involves a very big change, and one that may push you out of your comfort zone. This will be a divine transformation of self in so many ways. I feel some of you wish to travel or move away from your current location, to leave behind conflict with others and perhaps even yourself and you will, that is something spirit promises to help you bring in. They want to remind you to be patient with not only yourself but the world in general. Many great shifts are about to happen this year and though it may feel like everything is unravelling apart that is only the illusion of a limited mind, if you take the time to tune into your intuition you will see that in fact it is actually things coming together but first you must stop resisting and gripping on to those or that which must leave. The truth is we cannot move on to better places or times without making some sacrifices, it is those who are willing to sacrifice that which they believe is important (spoiler alert: it's not!) that can then be compensated by spirit with even better things. It is all so different for so many of you but trust in yourself and you will instinctively know what is meant to go.

My gratitude to those who stayed, spared their time and read these messages, I Know Spirit will put in the path of those who are meant to read it. I wish you luck and love wherever you may be. <3

#tarot #divination #cartomancy #tarotblr #channeling #pick a card #tarot cards #tarot reading #spirituality #faerie #faerycore #spiritual growth #holy spirit #spiritual awakening #spiritual journey

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pursued-by-the-squid · 14 days ago

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iii. location drop

pairing: eventual gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 7.1k

ao3 | masterlist

Young-il is so… interesting. In many ways he reminds you of yourself – he’s always studying the world around him, always listening, he can be remarkably serious and endearingly lighthearted in the same conversation, and he’s wickedly sharp. Much smarter than you are, that’s for sure, but you like that. It’s nice to speak to someone with so much life already lived and hear the way they view the world, even if it doesn’t always align with your own ideals. He challenges you, too. In ways you never would have imagined. That’s what makes him so intriguing.

His smile catches the light when you see him. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he says as he starts shrugging off his coat. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his hair pushed away from his face in an elegant swoop.

You hum lightly into your cup. “Business stuff?”

Young-il nods. “Of a sort.” He eyes the extra cup of coffee on the table as he moves to sit across from you. “Trying something new?”

“It’s yours,” you correct. “Black Americano, right?”

Surprise tints his features and you feel a stab of pride for managing to catch him so off guard. “You remembered.”

His reaction shouldn’t sit as warm and cozy as it does in your chest, but you don’t fight it. Still, you try to play it off with a shrug. “I remember all kinds of things.”

A hand slips into his trouser pocket and it doesn’t occur to you until he’s pulling out his wallet that he wants to repay you. Before he can utter a single suggestion, you stop him. “Oh, no, that’s alright. I don’t mind,” you reply with a politely dismissive wave. “You can cover me next time, if you want.”

Truthfully, you’re still adjusting to the idea of purchasing whatever you want when you want it. You can’t (and won’t) go out and buy a brand-new sports car or anything, but even something as mundane as a coffee feels like a splurge with how strict you’ve been in the past. Gi-hun wants you to be happy, though, to have all your needs met, and if that’s what he wants…

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” you say after a moment. That wasn’t exactly what you had intended to say; you were trying to find something to say that wasn’t the same boring topics he always hears from you, but your mind had wandered and gotten lost somewhere between point A and point B.

Young-il’s still a bit taken aback, but you can see him smiling when he takes a sip of his coffee. “You would have missed me that much?”

He’s very clearly teasing you, but the fact of the matter is that yes, you would have missed him if he hadn’t shown. You don’t have many friends apart from him and Gi-hun who is, more often than not, busy doing whatever it is that he does. It’s not exactly a normal friendship, no matter how hard you strive to make it so, no matter how much you’ve come to care for him. Young-il, on the other hand, is less closed off, more engaging. He’s a normal businessman who does normal things like drink coffee and do guest lectures for some of the business students. You haven’t been able to see any of his talks yet, but you have a feeling they’re good.

You hide your own smile behind your cup when you go to take a sip, hoping that he doesn’t see just how tickled you are. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The conversation flows loosely from there. Young-il has recently taken over his business from the previous owner and as a result, his time is limited. Too many meetings, too much paperwork, and a lot of strategizing. You, on the other hand, have several short papers due this week that you’ve been putting off, not to mention the final project looming in the back of your mind as each week ticks by.

“There’s an extra credit module I was thinking of completing,” you say casually, as if your heart isn’t about to beat right out of your chest. “We have to visit the art gallery here on campus and write a reflection about our experience.”

You’ve been thinking of asking him to go with you. It makes sense considering he’s always on campus. You might almost think him a student if you didn’t know any better. But the difference between thinking about asking and actually asking is great – you don’t even know if he likes art, if he cares enough about your casual little friendship to meet you outside of weekly coffee meetings and words exchanged in passing on your way to the bus stop. Maybe you’re asking for too much. What if he thinks you’re weird?

So it takes you by surprise when Young-il leans forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. “I wasn’t aware there was an art gallery.”

You wipe a bit of liquid from the corner of your mouth. Could it really be this easy? “Yeah! They have a rotation of displays and visiting artists. The one we have currently is focused on surrealism. They’re displaying copies of some famous pieces, as well as art from several of our students.” Your eyes dart nervously over Young-il’s frame, trying to determine how open he is to the idea. He seems interested enough. “I haven’t been to a gallery in a little while and the extra credit would help raise my grade a bit.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It seems like you’ve already decided to go.”

“I think so, yes.” Your lungs constrict painfully below the canopy of your ribcage. If you don’t ask now, you’ll never find the courage to try again. “Would you like to go with me?”

A moment ticks by uneventfully. Then another.

Searching Young-il’s eyes tells you nothing. You can’t determine what he’s thinking, no matter how hard you look. The only insight his silence offers you is the weight of his gaze as he studies you, as if you were the art piece and he the seasoned purveyor.

His head tilts ever so slightly to one side. “You want me to join you?” He doesn’t sound disinterested in the idea, but neither does he sound fully invested.

You swallow nervously. “Yes. If you want.”

“Why me? Surely you have other friends you could go with, some of the students in your class, perhaps?”

Ah. So he’s not interested. You can feel your face heat up with the embarrassment of his rejection. You suddenly find the shapeless stain of a former coffee spill on the table inexplicably fascinating.

“I guess I probably should have asked one of them first.” You try to wrap the tail end of your response in a light chuckle, but it’s forced and uncomfortable. You end up grimacing more than anything else. “I’m sure you’re busy, what with your business and everything.”

What you want to say is that you wouldn’t go with any of your classmates even if you were paid to do it. What you want to say is that you’ve come to greatly enjoy his company and the little breaks in your otherwise monotonous routine that his presence provides. But of course, you can’t say any of that.

You reach for your drink, hoping to fill the awkward space with a couple sips of something tasty, but you’ve already drained the cup. There’s nothing left except for a few spare drops.

Young-il shifts in his seat, drawing your attention as he adjusts his sleeves. He’s rolling them up to his elbow, exposing all that previously unseen skin and the muscles of his forearms, and… Oh. Maybe this means more to you than you’d previously thought. Maybe you’ve developed a bit of a crush. That’s embarrassing.

“Next Tuesday,” he says, his attention still focused on the task at hand. “I have a break in my schedule around noon.”

For a few scattered inhalations, you’re left feeling lost. You were so sure he was uninterested based on the, well, everything about him, but now he’s saying exactly the opposite.

“I… Huh?”

The corner of his mouth twitches and for the briefest of micro-minutes, you think you see something soft hidden in his eyes. “If you’re free then?”

Right. Next Tuesday. Noon. Your brain putters around for a bit as it tries to play catch up to the conversation, but eventually the fog clears. You have an opening in your schedule around that time, too, funnily enough. The date is set – not that it’s that kind of date – and the conversation fades back into normalcy, but the entire time your heart is racing because Young-il has agreed to go with you and you feel an abnormal amount of excitement pooling in your stomach because of it.

The thing is, Gi-hun has told you before that you ought to make more friends. He knows that he is essentially the only person you spend time with on a regular basis and he’s not sure if he should feel guilty or honored by that fact. He should be happy for you that you’ve finally found a friend, that you’re getting out of your apartment and socializing. It’s just that when he had pictured a friend, Gi-hun had imagined someone around your own age, not… this.

The unknown man looks closer to Gi-hun’s age than yours. Not that that’s a bad thing. He’s your friend too, isn’t he? He simply finds it worrying. Older men and younger college students are something of a suspicious combination, no matter how refined and put together they seem. Like your new friend.

Still, there’s nothing harmless about meeting a friend for coffee. An older friend. Who doesn’t seem to do much apart from loitering around the business building and talking to you.

You’re fine, he tells himself, even as he pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes and sips at his own drink. You can take care of yourself. But it doesn’t hurt that he’s here to watch over you, just in case. The last person in a suit to approach you had turned out to be a recruiter and it would be foolish of him to assume that you’re safe simply because you’ve thrown the card away and started heeding his advice.

Jeong-rae and his men are busy scouting the subways with a few more sets of eyes than usual to make up for Gi-hun’s absence. He has a pistol on him in case things go badly or your mysterious new friend turns out to be something he’s not, but he thinks (he hopes) that won’t be necessary.

Your coffee meet-up ends within the hour. Gi-hun has already finished his own drink long before, but he keeps sipping at his cup to sell the illusion that he belongs here, tucked into the corner of the campus coffee shop and watching you. He tries not to feel like he’s doing something wrong. Because he isn’t. He’s keeping you safe. If you’d had family or friends in the Games when he was there, he would have sworn to look after you and that’s all he’s doing now.

You head for the bus stop, your friend heads for the nearest parking lot. Gi-hun follows. He watches your friend settle into a very normal looking car – not obnoxiously flashy, but not a rundown heap of scrap metal either – and drive off, and he follows closely in his own vehicle. And if he gets a bit of a rush from tracking this man down and vetting him, then that’s his own business.

The man drives to a corner store and disappears inside for several minutes. When he comes out again, he drops a bag into the passenger seat and leans against the door while he smokes. Gi-hun suddenly pretends to find his mobile very interesting. He double, triple, and quadruple checks his incoming messages – no sign of the recruiter so far – and eventually finds himself pulling out his own stack of cigarettes and lighting one up.

By the end of the night, Gi-hun’s mission leads him to a hotel in one of the quieter pockets of the city. Your friend is entirely unthreatening and uninteresting. He feels a little foolish for letting himself get so caught up in his own paranoia – taking a gun with him? Really? Whoever he is, this man hardly looks like the same unhinged species of psychotic as the recruiter that had sealed his fate so long ago.

You can handle yourself, he reminds himself, perhaps for the fiftieth time today. And he knows it’s true. You’re smart and very capable, even if you are a bit trusting. You’re not the problem – it’s the rest of the world that worries him, the recruiters and game runners of society who could snuff out your light without blinking an eye. He won’t allow it, not even if it aggravates his paranoia and leaves him sleepless in the early hours of the morning.

Gi-hun will just need to keep a closer eye on you. To keep you safe. It’s a small sacrifice to make in return for your life.

In-ho carefully studies his reflection, smoothing a hand over his hair and straightening the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t usually wear a suit when he meets with you like he does when conducting Game business, opting instead for dark, soft things like turtlenecks and knit sweaters. Spring is finally here, but the chill of winter still lingers, so he suspects you’ll be neatly bundled as you were when he met you in the autumn. He’s mirroring you, trying things that subconsciously lure you into a false sense of security, and you’re falling for it every step of the way. It’s no wonder Gi-hun managed to worm his way into your life.

Gi-hun.

His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk. 456 had been a bit of a surprise, admittedly, a wrench in his otherwise perfectly executed plans. But In-ho has the training of a decorated police officer; 456 is gutter filth. And gutter filth, no matter how cunning, how desperate, or how rich, cannot overcome decades of rigorous training with the best police force in the country. He spotted Gi-hun the moment he pulled out of the campus parking lot – the rest had simply been a game that he was willing to play.

Today is a game of another sort. In his youth, In-ho had never been much of a flirt. Charming, perhaps, even suave if he was in the mood, but a flirt? It just wasn’t his style. But there is something to the Young-il persona that prompts him to try. Perhaps it’s the anonymity. Maybe it’s the low stakes and high reward – you’re not a genuine romantic prospect, you’re a target, and that means that it’s not his ego being bruised by your potential rejection but his predatory prowess.

Except you haven’t rejected him. You have, quite surprisingly, invited him further into your life. You have carved out a space for him in the otherwise uneventful and meaningless scope of your existence, and In-ho is painfully curious to discover how far he can push you before you fall completely.

He arrives at the gallery nearly an hour early, content to peruse the art nearest to the entrance and sufficiently prepare himself. It’s been several years since he has studied art in any meaningful way. He was more prone to it in the years before Oh Il-nam and Gi-hun’s Game, but he was more prone to many things back then – holiday phone calls to his brother, flowers at his wife’s grave. He doesn’t have time for such things anymore. Still, he finds the familiarity of the art, the artist, and the solemnity of viewership a comforting thing.

When you appear several minutes before noon, short of breath and clearly frazzled, In-ho finds it difficult to suppress his smile. You make your intentions so clearly known without ever realizing how transparent you are. Eagerness is written across your face so plainly, it may as well be a brand. Your eyes light up when you spot him, like a child encountering their favorite toy. Only – no, that’s a poor comparison. As young and foolish as you may be, you aren’t a child. A pet, perhaps. Clever enough with the capabilities you’ve been born with, but ultimately submissive to the hand of the master that feeds it.

“Hi,” you greet him with a flash of a smile. You’re already pulling off your coat only to grip it in your mouth while you start rummaging through your backpack, all before he can get more than a simple ‘hello’ out in response. Hardly a minute later, you’re settled with a notebook and pencil in hand, and your coat shoved haphazardly into your backpack. “Okay. Ready.”

He allows himself a moment of genuine amusement. “You seem eager.”

“Always eager to learn, Young-il-nim,” you answer with a little tap of your pencil against your forehead.

He takes the initiative to open the gallery door for you, reveling in the small victory of your poorly hidden surprise. “I take it you haven’t studied much Surrealism before, then?”

You shake your head. In-ho is keen to observe your expressions, but already you’ve tilted your face away to analyze the first painting, a popular Dalí piece that makes a clear impact on you. You murmur your way through the informative sign plastered beside the canvas with furrowed brows and inquiring, contemplative eyes.

“That’s so sad.”

He scans over the sign, confirming the information he already knows – a commentary on the Spanish Civil War of the 1930’s, made by an apolitical artist who chose to side neither with the fascists nor the Republic that rose up to fight it. What is it about political neutrality that is so heartbreaking to you? Or are you, perhaps, more drawn to the hollow grief portrayed in the painting itself?

Before he can find the words to ask, you’ve already taken the initiative to expand upon your remark. “His sister was killed by one side and his friend by the other. But he still didn’t take a side.” The hand holding your pencil is hovering lightly over the sign, fingers almost but not quite touching the words – as if you were afraid to touch it and mar its tragedy with your own simplistic worldview. “I can’t even imagine that.”

Something akin to sympathy flares up inside him before quickly turning to the flush of displeasure. Not anger, not yet. “Imagine what?” he prompts.

At last, you turn your face and allow him the chance to swallow every minute, flickering micro expression. “Any of it. Losing your family to the people who are meant to help you and then losing your friend to the people who want to hurt you.” The knot in your throat bobs when you swallow. How curious that you seem to be so deeply affected by something you have no true understanding of. “I guess I wouldn’t know which side to choose either, but I can’t say that I’d want to side with the fascists.”

In-ho nods, unsurprised. No, he can’t imagine that you would either. He tries not to think too hard on the implications – of the painting, of your sudden swell of emotions, or of the memories already pressing hard against the interior of his skull.

Your head tips down as you scribble a few notes in your book, followed by the click of your phone camera. He glances over your handwriting, a mix of Korean and your native tongue, before you eventually step away, turning to the next piece. He stays, only for a heartbeat or two, eyes lingering on the canvas before finally deciding to trail after you.

Most of the pieces in the gallery are somewhat familiar to him, though he doesn’t care for all of them. Some are too fantastical for his tastes, some are too nonsensical. Others leave him feeling perplexed, as they once did when he was younger, more bereaved and less inclined to the logic that rules his life now. And then – then there are the pieces that remind him of the Games. Chess pieces in vast, unending landscapes. Peering eyes devoid of faces, studying the audience the way the VIPs study the players. Staircases that lead to nowhere and doors that open to nothing, tangling together like the labyrinthine maze of pastel walls he has come to call both his home and his work.

Your reaction to each of them is as predictable as ever. “‘We often believe we're being led to a higher place when perhaps we're not going anywhere,’” you read. Your pencil taps against the corner of your mouth. “Well, that’s a bit grim.”

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes – barely. “Is it?” Surely you can see the logic in such an argument, even if you don’t agree with it? Or must he spell everything out for you?

The gears in your head begin to turn, slow and steady. “It sounds more like depression to me than an actually viable outlook on life. Maybe you aren’t going anywhere because you’re holding yourself back, you know? You’ve closed all the doors that you can escape through and now you’re ramming your head into the wall, wondering why nothing’s happening.”

In-ho’s exhalation is heavier than it usually is, the tone of it caught somewhere between amusement, contemplation, and disbelief.

“Not that I’m judging him for feeling that way, Mister…” You lean in to check the name of the artist. “M.C. Escher.”

“I suppose you find it hard to relate to – feeling hopeless?” It’s not entirely fair of him to say and he is more than aware, but he wants to see that spark in your eyes. He wants to hear you explain yourself. Prove to him how miserable the world is, that your vision is flawed.

But where In-ho had expected anger, he instead finds something more subdued. The subtle tilt of your head, betraying the indignation you feel at his assumption. The flexing of the muscle in your jaw. The deep inhalation that makes your ribs expand. You make a sound in the back of your throat, a quiet hum overflowing with enough emotions that he can’t possibly translate them all. “I didn’t say that,” you murmur. “I just… prefer to be optimistic instead. When I can be.”

You don’t seem to like the labyrinthine staircases leading nowhere and he wonders, not for the first time and far from the last, how you would fare in the Games. Optimism is beloved by the naïve – it won’t get you very far. How would you have fared in his Game? In Seong Gi-hun’s? How quickly would your optimism have killed you?

He takes another opportunity to study you as you shoulder past him, still clearly upset by his remark. You are such a sensitive thing. How do you manage to survive in the world burdened by the weight of your own sympathies? Is it Gi-hun’s money that eases your heart, makes it easier to ignore the death and corruption all around you? Is it your own ignorance that makes life bearable?

His hands twitch with the sudden desire to pull you apart and discover exactly what it is that makes you tick. What mechanisms lie beneath your skin? Would you cry if he pulled them out one by one? Would you rage?

“I’m sorry,” he says, coming up behind you as you move to the next collection of works. “I’ve upset you.”

“No,” you reply, too quickly for it to be anything other than a lie. “I just wanted to look at the others, that’s all.”

You’re a terrible liar, at least when you’re agitated. In-ho rests his hand on your shoulder, his tongue already sharpened with the blade of a few clever words, when he happens to look up and catch a glimpse of the painting you’ve chosen to study. It hits him all at once – the empty nights, the cheap bourbon and even cheaper whiskey, the agonizing pit in his stomach, the hospital bills – and suddenly, In-ho finds that he can do little more than stand there, his mouth agape, and sway against the current that threatens to sweep him off his feet.

René Magritte. L’Empire des lumières. He would know it anywhere.

He’s distantly aware of you turning to look at him, your shoulder twisting under his hand, your voice curling around the shape of a stranger’s name, but it’s little more than a vague, hazy noise in the back of his mind.

A brightly illuminated sky dotted with pearlescent clouds. (He thinks of the arenas, splattered with blood.) A darkened street. Trees silhouetted against the clouds. A house, lonely and empty, its reflection in the water below unfocused. (He thinks of the apartment he’d had with his wife, how empty it was when he returned home from the Games.) A single lamppost illuminates the darkness of the house. One. Alone. Sturdy and strong, blazing against the emptiness.

“What is it? Young-il-nim?”

“My wife...” The words croak out of him, unbidden, unwanted. He shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts, but he can’t shake the memories.

Your hands drop – wherever they had been on his person previously, he doesn’t know, nor does he care. All he sees, all he knows is the apartment he had holed himself up in after she died. Some small, cramped shoebox that offered less personality, less freedom, than the rooms he offered to his own soldiers. The two little fish on his desk, long dead by now. The books he left behind. The card from his first Game – the only thing left of her. The paintings.

The paintings.

He can still remember the first time he saw them. Drunk on grief and so violently angry at the world, he had stumbled his way through Seoul, reliving the old haunts from the happier days of his marriage. The theatre, the mall, the academy he had graduated from, the gallery where they met… He remembers his face being wet with spit and tears. He remembers peering in through the darkened windows, searching for something that no longer existed. He remembers the paintings, the isolated lamppost standing tall in a sea of hopelessness. He remembers thinking he may as well be that lamppost, trying desperately to illumine an abandoned house haunted by the Games that had stolen his hope, his humanity, his last moments with the only person in the entire world who could have saved him.

In-ho pries desperately at the air around him, trying to relearn how to breathe even as he’s swept below the current. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s left you behind, that his surroundings have shifted. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

He should have known better. Magritte is one of the most popular artists in the genre. He should have expected to see his works, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He was so focused on his game, on luring you further into his trap and wielding the victory over Seong Gi-hun’s head. He was so busy playing the Front Man that he had forgotten Hwang In-ho.

“I need to apologize.” It’s the first thing he says when he sees you again, almost two weeks later.

You wave him off very politely, but he can tell that you’ve already started to close yourself off to him and that simply won’t do. After everything he has suffered and endured to lure you and 456 into his trap, he will not allow his plans to crumble over a past he cannot change.

“It’s alright, Young-il-nim. I could tell you were upset. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Your eyes are sad for the first time since he’s met you. “I was worried.”

For a moment – the briefest, most fleeting of seconds – he allows himself the indulgence of your compassion. He may not need it, but it is a balm on the freshly torn open scar of his grief all the same. He covers your hand with both of his in thanks. The words don’t come for a very long time.

“My wife died eight years ago.” And he can still see her face even now, even after everything he’s done. “We met in a gallery, like the one here. She loved art, loved the theatre and music. She was… bright.” Like a streetlamp illuminating the darkened eaves of his heart. “After she died, that painting was the first thing I saw and it–.”

He’s struck by the onslaught of tears poking at his waterline. He shouldn’t be telling you any of this. Yet some ancient corner of his heart that had shriveled up the night he held her death certificate in his hands is crying out, desperate to be heard, and for once, In-ho doesn’t have the strength or will to fight himself.

“It reminded me of what she was to me – a light in an unforgiving world.” He swallows hard as the world swims all around him. He can feel your gaze on his cheek, your fingers curled around his. “I hadn’t expected to see it again and I reacted poorly.”

The swiftness of your reply nearly guts him. You press your body closer to his, from your shoulder down to your knees as you lean in, voice soft and eyes misty. “You didn’t… you didn’t do anything you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” You rub your thumb over the back of his hand and all In-ho can do is stare. “I’m sorry you had to relive that. That’s… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

It isn’t worth much, but the apology is kind and he appreciates it for what it is.

“What was her name? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Min-jung.” Her face flashes across his memory again – the wide eyes and bright smile he had fallen for so instantaneously, the laughter, the joy. “Kang Min-jung.”

You repeat the name to yourself with a reverence he doesn’t expect, but then, he hadn’t expected any of this. For all the control he tries so desperately to cling to, In-ho is wildly out of his depth. He feels unmoored and listless.

“It’s a beautiful name. I’m sorry you lost her.”

He nods. “As am I.” It’s the truest thing he’s said in years.

“Is there…” Your mouth tilts into a frown as you search for the right words. “Is there anything I can do for you?” The inclination of his head and the exaggerated lifting of his brows encourages you to explain further. “I just feel bad. You wouldn’t have reacted like that if I hadn’t invited you with me.”

There, he realizes. It’s an opening, a crack for him to slip his fingers into and apply some pressure. A glimpse at control. After two weeks of drowning in memories and grief, In-ho relishes the thought.

“You have nothing to apologize for, [___]. But I would like to make it up to you, if I can.”

“You don’t have to–”

He raises his hand with a smile. “I would like to.” And because you are the naïve, optimistic thing that you are, you will say yes. “Allow me to drive you home today.”

The first time he enters your apartment is a bit surreal. It had been a hired hand to install the camera that he studies you through and he’s learned quite a bit that way – your practically non-existent breakfast routine, the things you watch on your TV (you’ve rewatched the same show at least five times in the last month and a half, surely there’s something more fascinating you could be doing with your time?), and sometimes he can even catch a conversation or two between you and Gi-hun. Those occurrences are always so interesting. But actually stepping into your living space provides In-ho with even more context to the knowledge he’s already gathered.

You have a very specific taste in candles, not wholly unpleasant but perhaps a bit of an acquired taste. There is an entire wall of your living room that has been unviewable until now, mostly wall décor of the variety people your age tend to obsess over like pop groups and Western franchises, but there are other things too. A photo album of your time spent in Seoul. A crisp, dried-up plant that might once have been green. Little trinkets you’ve clearly purchased at some hole-in-the-wall tourist trap. And the amount of books you own is surprising. Old textbooks from classes long since passed, well-worn Korean workbooks, even romance novels that would make any sensible person flush with shame.

“It’s just down there,” you say, pointing vaguely to your right as you shrug off your backpack. “The door doesn’t always close fully, so you have to push it a little hard.”

He nods his thanks and starts down the hall. There are two doors: one to your bedroom and one to the toilet, though there’s only one that he actually finds interesting. He manages to sneak a glance into your room as he passes, but the shades are drawn and the door is only slightly cracked, so there isn’t much to see. In-ho thinks that one of his cufflinks may eventually find its way inside.

The bathroom is as uninteresting as he had suspected it would be, though small things still catch his eye. He cannot truly recall the last time he was so thoroughly surrounded by the presence of another person. Your scent lingers in the hair products, body wash, and body spray, your personality sparkling in the bits of jewelry scattered on the counter. Your favorite color is made apparent in the towel, toothbrush cup, and floor rug, and even your underwear preference jumps out at him. You must have left them on the floor after you showered this morning.

In-ho feels a surge of memories flaring at the base of his skull, begging to be released, but he pushes them back. This isn’t domestic. This is business, plain and simple. The comparison is superficial at best and he will not entertain it.

He flushes the toilet to keep up appearances, washes his hands, then quickly undoes one of his cufflinks. It rolls quietly down the edge of the door until it finally stops somewhere inside your room, and he smiles to himself, just for a moment, to revel in his success.

You flash him a smile of your own when he re-enters the sitting room. “All better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

You’ve curled up on the sofa in his absence, scrolling absently through your phone as he meanders toward the front door. “Oh, are you- are you leaving already?” And don’t you sound so distraught at the idea?

“Unfortunately, yes. I have a business meeting in a few hours,” which is a blatant lie, “and I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He goes to adjust his jacket sleeves one at a time, waiting patiently, patiently for you to rise from your seat and bid him farewell.

“Aw. Well, good luck with your meeting, I guess.” You reach past him to open the door. “Don’t work too hard, now. You might hurt yourself.”

In-ho chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He fixes his other sleeve, fingers fumbling with the empty space where there ought to be cool metal, and he halts mid-step.

Your eyes drift to the open part of his shirt sleeve where his wrist is exposed. “You okay?”

He schools his face into something more serious. “My cufflink is missing. I… I could’ve sworn I still had it in the car.” As if he actually cares about something so trivial.

Much to his delight, your entire expression crumples. “Oh no! D’you think you lost it somewhere in here, or…?”

You accept the lie so easily, it’s no wonder that 456 was able to approach you. Are you truly so gullible that you cannot see through even the simplest of manipulations?

“I’m not sure,” he hums.

“Can I see?”

True confusion wrinkles in his brow when he looks at you. “What?”

One of your hands lifts to point at his right arm. “The other one. Can I see what it looks like?”

In-ho nods and offers his hand without hesitation, twisting his wrist to allow you a better view, but he finds himself stilling as you draw nearer. Your expressions are always genuine, but often some level of restrained or distanced. You like him, but you try not to show it. Yet now, as you had only an hour before, all that hesitation seems to dissipate in the wake of this small inconvenience.

And then you touch him. It is a brief and unassuming thing, merely the press of your fingertips on his forearm as you tilt his wrist toward you, but for In-ho, you may as well have shot him point blank. Some strange uncertainty passes over him, accompanied by a tightening in his chest and a hesitation in his lungs.

“I’ll take a look around in here,” you say, as casual as you ever are and entirely blind to his current state. “Maybe it fell off when you came inside.”

The collar of his shirt feels too tight when he swallows. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

You aren’t afraid of him. The realization is akin to the detonation of a bomb. Here, in this moment, he is not Oh Young-il. Young-il is a vulnerable dream wrapped in just enough mystery to keep you coming back to him time and time again. In this moment, he is the Front Man, he is a man with decades of police training and cunning drilled into his skull. And you aren’t afraid of him.

He wanders into the bathroom with unseeing eyes, his forearm tingling in the same spot where you’d touched him. Your toothbrush stares back at him, unblinking and undisturbed by the intensity of his glare. How many years has it been since someone looked at him and was visibly unafraid? How long since he has felt the touch of anything beyond the clinical sting of forceps and his brother’s bullet in his flesh?

Hyung…

He squeezes his eyes shut against the sound of Jun-ho’s voice, the frayed nerves around the edges of his bullet wound suddenly twisting in agony.

“I’m going to check outside!” you call from the sitting room. “Be right back!”

This is ridiculous. Even as he shoulders his way from the bathroom to your bedroom, he can feel himself growing more and more agitated. The overhead light flickers on as he swoops down to grab his cufflink. You’re nothing more than a pawn in the grander game. You have no clue how incredibly unremarkable and minuscule you are. His gaze flits over framed photos of your friends and family, the unmade bed, the hamper of folded laundry and the lazy pile of dirtied clothes just beside it. You’re nothing, no one. He could squeeze the life out of you right now and no one but 456 would even miss you.

The tendons in his hands constrict, suddenly curling his fingers into fists. He could do it. You would fall apart so easily in his hands.

He looks to the small, cluttered table beside your bed. A clock, a bodhisattva figurine (likely from any number of the temples across Seoul), a phone charger, a book. You are so painfully mundane. Killing you would be a favor, to himself and anyone unfortunate enough to know you, and it would shatter Seong Gi-hun. That much he can be sure of. So –

In-ho pauses mid-step. His pulse ticks just below his ear. He turns.

The book on your table is brand new, he can still see the price sticker along the spine and the receipt you’ve manufactured into a bookmark, but that isn’t what draws his eye. It’s the painting on the cover, the name of the artist that makes him feel as if he’s just been dragged to the lowest depths of the ocean.

René Magritte – L’Empire des lumières.

He would know it anywhere. He spent five whole years staring at the damn thing from inside the four cramped walls of his shithole apartment. The first painting he saw after…

He rushes for the exit as fast as his legs will carry him.

“Did you find-? Are you okay?” You’re standing just inside the front door, your phone in hand and the flashlight still turned on, peering curiously at him.

He very nearly drops his car keys when he tries to snag them from the table. “I have to go.”

“Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t reply, can’t reply. There aren’t words. But your voice lingers long after you’re gone. Other things linger too, other pieces of the past that haunt him no matter the time or distance spent trying to disconnect himself. He feels flayed apart and exposed. He feels raw. He feels… angry.

He buys himself a bottle of whiskey on his way back to the hotel, the cheapest, shittiest brand with the most bitter taste. He drowns himself in it. He spends the entire night locked inside his hotel room, his insides pulling at his outsides, fingers itching to pull the trigger on a loaded gun. You, Gi-hun, himself, he doesn’t care who dies, so long as the influx of memories and regret and utter fucking loneliness dissipate and he is allowed a moment of peace.

But for a man like Hwang In-ho, for the Frontman, he knows there is no such thing. Peace is a luxury only afforded to a few, usually the rich fucks who fly themselves to the island to bet on lives and bloodlust.

You likely think you have that same peace, bloated as you are with Gi-hun’s money. You hadn’t been so different from him before 456 came into your life – a student with a dream, low on funds but high in hopes – except you had found favor where In-ho had not. There was no rich, pathetic billionaire with a guilty conscience to spare him several hundred thousand won when his wife and child were dying. There was no mercy to be found in the cruel and selfish loan sharks, doctors, or police chiefs. There had only been the Games and their unfaltering equality.

His lip curls into a snarl as he downs the last of the whiskey. Equality. 456 had shattered that illusion, but In-ho knows exactly what to do to piece it back together. After all, there’s only one place in the world where true equality exists.

#seong gi hun x reader #gi hun x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader #squid game #my fics

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hannahbarberra162 · 6 months ago

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Under the Microscope (Yandere Sabo x Reader)

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Part 2

Inspired by "A Good Prisoner," by greenflowerpot. They're an incredible writer, I used the story setup but with Sabo. I'm not sure how many parts this will be, but it won't follow the same story path beyond the jail.

Also I don’t know anything about molecules. Or genes. Or anything related to Sciemps. So if it’s wrong, uh... just roll with it.

Yandere Sabo X Reader (no use of Y/N)

~~~

Sabo's the best prisoner you've ever had at your Marine base. He's polite, handsome, and pleasant company. You'll be sad when he gets sent to Impel Down. But Sabo's got other ideas that might not align with your own.

The Marines aren't taking good care of you. So Sabo's going to have to do it himself.

Flame Emperor Sabo was the best prisoner you’d ever guarded. It surprised you because you preferred pirate prisoners to Revolutionary Army prisoners. Pirates were at least straightforward, saying lewd comments to you, leering at you, and mocking you in equal amounts. Their disdain for you as a Marine, particularly a desk bound Marine, was nearly palpable in every interaction.

Revolutionaries, however, seemed to think that you were unaware of the situation of the world and lectured you endlessly about how you were a cog in the machine that would destroy everything and everyone in it. The constant aggrandizing of their own station - while in literal chains! - was so grating you stopped interacting with any of them long ago. Instead you’d study during your guard shift, hoping the prisoner at hand would sleep or leave you alone. You knew the Marines weren’t a benevolent government force, but science as a career really only existed within the context of the World Government. Unless you wanted to work directly for a pirate or Warlord, which was….risky at best. Being a Marine killed two birds with one stone - you got to work in your dream profession and you got to send steady money back to your family. So you shut your mouth, completed basic training and joined the ranks of the Marines.

After basic training, you’d made your way into the research division of the Marines, forgoing active duty. You didn’t see battle or even leave the base, just worked on the research assignments handed down to you from your superiors. Over the past two years, the projects had gotten increasingly complex and you had to spend nearly all your waking hours working or studying. If you could devote all your time to research, you might be able to finish with a little more speed. Unfortunately, the Marines had a rule that all Devil Fruit users had to supervise prisoners at minimum once a week. You assumed they made the rule thinking Devil Fruit users would be able to use their powers to fight, but that wasn’t true for you. You’d tried to get your name off the list of Devil Fruit guards to no avail. Government red tape and regulations meant that for at least 8 hours a week, you’d be watching whoever was in the maximum security jail cell. No one liked guard duty - you’d rather be researching and the other Marines would rather be fighting.

Your base - Bayonette - was strategically located at a narrowing of the Grand Line paths. Ships had to pass near the island unless they wanted to take a much longer route around it. Which meant that most of the Marines at your base were from the fighting corps, and enjoyed engaging the pirates and Revolutionaries in battle. You were one of two scientists at this base, you hadn’t been asked where you wanted to be stationed. You had hoped to get to a science focused base, but you took what came your way. The other Marines were disdainful of your position, thinking you provided no real use to the base as a whole. You’d tried to fit in with them for a few months but gave up as they grew more hostile towards you the more you tried. Sure, every time there was a party someone would secretly try to get into your pants, but for the most part they found you weak and pointless. You avoided them, they ignored or taunted you. You spent nearly all of your time alone and working both to complete your projects and to avoid the others. It was a lonely time for you, even if it was important for your career.

You were so disconnected from the active duty staff that you hadn’t even known a prisoner as notorious as the Flame Emperor was at the base until you walked in for your shift, textbook and notes tucked under your arm and cup of coffee in your hand. He was laying on the wide metal bench that doubled as his bed, hands in seastone cuffs resting behind his head. Upon seeing you, he sat upright, straightened his suit coat, and put his tophat on his head.

He was wearing an interesting ensemble, but you’d seen far worse. He had a full suit complete with frilly shirt, top hat with goggles, and leather gloves. The cell room was usually warm but today it felt downright hot, you wondered why he wasn’t removing some of his layers. Not that it really mattered. He had prominent facial scarring covering his left eye and going further down his face and neck. The eye with the scarring was milky white, while the other was startlingly blue, like the color of a turbulent sea. He had likely been good looking before the scars, but now he was unreasonably attractive for a criminal. You wondered how he got his scars - probably from nefarious activities of some kind. You realized belatedly you were staring at him.

“Hello, pleased to meet you. I’m Sabo,” he said, tipping his hat to you. He was introducing himself like you were on a blind date, not a prisoner and guard.

“Aren’t you the Flame Emperor?” you asked him. Did you get your criminals mixed up again? You’d found out the hard way nothing made them angrier than confusing them for someone else. Not that they could do anything to you from behind bars, but it was annoying to listen to them rant and rave about your mistake.

“That’s my epithet, but you can just call me Sabo.” Your surprise must have registered on your face because he looked at you from his cell and smiled kindly.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you, Sabo.” You sat down opposite his cell on the long bench provided to you and put down your textbook and sheets of notes. The bench was bracketed by thick walls on either side, giving you something to lean against while seated if it was a smooth shift.

“How come you’ve never been my guard before?”

“Oh, I only work one or two shifts a week.” Generally you avoided talking to prisoners, especially about information related to Marine matters, but you couldn’t see how this would hurt. It’s not like he wouldn’t figure it out. He stared at you unblinkingly through the bars, taking stock of you head to foot. You hoped he wouldn’t try anything violent since you couldn’t do anything to stop him if he succeeded.

“Why don’t you have a gun?” Sabo was observant, usually prisoners didn’t notice at all.

“I just don’t,” you said, shrugging.

“But why don’t you have one?” he asked conversationally. Sabo’s ability to pick up your semantic games gave him some standing in your eyes. Usually you could talk your way out of having to answer questions with half truths and lies of omission. You answered him with another shrug. It was better that he didn’t know you had never been assigned one since you were only research staff. You yawned and took a sip of your coffee right after. Plenty of cream and sugar, just the way you liked it. You’d practically been mainlining coffee with this new assignment. It had come to you directly from Admiral Sakazuki himself, so you were under immense pressure to get everything right - and fast.

“You look exhausted. Are you not getting enough rest?” Sabo had come to sit in front of the bars and was continuing to watch you.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you replied coolly. The truth was that you were exhausted and had been for weeks. But when you tried to close your eyes and rest at night all you could think of was your work, how behind you were, and how you’d have to explain yourself to the Fleet Admiral. Being reminded of your sleeplessness and anxiety made your hand holding the coffee start to shake. You frowned to yourself and set down the cup on the bench. This had been happening to you for months now and was only getting worse. You put your hands under your thighs to stop them from shaking. Sabo was watching you, which made you feel self conscious, so you avoided eye contact. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. You pulled your hands from under your legs and picked up the textbook.

“What are you reading?” Sabo asked cordially. He was not giving up. Rather, it seemed the less you talked to him, the more he wanted to talk to you. At least he wasn't being rude or crude, you supposed. You flashed him the cover of the textbook.

“Molecular Diagnostics: Nucleic acid amplification,” he said as he recited the title aloud. No one ever cared after you showed them what you read. You cracked it open to where you’d left off and started to concentrate.

“Interesting! So what are you looking for that can’t be detected with fluorescence in situ hybridization?” Your head snapped up - you hadn’t heard anyone talk about FISH since you’d been at the base.

“You know about molecular cytogenetics?” you asked in disbelief. Sabo nodded fervently, bringing his hands under his chin.

“Of course! If I hadn’t become a Revolutionary, I would have become a scientist. I still try and do some experiments on the side, but between fighting the World Government and being a Marine prisoner, I just haven’t had the time lately.” You looked down at your textbook but had a small smile on your face.

“I didn’t know this was a research base,” Sabo continued, arching his brow.

“It isn’t really.” You had to be careful about how much you said, you couldn’t give him any information about what you were working on. But this base wasn’t known for research, that was common knowledge.

“I’m not going to divulge any information,” you uttered, crossing your arms. You’d figured out his angle. Sabo probably thought he could get information out of you by pretending to be interested in what you liked. Though, he had known about FISH, so maybe some of his interest was genuine? Probably not. You’d learned from childhood onward that people only talked to you when they needed something, not for companionship. Even your own family was like that. They loved you of course, but they didn’t really understand you in any meaningful way.

“Hm? I don’t want information from you. Just conversation. You’re the most interesting Marine who’s stepped foot in here,” replied Sabo with wide eyes. You did your best to keep from rolling your eyes. How stupid did he think you were? You’d keep your guard up, there was no way he was telling the truth.

“Well, I do want one piece of information from you,” he continued. “You didn’t tell me your name. What should I call you?” He’d hear it at guard change anyway, might as well share something in the hopes it satisfied some of his curiosity.

“People around here call me Mag.” You looked back down at your textbook to hopefully end the conversation.

“Mag? That’s an unusual name. Is it short for anything?” Sabo asked, your standoffish body language not affecting his desire for conversation. He was now as close to you as he could get within his cell.

“It’s just a nickname.” It hadn’t been one you liked or wanted, but it had stuck with you since basic training.

“How did you get it?”

“Listen, I don’t … I really need to study, I’m sorry.” You cringed as you realized you had apologized to your own prisoner. It was a hard habit to break. Sabo raised his hands in front of his face apologetically and smiled at you again. You were burning up in the room - you untied your neckerchief and unbuttoned your jacket. It wasn’t inappropriate, just not in code. But it was so hot you thought you’d pass out if you didn’t do something.

“Please forgive me. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mag.” Sabo didn’t talk to you for the next few hours, but he did watch you the entire time. Every time you raised your eyes from your book to check on him, he was looking at you with interest. When you went to write notes, you’d feel his blue and white eyes on you. He wasn’t even embarrassed about being caught, he just smiled at you and continued to stare like it was the most normal thing in the world. You weren’t even sure he was blinking, just observing you like you were under a microscope. After a while, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you staring at me?” you snapped your textbook shut angrily, making a loud cracking noise. It was hard for you to concentrate knowing he was surveying you constantly.

“How often do your hands shake?” Sabo asked, tilting his head in curiosity. You were taken aback by his non-sequitur.

“I don’t keep track.” You did actually, and the frequency was increasing.

“It gets worse when you stop reading and start writing notes. What’s making you so nervous? It can’t be the molecules.” You pressed your lips into a thin line. You hadn’t realized it was so noticeable.

“I don’t mean to upset you. I’m just worried,” he said with a frown. You barked out an incredulous laugh.

“Worried? About me? I appreciate your concern but I think you should worry about yourself,” you said in an unamused tone. Just who did he think he was? Your father? Sabo’s frown deepened. It was finally time for shift change and you could leave this strange prisoner and his penetrating gaze. By the time you would have another shift, he might even be sent to Impel Down and wouldn’t have to think about him again. You gathered your things and walked towards the door, needing to wait for someone to come before you could leave. Unfortunately you saw your least favorite person was coming in after you, Petty Officer Koji. And petty was certainly a good term for him. Ever since you spurned his advances, he’d been making your life hell whenever he could. He opened the door suddenly with a bang, making you jump.

“Aw Mag, didn’t mean to scare you. Doors can be so very frightening,” he said sarcastically, bumping you hard with his shoulder as he came into the room. You nearly fell backwards with the force of his knock, instead stumbling into the wall behind you. He liked to pick you for a lot of reasons, but especially because of your lack of combat skills. You didn’t reply. He took his time looking you up and down, which made your skin crawl.

“Why are you out of uniform?” he asked in an obnoxious tone. You looked down and realized you forgot to rebutton your shirt and tie your neckerchief. Normally, you’d just get a verbal order to get back to code, especially since this room was known for being too warm. But you had a feeling Koji was going to make this a problem.

“I apologize, Petty Officer Koji. It was hot in the –”

“I didn’t ask for your excuse, Ensign. As punishment, you’ll take the rest of my guard shifts for the next two weeks starting tomorrow. Understood?” Ugh, he found a way to get out of his shifts on guard duty. No one liked them - you’d rather be researching and the other Marines would rather be fighting. You hoped this wouldn’t be a recurring theme.

“Understood, sir,” you gritted out. Now you’d have even less time. Your hands shook as you had them at your sides. You flicked your eyes to Sabo, who was watching your dressing down by Koji. But this time he wasn’t smiling or watching with enjoyment, he looked deathly serious. Gone was the Sabo you’d met, cheerful and chatty. Sabo was still staring, this time at Koji, and you felt like you were watching a panther stalking its prey. Even though Sabo was in chains you felt like you were trapped with him, not the other way around. This was the Flame Emperor, you thought, and the sudden change in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine.

“Dismissed,” Koji barked at you, cracking his knuckles. You left quickly, fixing your uniform as you walked. Koji stalked towards the cell. Sabo adjusted his leather gloves.

~~~

Koji had quite a few shifts on guard duty that week, no wonder he wanted to dump them on you. Your anxiety increased at an exponential rate when you saw how many more shifts you had over the course of the next two weeks and how much of your research time was being eaten up by just sitting. There wasn’t anything you could do about it - he was your superior officer and had given you an order. Maybe you could get reading done, or maybe Sabo would be transferred soon. Either one would help you out.

The next day you hurried into the cell room a few minutes late and relieved your fellow Ensign. You had been working through some genetic sequencing, thinking you might have made a breakthrough, and you lost track of the time. You grabbed whatever you’d had at the top of your “to read” pile and made a run for the detention center. You threw it down on the bench, sat down and took a deep breath. You didn’t even have time to grab a coffee, which would be a drag for the next few hours. You looked into the cell and saw Sabo already sitting in front of the bars, waving and smiling.

“Good morning, Mag!” Sabo said cheerfully. You weren’t sure what he could be so cheerful about, he had a black eye and a split lip. He may have had more damage but his now ripped clothes covered most of his body. You furrowed your brow slightly and walked up to the cell bars, mouth dipping into a frown. Marines weren’t supposed to rough up prisoners who had already been processed and interrogated. Sure, it happened, but it wasn’t supposed to. You had a good guess who did it - but nothing would come of it even if you reported it. It would be Sabo’s word against a Marine’s and wouldn’t even make it to an official report.

“Are you OK?” you asked in a low voice, grabbing the bars and peering closer at him.

“Hm? What? Why?” Sabo asked in confusion. “Oh, the bruises? It’s nothing.” He shrugged and you noticed something was off about his shoulder. You’d seen it before with your sister.

“Is your shoulder dislocated?” It was impressive he wasn’t screaming in pain. He didn’t even seem to care.

“Oh, yes, I suppose. I tried popping it back in but the cuffs keep my hands at such an angle that I can’t.” He shrugged again.

You felt angry that he’d been hurt while unable to fight back. When you’d joined the Marines, you were naive and thought that you’d be helping people alongside other like minded individuals. Instead you’d found that people were the same everywhere - small minded and working to meet their own ends, not the greater good. Sabo had been pleasant enough to speak to and was obviously intelligent. You hadn’t hated the shift which was more than you could say about most prisoners you’d watched. You stood at the bars for a moment and made a choice.

“I’m sorry that happened. I’m gonna pop your shoulder back in.” You turned to walk over to the opposite wall where the keys to the cell hung. Your hands were shaking slightly.

“Why?” Sabo said in disbelief. You grabbed the keys and turned around, perplexed.

“It will feel better? I mean, prisoners shouldn’t be treated like this,” you said, gesturing vaguely to him.

“Even violent prisoners like me?” Sabo questioned.

“Yes, even violent prisoners like you.” You were second guessing yourself now that he had mentioned his violent nature. You’d looked up his bounty out of curiosity - it was over 600 million Beri. You didn’t get a bounty that high by picking endangered flowers.

“That's a very liberal opinion, I’m not sure it fits with the general attitude of the Marines.” You hummed and got closer to the cell bars.

“Do you promise not to hurt me if I come in? I don’t have a gun but I’m a devil fruit user so don’t mess with me.” You felt foolish even saying the words. You knew this was a bad idea but you couldn’t stand the thought of his shoulder being out of place and no way to fix it. You remembered from your sister often crying from the pain and couldn't bear the thought of Sabo feeling the same. He didn’t need to know your devil fruit wouldn’t help you in a fight against him. Sabo nodded slowly and with conviction.

“I would never hurt you,” he said huskily. Strangely, you believed him. You took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and exhaled.

“Ok, I’m coming in.” You unlocked the door and quickly entered. You wanted this over with as soon as possible and to put distance between you and the Flame Emperor once more. Sabo watched you with curiosity but didn’t get up or move in any way. Your hands were shaking so much you laced your fingers together.

You walked towards him slowly, like you would towards a wild animal. You knelt by his sitting form and took stock of his injuries. He had obviously been beaten, you could now see bruises poking out from underneath his shirt. He was well muscled, if a little thin. They probably weren’t feeding him as much as he needed. You looked into his now black eye, and saw amusement in his gaze, like this was a silly game to him.

“I’m going to touch your shoulder now, ok? I want to feel the dislocation before I move it.” you said before you made any movement towards him. Sabo nodded silently and continued watching. You gently put your hands on his shoulder and carefully prodded different areas to figure out what needed to be done. His suit hid his muscled frame well, you could feel his corded muscles flex under your light touch. He was much warmer than you thought he’d be, but maybe it was just due to the heat in the room. Sabo didn’t move at all, didn’t make any indication he was in pain, just let you work. Once you’d figured out the angle, you were ready to manipulate.

“I’m going to pop it back in now. Try not to move,” you told him. You stood on your knees so you were angled perpendicular to his body and braced your hands on either side of his shoulder.

“3…2…” where you would have said one you moved his shoulder back into its socket. Sabo made no sounds or movement, but rolled it a little forwards and backwards afterwards.

“Is it back in? Does it feel better?” You hoped you did it right the first time, you hadn’t done it in a while. You were still on your knees near him in case you needed to do it again.

“It feels wonderful, thank you so much Mag.” Sabo said gratefully, turning to face you. He was only a foot or so away, so near you could count his eyelashes. It was at this moment you realized how close he was to you, how easily he could overpower you, and how stupid you had been to come into his cell. You scrambled up and left the cell as quickly as you could, locking him back within it. Hanging the key again, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You sat back down on your bench, mentally berating yourself for being so foolish.

“How did you do that so gently? When my brother used to do it for me it always felt worse than when it got dislocated.” Sabo was still rolling his shoulder, trying to stretch it out.

“Oh, ah, one of my sisters has Ehlers Danlos Syndrome so I’ve been putting joints back in sockets for years. It can be tricky but it’s a skill like any other.” You picked up your work to start to read.

“I appreciate your kindness, Mag. I assure you it won’t be forgotten.” Sabo spoke with determination and sincerity. You didn’t really know how to take his declaration - it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Well, how about this? If Revolutionaries attack the base in the future, promise to kill me last,” you said with a wry smile. You were feeling better about Sabo. He had the chance to injure you - or even kill you - and escape but instead he sat with docility and allowed you to touch him. Maybe you could actually talk to him about your interests, he’d seemed interested yesterday.

“Ah! You’ve finally smiled at me! And all it took was one dislocated shoulder. A small price to pay,” Sabo beamed at you, showcasing a dimple in his cheek. You rolled your eyes but felt your face heating a little. It really wasn’t fair how good looking he was. When he smiled he looked like an angel come to earth, sweet and kind.

“Yeah yeah. Now, I have to get back to work.” You waved him off and cracked open your book. You’d started it before, but hadn’t gotten far. Sabo stood up and leaned against the bars of his cell.

“So what gene are you looking for?” Sabo asked. You looked up with a start. You hadn’t said anything to him about your work.

“How do you know that’s what I’m doing?” you said in a rush.

“Well, first of all you just confirmed it. You’re not a good liar.” He stated while pointing at you. You could kick yourself for your immediate response. Sabo wasn’t making fun of you, just stating facts. He was right, you couldn’t lie at all. Your hands started to shake again.

“Yesterday you were reading about sensitive molecular diagnostics and today you’re reading about non linear sequence inspection. So it stands to reason that you’re looking for some gene. Which one?” You were shocked he had put that all together - you didn’t think there was anyone within 1,000 kilometers who could do the same. You had been underestimating his intelligence.

“Um, I can’t tell you. It’s part of my research.”

“Fair enough,” Sabo said with a sigh. You felt better that he was dropping the conversation. Not that you could tell him anyway, but it would be annoying to have to ignore him if he persisted. Sabo was quiet for a moment before asking another question.

“Will you share with me your devil fruit power then?” Oh, right. You’d revealed you were a devil fruit user. How many dumb mistakes can you make in one day? It wasn’t classified or anything, you just preferred not to talk about it. Maybe it would take his mind off your research. You shut the book and put it aside.

“I ate the Mag-Mag fruit. It allows me to magnify things.” You waited for him to tell you that it was useless. At least, that was the opinion of everyone on the base.

“Is that why they call you Mag? How unoriginal,” he scoffed, adjusting his leather gloves. You laughed lightly.

“Yeah, I don’t care for the name either. But it’s been with me for a few years now, so I think I’m stuck with it.”

“I can call you something else if you’d like,” Sabo supplied silkily.

“Um, like what?” you said. You were fairly sure he was flirting with you.

“How about darling?” he suggested in a throaty tone, watching your face.

“I don’t think - I’m not -” You looked away as your face heated, you didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking.

“I meant nothing by it, I apologize,” he said smiling at you again. You didn’t answer, just looked out the window. You knew you weren’t the most attractive person in the world, he didn’t need to remind you. You had a lot of self confidence around your intelligence and general self worth but almost none around your physical body. People only wanted you when there were no other options or when drunk. No one had ever expressed interest in you romantically and you couldn’t imagine this incredible looking man would want you either. He was out of your league, criminal or not, and both of you knew it. He was just bored and playing with you for fun.

In a quiet voice, you chided, “that’s not nice. Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Sabo looked at you with an indecipherable look on his face. He adjusted his leather gloves once again as you avoided looking at him.

“What can you do with your fruit? I imagine it’s a powerful tool.” You glanced at him and sighed. It wasn’t fair for you to take out your frustration on him. He hadn’t really said anything terrible. You had heard much worse in this room before and hadn’t taken offense before. You just had to remind yourself that Sabo wasn’t your friend, wasn’t your peer, wasn’t anything but a prisoner who’d be taken to Impel Down soon.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out at you. I’ve been stressed lately, but that’s no excuse. It’s easier if I show you how it works rather than tell you. Look out the window, you see those buildings out there? On the far side of the island? Watch.”

You made a rectangle with your index fingers and thumbs and brought them apart, framing the buildings in the middle. You took your index and thumb and put them on the buildings and spread your fingers apart. The rectangle that you’d framed earlier now contained a zoomed in image of the buildings, which could now be identified as houses. You repeated the gesture, bringing your index finger and thumb apart again and now you were zoomed in enough to see the curtains hanging in the window of the farthest house.

“I can magnify anything I frame with my fingers. It can be useful for research.” You’d eaten the fruit when you were a young teen and it had shaped the rest of your life, sharpening your interest in science and leading you to your current career.

“That is an incredible power! What is the maximum magnification you can achieve? How long can you hold it?” Sabo was enthusiastic, watching the houses intently. It was refreshing to have someone interested in your power.

“I have gotten to the sub-atomic level before, but that’s not usually necessary. The higher the magnification, the more power it takes for me to hold it. Something like this,” you said, gesturing to the houses, “I could easily hold for hours. But looking at molecules like DNA takes a lot out of me, especially if I have to zoom in and out frequently.” Sabo nodded his head fervently.

“I see. Thus leading to some of your exhaustion.” You didn't think he'd bring that up again. You didn’t answer, just erased the magnification rectangle by flicking your hand through it.

“You’ll join me in the Revolutionary Army,” Sabo declared happily, clapping his hands together. You turned to face him and laughed. Was Sabo funny?

“Are you trying to recruit me? From your jail cell?” You chuckled again.

“No, no. Of course not. I’m not recruiting you, I’m telling you. You’ll be joining me.” Sabo said definitively, smiling ear to ear. You smiled back and exhaled sharply through your nose. What a silly notion.

“Naturally,” you replied, “let me know when you get out of Impel Down, and we can go together.” As if any of that would ever happen. You looked at the clock - your shift was over. It had gone faster than you thought it would, you’d had an interesting time with Sabo. As your colleague relieved you, you realized you were looking forward to your next shift.

#revolutionary sabo #sabo x reader #sabo x you #yandere sabo #op x y/n #marines one piece #yandere one piece #tw yandere

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librarycards · 8 months ago

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pls ignore this is its too weird or too much labor, but i was wondering if you maybe had any tips or resources for ppl who have creative desires like writing but brain fog and fatigue tends to get in the way?

i do! it may not work for you bc people have very random/unexpected ways of dealing with this, but it's *very* common and there is hope :) [i think a lot of this is applicable across form, but i'm using "writing" here because it's what i'm familiar with]

one way is to be strategic about timing: this includes thinking about when you're least foggy/have the most energy, and/or the most "downtime" where there isn't anything in particular you need to do. many people wake up early so that they have alone time before their responsibilities. some people stay up late to write. i tend to do my daily writing (which I elucidate on below) in the evenings, around 7-10pm. whatever works, works!

relatedly: scheduling/routine is, for me, critical. i think it is for a lot of creative ppl. I write every day, in multiple ways: i keep a journal - i've done this since i was like 12, so it's as ingrained as brushing my teeth and i don't really think about it - and also work on some aspect of my current longest project [so, for the last 4 years, it's been the aforementioned second novel; for the 4ish years before that, it was Failure to Comply. i write other stuff during the daytime, of course, because writing is also my job(s). but if you're looking to establish a consistent creative practice, you don't need to be aiming for a certain hour or word count.

Instead: Aim for consistency and progress. Not perfection, not a "muse," not magic. There is no shame in making something that doesn't seem good, or that you end up deleting. in this particular instance, "perfect is the enemy of good" is 10000% true, and i think especially applicable to people who already experience external + internalized ableist ideologies on a daily basis. your art, regardless of what it is, should be a space where you get to make mistakes, change your mind, and learn new things. it should be something you can come to when you're tired, unsure, confused, scared, etc, even if it means just keysmashing and then closing your notes app for the day.

for me, having a daily practice, regardless of anything, means embracing the days where i write only one word and then despair, as well as the days i write pages. when i feel most depressed, in a very clinicized sense, i try to move from "everything i make now is going to be shitty :(" to "everything i make now is going to be shitty :)", not because i'm happy about it, but because....that's simply part of creating. everything is a bodily function. if you're not feeling good, maybe your poop will look weird. so too with writing. but you still do it. it can be mechanical. but it'll happen, and by doing it consistently, you give yourself the *opportunity* to locate insight hitherto buried, to have an idea creep up on your tiredself.

i guess in sum I'd say that the healthiest thing i ever did for my writing is something tantamount to body neutrality, which has also been an immensely positive addition to my set of frameworks for physical embodimindment. creative neutrality, i guess. this doesn't mean i don't tie my ego and personhood to work/productivity/quality. i mean, i totally do, and it sucks, but there we are. but it also means that i place that in a corner that does not touch my desire to chip away at something big, regularly. i make time every day to summon the urgency of whatever i'm working on, not because i'm proud of it at that moment, but because i want to give it another opportunity to give me something cool.

tl:dr: give yourself the gift of consistency and time, and don't be scared of making stuff that isn't good, or gets deleted, or doesn't make sense. write from wherever you want, physically, mentally, spiritually. give it the opportunity & even the expectation to happen and then work from there.

#routine is EVERYTHING !! it's hard to start but inertia works in good ways too.#i believe in you.#ask #anonymous #writing

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ranticore · 7 days ago

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declassified ex-patreon post: the empty city

Pictured (click tha link for full piece) - Rosy Wing and Patches on a romantic evening, before Rosy's death. Aerial displays are an important courtship activity, serving to reinforce the pair's bond year after year.

The endless city is exactly what it sounds like. It covers the top of the Houndstooth mountain range like a growth of moss on a boulder. It comprises of buildings made entirely of pure white limestone right down to the window latticework and roof shingles. The doorways and rooms are scaled strangely, not appearing to conform to human sizes, and the horizontal architecture alignment (i.e not built to accommodate flying creatures) seems to suggest that insects didn't build it either. There are no organic materials naturally occurring within the city, not even microbial life, although some has been introduced in recent years by expeditioneers. Some parts of the city have been claimed by the rich patrons of expedition teams, and are guarded 24/7 by armed patrols - usually these territories are held for easier ingress into the deeper parts of the city for teams owned by the patron in question.

There is a boundary wall, with no gates. Roads within the city that lead outwards terminate at these walls as though there should be a gate or portcullis, but there are none. Many patrons have chosen to sink funding into constructing their own proprietary doorways in secret, strategic locations. Spies who figure out where a rival team enters the city can choose to report back, to allow their own teams to stage an ambush, or they can demand payment in return for conveniently forgetting what they have learned. Money rules everyone in the city; it is so hostile to sustained life that purchasing basic supplies from the closest mountainside towns is the only way to get any food at all, so exploring is an expensive business. But it can also be lucrative, if you become one of the few lucky enough to find uncharted regions, or figure out a way to penetrate deeper without simply wandering in endless circles.

Theran insects are considered ideal employees for expeditions - cheap and easily exploited, those new to the game are often satisfied with being paid in food and trinkets. But as the years go on, more and more of them have begun to learn how to exploit the system for their own ends, and that amassing capital of their own can lead to many advantages. Human employees are always necessary on any serious expedition, because only humans can wield firearms.

The 'why' of all this is the curious part - why sink huge sums of money into a dangerously competitive expedition when the city appears to be completely empty? It has become more of a vanity project than anything else, with many wealthy patrons convinced that they will one day profit off of the land they capture, selling homes to people on this new frontier. Others believe that the city is evidence for the existence of god, and that they are exploring purgatory, or indeed heaven. Either way it's believed that one day, all their expense will be paid off a thousandfold, and their speculative betting on the city will, essentially, make the line go up.

[today's words below]

One day, approximately 20ish years ago, the Houndstooth mountains appeared. They appeared in two parallel dimensions but at the exact same point, destroying anything that had been standing there before. On Earth, this was half of the city of Quern. On Thera, it was a gigantic forest of Tithe trees. There is evidence that the mountains will disappear within another 20 years, just as they did millions of years ago, during the first appearance. At that time, Earth insects were able to cross the mountain range to colonise a world that had nothing but plants (which had likely also travelled there a million years before by the same method). Before those mountains disappear for another million years, the people of Quern and Thera must figure out what lies at the heart of the city at the top of those mountains.

So the story was about a team of expeditioneers, funded/owned by a wealthy patron, who travel into the city to find its heart. The ending of the story was relatively simple - the city was an allegory for obsession and grief, and was shaped like a fractal - if you happen to take the correct turn, a thousand times in a row, you travel 'deeper' into it, into the limbs of the fractal, and the truth is that it is endless. there is no heart of the city, there is no core, there's nothing lying in wait in there but it captures the minds & imaginations of expeditioneers and patrons alike. that's why i drew an ouroboros in that pic, it's fully metaphorical. the city is EMPTY. The characters trapped in this expedition (and their grief-fuelled justifications for expeditioning at all) have to make the conscious choice to stop exploring, to turn their back on the sunk cost fallacy, to stop chasing what might lie around the next corner, and go home. But that's much harder than it sounds.

look at some of the insects in my setting tag and enjoy

#setting: thera #i know it's not a NEW setting but still it feels crazy for me to dump yet another Place into this blog #but i do have a good 40k words of this story written so hey i might post some excerpt if you can stand my 1st person only #slush draft writing style which i use to nail character voices

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gunsandspaceships · 3 months ago

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MCU Timeline: Captain America: The First Avenger

March 10, 1917 - James Buchanan Barnes is born.

August 15, 1917 - Howard Anthony Stark is born.

July 4, 1918 - Steven Grant Rogers is born.

April 9, 1919 - Margaret "Peggy" Carter is born.

Why 1919 (deleted scene from The Avengers) and not 1921 (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), as stated in Wikipedia: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is not canon for the MCU (events of the show take place in another universe, where Peggy was born in a different year and had a different background).

1934-1936 - young Peggy serves as a nurse in the British Air Force.

1936-1940 - Peggy serves in the Special Air Service.

1940:

Peggy joins the Strategic Scientific Reserve.

Howard founds Stark Industries and becomes its CEO.

May 1941 - Steven Rogers attends a Dodgers vs The Phillies baseball game at Ebbets Field, Brooklyn.

March 1942 - Red Skull invades Norway and extracts the Tesseract.

1942/1943 - The Allies receive a gift from Wakanda: Vibranium. It is given to the SSR's Head Engineer - Howard Stark.

1943:

June 14:

13:50 - Steve gets his last 4F.

And his last beating in the alley a couple of hours later.

Evening - he and Bucky go to the "World Exposition of Tomorrow", where Howard demonstrates his (almost) flying car. Steve meets Dr. Erskine and gets a (falsified) 1A.

June 15:

Sergeant James Barnes heads to Europe with the 107th Infantry Regiment.

Candidate Rogers begins his trial week for Project Rebirth at Camp Lehigh in NJ.

June 21 - Dr. Erskine makes his choice and informs Rogers. They talk about it, about the serum and HYDRA.

June 22, morning - Steve becomes a super soldier. Erskine is killed. The last vial of serum is destroyed.

June 23:

Rogers is offered a position in the USO theater (to help sell war bonds) and receives a (fake) rank of captain.

Night - SSR (including Peggy and Howard) is being retasked to fight HYDRA and goes to London, UK.

July-October - Captain America's US tour (over 200 performances).

November 3rd:

Captain America show in Italy.

Night - Steve goes behind the lines to a HYDRA camp in Austria to rescue Bucky with the help of Peggy and Howard.

November 5th - he returns with 400 (CATFA) or 163 (CATWS) liberated soldiers.

A couple of days later - SSR in London. Based on the locations of HYDRA bases remembered by Rogers, they develop a plan to combat HYDRA. Steve puts together a team.

Marvel Studios' mistake: the medals and badges Steve wears don't make any sense at this particular moment. He simply had neither the time nor the opportunity to earn the Combat Infantry Badge, or the Presidential Unit Citation Badge, nor could he receive the American Defense Service Medal.

Next day, 8 am- Steve meets with Howard and receives his vibranium shield.

1944:

November 1943 - November 1944 - Howling Commandos destroy HYDRA weapons factories.

December 1944 - January 1945 - attack on the train with Dr. Zola. Bucky falls from the train from a great height and is declared killed in action. Zola is captured.

1945:

Soon after, early January - the Valkyrie is finished and ready to attack major US cities. SSR receives information about the location of HYDRA's main base in the Alps and heads there.

Next day - SSR attacks HYDRA's main base. Red Skull teleports to Vormir. The Tesseract is lost in the Arctic Ocean. Crash of the Valkyrie. Steve goes into suspended animation.

After January 1945 - Howard Stark leads expeditions to find Rogers. He finds the Tesseract, but not Captain.

March 23, 1945 - Case №17 is opened. James Barnes "joined" the HYDRA branch in the USSR.

May 8, 1945 - VE-Day.

Spring-Summer 1945 - Howard is involved in the Manhattan Project.

1946:

December 1945/January 1946 - Peggy is assigned to the SSR office in New York.

March 1946 - events of "Agent Carter" one-shot.

2012:

Early 2012 - 67 years later, Steve Rogers is found frozen but alive.

April 2012 - Rogers wakes up in the S.H.I.E.L.D. recovery room in New York City.

Iron Man (2008) Timeline

The Incredible Hulk (2008) Timeline

Iron Man 2 (2010) Timeline

Thor (2011) Timeline

The Avengers (2012) Timeline

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #james barnes #mcu timeline #captain america the first avenger #captain america the winter soldier #agent carter #peggy carter #howard stark

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loafysainz · 3 days ago

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Animals chap 3 | LN 4

cast: lando norris x minji nj

warn: PLS DONT READ IF U NOT INTO DARK FIC! SMUT 18+, NSFW, MDNI, toxic relationship, manipulation, obsession, controlling behaviours, mention of rape, suicide, and sa, rough sex, no-consent, kidnapping, full of madness, step-brother lando!, step-sister minji!

song rec: animals - maroon 5

chap 3/8

PLS DONT READ IF U NOT INTO DARK FIC!

Bianca returned her gaze to the city skyline outside the window. The cotton-like clouds had begun to scatter, revealing a clear sky—a perfect morning for their business trip to Thailand. She would be flying with a group of executives and, of course, Lando, who was leading the project.

Their company, Norris Automotive, was in the process of collaborating with Sainz Company, a luxury car manufacturer, to open a state-of-the-art factory in Thailand. This joint venture aimed to expand their market in Southeast Asia and establish a stronghold in the region’s automotive industry. Bianca knew this was a massive project, one that could shape her future.

"Wake me up when we landed, okay?" she said to her seatmate, a young production manager named Olivia, as she settled into her business class seat. Olivia smiled warmly. "Yes Bi. You look like you haven't slept all night. Rest up."

Bianca chuckled lightly. She hadn't had a proper night's sleep in days. The 11-hour flight to Bangkok seemed too far and long, and she barely had enough time to catch up on rest before the plane landed.

Upon arrival, they were whisked away by luxury cars arranged by the local team. The hotel Bianca had carefully selected was both beautiful and strategically located near the planned factory site. She had ensured every detail of their accommodations met the team’s needs, but Lando's unreadable expression left her wondering if her efforts were satisfactory.

“Here’s your room key, Sir,” she said nervously as she approached him.

Lando just taking the key without making eye contact before walking away.

Bianca sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Did I mess up again?" she muttered under her breath.

“Let’s get to our room,” Olivia said cheerfully, looping her arm through Bianca’s and snapping her out of her daze. They had agreed to share a room to make coordination easier.

****

As the hours passed, Bianca worked diligently to prepare for the afternoon meeting. The team gathered in a sleek, modern conference room in central Bangkok, where Lando presented a compelling proposal to Sainz’s stakeholders. His commanding presence and strategic insights impressed everyone in the room.

The meeting was a success. The company agreed to proceed with the partnership, paving the way for the construction of their new factory in Thailand. The deal promised to bring economic growth to the area and position Norris Automotive as a leader in the luxury car market.

“I need this report ready by tomorrow morning,” Lando said brusquely.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, masking her frustration.

****

After a long meeting the teams have all arrived in a quiet village near Chiang Rai, where they plan to visit the potential site for Norris Automotive's new factory. The company is exploring partnerships in this beautiful location surrounded by lush greenery and fields that seem to stretch on indefinitely.

The main road that runs through the village is impeccably maintained, their tour guide, Mr. Somchai, leads them to a resort-style facility built in harmony with its natural surroundings. The architecture reflects a traditional, Thai elements, with wide glass windows and teak wood accents. The air carries the scent of lemongrass and jasmine in bloom as Bianca and other teams explore the facility.

"Good afternoon," greeted a woman dressed in traditional Thai attire. Bianca and her colleague smiled politely in return. "We’ve arranged a complimentary spa for all the company staff,"

"This is amazing," Olivia whispered, nudging Bianca as they entered the spa’s reception area. "A fully paid spa session? I feel so lucky to be here!" Bianca chuckled, following one of the Thai attendants toward the massage rooms.

"This way, ma’am," the attendant said, guiding Bianca into a serene room filled with calming music and the faint aroma of essential oils. Bianca chose a traditional herbal compress massage, eager to experience the famed Thai therapy.

Half an hour later, Bianca decided to take a dip in the natural stone pool located in a secluded corner of the spa. She draped a soft cotton wrap over herself and stepped into the warm sun. But just as she was about to descend the stone steps leading to the pool, her foot is too slippery because of the spa oil.

But a pair of arms that suddenly wrapped around her waist made her body freeze.

"Sssh!" Lando! Bianca's heart fell to the bottom of her stomach. The danger alarm, set up on hear head. Because she is totally naked. Without a single fabric wrapped around her body. Bianca should have been able to escape as quickly as possible, but her reflexes suddenly dead. She could feel Lando's arms right under her breasts hugging her tightly,

"Shut up, if you don't want to be ashamed." Lando whispered right next to Bianca ear. What did that mean? Wasn't it Lando who was now make a shame on her?

"Well, well, Lando just getting a massage must be with a comfort woman." Max's sudden footsteps and voice alerted Bianca. She panicked and scared, what if he knew that the girl Lando was hugging was her own sister? But Lando's arms tightened around her.

"No matter where you are, there's always a girl who's willing to play with you. Including that woman, who spent the night with you in the hotel room."

Lando chuckled. "Of course. This woman deserves to be enjoyed." And the man's low laughter made Bianca tense up.

"So, can you go Max? My little business with this woman isn't done yet."

"Okay, I'll be waiting in my room." Max chuckled. "Make it easy, man."

Then the sound of his footsteps retreated, allowing Lando's voice to return to Bianca's numb hearing. This is wrong. This shouldn't be happening.

They were in the middle of a mistake.

"I have saved you from embarrassment," the man whispered in a low voice, while

whispered in a low voice, as he spread a strange all over Bianca's body.

"I deserve a thank you right? Lil sister?" Bianca steeled herself. "Let me go, Land-"

The man pulled her, and Bianca was about to say never came out because Lando silenced her lips first. Until the girl's eyelids widened as Lando crushed them passionately. With his rough tongue that insisted on playing around in her mouth. Lando kissed her.

After a few minute Lando came to his senses and broke the deep kiss, their gazes met. Bianca gasped, her tears welling up and her lips swollen.

Lando's breathing was just as bad, uncontrollable. But in those blazing eyes, there was not the slightest hint of regret for making her little sister cry.

Instead of clarifying his actions, Lando picked up the fallen fabric and draped it around Bianca's naked body. And his fingers put the flower that fall from the trees in his girl's ear. Before he left, without leaving a word.

next chap

#f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #lando norris smut #lando norris x minji #f1 x kpop #minji fic

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spiderdetentionaire · 2 months ago

Text

Mastermind Aftermath (ft. Lilith)

Charlie was watching TV with her mom when suddenly they show a summary of the trial.

Charlie: Oh shit.

Lilith: If your father sees this…

Lucifer arrives with a bowl of popcorn.

Lucifer: Hi my loves, what are you watching?

When he sees the summary on TV he drops the bowl to the floor. And although he seemed to be smiling, he was actually very pissed off with his horns visible.

Charlie: Dad?

Lucifer: I'm sorry but I have to take care of some things to do.

And without further ado he disappears.

An hour later. Vaggie turns on the TV and…

Vaggie: Puta madre!

Everyone is going to see the gossip.

666 News: Breaking news! Lucifer beats the shit out of the sins. Just like you hear it. The king of Hell made it snow in the ring of Wrath, put limits on consumption in the ring of Gluttony, put 100% discounts in the ring of Greed, applied parental control in the ring of Lust, made everyone happy with what they have in the ring of Envy and prohibited sleeping at all hours and laziness in the ring of Sloth. And now he is reportedly looking for the former prince Stolas to give him back all his power. The king of Hell was interviewed and this is what he said.

Lucifer: It's just not fair. I'm helping in my daughter's project, and these people are causing a mess with a lawsuit behind my back… it's not fair.

Reporter: Will things go back to normal in the other rings after what he did?

Lucifer: Until further notice and when I say so. And no more questions. I'm looking for Stolas.

Husk: He's pissed off.

Angel: Look what it says on my phone. It says that Charlie's dad has taken control over the rings and sent the sins to a specific place until he gets over with their mess and gets over his anger.

Lilith: And where does he plan to send them?

The hotel bell rings. Niffty goes quickly and comes back quickly.

Niffty: Charlie, they're looking for you.

Charlie goes and finds her uncles and aunts all scolded and punished.

Mammon: Your dad sent us here.

Beelzebub: And he will be in control of our rings until he says so. And all because of you, Satan!

Azmodeus: As some Imps would say: You fucked up!

---

In Stella's house, she throws the remote to the T.V. breaking it after seeing the news. Needless to say, she's just as pissed off as the time she found out Stolas was cheating on her with an Imp. Right next to her is her brother.

Stella: He can't do that, right?

Andrealphus: Oh dear sister *he takes a sip of his tea* Of course he can! Is fucking Lucifer we're talking about. Didn't you see what he did to the Sins?! Of course he can return your ex his powers.

Stella: *growls in frustration* And to think that all my plans are finally coming to fruition, only for that damn dwarf to show up and ruin everything. And yes, it is Lucifer we are talking about.

Under the table, as if it were a cartoon…

Andrealphus: But what a clever and original comment.

Whatever. Stella pulls out a huge folder with many plans against Stolas to claim absolute power. Andrealphus sees the folder and is shocked to see Octavia's photo in it.

Andrealphus: Are you thinking of plotting to kill your own daughter? Would you be capable of such a thing?!

Stella: Andrealphus! What are you saying?! OF COURSE I am capable, but it's not the time yet, silly. One step at a time.

Suddenly, she closes the folder and makes it disappear into a strategic location.

Stella: There's no other option. We have to kill Stolas before His Highness gives his powers back. *she laughs evilly*

Andrealphus: Let me think in a good plan for it. But I assure you, it will be done as you wish, my hot sister.

Brother and sister laugh evilly and madly, as if they were two kookaburras, and Andrealphus turns his head back maniacally.

Stella: But now I must step into my role as a devoted mother and go see Octavia to her room and tell her to come for dinner. That girl is skin and bones.

As Stella leaves, Andrealphus sees a picture of Stolas with a malicious look.

Andrealphus: I hope you've enjoyed your pathetic Imp, Stolas. Because soon you'll be--

Stella: Andrealphus!!

The ice bird gets up from his seat and runs towards his sister's scream. When he arrives, he finds Stella standing in Octavia's bedroom doorway.

Andrealphus: What's happening?!

Stella: Octavia's gone!

The young Goetia had escaped and took everything she could with her; clothes, phone, etc. Seeing the scene, Stella becomes thoughtful until she concludes something.

Stella: Changes of plans, brother. We have to kill her, too.

---

It had been about 5 hours since Lucifer left to look for Stolas. At the Hotel Charlie does everything possible to make her uncles and aunts feel comfortable, which is not easy since they already have a state of life and comfort zone already established. And of course, there was no lack of criticism or at best certain observations about the redemption plan that she wants to impart in her Hotel and the possible failure that this can entail.

But all that is interrupted when Lucifer appears at the main door all hurt, his clothes torn and tired. Lilith takes him to their room at the Hotel to take care of his wounds, for example she cleans the wounds on one of his legs.

Lucifer: Hey hey hey it burns it burns.

Lilith: It's incredible that you, being the king of hell, a simple demon, could have done this to you.

Lucifer: Demons in plural. And if I ended up like this it's because they piled up against me.

Lilith: Well, what kind of demons were they?

Lucifer: Imps.

Lilith: *not believing it* IMPS?!

Lucifer: But with impressive forces. I don't understand how they could do this to me. As if I had done something to harm them.

Lilith: Well, maybe it was because you put them at the lowest bottom of the Hierarchy in Hell.

Lucifer: Maybe that's why, right?

Lilith: I told you that that place was meant for Sinners.

Then Mammon appears at the door.

Mammon: Dear sister-in-law, are you still going to take your time to heal the wounds of poor Luci who was attacked by some fierce Imps? *laughs* Speaking about losers, bro.

Lucifer: Laugh, you fatso. I'd like to see you face those Imps who seemed to be full of sterols.

Lilith: Why do you say that?

Lucifer: Because the poor bastards jumped so high that they would surpass Sera's height... And how do you know they were Imps?

Mammon: They are broadcasting your humiliating event on Vox TV.

Lucifer: Damn bootleg plasma TV. Not only satisfied with trying to ruin our daughter's project... I'm going to close down his business and his partners' to see if he finds it funny.

Lilith: Mammon, why don't you kindly ask Niffty to prepare you something to eat *takes out a sewing needle* while I sew it up?

Lucifer: Are you going to sew my wounds with that needle?!

Lilith: No, your pants.

Lucifer: Ahhh

Lucifer takes off his torn pants. And yes, hus underwear has printed ducklings.

Lilith: And you, Mammon, go and ask Niffty for something to eat.

Mammon: Greaaaaaat. Okay, Luci, I'm leaving because my hunger is as fierce as some dangerous Imps *laughs again and leaves*

Lucifer: Let's see if you keep laughing, knowing that I control your ring.

Lilith: Please, Luci. Don't be angry anymore.

Lucifer: And how could I not be angry after the stupid thing they did behind my back? Speaking of stupid things, what an idiot I am for not having found Stolas yet, Oh My Father. I've already checked every corner of the rings and that Goetia doesn't appear. Well...

Lilith: Well, what?

Lucifer: I checked every corner, except the Imps' zone when they attacked me. And I'm still an idiot because it is said that he is having an affair with an Imp.

Lilith: The ex-prince of the Goetia having an affair with an Imp? This has become a soap opera.

Lucifer uses his magic to dress himself in better clothes and leaves the room. In the lobby, the rest of the sins, including Alastor, did not hide their desire to laugh after seeing on television how some simple Imps attacked the king of Hell.

Lucifer: Keep laughing, you fuckers. You won't see your rings in a long time. But now I have better things to...

But when he opens the doors of the Hotel to leave again, he finds a young Goetia about to knock on the door. It seemed that the girl was crying.

Octavia: King Lucifer?

Lucifer: Umm... yes?

Octavia: I need your help.

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