MUSIC: OSTs: Zelda, persona 5, undertale, deltarune, kpop demon hunters, danganronpa ARTISTS: Many kpop groups, vocaloid, sleeping with sirens, mcr, ptv GENRES: kpop, chip tunes, OST, emo/post hardcore, liminal
Comforts: Mihaly, Mira, Zoey, Rumi
DNI & BYF ⬇️
Dni: political blogs, overly sxual blogs, anti-recovery blogs.
To M1nors:
We can: Reblog, follow, like posts
I won't allow: Reading my 18+ fics, any form of NON-public communication (asks, DMs)
Some people don't share their age or I will follow a blog from my explore page. If you are a m1nor feel free to remove me as a follower if you're uncomfortable.
My fanfic is sometimes for adults only. Mild content will have content advisory at the top, REAL +18 will be marked mature. (All content follows guidelines.)
Mihaly is like a double comfort character for me. Because I ♡ Soraya Gacem and Mihaly. So imagine your favorite human cosplaying your favorite fictional character.
Here I am gushing over how much I ♡ Soraya
She's just a girl. Like, its not her fault she got tangled in the headphones and her hands got all caught in her shirt. Its not her fault she wobbles while tree posing. She's a hip-hop dancer not a yoga instructor. And they had her wearing 3 layers, a long wig, wired headphones, big clunky glasses, and theyre BOUND to get tangled. Oh she's just so precious. She is so Mihaly coded. They're definitely a lil accident prone.
Oh that's my baby girl awww she's just a girl. Nothings her fault. Nothing will ever be her fault. Even when she fumbles in a dance or has a wardrobe malfunction.
It was part of the dance for her to blow up. It was choreographed I swear. She's just a girl leave her alone. No, her whole wig was SUPPOSED to fall off. It's for the bit. Nahhh she was just in character when she robbed Sephora, bit a man, hit a curb, got a speeding ticket, threw her Starbucks at the windshield of someone who almost hit her while she was crossing the street, and deflated her exes tires. She. Is. Just. A. Girl.
You see, officer. None of this would've become an issue if Sephora believed in sharing is caring. And if the man she bit didn't come within 30 ft of her vicinity. And the curb wasn't there yesterday. It wasn't supposed to be there. And she wasn't speeding. Yall are just babies. And maybe instead of policing her driving, go find the jerk that almost hit her at a crosswalk and refund her starbucks. And her ex needed new tires anyway. Shes. Just. A. Girl.
Scroll back up and look at that picture of her. She's just a girl. Don't be mean. See? If you get mad at her and make her tummy hurt I will resort to violence punishable under federal law.
I'm convinced they purposely make the coaches in Just Dance look hokey so you don't feel embarrassed or stupid while dancing.
Would you rather dance with this guy or some random normal looking person?? If the coach looks eccentric, it makes you feel safer. Or maybe I'm just a gay person that feels safer around the queer community.
Cuz we all kinda look like this anyway. If not physically? Then spiritually.
Tried to excitedly show this to my mom who'd been at her BFs house overnight so I hadn't seen her yet. She just began to walk out of the room and I was like "uhh hey?!?" And she proceeded to shout at me that she's busy in the basement and her bf is holding something heavy and she doesn't have time.
My TOTM is soon. My sh1tty bf left me yesterday. I have a sinister sense of humor with a bad habit of d34th jokes. Ofc, I mutter under my breath like the dramatic BPDer I am "dayum ig I'll just go 1< i |_ |_ myself"
She begins screaming at me. So I just trudge back to my room and close the door normally. I'm about to sit down when she bursts through the door with more yelling.
I say why are you yelling??? We don't need to yell??? And she says I'm GUILT TRIPPING HER. she didn't have 2 seconds for my three 1 sentence facts.
So I tell her you could've used this time you suddenly have; to listen to my facts. It would've taken so much less time
Then she goes "fine. What are the fucking facts." She doesn't have a sailors mouth so I take it personally. She weaponizes swears.
So I say "never mind. Just go."
And she proceeds to say thank you i don't have time for this.
I just wanted someone to care.
This is why 3 of my comforts are mother figures and 2 are fatherly. These ppl suck.
She said she'd spend time with me tonight. She'd make a dinner I enjoy and play Just Dance with me. But now I feel like a burden and don't want to do it anymore which will soon be blamed on me for being sensitive.
As an orchidsexual which means I'm attracted to the plum tree in a flirty way
panromantic with AFAB preferences*. This means I am attracted to someone that is not a dad or something like that and I'm barricading my door nightly WHAT AHAHAJAJAJA
Drew our beloved Soraya. She is mother. Without her, we wouldn't have the Mihaly we know and love.
My ig is credited in the signature because I plan on posting it there :,) however I won't type it because I dont want this blog to be linked to my insta. I am not mixing crowd A with crowd B.
We are lucky that Mihaly was portrayed by beautiful Soraya Gacem.
Her complexion is gorgeous. I believe she must be half or more percent Algerian. She lives in France according to her instagram bio. Also there's pictures she took in Algeria while visiting relatives.
These are simply educated guesses sourced by info shared by Soraya herself. I don't plan on researching her because that's disrespectful and invasive imo. I have nothing but respect and admiration.
That's why I headcanon Mihaly as a Chinese Algerian mix. A little bit of my headcanon and a little bit of who brought Mihaly to life. Like how Sara's hair is brown while on earth, mihaly would have dark black long hair, almond shaped eyes, and a toasty deep tan to their skin. Chinese stems from their dance style, aesthetic design, and panda spirit animal. And their eye shape.
Soraya is like Mihaly's mama. She gave them life. A part of her should remain with Mihaly. Thats HER character.
This is the ramblings of an orchidsexual. Someone who's only drawn to the sound of it. A poetically suggestive illustration of something I wish to reenact only in my mind.
An orchidsexual with BPD. High expectations with unacheivable results. Burned by the cruelty of lust because yes and no apparently both mean yes. And asexual means fair grounds for abandonment.
Oh. And I love Mihaly and I'm probably ovulating. And I'm high as balls.
Mihaly is the embodiment of my purest daydreams
And a reflection of my deepest desires.
Please, hastily tug my arm and lead me to the dance floor. Sweep me off my feet. Twirl me around. Effortlessly. Light as a feather.
With me in your arms. Be a cocky; showoff.
Please show how skilled you are at dancing, Mihaly. Let me be your petite charming prop to throw around.
Agile, swift, nimble, and free, like the mighty shamen you are.
Strong. Confident. Leading. Guiding.
Be my coach.
Like nobody's done before.
Because nobody's loved me this way.
I crave. I yearn. I wish.
Crave. Being spoiled with patience and gentle words.
Yearn. For hot breathy words of praise growled into my ear.
Wish. Wish I was lovable enough to deserve this.
This treatment. Without the expectation for my innocence to be surrendered that night.
To be pampered and treasured. Without owing my body.
I don't trust anyone to follow my script. One wrong word and I fall apart like a porcelain rose.
" Too sensitive. Walking on eggshells. Overreacting." When all I want is empathy and an open mind.
Must I throw a tantrum for someone to love me right?
No. I mustn't throw a tantrum. Because my dear coach has high expectations for me.
To behave.
To behave like a good little dancer for them. To be nothing less than Megastar.
I'm Mihaly's Megastar.
Only theirs. Because they encourage me to thrive.
Instead of stifling my creativity? They want me to dance.
Excited to dance with me. Not embarrassed by my excitement.
Proud. They'd beam with pride and wear me like a gold medal.
Sinking their teeth into my shoulder like a gold medalist with their necklace. All the while, proud.
They won't pretend I'm a stranger. Finally. Someone who's not ashamed to be seen with me. They'd join me.
They'd never hiss these words in my ear when I begin to dance.
When the music plays... they'd join.
Neither of us would say "may I have this dance?" Because my hand will be in theirs. And by the time Mihaly's pulled me in, we're already swaying mindlessly to the rhythm.
They'd make me feel wanted. Needed. Cherished. Loved unconditionally.
"Inconvenience. Burden. Difficult. Unlovable. Too Confusing for love." Words that are bitter and familiar.
Familiar.
I want their embrace to become familiar. Their scent. Their voice.
Learning eachothers bodies, so when we tangle ourselves together it will feel natural.
Sliding easily into Mihaly's eager grasp. Interlocking. Weaving together gracefully. Like a whimsical woven basket with matching white daisies and a giant silk bow.
Silk bow. Slipping through my fingers like their silky hair.
Slipping. Like their tongue. Slipping impulsively. To places I've neglected.
Sounds I believed to be incapable of; pour from my trembling lips.
Say my name.
Mihaly. Mihaly. Mihaly. Mihaly. Mihaly.
Darling. Baby. Sweetheart. Those tender soothing words.
In their presence, my soul is safe. Secure.
For once I have control of my body. And I will use that control
To put them in charge.
Coach.
I want all of Mihaly. And a stupidly large amount of free time. To try everything.
Slow, thorough, careful. Keeping a balance of energy and peace.
That berry pink hair. A sweaty mop with my shaky fingers tangled deep.
That same hair will be brushed out affectionately as I soothe them. Kissing their crown softly, and reminding them.
That I love them unconditionally. Even if we wander to places... places...
Places where their kisses are endless.
Our lips. Puffy and swollen. Tingly and numb. I forget which tongue is mine. Ugh. Again?
Dizzy with sinful thoughts, yet they still have a toothy grin. Like a cheeky dork with a crush.
Thats my coach. Mihaly.
Ivory skin slick with a layer of wetness that reeks of a disrespectful amount of pheromones. Dragging me in. Oh oh god...
Mihaly. That's my coach.
Tying back my hair is enough to get them squirming impatiently.
Making themselves comfortable. Making room for me. Begging for me to come close.
Come? I'll oblige. I come when I'm told; coach.
Come? Yes. Mihaly's begging for me to let them do that...
Those eyes. Fluttering. Inky irises disappearing behind low lids as their eyes roll in ecstasy.
Desperate needy gase through a thick curtain of lashes.
Loud animalistic yelps and roars sound like music to my ears as they sing to me. I like the way they say my name.
My name.
The only tangible word they've uttered thus far.
Holding them down gently. Or they'll break my nose.
Woah, Naughty Naughty.
Tsk tsk. Come now, dear. Breathe. Relax.
Come? Yes.
Taste? Yes.
More? Yes.
"Are you ready? Do you consent?"
And for the first time. I say
Yes.
My jaw is stiff. My tongue is tired. But my mouth falls open.
Back arched. Head tipped. Heart pounding. Thoughts. Thoughts become words as they leave my mouth without permission. How... disgusting. Shun worthy.
But that's what coach wants.
I oblige.
I do what I'm told, Mihaly.
Cocky. Aloof. Arrogant showoff.
Flustered words of bargaining and denial.
Ah. How about... Skilled. Passionate. Dedicated.
That's what I meant, coach. I'm just shy.
I feel so special. Putting them to work. Not afraid to get ugly.
Glasses slipping down their nose. Hastily shoving them into place. Clumsy. Greedy.
The frames digging into my bare skin. God I wish they'd leave a permanent mark.
I hold back their hair. They're focused.
Glasses foggy as they take a breath.
Foggy like our minds. Lust hangs thick and heavy in the air. Squeezing us dangerously in a humid hazy restraint.
Squeezing. Like the thighs crushing their temples.
I won't let them move even an inch.
Perfect.
Please let me... MIHALY.
Their hair is my reigns. I cut them no slack. Give them no air.
Not that they needed air more than they needed me. Breathing is inferior to whatever they're tasting on me, which they love so much.
I'm an artist with a canvas that begs me to make them into a masterpiece.
The canvas is named Mihaly. You wanna become a masterpiece?
Good coach.
Aren't you pretty? Look at yourself. That's mine. That's my coach who's so pretty.
My head on their chest. The air cooling down. But their heat keeps me warm and safe.
Warm and safe in Mihaly's arms.
Their fictional arms. A place I call home.
My heart aches.
Because I don't want it. Unless it's them.
I can't feel it. Unless it's them. That deep full heavy glowing tightness in my lower tummy.
Nobody's ever made me feel cherished enough to experience this feeling before.
I'll be met with only disappointment if I trick myself to believe that anyone could make me feel like Mihaly.
I enjoy this state of mind. My safe place. In my head.
Ignored? Abandoned? Misunderstood and rejected? That's when I visit Mihaly.
They're always happy to see me. They always make time for me. And they're always patiently waiting for my inevitable return after the world cuts into my heart. Deeper each time.
If only I could deserve what I yearn.
If only my dreams could coexist with equal importance and realness as true reality.
SORAYA NOTICED. I CAN NOW SLEEP PEACEFULLY KNOWING SHE SAW MY MIHALY FANART. sure maybe I got like 3 likes BUT ONE OF THEM IS HERS SO IT COUNTS AS THREE BILLION.
I can add this to my short list of cool artist flexes.
# 1 : I won 3 exclusive photocards from placing silver in a global kpop demon hunters official fanart competition
# 2 : some dancer said WAOUWWW on my post even after instagram shadow banned me.
