#these are actually a couple of months old but someone brought the concept up and I wanted to finish it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theknightmarket · 2 years ago

Note

This is like the most random concept to probably ever come to me so out of the blue, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but also I feel like if anyone could make something interesting out of this it'd be you. (love your fics btw<3)

So like, Illinois, with his whole knock-off Indiana Jones bullshit, with an s/o who's similarly akin to James Bond...….yeah idk either, man- You can come up with whatever action movie plot, or maybe just some domestic fluff with comically abrupt fight scenes sprinkled in cus that's just how chaotic I imagine their life would be. It's entirely up to you. I am very tired rn.

“Berlin, 1996.”

In which Illinois and his partner – in more than one sense – relive their meeting.

TW: cursing, blood, drug use, general mature themes

Pages: 12 – Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

The distant sizzle of waffle batter on a pan was the first thing you recognised when you woke in your bed. The smell of coffee wafting from the same place was the second, and the third, while a strange sensation to anyone else, was comforting to you. Your dog lapping at your hand that dangled over the side of the bed had you shaking yourself from the fuzzy grip of sleep. It was going to be a long and laborious process considering the amount of work you’d had for the last week, but this was finally a day that you could spend doing whatever you wished – which, right now, looked a lot like following the sweet scent of breakfast into the kitchen.

Moriarty led the way, the beautiful puppy, although actually a six-year-old Belgian Malinois, whom you had adopted a few years back. He had never liked many of your friends, and you trusted his nose enough to follow his advice. Sure, it might have seemed weird to take social cues from a canine, but he hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Whether it was a Russian spy you’d accidentally offered coffee to, or the smuggler who moved in down the road, Moriarty told you when people were off, and that just happened to be most of those you came in contact with. You’d long since given up making connections when the tenth potential acquaintance had turned out to be the head of some mafia you’d never even heard of.

And then imagine your surprise when you finally brought home someone he liked.

And your further surprise when he stayed the night, and then the morning, and then a week, and then a month, a year, and so on, until you should have been asking him for rent. All the while, Moriarty hadn’t made a peep, leaving you to your devices with this new and, for lack of a better term, strange fellow.

“Morning, gorgeous!”

Speak of the devil and he may appear.

That ‘devil’, affectionate, of course, was none other than the infamous Illinois Jones. A man chased by many, found by few, and held onto by only the luckiest of the lot. You were one of these people, aware that you had him in the palm of your hand, and you thanked him routinely in the morning with a kiss on the cheek for staying.

The clock on the oven flashed a sharp 08:41, an unusual time for Illi to be awake at, but you weren’t complaining. Your job was stressful; you were sure that any doctor would tell you to quit immediately with how often your blood pressure spiked, so you treasured these couple of moments when you were given a break. Your partner had an on-and-off relationship with missions, the things he preferred to call adventures, but he had a likewise relationship with the agency itself. He had a habit of running off to foreign lands without permission, looking for trouble and finding it, too. You wouldn’t mind it, had it not been for your unfortunate love of the man that drew you after him, like a dog on a leash. In the meantime, a good rest was well deserved, now that you were back in the comfort of your own home after an unexpected visit to Guyana.

Plus, he looked damn good in boxers and an apron.

You lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, unintentionally distracting him from the food he was preparing, and muttered into his neck, “G’morning.”

“If you want breakfast, you’re gonna have to let me cook, babe,” he laughed, though that didn’t stop him from leaning back into you.

Your only response was a muffled groan. It wasn’t your fault that you were so touchy-feely today. Work took up most of the daylight, and upkeep stole the rest away. The only time you really got together was in the late hours of the night when twilight would draw a sheet of privacy over the two of you and leave you alone. The stars would dance together, fireflies entertained themselves and you could just be together. Forgive yourself if you wanted to savor the minutes.

Alas, you couldn’t stay at Illinois’ side forever. You’d have to come out of hiding eventually, and now was as good a time as any, so you drowsily shuffled towards the front door. The rusted latches groaned with a mere press of your hand, swinging open with an inching pace. Immediately, a gust of dry air trampled past your face, and the faint smell of dust had you sighing more than breathing. It was a classic Louisiana morning, something you haven’t experienced in a long time – not for a lack of breaks. No, although your recent schedule has been clogged, this quant place was a safe house paid for by the agency, meaning it wasn’t only yours to begin with. It was difficult to get used to using the same amenities that a stranger had just a few days ago, in a room that had a tagline of ‘safe’, but you got over it. It just meant that sanitizing every surface was the chore of the first day.

Illinois didn’t have those reservations; the second that he stepped out of the truck, he declared it home, and went on the search for a good cave. He only agreed to come over camping in the wilderness because of the free food. Or, at least, that’s what he said. There was a small part of you that was sure it was because he didn’t want to be alone, you having no chance to agree on tents – and there was a big part of him that knew you were right.

You laughed to yourself, pulling a porch chair into the orange sunlight. Being a safe house, it was surrounded by the thickest stretch of trees in the state and, even further, lakes and rivers that made it looked untouched by human hands. The second day had been spent exploring nature together. Illinois tugged you by your hand through bushes, over boulders, underneath a couple fallen trees, all the way to the perimeter of the land. From atop a small cliff, you could see the start of urbanization, but it was sheltered by a haze of smog and lights. The city stayed alight until well into midnight and beyond, like a dying campfire, only to be fed at the crack of dawn.

A similar flicker of a flame shot into the air in front of you.

The metal of your lighter was calming, the grooves of the ingrained letters basing you in the present. ‘Berlin, 1996’ was written in small italic near the lever, making it unlikely for you to ever resist the temptation of running your fingers over the markings. It made you smile and, from time to time, had the added benefit of you putting the lighter back in your pocket. This was not one of those times, but a grin did spread over your lips, nonetheless.

The flicker met the end of a cigarette, which you promptly pulled towards your mouth when it took the flame. Illinois didn’t like the fact that you smoked, he always said how he wanted to be fit in his 90s, but you weren’t cheering for him when he jumped 20 feet down for the fun of it either. The compromise you came to was that both of you would continue to indulge the devils on your shoulders and could laugh at the other’s funeral if they died first.

In all honesty, it was not a situation that you liked to be in. The constant, looming cloud of loss scared you more than any danger the agency put you in ever could. Nights spent waiting for Illinois to come home, the fear that time would go by, and the sun would rise and set again, and the door wouldn’t open… it was damn-near paralyzing. The only thing that kept you going, ironically enough, was that same man. At least, if you went on the same jobs that he did, you could keep an eye on him. You would know what kind of danger he was in, and you had the chance to stop it. The question was: would you be fast enough?

You took another drag of your cigarette.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.” The porch crackled as Illinois stepped onto the wooden planks. “It’s not good for you.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

A light-hearted chuckle brushed against your ear, accompanied by the click of his boots and humming of cicadas. The deep sound stopped when he swung another chair next to yours. As he came into view, you saw he had replaced his apron with a simple, loose shirt that fell from him like a woman who had fainted in distress. To catch Illinois in a shirt that actually fit him would be to kill the king – impossible and, according to him, a crime punishable by death.

“You know,” he spoke up, “you don’t look like the rumors.”

Your head unconsciously twisted to the side, so that you could see Illinois only slightly better. His own gaze was fixated in the distant spread of trees. Questions as to what he was starting at batted against you, but you settled on making a curious noise, instead.

“When we first met, I thought you’d lied to me. I’d heard all these stories about a suave, collected, expert of a heartbreaker, and then…”

“They were proved incorrect?”

He took in a steady breath. “No. They were proved, uh, very correct. Actually, after hearing about you, I kinda,” he coughed, as though that would transfer his thoughts directly to you and take away the need to say the words, “made some assumptions that were not as correct.”

Illinois prided himself on being right most of the time – and expressed himself as being right all of the time. However, this was one of the only things that he would admit he was wrong about, this being you. The image he had conjured of you was snide and snobby, only in it for themself and with the biggest case of holier-than-thou syndrome he’d ever thought of. Those stories of you driving fancy cars had pushed him into a corner, trapped by a cage of disgust and partial envy. Then, the rumors of how many people you had seduced worked their magic, followed by a notorious habit of smoking and drinking, which designated you, though he perished the thought now, a scumbag.

But when he’d actually met you…

“And I’m, uh, glad they weren’t.”

He swung an arm around your chair, drew rough fingers across your collarbone and directed your jaw into facing him. The light breeze shifted your hair like a lover’s touch, and the yellow sun decorated you like a bespoke artwork. Something he’d steal from a museum if he had to, but, no, he had you sitting right in front of him, with the quirk of an eyebrow and a small smile on your lips. He was lucky, he knew that, and he thanked his lucky stars every time he woke up next to you in sparkling mornings, every time your hands brushed when he pulled you up from a ledge, every time your eyes met from across a ballroom.

The first time that happened was still something he treasured more than any bespoke jewel or painting.

“Let’s get this business started.”

The night was young, the guests were pleasantly tipsy, and you were perched at one of the centre tables, next to three attractive models and the focus of your attention.

At this moment, you and your company were in the Berlin Operetta House, a classic establishment with smoke and liquor running through its veins. You had joined in – for lack of anything better to do while biding your time – and had been seated with these four the last two hours. The women you had no information on, except for what you had observed in the time given, most of which boiled down to being pretty faces for the big guy sitting across from you.

Earnest Whimson, dramatic irony demanding repentance of his parents as he was anything but earnest. He’d made his living on buying and selling anything he could get him tobacco-stained hands on, be it stolen goods, illegal drugs, or people themselves. It was a desolate trade, rotten but protected by the wallets of the people at the top. In those cases, there was only one person the authorities would routinely turn to.

You.

The authorities, the uncorrupted minorities, would plead with your agency for help, and you were the first person on the list. Call it luck or honed skill, you didn’t care. What you did care about was getting the job done in a quick and efficient manner. These places weren’t good to stay in for more than a day, lest you want to gain a certain reputation in all of the sectors. Thus, speed was top billing this night. That, and types like Whimson made it hard to keep your cover with the way he was talking.

Luckily for you, nine o’clock was rearing its head, the lights were dimming and only a few people were left still chatting over their expensive dining. All eyes were directed towards the stage with fervor, those who didn’t know what was happening watching in piqued interest and those who did waiting with bated breath for the real show to begin.

You did know what was happening, you were indeed waiting, but your breaths were slow and steady, like a smooth rock in a brook. The plan was simple; starting at nine, you’d watch Whimson, make friendly banter with him while he bid on whatever items caught his eye. When he inevitably would call out a ludicrous amount of money for a bejeweled crown or statue and the night comes to a close, you’d excuse yourself and make your way to where that thing was located, wait for Whimson, and kindly dispatch the man before anyone could catch wind of what happened. The money he had taken out the few hours before would go to any witnesses, and you’d get back home in time for a smoke and martini.

Simple.

Except your life had to be hard, didn’t it? You couldn’t just have a plan and stick to it, without something going wrong. Why? You didn’t know. If it had to do with karma or just bad luck, you didn’t know. A pity, really, when it would have made it so much easier to fix it if you did. It almost made you laugh, the thought of what a normal, easy mission was like.

And the things that went wrong never stayed the same. In one instance, you’d find your getaway driver with a bullet through his skull – in another, your target was informed of your mission and managed to get away – sometimes, it was just raining.

Right now, the thing that went wrong was something that had never happened before.

That thing being the infamous Illinois Jones.

Not even half an hour into the auction, and yet this man, adorned in an open, off-white shirt and multiple belts, was leaping onto the wooden slats. Your jaw would have been on the ground had it not been for the table, if not for his bravado, then for his stupidity. The artifact Whimson had bid on – go figure, a bejeweled crown – slotted nicely into his hand as he snatched it from its marble pedestal, shocking the woman presenting it into stumbling back. A wink was sent her way, she ran off, and Illinois turned to the audience.

You listened as he spoke. You sat quietly, pretending that you were shocked, when, in reality, you were seething. The boiling of your blood was louder than the whispering of the bidders, and you found yourself restraining the urge to run up there and slap him for ruining your mission. Questions preoccupied your mind while he lectured the guests about the importance of culture and integrity. Why him - why now?! He wasn’t even a part of the agency, he shouldn’t have known about this bid, and yet there he was, like a smug reaper coming to steal your soul into hell. Did he even know you were there? Did it matter to him?

You only noticed Illinois had stopped talking when he swiveled on the heel of his boot, presumably struck a pose, and then stalked off the stage. Everyone was in such a shock that they didn’t stop him, at least, not at first. After a few seconds had passed for people to gain their composures, that was the cue for havoc to befall the room. Illinois had single-handedly converted an organization of logical, fat cats into a daycare for screaming toddlers; suited men pushed themselves away from tables and darted down the hallways, bodyguards unequipped their guns and set about searching for the adventurer, while some of the wives, understandably, stayed to sip on white wine. You would very much join them if it weren’t for Whimson leaning over to his personal bouncer to whisper in his ear.

“Get the street rat.”

You sighed and took a final swig of your drink. Illinois was a menace, sure, but you weren’t willing to let him die for his ignorance. The agency may have applauded you as you returned, but you had maintained something of a moral compass during your work, so you liked to think you wouldn’t let him die like this. As you said, the man was infamous, and infamous people would not find their ends at the hands of a capitalist bastard’s lapdogs.

The clink of your glass against the wooden table did not draw Whimson’s attention, but, if it had, he might have been able to avoid the bullet that wedged itself into his skull. You had aimed for his temple, and you were a brilliant shot. The smoke of your pistol camouflaged itself into the ceiling’s belt of fog. Cigarettes, similar to the one you now pulled out from a pocket to light. This job was not only stressful, it was stress. No mission could be easy, no day could go according to plan, and no panicked mob of refined guests could leave the building in an orderly fashion. People swarmed to the exits at the sound of the gunshot, tripping over one another and abandoning their guests to, presumably, your slaughter.

You took a drag of your cigarette, pressed it between your lips, and gathered the suit jacket that had been on the back of your chair. Movements slow and deliberate, it was a wonder how the guard dogs Whimson had sent to Illinois hadn’t turned around yet to catch you. Good for you, but stupid on their part. Nevertheless, you were out of the manic tide of bidders before they could even realise their owner was slumped against the mahogany, brain matter splayed on his dress shirt.

The sound of clicking dress shoes amidst the cacophony of panic sent leftover guests into hiding, with the thought that anyone that calm in the sea of chaos was in control of the situation, and that anyone who wouldn’t do anything to stop it was not to be messed with. This gave you the perfect path towards your new target. Calling out Illinois’ name was unnecessary, given you could already hear distant shots echoing down the hallways.

And when you came to the end, asking where those gunshots were meant to hit was also unnecessary.

The wall behind Illinois was pepped with holes, like a coral beach, while Whimson’s bodyguards looked relatively unharmed. From your position, it looked like Illinois was doing everything he could to dodge the bullets, and nothing to actually fight back. Putting your cigarette out on a recently polished cabinet, you delved into the fray.

The first man down was yours, with an ornamental vase smashed against his skull, the kind of ones only used for grasping at when someone’s strangling you, but they still worked well to knock him out. Next down was his friend, who charged at you with intent to kill, but a shard of the broken porcelain stuck in his throat sent him to the ground. Blood trickled from the cut like a damaged water fountain, but none of the others paid him mind. Really, how would they ever survive without comradery?

You didn’t know, because they wouldn’t; Illinois, in tandem with your bloodier style, brought a table leg down onto another of the staff, the frail wood cracking the second it touched his head. The man whirled around with fury in his eyes, but those soon rolled back with the force of a punch to his face. You watched on, subtly impressed, though now was no time to ogle. Instead, you could do so after these people had been dispatched.

Strikes to the lower abdomens, blunt-force trauma to their foreheads, and what you hoped were lethal cracks of bone kept everyone wanting to live away from the corridor. You brought one dress shoe down on a woman’s fingers, sighed at the pitiful crunch that was muffled by her scream, and then stood up to assess the situation. One, two, three- four, two were on top of each other, and the one that Illinois was currently bashing against the wall. That made five at the scene.

Six, if you were to include the one that popped a bullet past your thigh. Lousy shot, they barely grazed the clothing, though it was a shame; that outfit had been one of your favorites.

Swiping a hand to your gun, you whirled around to see a particularly bulky bastard rounding the corner you’d come from. Illinois jumped to your side to look at the arrivals and took notice of your weapon in quick fashion. If only he had more trouble with brutalizing that last one, you might have hit the bullseye.

But a pressure on your wrist distracted you enough to miss. With your target swiveling to look at the newly cracked mirror and one end of the corridor swarmed by suited staff members, your night was only getting worse, and you lamented as such while Illinois dragged you down to the only available exit.

Your job required a lot of running – more than the average desk job did, at least – and that was why your legs were able to work on autopilot despite the adrenaline working through your veins that pressured you to be aware of every little thing that crossed your mind. The shattered glass from dropped plates, the swinging of doors as the last party members escaped, the texture of Illinois’ hand that had steadily moved to wrap around your own fingers. He was decorated with callouses and rough patches, war wounds sustained in the battlefield of caves and climbing. They told a story, one that you could have read had you enough time, but, for now, you had to be satisfied with knowing his present – told to you, not by his skin, but by you also experiencing it at his side.

That involved the darting through doors, ducking under pipes, skirting around the staff members who hadn’t gotten the memo. You didn’t even have the chance to ask where Illinois was bringing you, too focused on not slamming straight into a wall. The steady sounds of boots marching behind you, of which you counted six or seven, propelled you forward, like striking a match against a line of gas. You barely felt conscious throughout the run; the rattle of Illinois’ pickup truck went over your head, and the jingle of a bar’s bell hardly registered until you were seated in one of the old bar seats where you came to, a drink in your hand and Illinois staring right at you. Well, not just staring right at you, but also spilling every bad pick-up line in his book.

“I was wondering if you had an extra heart, because mine was just stolen.”

You had half a mind to put your martini down and walk out the door.

“I’m really glad I bought life insurance, because when I saw you, my heart stopped.”

Did he have life insurance?

“You must be a bank loan, because you’ve got my int—”

“Why do you even want that thing, anyway?” you interrupted, vaguely gesturing to the crown peeking out of his satchel with your non-drink hand.

“So, now you’re interested?” he chuckled, but only stopped long enough to order a whiskey before he commented, “The crown of Dos Partom, an old relic from the Mesopotamian era. No idea how it ended up in a bidding war, but, really, it belongs in a museum—” he shot a glance to the side, acting as though he hadn’t been watching you for the past ten minutes, “—that, and the company isn’t bad.”

So, he was the cocky type? You could’ve guessed that from the million stories about his personality, but it was a wonder to see it in action. Sure, you had a habit of using your charisma to get into places you shouldn’t have been, but this? What was he hoping to achieve? You’d already saved his ass from Whimson’s lackeys, and yet there he was, perched on the bar stool next to you, continuing his verbal assault of shoddy lines. Your eyes rolling and your annoyance growing, you twisted in your seat and removed a cigarette from your belt’s pocket. Normally, on mission days, you had five or six, a large step down from when you had days off, and yet this day was taking its toll on your stash.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.”

And so, too, was Illinois taking his toll on your patience.

“It’s not good for you.” Regardless, you continued your strut to the backgarden of the bar. Lucky for you, despite the lateness, the weather had taken pity on you. A gentle breeze carved through the foliage and guided the smoke of your cigarette into the moonlit sky. The growl of cars and humming of lights brought you to lean against the white brick wall and take in the scenery. When you got a moment to yourself, appreciating where you were was the best you could do – because, who knows, you could be dead tomorrow.

You took another drag, and then placed it on your bottom lip as you retrieved your phone. It was just a burner that you took on missions, but it had all the essentials, including the number of your assigned agency representative. The handlers, you called them. You didn’t know the name of yours, but you trusted them with everything about yourself; where you were, who you were with, what you were doing down to the shift of a foot. Right now, you were entrusting them with the simple name of your mission and the promise of it having been finished at your normal quality.

“Berlin, 1996,” you muttered as you typed the letters.

“Keeping a diary there, sweetheart?”

Could you catch a break? Apparently not, you assumed, as the sight of Illinois wrapped around the corner. His hat was off, held in one hand, and both your drinks in the other. You met his eyes, he stared back, and then you removed your glass.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“What do you want?”

Illinois pretended to be shocked, reeling back and pressing his hat to his chest. “Me? Want something? From you?” he gasped, a smirk overthrowing his lips only when you didn’t react. “Not at all.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jones,” you warned.

“I appreciate that you think I play dumb.”

That teasing smile, the glistening eyes, you had to look away before you did anything drastic. Whether that was punching him or kissing him, you didn’t know, but you knew that looked off into the well-trimmed hedges halted the urge. “I know you’re not just a pretty face, what do you want?”

“And I’m pretty?” Another chuckle. “You don’t need to say all that to get me interested.”

“Just—” you took a breath in, “—tell me what you want from me, and then we can part ways. Easy.”

“And what if I don’t want it to be easy?”

Someone inside the bar shouted that it was last call, but neither of you moved to grab your final drinks. Neither of you moved, at all. You stayed still, Illinois stayed still, and the only sound between you was the buzz of moths at the dangling light just a few inches away. Illinois was… he was something else, that was for sure. Either he was going to kill himself, or you were going to kill him yourself. No matter what, you wanted to be there for it.

Reaching out, you pulled a thumb along his jawline and took a sip of your martini out of the other hand. Illinois was too stunned to speak, leaving you the chance to remove your hand, snatch his hat and shove it onto his head in one, fast motion. He made some sort of sound, one that you didn’t catch as you waltzed back into the bar.

Illinois, standing in the porchlight, laughed to himself and followed you inside – and then, in another year, five months and two days, he’d be doing the exact same thing, except, this time, with a golden band around both of your fingers.

[As a Brit myself, and having seen neither James Bond nor Indiana Jones, this was a treat for me! Thank you for requesting! Also, as some of you may have noticed, I have currently closed my requests because exam season is coming up, but I should be back around the end of June. Thank you for sticking with me, and, again, thank you for requesting!]

#markiplier #illinois x reader #illinois #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier egos #fanficiton #theknightmarket #x reader #request #reader insert #oneshot #Indiana jones #James bond

42 notes · View notes

romulanspeeddating · 6 months ago

Text

I've been listening to the FRLG credits music way too much recently. Far too much rambling about it under the cut.

It's hard to express the emotional impact music can have on you, because it is something personal to you. The best way to describe the emotions it instills would be the music itself, so if the music doesn't have the effect on someone else then they're not going to get it. Trying to put it into words would be like telling them about a dream you had; it has no first-hand meaning to them. Plus there's the fact that it isn't the music itself that makes me feel a certain way but the memories and concepts I associate with the music. If I had never played a Pokemon game and heard it I wouldn't think anything of it.

None of the other generations' credits music have as memorable a melody as the original. Even though I'm certain I would have heard the GSC and possibly even the RSE endings before the RBY/FRLG one.

My earliest memory of playing a Pokémon game was playing Blue on an emulator and my heart was beating really hard as I got to Lance in the Pokémon league. It was the furthest I'd got so far, and I'm pretty sure I lost to him. I'm not sure I ever beat that game. So I don't remember the first time I heard the end credits music. However I do remember staying up into the wee hours of the morning to watch (and play?) the finale of Twitch Plays Pokémon live. I took a screenshot of the "THE END" screen and named it "memory.png" because of how much fun I had following the stream. Then a couple of months later (pretty much exactly 10 years ago from today) I was back from my year in America and was working a temp job at my university over summer. I was living in a dormitory and since it was summer there weren't any other people there. It was the first time I'd lived alone in my life. And at one point while I was living there I listened to the end credits music and just started crying. I have no idea what exactly I was crying about, but the music combined with the fact that I didn't have to worry about people hearing me through the walls and asking if I'm okay is what brought it on. And I was crying for hours, until I fell asleep.

I don't tend to feel strong emotions, but one thing that can get me is catharsis. The end credits music as a fanfare already makes you feel relief that the struggle it took to become a Pokémon champion is over, but it's bittersweet because the adventure was the point; that was the fun part. Unless you're going for 100% completion that's where the game ends. The FRLG version is superior in my opinion. It has some buildup as if the player has a sigh of relief after the big battles that just happened until it hits them that they actually did it, and the fanfare washes over them. The visuals then show them going on a victory lap around Kanto, showing all the places they've been before they return home. The reason it's longer is most likely more people having worked on the game and more storage space on the cartridge, but whatever the reason they adapted the original well.

Now, sometimes when I engage with an early piece of media in a franchise that has had many sequels I try to look at it through the lens of all the later things not existing in canon yet. For example in Star Wars, Darth Vader not being Luke's father and Yoda not existing yet. Anyway in the original Pokémon games we're only seeing the world through the eyes of a 10 year old, it's possible that what we see isn't the extent of the Pokémon world. Maybe there are hospitals for humans and some form of government, we just don't see them because our character isn't concerned with them, for example. Maybe leaving home to go on an adventure isn't standard and it's unique to these kids from Pallet Town because it's something Professor Oak arranged for them. He's an academic and it makes no sense that he would make a Pokémon encyclopedia that is completely blank despite him being an expert in the field. The Pokédex is like a bird watching book where you cross off ones you see as you go. It's an educational game. Going to each gym to get a badge is like getting a stamp or sticker, like a scavenger hunt or something you'd do in scouts. What I'm getting at here is that beating the Pokémon league might not be some ticket to stardom like it's depicted in the anime, what if it's just one of the goals of this self-guided field trip Professor Oak has organised for our hero? Now that it's over they're going home to continue their life as a child in this small town. The victory lap they're taking isn't just a victory lap, it's taking a final chance to visit all these amazing places while they still have the freedom to do so. I'm sure we all have some specific memories of periods in our childhood that were particularly meaningful to us and I don't doubt that in this headcanon I've just constructed that Red or Leaf would absolutely consider their Pokémon adventure to be one of the best experiences of their childhood. And the credits music makes me think that: this was the best part of your life, it's good that it's happened, but it's over now nonetheless. I certainly remember getting emotional and crying at the end of our culture festival in my final year at school since there would be no more singing competitions, no more cheekily playing Mario Kart DS from the stands, no more competing against the other school houses for nothing but the honour of having won the festival. Those are the kinds of feelings it brings back to me.

#pokemon #trainer leaf

5 notes · View notes

eligobrrrrr · 9 months ago

Note

Hi babes, I hope you're having a good day! For your ask game:

🐱 and 🦐

HAHA GET BOOPED BACK >:)

Anyways, Hi Chris! (Is it ok if I call you Chris?)

🦐 - tell me about a character or story that is giving you shrimp emotions right now

omg SO, I'm still very emotionally invested right now on Thurak, my dearest half-orc barbarian cus I'm still working on his story and properly writing it down, maybe do some comics on events I consider happen in-game but don't happen actually cus they're innately tied to his backstory (So character interactions, fights and stuff)

So Imma just write down a short-ish summary of his backstory just because I have to let it out somehow, it is consuming my brain like a tadpole (I am also severely breaking canon on some parts, probably)

Draft of Thurak's backstory under the cut

So Thurak was born in the surface (probably Waterdeep), son of a human man and an orc woman, they were happy as a family... for just 2 years.

Yeah so turns out a criminal organization (specifically the Iron Ring) had an eye on them and Thurak got snatched very young because of that. When he was about 2 years old he was brought to Skullport in the Underdark where he was raised by one of the high commands of the Iron Ring, a male drow whom is currently unnamed. He was tasked to raise him and turn him into an useful asset for them

This drow was his father figure growing up, teaching him how to speak and how to read (So Thurak's main language isn't common, is drowidic and undercommon), acting as a somewhat loving parent for him

His father introduced him to the concept of an arena the Iron Ring had to get him interested, slowly manipulating him to make him believe that he wanted to participate, and when Thurak was older his father started to get him to train to actually go into the arena

And Thurak did it ever so eagerly, becoming and absolute beast and somewhat of a star in there, earning the title of 'The Skullcrusher' (Because he was/is able to do that)

The Iron Ring is known in the Underdark for their slave trade, and in my version they use this arena as a showcase for some of them

His father actively tried to keep him away of all this slaves, mostly out of fear that they would undo all the hard work he put into manipulating him when he saw their condition (cus he lied to Thurak telling him that every warrior chose to be there)

Unfortunately he couldn't stop him and he became friends with someone there, and, well, Thurak told his father about his friend, father went "Not in my watch" and to be a lil bitch he arranged a deathmatch between the two of them

Thurak is alive so you can imagine how it went

Back at home he returned to his father absolutely fuming, basically screaming at him how he could let something like that happen, how dare he let something like that happen, father just responded like "Take it as a little lesson, don't get close to those people, now now, join me for dinner," Thurak was obviously enraged by this, still screaming at him, so his father threatened him that if he didn't behave he would throw him with the rest of his "friends" as he put it

Thurak snapped at him, almost punched him, got stopped by one of his father's bodyguards and he was, in fact, thrown with the rest of the slaves, telling him that he was very disappointed of him and to take this as his punishment. Thurak went from living in luxury to the slumps basically

He was bitter and angry and sad, he had, so many conflicting emotions at that point. There he met more of the fighters, and they slowly but surely started making a break out plan

Some time of planning passes (could be months could be a couple of years) and with Thurak's knowledge of the arena both in and out they managed a plan to break out and leave Skullport and the Underdark for good

Long story short, they succeeded, not everyone got out but most of their team did

So they returned to the surface, becoming something akin to a caravan, travelling from city to city, Thurak became one of the main protectors, he had to put to use that strength for something

They unfortunately were in Baldur's Gate at the time of the Nautiloid snatching, so Thurak (and other people from the caravan) got taken

This is some in-game event notes (This is Thurak as a companion stuff basically):

Very minor notes, his main objective would be to find the other people who got snatched, slowly finding out along the way that for some god forsaken reason the Iron Ring got somehow involved with the cult of the absolute (through the underdark slave trade)

His 'final boss' would be his father basically, still working on that interaction

He canonically is a wild magic barb and there are some lore stuff that made me point to his magic surges being probably netherese magic

Mostly cus Skullport is built atop netherese ruins and the tadpole probably awaken some residual power Thurak was carrying with him

SO YES, that is all my notes from Thurak's backstory

He is making me go absolutely mental I love him sm I need to do more stuff with his story (as in write, art, etc.)

Anyways thank you for the ask! I love talking about my silly (sometimes not so little) guys!

#EliAnswers #tashas-cauldron-of-magic-soup #EliGoCharacters #Tav: Thurak #<- Few times I actually use this tag here hjadakfjhak

5 notes · View notes

ritzcrackee · 8 months ago

Text

may tbr post yayy

rereads are marked by a ☆, new reads are marked by a ♡, and new acquisitions are bolded

physical tbr: 15

more letters from a nut - ted l. nancy ♡

fahrenheit 451 - ray bradbury ♡

little (grrl) lost - charles de lint ♡

dracula - bram stoker ♡

dune - frank herbert ♡

dune messiah - frank herbert ♡

frankenstein - mary shelley ♡

juilet takes a breath - gabby rivera ♡

sense and sensibility - jane austen ♡

stories of people and civilization, greek ancient

origins - lindsay powell, j. k. jackson ♡

the silent stars go by - dan abbet ♡

touched by an angel - johnathan morris ♡

the handmaids tale - margaret atwood ✩

the testaments - margaret atwood ♡

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the

universe - benjamin alire sáenz ✩

digital tbr: 4

pandora's jar: women in the greek myths - natalie haynes ♡

providence girls - morgan dante ♡

cemetery boys - aiden thomas ♡

if you could see the sun - ann liang ♡

an education in malice - s. t. gibson - 3.5/5

i have,,, conflicted feelings on this book. it was good, the action was interesting, the characters were complex, the vibes were impeccable, but,,,,, idkkk.... i can't even verbalize it but there was something about this that just made it a slog to get through.

i can't help myself from comparing it to a dowry of blood, which i feel had a much cleaner execution of very similar themes. dracula felt charasmatic, he felt gravitational, he felt like a person you would give up humanity for. de lafontaine felt,,,, like a mean professor. carmilla and laura constantly wax on about how brilliant and intoxicating she is, but i never felt that. s.t. gibson can write an obsessive, imbalanced, interesting relationship! they can write it very well! so i don't understand why this fell flat for me.

overall, i think this book was disjointed. it felt like a collection of vibey scenes and quotes to put on your instagram. (which, to be fair, the quotes are banger. and the vibes are so so vibes.) i liked it, but i don't know how long it'll stay on my shelf.

maneater - emily antoinette - 2.5/5

tbh i don't have much to say abt this 👍 it was an ok book 👍

hot button issue - catrina bell - 2.5/5

i liked seeing more of this world! the couple wasn't really my thing but thats more of a me issue (get it? no? ok) i do wish there was a little more roller derbying but overall this was cool.

wild is the witch - rachel griffin - dnf

cool concept but the writing style was too repetitive for my taste 👍

luxuria - colette rhodes - dnf

i didn't like this book whoopsies. i wanted to actually try fantasy romance instead dismissing the entire genre but ummm. yeah no i don't like fantasy romance. not my thing. paranormal besties please take me back ill never stray again 🙏

garron park - nordika night - 1/5

ok so. well. where do i even start with this book. extremely silly to, at 25 years of age, call someone your enemy. are you five? are you five years old? everyone certainly swears like a five year old. tiny baby writing tip: maybe keep the word fuck to, like, once a paragraph.

additionally, you can create tension without violence sometimes! if your main characters have confessed their undying love to each other, probably they can talk to eachother for four seconds! probably they don't need to punch eachother as much! probably, a change in their actions and words would show the audience how much their relationship has grown.

i also wasn't super into how many times the main characters brothers brought up how sexy they were? kind of a weird move. certainly not something i would choose to say about my own brother, nor my best friends brother! maybe thats just me though who knows

it was genuinely just edgy k-pop wattpad poverty-porn yaoi but? i did read 300 pages in one sitting so? points for that? you get 1 point for that.

rebel girls - elizabeth keenan - 2.5/5

second pro-choice book i've read this month so thats cool! guess we have a theme going. tbh i don't have much to say about this. the characters were interesting, if lacking in depth. the plot was fine, if lacking in depth. the messaging was good, if lacking in depth. i guess this book was overall, lacking in depth. i'm sure my local free little library will appreciate it. 👍

undergrounders - j. e. glass - 2.5/5

this is just the month of the perfectly average books huh? everybody's getting 2.5 stars skdisjdj.

anyways, i wanted to see if my issue with luxuria was actually its genre, or if it was the overwhelming hetero of it all. so i read a queer fantasy romance! with all of the tropes i like! and i still didn't enjoy it :(. i am glad that i tried this, but i can say with absolute certainty now that fantasy romance is not for me.

the main couple was sooooo cutes though and the side characters were sooooo cutes and the worldbuilding was v v v cool! if you like sapphic fantasy romance? absolutely reccomend this book!

the ballad of songbirds and snakes - suzanne collins - 3/5

girl this is why u reread books bcus i used to tell people that this was my favorite book ever. it is not. idk why i thought that.

ANYWAYS this was alright. i liked how easy the themes were to pick up on, the ambiguous ending, and listening to coriolanus justify his weird evil behavior. that was cool. i didn't like um lucy gray. not because she was bad, but because she felt like a non-character yk? i thought she had some pretty cool characterization in the beginning, especially surrounding her being a performer (being a parallel to coriolanus) but then she kind of fell off and just became a stock Trusting Girlfriend. which was meh. i'm excited to watch the movie, snow lands on top or whatever 👍

cultish: the language of fanaticism - amanda montell - 4/5

this was very cool to learn about and easy to digest 👍. not a full 5/5 because it was nonfiction so i wasn't obsessed with it, but definitely more engaging than most other nonfiction books I've read.

fox court - nora sakavic - 1/5

started reading this because i heard that it was like,,, bad but addictive? like full wattpad nonesense but u look up and you've finished the whole series in one sitting yk? it was,,, not that way for me. i thought it was boring, confusing, and the characters were sooo unlikable. ik this has a pretty big fandom on here please don't come for me sowwyy um. yeah

last months goal: finish a reread

WOO HOO i did it this time! gold star for me, best reader in the whole world. this was really easy, because i genuinely couldn't remember a single thing about a ballad of songbirds and snakes, so it felt like i was reading a brand new book. i also said that i wanted to carve away a more sizable chunk of my tbr this month, which i kind of did? i only read 3 physical books, but i got rid of almost an entire shelfs worth because my family was having a yard sale! so yk. vibes.

this months goal: ... finish dune

LOOK LOOOK STOP THROWING TOMATOES AT ME LOOK ok. last time this was a lofty goal filled with folly and big dreams and it was stupid. THIS TIME i literally only have 257 pages left. which is actually so reasonable. if i read 50 pages a night before bed that's only 5 days of reading. i can straight up do this one this time I PROMISE.

#monthly tbr #books #WOO HOO #i read a lot this month woagj.....#eurgh

3 notes · View notes

awesomechocolatesauce · 2 years ago

Text

Only a couple days of Pride month left. I've been contemplating making this post for weeks now, but I think I'm ready to talk about it. It's going to get personal and TMI at some points, so you don't have to read on if you don't want to.

I've been thinking for a long while now that I might be under the asexual umbrella, but I wasn't entirely sure which label is right for me.

I do feel sexual attraction, but it doesn't happen as often as other people I've talked to. I also don't really care about sex that much, like I'm not put off by it, but it's not a thing I find myself craving very much. I actually don't understand the concept of sexual frustration AT ALL. I've went through a several year long dry spell and it didn't bother me in the slightest. I enjoy the emotional connection of it, but that's about it.

So, I've come to the conclusion that I'm greysexual, or gray ace, as it's sometimes referred to. I wasn't sure for a long time if I should even talk about it because I was scared someone, somewhere, will tell me it wasn't real and I was just making it up to feel special, but I have to learn to stop caring what other people think.

I know it's real. It's a thing that's been negatively affecting my past relationships because I had no idea how to communicate how I was feeling. My most recent ex gotten frustrated many times because I've never initiated getting physically intimate with him, and even tried to give me "tips" on how to entice him, but I've never used them, because it wasn't a thing that mattered to me. It only bothered me that HE was bothered.

My ex before that, whom I've never even slept with, brought up the subject so many times that it got irritating. I wasn't even with him for very long when he first brought it up. After barely two months of dating, I finally told him that the only reason I would ever sleep with someone, it would be because I'm in love with them, and it dawned on him that it was never going to happen for us. I do feel bad for how I've treated him, and if I could go back, I would've been honest with him from the start.

It still seems easier to tell people I'm straight, because I know not very many people will understand and it takes a lot of explaining. I still don't know if this is something I can tell my family about, because I have no idea how they'd react. Some of my friends from work know, and they've been very supportive, so there's that, at least. I just worry about when I decide to start dating again that this will cause a problem. I hope whoever I end up with will just be happy with who I am.

So...there it is. I'm gray ace. I'm still the same old Jessica, I just now know the name to what I've been feeling for a long time. I don't know if I feel comfortable calling this a "coming out", because I do like men, and I don't want to compare what I've been through with anyone who's had it harder than me, but I hope you at least understand and have compassion as I do with all of you.

I hope you all have a lovely day and a happy Pride Month. 🌈 🩶 🤍 💜 🩶

#pride month #grey asexual #greysexual #graysexual #gray ace #grey ace #asexuality #jessica's personal stuff #jessica's pictures #jessica's photos #yes I did buy a greysexual bracelet #I did my eyeshadow to match it #god I've been so scared to post this #I'm almost in tears writing this #I really really hope I don't get hate for this

6 notes · View notes

quinnlarrabee · 2 years ago

Text

2023's subversive relationship trend: monogamy

Last year, if you were in a stylish social setting and you asked anyone remotely relevant - e.g. under 40, not quite employed, technically residing in the more expensive parts of Williamsburg, Greenpoint or Bushwick but actually flitting between CDMX, Lisbon and Nosara - about their relationship status, they’d launch into they-splaining why having two or many more significant others was vastly superior to having just one. They’d tell you that being with just one person was an unrealistic construct forced upon us by religion and habit, and that humans evolved to have multiple meaningful partners concurrently. After pausing to do a bump of k and ask someone what deep house set was playing on the Sonos, they’d go on to assert that the more evolved and secure one becomes, the more natural it feels to be in an open relationship, a throuple or a polycule. Jealousy is a sign that it’s time to do more self-work and yoga, they’d conclude, eyeing you for signs of dissent. You might have reflected on your many failed relationships and wondered if they’d have been more fulfilling if there’d been a bunch more people in them. But along with higher prices and much higher anxiety, 2023 has brought a much lower body count within the average relationship. The coolest people in the world are now experimenting with a concept called monogamy.

Unlike polyamorous relationships, which have no boundaries and impose vague, capricious rules that mean different things to each member of the relationship, which isn’t actually a relationship, monogamy is when two people decide to be together and aren’t with other people at the same time, either openly or secretly. Monogamy is what happens when two people don’t feel like they’re settling and don’t need to hedge their bets, and actually like each other enough to be with just each other, potentially for a long time (i.e. greater than three months).

Before digging further into this new concept of monogamy, it’s worth taking a look at the origin of polyamory. Like everything that was once creepy and weird that ultimately becomes breathlessly cool and globally on-trend, polyamory was born in Brooklyn.

There were a number of factors that led to the ubiquity of polyamory in Brooklyn.

There was a time - prior to 2008 - when no one in Brooklyn was attractive enough to have sex with more than a few times without introducing lavish distractions, such as lots of other mildly attractive people in the same double bed. People would meet each other at coffee shops that only sold drip coffee with cow milk and unethically sourced sugar in granulated format, talk about their favorite Proust passages or quote their favorite lines from the movie, Sideways, and then find themselves having mediocre, clenched-eyed sex in someone’s double bed with beige sheets and foam pillows followed by bodega burritos and Seinfeld reruns on their medium-blue sectional sofa.

These furtive pairs rarely woke up together, partly because of double beds, but also because of large pores in unforgiving morning light. Inevitably, they would grow to like each other enough to spend time together, but would need additional stimulation to continue having sex. This is why the sadly discontinued Craigslist Personals was invented: to find other people to spice up these three- or four-week-old relationships that had gone stale because of terrible facial hair choices and cankles. Polyamory became a way for couples, who had the same obscure interests and could share a unisex American Apparel wardrobe, to tolerate their sex life.

Polyamory was also a practical solution to the resource scarcity that defined Brooklyn up until the past few years. There were no restaurants that served mezcal negronis or truffle fries, so dates were exceptionally dull, and since everyone in Brooklyn was a freelance urban planner, a Human Design practitioner or a spoken-word poet, no one really had the money to go out on dates anyway. The residents of Brooklyn resorted to neighborhood potluck dinners, which featured rice and beans in various shapes of yard sale pots, and all different shades of dark homemade beer. These parties were ostensibly low-cost ways to socially eat, but everyone knows that potluck dinners always were and still are just wholesome pretense for polyamorous play parties where throuples are born of attrition.

Another less obvious cause of polyamory is ayahuasca. For those of you who don’t live in Brooklyn or California, ayahuasca is a hallucinogenic tea made from the bark of a Peruvian tree that makes you regret your entire life and compels you to torch everything the moment you get back from the jungle or Upstate. Taking the medicine has many prerequisites, chief among them interrupting one’s dependence on brain and nervous system medications - like SSRIs and attention-deficit disorder prescriptions. Everyone in Brooklyn is on one of these, because everyone in Brooklyn thinks they have anxiety, depression or ADHD. Around 2012, everyone in Brooklyn started sitting in ayahuasca ceremonies, and after being forced to stop taking their meds by their shamans, they decided prescription medication was for people who hadn’t seen the secrets of the universe in a yurt after throwing up for 90 minutes. Fueled by their new delusions of wisdom and entirely unsedated, having sex with lots of people at the same time and talking openly about it with everyone except for their parents suddenly seemed correct, transcendent and essential. Hence, ayahuasca as a root cause of polyamory.

So, because Brooklynites were poor, ugly and attention-deficient, polyamory became de rigeur.

But when attractive people who lived in Manhattan lost a lot of money in 2008, they moved to Brooklyn in shell-shocked droves, and they brought their facial symmetry, yoga bodies and shiny hair to these potluck-dinner-cum-play-parties. Like spiking rusty-pipe tap water with Spindrift, Brooklyn got incrementally hotter, but the romantic constructs remained the same, because migrating Manhattanites are always desperate to ape whatever is indigenously cool in the lower-cost place to which they retreat. Good looking people kept moving to Brooklyn even after white collar incomes stabilized, which meant not only synthetic mylk lattes, truffle fries and mezcal negronis but also shockingly attractive polycules all over Brooklyn…but especially in the more expensive parts of Williamsburg, Greenpoint and Bushwick.

Because Brooklyn was suddenly the coolest place on the planet, polyamory became cool.

Fast forward to today. Everyone in Brooklyn is poor again, because its sources of prosperity have evaporated: crypto was revealed to be one massive ponzi scheme, NFTs are now understood to be worthless jpegs, you can basically buy weed at CVS, no one can afford a new logo, and the rates of Human Design practitioners have plummeted to zero dollars an hour because it was dumb to begin with. With Brooklyn’s sweeping gentrification and soaring prices, dating multiple people has become far more expensive than the humble days of beans and rice potlucks, and everyone has become ridiculously good looking (except in Park Slope). The pandemic eliminated hallucinogenic tourism, so people stopped taking ayahuasca and needed a drug to tell their friends they were taking on the reg, so they renewed their Adderall and Zoloft prescriptions.

With the three root causes eliminated, polyamory is no longer necessary, and its many challenges are suddenly more apparent and seem super stupid when recreational drugs wear off. Monogamy offers a practical solution to all of them:

It’s way cheaper

Only one name to remember

Only one that-one-thing-that-gets-them-off to remember

Only one name to shout when you (pretend to) come

Agreeing on the rules is pretty intuitive and don’t require a 5-day workshop in Rhinebeck with a $300/hour moderator to write

Max of two types of milk / mylk in the fridge

You know you’re the primary partner

Holidays with family who don’t live in Brooklyn or Santa Cruz are slightly less of a cortisol-bath dumpster-fire sham-fest clusterfuck

Only one person whose IG stories you are required to ❤️ / 😂

Only one person to dump when it get boring

Polyamory had a good run, right alongside chlamydia, that quirky little bacteria that rose to prominence underneath Z Cavaricci jeans and neon boy shorts in the 90s and was passed around modern Brooklyn like a dodgeball in gym class. But these sobering, penurious times require a simpler, more efficient romantic container for a more beautiful, gym-fit, botoxed and face-lasered population. We thank polyamory for the wild memories, ceaseless drama and poorly edited art films, but the next few years will find bleeding edge hipsters walking the gangplank above the perilous waters of a flailing economy and detonated geopolitical climate into the Noah’s ark that is their parents’ Greenwich guest house in pairs of only two. Long live monogamy…at least long enough for the favorable terms of the prenup to kick in.

This essay was made possible by a generous donation by the Divorce Attorneys Special Interest Association (DASIA)

#dark humor #jokes #satire #humor #culture #essays #news

2 notes · View notes

everywordisanewregret · 6 months ago

Text

Can you trick yourself into questioning your gender and sexuality? Can you almost gaslight yourself just by existing in majority queer circles?

Because it feels like a few months ago a switch was flipped in my brain and now I keep going "I'm a girl but... [I wish i didn't have breasts and a uterus, I wish I didn't look like this, I wish I had a dick, I think I would have been happier as a boy, etc.]". But I'm not sure if I really feel this way. I'm not very good at knowing feelings, I don't know what I'm feeling unless it is spoken in my mind in a flat kind of tone at which point I don't know what's a thought brought on by the people I talk to and the media I consume and what is an actual emotion, what's mine.

Same with sexuality. Do I really like girls? Do I even like guys? I want to try sex but the way I think seems more in theory and as an almost academic exercise. I want to know how it feels, both with a guy and a girl, but I don't know if I actually want sex itself. I can't see myself actually having sex with a real person. I'm not sure I could do it.

And I don't think I can love anyone. Not properly. I don't even know where to begin with it. I tried "dating" someone a few years ago and I couldn't do it, I ended up stringing him along for a year because I couldn't figure out what was wrong and then what I was supposed to do about it. I say the word dating I'm quotes because honestly it was never really beyond a 5 year old's concept of dating, completely because I couldn't let it progress. They're much happier now with someone else who can actually love them and I am in the wonderful position of being their best friend, way closer now I'm not hiding inside myself. In a couple of days time she's probably going to be reading this as I'll send it to him because I'm not sure I can untangle my thoughts like this more than once every few weeks. It's not that I couldn't love them like that, it's that I don't think I can love anyone like that.

But again, I don't know if any of this is real or I'm just "supposed" to feel this way. I feel directionless and lonely even with a couple of incredibly close friends. They get me but I'm not sure they'll ever get me completely because I don't understand myself and I'm not sure I ever will. I'll just end up alone anyway, a failure leaning on the crutch of her friends until they eventually realise how worthless I am, how much I drain them, how I can't get out of my own thoughts and can't manage empathy as well as they need. I feel like I'm supposed to be some kind of demon or vampire. I'm supposed to have fangs and leathery wings and a spiked tail and horns. Something to show them how much I'll hurt them. How inhuman I really am. How nobody should be near me and they should get out while they can.

I'm sure I was happier once. Now I'm stuck numbing myself with other people's music and stories, unable to create anything of my own, living filtered through other people's descriptions of life. I have no hope for myself. I'm sure my friends would be better off without me, but I'm too selfish to act upon that. Sure, me fucking off or dying would hurt them for a bit but they'd be better without me tethering them down. And I'm never going to be truly happy, so what's the point? I'm not going to do anything about it though.

But yeah... who am I? What am I? A girl? A boy? Something else? Straight? Bi? Ace? None of the above? Have I made it all up so I can have a reason for feeling confused or a reason to belong? Is it possible to fool yourself? I don't even know how much of this is coherent, but it's not like anybody is going to read it anyway, and if by some reason you do, I'm sorry for making you get this far through this pile of self-centered self-pitying sludge from the mind of someone with no true problems.

#lgbtqia #maybe?#I don't fucking know #there's something deeply wrong with me #i fear #gender identity #sexuality #A mind that operates purely through the art of others can't have any inherent value itself #can it?#sorry for the self-pitying ramble #I hope nobody actually reads this for their own sake #but for some reason I'm still sharing this #it just goes to show how selfish i am #i guess #I'm going to go and curl up in bed and listen to FOB's Lulluby from the pregap of Folie à Deux now #goodnight #I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about here #as is obvious

1 note · View note

mdhwrites · 11 months ago

Text

So a fascinating element about this to me is that it really highlights that the blunt storytelling of the show is genuinely important to its mass appeal. The fact that the Collector's arc more explicitly ties him to characters we like and concepts we're told are purely good, his redemption feels more earned despite, you know... Him explicitly trying to kill Luz, King and Eda not even five minutes ago. Or how it ties really poorly into Luz's arc for her to go "Hey, this person is actively trying to murder us but I'm going to give them all the trust and potential to kill me and my family that I possibly can despite EVEN NOW angsting about having accidentally helped Belos FREE THE COLLECTOR." The framing of the show goes way harder on the Collector to try and make you believe it and that makes it easier for the fandom to talk about and praise. A lot of this is just regurgitation of fandom arguments after all.

So is "Change bitch." "Yes, bitch." for Boscha's redemption which is... Inaccurate. Period. That's not the whole story of the episode, it's just not as in your face. It's still pretty in your face but I've definitely lost people with obvious tells in my own stories so it's not the most shocking. It's always dangerous to try to be nuanced and have a slight bit of sleight of hand in your storytelling. I won't even call Boscha's arc good, I think hers and the Collector's are bad, but there is more to it. There is a genuine attempt to humanize Boscha in For the Future.

It's just that her arc started six months ago. It starts with her helping to protect Hexside which is actually in character. Boscha is not the monster the fandom portrays her as. She's a very lazy bully who mostly is opportunistic, she never had a main target unless they directly opposed her (sorry but Willow couldn't have become her main target if she had been Willow's main bully. It's fandom/the show's revisionism that makes people forget that Amity was Willow's main bully and also never had to be. Her mom only asked her to stop being friends, not to be a monster to her.) but she does value things like friendship. She even compliments Luz for being a good friend for putting herself in the line of fire during Winging it Like Witches. So her going out with her team to protect the school? Makes sense.

And then in front of her eyes, this person who has mostly seen themselves as untouchable and above everyone else, watches two of her friends be murdered. Sorry, let me correct that: The Collector's unmanned hunter drones turn them into lifeless puppets where they can obviously take in EVERYTHING that is done to them and happens around them but are helpless to do anything or have any hope of ever being freed, EVEN IN DEATH. It's totally not murder though so ignore that when it comes time to say the Collector hasn't actually done anything wrong. It's a scene a lot of people just don't bring up because it's a really problem to the show's storytelling, especially since MONTHS LATER, these drones are still why they have GUARD SHIFTS at Hexside. They explicitly say it's to defend from the Collector.

And I have a point with this. The threat isn't over but Boscha's sense of security IS. She has lost EVERYTHING now. Except... Then two people come and promise security, status and power. All she has to do in return is accept some advice. She doesn't have to listen to them but the devil's words are quite powerful, aren't they?

THIS is a trauma response. We even actively see it in action during the episode. Boscha shows that she can be a good leader and be reasonable when reasonable arguments are brought to her. However, the loss of her friends and her old life is haunting her CONSTANTLY. Just a couple words about potentially things being unsafe, people undermining the life they have, wanting to get rid of what little Boscha has left and she will do anything to prevent that from happening again. Trauma causes someone to avoid being in the same situation they were before. From being hurt that way again like... I dunno, if you deciding to trust someone who you don't know well turns out to have been an awful choice, maybe becoming more guarded or letting others make choices for you. Good thing Luz never had anything like that happen to her or else a LOT of her S3 actions wouldn't really line up as trying to avoid putting herself back into that situation.

siiiiiiiiiiiigh

But then the unthinkable for Boscha does happen: Her life crumbles again when Miki is revealed to be a traitor. So down below, she sees one last chance. One last way to bargain back into her old life. To not have to grieve or process that which has happened to her. It's why she's practically hysterical as she asks Amity to come back with her. It's funny to call this unrequited love but Amity IS a symbol of all that was her life before all of this. Amity was the leader of their group after all. The one person Boscha always listened to. The one who set the standard for what they had to be. Amity says to drop something, Boscha drops it. Amity says there's indeed a cute ghost? Boscha doesn't get involved when Amity wants in. Even when betrayed, Boscha doesn't go after Amity. She tries to tackle Luz and Amity gets in the way. You don't do that with a subordinate, especially with how Boscha even treats people like Skara where a little slight will get them mocked.

Amity of course refuses though. She is indeed long past that time in her life. Now... Honestly, might have been nice for some of the kindness she showed Hunter to go out to her ex-best friend but hey, fuck Boscha. This is also the biggest misstep here: We don't get to see the breakdown Boscha has from all of this. It's super reasonable to assume with no avenues left, cold and alone in this tunnels, she probably sobbed. She finally processed what she'd been through, much like how Hunter kiiind of got to (there are problems there). Even just showing her on her knees and mumbling her lost teammates' names would have been enough. Five seconds to see Boscha finally go into depression in the cycle of grief after having been in bargaining for so long.

Then of course comes acceptance though. She stands tall with the rest of Hexside, having decided that even if this new life sucks, she's not going to just roll over and die. She sure as hell isn't going to continue letting someone else decide her fate. Not anymore. So now it's time to make things right and kick Kikimora's ass... Which we also don't get to see because fuck you for wanting this villain who just will not go away even LONG after they stopped being a threat be put down.

This is also why in the finale, we get the shot of Boscha hugging her teammates once they're back. It's a good denouement to her arc. She got her friends back and at least for a few moments let herself be vulnerable as she showed them how much she missed them.

BUT.

Unlike the explicit stuff with the Collector about him not knowing what death is goes off to scream for a while and how he is reinforced as a child who just didn't understand his actions, or how he has others to blame... There is no excuse for Boscha. I've explained it but Boscha still chose to do bad things. Not only that but you have to actually think about how they're working the arc into the episode rather than punching you in the fact with it. It is genuinely more nuanced and more about the character having to decide against a PERSONAL belief than... Any other arc in the show?

And even then, this is still giving it a lot more credit than it deserves. After all, the post is right about one thing? Why is this here? Why are we bothering with an entire cast of side characters who have barely mattered for over an entire season? We have three specials, why are we dredging back up Willow's lack of control when that was resolved in episode SIX? Why are we giving Luz another character finish that STILL won't stick going into special three?

Doesn't mean I can't still defend Boscha from people who have given her five seconds of thought though, especially when they try to say she's so much worse than a character who doesn't have even half of her consistency.

======+++++======

This is going to open up people just dismissing this but yes: I am a fan of Boscha. I have written SO MUCH about her. But I've never been dishonest with my analysis of her. There are still problems with her and I don't blame people who write her off entirely. There's just a lot more there, even if accidentally, than a one note bully. The show just never really cared about that fact which was probably for the best. I was against a Boscha redemption since before S2 came out.

And then they included it in S3 and it was just as wasteful as I always thought it would be. sigh

Why Boscha's Redemption "Arc" Doesn't Work And The Collector's Does

Let me just say that I think that TOH season 3 is an overall phenomenal conclusion to the show, and I also do think that For the Future is a good episode with a lot of amazing stuff in it (especially with how it concludes Luz's Arc with her palisman, that understood scene actually almost made me cry for a bit). The episode is extremely close to being in S-tier for me, and it would have been an S tier episode...if the episode didn't try to shove in a rushed, last-minute "redemption" for Boscha in the last second.

I genuinely don't understand why the writers went with this writing decision when they are on a VERY strict time limit. For one, the redemption is rushed, all Boscha does is say "Hey Amity I miss u!" and Amity tells Boscha to change and then suddenly she's on the good guy's team now. It's too rushed to give her any actual depth. It's also just...completely pointless and unnecessary.

Like, what exactly about this episode changes if you remove this failed attempt at giving Boscha depth? Nothing really, the plot stays the exact same except the episode would be in S tier for me since it doesn't have this weighing it down. Boscha's redemption arc is completely pointless and unnecessary, I don't know why the writers decided to spend their penultimate episode trying to give depth to a side character when they don't have any time for that.

I'll admit, I actually do like the idea of giving Boscha a redemption arc, there is potential in that, but not only is the execution here bad, we also don't have any time for this and it isn't something the show should be focusing on, especially in its final fucking season.

This got me thinking about the Collector's redemption and why it works so well; the collector's redemption was actually necessary, to the Watching and Dreaming's plot, removing it does change major things about the episode, and unlike Boscha's redemption it works in giving the collector more depth because of how For the Future set up The Collector as a child with godlike powers that was just lonely and wanted to have a friend, and he got that friend with King, until he thought that King was going to betray him.

Watching And Dreaming then makes the collector a parallel to Luz, Eda and King, being someone who never got accepted and was always alone for their whole life. And they show the collector their past adventures, which was a great way to tie the whole show together and see how far the main three have come.

The Collector's Redemption works because it actually gives the collector real depth as a character as a child who suffered from pure loneliness and wanted a friend, Boscha's Redemption meanwhile just fails at giving her depth because of how rushed and unnecessary it is. We did not need Boscha getting a redemption, it was completely pointless and the crew shouldn't have focused on that when they were in the show's final season. Despite that issue, though For the Future is still a great episode mainly for Luz and Willow's conflicts in the episode as well as the scenes with the collector and King, I just wish the episode didn't try to force in a Boscha redemption because if it didn't, it would have been an S-tier episode for me. It was SO CLOSE to being in S-tier.

#Boscha #toh critical #toh #the owl house #the collector #for the future

35 notes · View notes

eldritch-spouse · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request Breg who's s/o is just attracted to him for no real reason. Like he could be standing there and then he starts smelling their arousal? Its totally fine if you don't but hes been living in my head rent free

[That would initially confuse the fuck out of Breg, you have no idea. I think he would first struggle to understand what's going on, and then take a very quick liking to your predicament.]

(Minors dni)

Breg smells his s/o's arousal seemingly for no reason

Breg is starting to think maybe pretending to be a lost tourist looking to move in was the best idea he could have ever had to introduce himself to you. Well, technically it wasn't just his idea, Fasma was the one that actually brought up the concept of moving into your street, Breg figured he could kill two birds with one stone and work up to making you an offer eventually, of moving in with you.

Nonetheless, you're surprisingly receptive to his presence when he approached you out of nowhere outside the local market and apparently took pity in his discombobulated act enough to humor him. It's only partially an act, Breg is legitimately anxious right now. But he does know these streets by heart, purely by virtue of how much he trails after you- He only bothers to make vague questions so the two of you can spend more time together and Breg can listen to your melodious voice as you tell him old news.

As is, you're both sitting by a bench near the park directly behind your apartment complex, taking a break. It's been two hours, you casually remarked, although Breg feels it was more like two minutes. Then again, with such tiny legs, he understands why you might be tired. He could just carry you. Breg had taken the liberty of getting the two of you something to eat, a way to thank you for your troubles- Really, he didn't think you'd be this amicable and available to a supposed stranger. All the more reason Breg was right to choose you.

It's by the time he sits back down and hands you the ice cream, which you shakily take, that he smells it… Breg's brows furrow, an almost imperceptible wrinkle on the smoothness of his face.

Where the fu-?

The monster opens his mouth, pushing his tongue out and disguising it as an innocent gesture, licking the strawberry scoop sitting atop his cone. There's no mistake, he muses, making a gross instinctive snort that he hopes you didn't catch. That's his mate alright. Breg has to force himself to eat, thanking his lack of visible eyes while he subtly glances at you. For the life of him, he can't figure out what's happening.

The scent is so very sweet, Breg shivers and writhes in place, trying hard not to inhale more of it lest he lose focus. Why are you aroused though? What got you this worked up? Maybe it's just hormones. But he's been tracking your cycle for a couple of months, this doesn't sound right.

An agitated tail wags back and forth while Breg twists his head around like an owl to look for a culprit. Ugh, don't tell him it's that pipsqueak across the park, really? What an idiot, with his stupid shitty slogan shirt and sagging clothes, come the fuck on-

" You good there? "

Your voice snaps Breg out of his internal fuming, he realizes he's been frowning deeply this entire time. It's quite humorous actually, the weather is sunny and the birds are singing, he's sitting on a bench eating ice cream with the love of his life and also scowling like someone just shat on his lawn.

" Yeah, uh yes yeah- " Wow Breg, so eloquent and charming. You really outdid yourself this time. " I'm fine, thanks… " Shameful.

You give him a weird look, slightly amused. " You seemed kind of tense there. "

Well can you blame him? It smells like you're screaming at him to stuff you, excuse Breg for faltering…

" Nah, I just thought… "

Breg pauses. He has to, there's a surplus of saliva on his mouth and he'll probably drool on himself like an idiot at this rate. The sharp intensity of your scent makes a vein pop in his neck as Breg swallows, taking another quick, strained glance your way. Your thighs press together tightly and your lowered eyes flicker to different parts of the scenery, sometimes Breg. There's a hint of color to your cheeks. Is he… Is he the one making you horny? No fucking way.

" T-Thought I smelled something…. "

A brief hint of panic flashes through your complexion. The air is suddenly much too thick.

" Ah. Okay… "

Biting his lip, aware he's losing composure at an alarming rate, Breg tests the theory by wordlessly scooting closer to you on the bench. Almost nudging your thigh, neck lowered just enough that he can get a better read on your captivating odor.

The reaction is near instant. In seconds, whatever hint of sweetness danced in the air now drips off it, every painful breath he takes is saturated in need- It's like someone's hammering at his brain, instincts demanding he do something about his neglected mate. Holy shit, you really do like him… The realization, albeit wonderful, is not making this any easier.

Breg catches himself about to snarl, muffling the aggravated noise with a hilariously fake cough as he sinks his claws into the bark of the poor bench. The noise only seems to have triggered a stronger reaction. Goodness, you'll kill him like that. He'll choke on it. Breg knows he should probably leave before there's a "situation" going on in the outfit he bothered to get just to see you- But he doesn't have the willpower to move an inch right now. You smell too good.

Just when the breeder thinks he's going to start frothing, his angel speaks again.

" Uhm- Your ice cream is melting. "

Oh.

He looks down. Sure enough, he's currently clutching a mostly decimated cone, the strawberry sweet now nothing more than a sad pool on the ground, dripping off his tense fingers. Breg is well aware he looks like a complete moron, and the wave of shame dusting his cheeks is enough of a reminder that he needs to leave immediately.

This totally isn't something he'll furiously relive tonight.

#bregory #plot twist you're both awkward losers

340 notes · View notes

uomo-accattivante · 3 years ago

Text

Excellent article about bringing a re-make of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage to fruition, and the twenty-year friendship that Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain share:

There were days on the shoot for “Scenes From a Marriage,” a five-episode limited series that premieres Sept. 12 on HBO, when Oscar Isaac resented the crew.

The problem wasn’t the crew members themselves, he told me on a video call in March. But the work required of him and his co-star, Jessica Chastain, was so unsparingly intimate — “And difficult!” Chastain added from a neighboring Zoom window — that every time a camera operator or a makeup artist appeared, it felt like an intrusion.

On his other projects, Isaac had felt comfortably distant from the characters and their circumstances — interplanetary intrigue, rogue A.I. But “Scenes” surveys monogamy and parenthood, familiar territory. Sometimes Isaac would film a bedtime scene with his onscreen child (Lily Jane) and then go home and tuck his own child into the same model of bed as the one used onset, accessorized with the same bunny lamp, and not know exactly where art ended and life began.

“It was just a lot,” he said.

Chastain agreed, though she put it more strongly. “I mean, I cried every day for four months,” she said.

Isaac, 42, and Chastain, 44, have known each other since their days at the Juilliard School. And they have channeled two decades of friendship, admiration and a shared and obsessional devotion to craft into what Michael Ellenberg, one of the series’s executive producers, called “five hours of naked, raw performance.” (That nudity is metaphorical, mostly.)

“For me it definitely felt incredibly personal,” Chastain said on the call in the spring, about a month after filming had ended. “That’s why I don’t know if I have another one like this in me. Yeah, I can’t decide that. I can’t even talk about it without. …” She turned away from the screen. (It was one of several times during the call that I felt as if I were intruding, too.)

The original “Scenes From a Marriage,” created by Ingmar Bergman, debuted on Swedish television in 1973. Bergman’s first television series, its six episodes trace the dissolution of a middle-class marriage. Starring Liv Ullmann, Bergman’s ex, it drew on his own past relationships, though not always directly.

“When it comes to Bergman, the relationship between autobiography and fiction is extremely complicated,” said Jan Holmberg, the chief executive of the Ingmar Bergman Foundation.

A sensation in Sweden, it was seen by most of the adult population. And yes, sure, correlation does not imply causation, but after its debut, Swedish divorce were rumored to have doubled. Holmberg remembers watching a rerun as a 10-year-old.

“It was a rude awakening to adult life,” he said.

The writer and director Hagai Levi saw it as a teenager, on Israeli public television, during a stint on a kibbutz. “I was shocked,” he said. The series taught him that a television series could be radical, that it could be art. When he created “BeTipul,” the Israeli precursor to “In Treatment,” he used “Scenes” as proof of the concept “that two people can talk for an hour and it can work,” Levi said. (Strangely, “Scenes” also inspired the prime-time soap “Dallas.”)

So when Daniel Bergman, Ingmar Bergman’s youngest son, approached Levi about a remake, he was immediately interested.

But the project languished, in part because loving a show isn’t reason enough to adapt it. Divorce is common now — in Sweden, and elsewhere — and the relationship politics of the original series, in which the male character deserts his wife and young children for an academic post, haven’t aged particularly well.

Then about two years ago, Levi had a revelation. He would swap the gender roles. A woman who leaves her marriage and child in pursuit of freedom (with a very hot Israeli entrepreneur in place of a visiting professorship) might still provoke conversation and interest.

So the Marianne and Johan of the original became Mira and Jonathan, with a Boston suburb (re-created in a warehouse just north of New York City), stepping in for the Stockholm of the original. Jonathan remains an academic though Mira, a lawyer in the original, is now a businesswoman who out-earns him.

Casting began in early 2020. After Isaac met with Levi, he wrote to Chastain to tell her about the project. She wasn’t available. The producers cast Michelle Williams. But the pandemic reshuffled everyone’s schedules. When production was ready to resume, Williams was no longer free. Chastain was. “That was for me the most amazing miracle,” Levi said.

Isaac and Chastain met in the early 2000s at Juilliard. He was in his first year; she, in her third. He first saw her in a scene from a classical tragedy, slapping men in the face as Helen of Troy. He was friendly with her then-boyfriend, and they soon became friends themselves, bonding through the shared trauma of an acting curriculum designed to break its students down and then build them back up again. Isaac remembered her as “a real force of nature and solid, completely solid, with an incredible amount of integrity,” he said.

In the next window, Chastain blushed. “He was super talented,” she said. “But talented in a way that wasn’t expected, that’s challenging and pushing against constructs and ideas.” She introduced him to her manager, and they celebrated each other’s early successes and went to each other’s premieres. (A few of those photos are used in “Scenes From a Marriage” as set dressing.)

In 2013, Chastain was cast in J.C. Chandor’s “A Most Violent Year,”opposite Javier Bardem. When Bardem dropped out, Chastain campaigned for Isaac to have the role. Weeks before shooting, they began to meet, fleshing out the back story of their characters — a husband and wife trying to corner the heating oil market in 1981 New York — the details of the marriage, business, life.

It was their first time working together, and each felt a bond that went deeper than a parallel education and approach. “Something connects us that’s stronger than any ideas of character or story or any of that,” Isaac said. “There’s something else that’s more about like, a shared existence.”

Chandor noticed how they would support each other on set, and challenge each other, too, giving each other the freedom to take the characters’ relationship to dark and dangerous places. “They have this innate trust with each other,” Chandor said.

That trust eliminated the need for actorly tricks or shortcuts, in part because they know each other’s tricks too well. Their motto, Isaac said, was, “Let’s figure this [expletive] out together and see what’s the most honest thing we can do.”

Moni Yakim, Juilliard’s celebrated movement instructor, has followed their careers closely and he noted what he called the “magnetism and spiritual connection” that they suggested onscreen in the film.

“It’s a kind of chemistry,” Yakim said. “They can read each other’s mind and you as an audience, you can sense it.”

Telepathy takes work. When they knew that shooting “Scenes From a Marriage” could begin, Chastain bought a copy of “All About Us,” a guided journal for couples, and filled in her sections in character as Mira. Isaac brought it home and showed it to his wife, the filmmaker Elvira Lind.

“She was like, ‘You finally found your match,’” Isaac recalled. “’Someone that is as big of a nerd as you are.’”

The actors rehearsed, with Levi and on their own, talking their way through each long scene, helping each other through the anguished parts. When production had to halt for two weeks, they rehearsed then, too.

Watching these actors work reminded Amy Herzog, a writer and executive producer on the series, of race horses in full gallop. “These are two people who have so much training and skill,” she said. “Because it’s an athletic feat, what they were being asked to do.”

But training and skill and the “All About Us” book hadn’t really prepared them for the emotional impact of actually shooting “Scenes From a Marriage.” Both actors normally compartmentalize when they work, putting up psychic partitions between their roles and themselves. But this time, the partitions weren’t up to code.

“I knew I was in trouble the very first week,” Chastain said.

She couldn’t hide how the scripts affected her, especially from someone who knows her as well as Isaac does. “I just felt so exposed,” she said. “This to me, more than anything I’ve ever worked on, was definitely the most open I’ve ever been.”

“It felt so dangerous,” she said.

I visited the set in February (after multiple Covid-19 tests and health screenings) during a final day of filming. It was the quietest set I had ever seen: The atmosphere was subdued, reverent almost, a crew and a studio space stripped down to only what two actors would need to do the most passionate and demanding work of their careers.

Isaac didn’t know if he would watch the completed series. “It really is the first time ever, where I’ve done something where I’m totally fine never seeing this thing,” he said. “Because I’ve really lived through it. And in some ways I don’t want whatever they decide to put together to change my experience of it, which was just so intense.”

The cameras captured that intensity. Though Chastain isn’t Mira and Isaac isn’t Jonathan, each drew on personal experience — their parents’ marriages, past relationships — in ways they never had. Sometimes work on the show felt like acting, and sometimes the work wasn’t even conscious. There’s a scene in the harrowing fourth episode in which they both lie crumpled on the floor, an identical stress vein bulging in each forehead.

“It’s my go-to move, the throbbing forehead vein,” Isaac said on a follow-up video call last month. Chastain riffed on the joke: “That was our third year at Juilliard, the throb.”

By then, it had been five months since the shoot wrapped. Life had returned to something like normal. Jokes were possible again. Both of them seemed looser, more relaxed. (Isaac had already poured himself one tequila shot and was ready for another.) No one cried.

Chastain had watched the show with her husband. And Isaac, despite his initial reluctance, had watched it, too. It didn’t seem to have changed his experience.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” he said. “And I can’t imagine doing anything like it again.”

###

#oscar isaac #jessica chastain #scenes from a marriage #hagai levi #michelle williams #elvira lind #behind the scenes #article

322 notes · View notes

spidernerdsblog · 3 years ago

Note

Hey dude I have concept for for mmih

Where like the twins and y/n visit Victor at prison and he gets so emotional seeing the twins . Y/n's like 'guys that's your grandpa' and gets so emotional

Also love your writing ❤ 💕 😍 ♥ 💖

I loved this concept so much. Hope you like this. Let me know what you think.

Match made in Hell (series)

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings : none

You had flown to New York a couple of days ago to attend Vanessa's wedding with her longtime girlfriend Irene. It was a beautiful wedding to say the least and the twins had a great time watching their favourite aunt getting married.

And now it was time to go back to London but not before you visited your father. It's been a while you last saw him but this time you decided to bring in the kids with you. Your dad never got to see them in person since the day they were born except for a few photos you showed him during your earlier visits.

Tom halted the car in front of the huge gates of the Attica State prison. After the security check-in you were allowed entry. You signed some papers in the presence of your lawyers and only then you were let inside the facility as the warden guided you through the hallways. Stopping at a metal gate he pressed a button and a loud buzzer went off prompting the gate to open. He motioned you inside a visiting room where you saw your father sitting at the table in the middle of the room.

Your father was a large man, his mere presence sent terrors among grown men but it feels strange looking at him now. He seemed old and tired as if he had gained an extra 10 years since the last time you saw him. Wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, his black hair was a little longer lined with silver streaks.

"Daddy." you said softly.

Victor looked up, his dark eyes brightening up instantly. "Mija, you came." he said. "It's been months since you visited."

"Sorry, was a bit busy with work."

"I understand," he smiled. "Afterall you are a successful businesswoman now. Is Tom here with you?"

"Yes he's just waiting outside." You waved your hand towards the open door. "How are you? Are you being treated well here?"

"Yes I am, you don't have to worry. Did the wedding go well?"

"Yes everything was fine. V is very happy though she really wished you were there to walk her down the aisle." you said with a half smile.

"I wished too." Victor sighed with regret.

After a minute of silence you spoke again. "Actually… I want you to meet someone, two to be exact."

Victor immediately knew you were talking about your kids and chuckled softly. "I wonder who they might be?"

"Tom, bring them in." At your cue he stepped inside the room with Nathan and Nailah in tow.

They were looking around the place curiously with their big brown eyes. Victor turned on his chair facing the doorway as you gestured at your twins. "Daddy, they're your…"

"Dio mío! They're so big already!" he exclaimed with joy and spread his arms wide. "Come here my amorcitos."

Nathan and Nailah hid behind their father clinging on to his legs. You smiled and went to them, taking each of their hands in yours and brought them near Victor. "Nathan, Nailah, this is your grandpa Victor. Say hi." You said.

"Hello." they mumbled sheepishly. Letting go of their hands you stepped back so that they can talk and get to know each other.

"Hello." Victor leaned forward to be in level with their faces. "Are you scared?" he asked, sensing their hesitation. They quickly shook their heads in a no. Victor smiled, his eyes moistening at the corners as he lifted them up on his lap.

"Did you have fun at your aunt's wedding?"

"Yes, we walked auntie V down the aisle and then we had lots of cake." Nathan replied excitedly.

"I like cake too," Victor chuckled.

"Why didn't you come? Grandma Rose was there too." Nailah looked at him questioningly.

"Well he can't. He is not allowed to get out of here." You answered.

"That is sad." Nathan said, pursing his lips.

"Yes it is." Victor sighed.

"But why can't you leave?" Nailah turned to her grandfather.

"You see when you do something you are not supposed to do you get grounded right?"

"Yes, mommy always grounds us. No TV and video games for one week." Nailah huffed, rolling her eyes adorably making Victor laugh.

"Hey!" you cut in. "that's for your own good so that you two understand what is wrong and right."

"That is true you can't always do whatever you want" your father said. "and I did some bad things too so I've been grounded."

"Did you say sorry? I'm sure if you said sorry they would let you go." Nathan said innocently and Victor smiled.

"I'm afraid they would not accept my apologies for what I did."

"Daddy can talk to them. Everybody listens to whatever he says." Nailah said, lifting her chin up haughtily.

"She's just like you." Victor glanced at you with a knowing smile. "I can see the fire in her eyes."

You smiled in return looking at your daughter.

"Y/N we have only ten more minutes after that we've to leave." Tom informed.

"Oh yes, sure." you said and turned to your kids. "C'mon you two now give your grandpa a big hug before we leave."

Nathan and Nailah threw their arms around him in a hug. "Love you grandpa."

"Love you my loves." he said and kissed them gently on their cheeks. Then they slid off his lap and went to stand beside Tom.

"Hope everything is going well for you Tom." Victor said.

"Yes, all thanks to your daughter of course." Tom said. "Also I had a chat with the DA for an interim bail and he said he will make an appeal to the court in that matter citing your health issues."

"You needn't have to do that."

"No daddy, I can't see you rot in here anymore." you said firmly.

"I deserve this Y/N...for the things I've done."

"And six years is enough. Mom needs you. Julian and Vanessa are trying their best to handle your huge business but they need your guidance..." you paused to take a deep breath. "I need you too."

"I'm always there for you Y/N." he said softly.

"I never hated you, you know." your eyes were downcast with remorse as you said. "I just didn't like how power hungry you became. So I had to stop you and this was the only way."

Victor stood up from his chair and took your hands in his. "Y/N you did the right thing. Never feel guilty for that." he said with a firm look in his eyes. "I'm so ashamed of myself for treating your mother so badly and then I tried to hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"It's ok daddy. I forgive you." you sniffled. "And I want you to be a part of our lives. I want my kids to know their grandpa."

"I also want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with my family, mija." he said, his hand reaching up to touch your face.

"Ma'am your time is up you need to leave." the warden announced.

You took a last look at your father. "We're going to bail you out as soon as possible, I promise."

"I believe you." he said, placing a kiss on your forehead. "See you all soon."

Tom held you by your arm and slowly led you out of the room with the twins walking by your side. "Mommy, don't be sad." Nathan said tugging on the sleeve of your blouse. You smiled at him weakly wiping the tears away that had formed at the corner of your eyes. Tom rubbed your shoulder reassuringly.

"Bye grandpa." Nathan and Nailah looked back waving at him and he waved back at them with a wide smile.

#tom holland #mob! tom #mob! tom holland #dad!tom #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb

122 notes · View notes

magniloquent-raven · 4 years ago

Text

(pt1 here)

billy grew up afraid of finding his soulmate.

when he was eight his father caught him trying to wash nail polish off with soap and a hand towel.

he’d heard girls at school saying it was what you did when your soulmate was a boy. you were supposed to paint yourself up all pretty and find the person who matched. and it was easy enough to sneak into the vanity and steal a bottle of his mother’s nail polish. but once the paint dried he realized it would be impossible to hide from his father, and he panicked.

his mother showed him the bottle of nail polish remover after neil left. dabbed some on a cotton ball to rub at the thick layer of paint. she was silent, kneeling on the floor in front of him cradling his sprained wrist while he sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

they both had questions, but neither of them got answers.

it took billy months to work up the courage to try again.

he wasn’t sure why he was bothering, at first. he knew he couldn’t look for his soulmate the traditional way. and he was constantly terrified that his father would find the supplies he’d started hoarding. it seemed like more risk than reward, and yet. he couldn’t stop himself.

every time he was allowed to wander off in a store alone he’d slip something into his pocket. a tube of lip gloss. a compact full of shiny powders. he wasn’t even sure what some of it was, he just liked the colours. liked the pictures they hung alongside the displays. he wanted to look like that. beautiful.

and in his heart of hearts, he wanted the boy who was out there waiting for him to know he existed. whether they’d be able to find each other or not.

he’s more careful with this than he was with the nail polish. his father works saturday nights, and his mother always visits their neighbour while he’s at work. despite having the house to himself he locks his bedroom door.

the first thing he tries is the watermelon lip gloss. it’s sticky, and the wand doesn’t fit in his hand comfortably, but once he’s smeared it on he feels...good. he likes the way it catches the light. likes the way it smells. he looks at himself in the mirror and likes seeing something different.

the high doesn’t last long, it inevitably gives way to paranoia, anxiety that has him glancing at the locked door every thirty seconds, heart pounding, wondering if just maybe his father will get home from work early, and he jumps at every sound, hearing boots thudding on the porch and car doors slamming and anything that could be neil coming through the door.

cleaning himself up is hard. panic makes his hands shake, his eyes well up. he drops everything on the floor when he tries to tuck the bag away. and he has to spend twenty minutes with his back to his bedroom door getting his breathing under control when he’s finished.

but he does it again the following saturday. and the one after that.

for five months he does this. locks himself away with his stolen treasures and lets himself live a little. it gets easier as time goes on. and his mind wanders sometimes. to a future where he gets to share this with someone. the boy out there who’s supposed to love him one day.

it’s a small bubble of a dream. one he doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on. not when there’s neil’s voice in his head, telling him that no one could love a fucking freak, ‘cause fags don’t get real soulmates anyways.

he wants and he wishes, but the more he thinks about it the more he doubts. he’s never gotten a mark from his soulmate, and even if he did some day, what if his father’s right, and his “soulmate” doesn’t want him or makes him miserable or...worse.

so he does his makeup for himself.

until, like all good things in his life, his father ruins it.

he never found out what set neil off initially, something going wrong at work maybe, or the martial strife of the week getting to him. whatever it was that started it, neil eventually decided billy should bear the brunt of the fallout.

so he went through his things. said billy’d been acting cagey lately, and he was going to find out why.

and then found the makeup bag stuffed into an old sweater in his closet.

it was ugly. the things neil said that day would play on repeat in billy’s head for years afterwards. the scars his belt left on billy’s back were nothing in comparison.

the next saturday came and went. billy spent the evening curled up under a blanket not bothering to wipe away the tears dripping down his face.

by morning he’s resolved to forget the whole thing. to put it behind him. because it was stupid, and risky and childish and maybe his father was right. he’s almost convinced himself. and then he notices ink on his arm, as he reaches up to rub his eyes. messy scrawl, i bet you looked pretty crookedly written up his forearm.

he didn’t think he was able to cry any more, but he manages it.

for the first time his soulmate isn’t just a concept, or a what-if, he’s...a person. he’s a real person out there somewhere. someone who doesn’t even know billy and still wanted to reach out, to offer comfort. it’s more than he’s gotten from anyone else. even his mother. who he knows loves him, and she does her best to protect him, but when she found out about his makeup stash she just looked sad, and she’s said nothing to him about it.

but his soulmate…

can never, ever meet neil.

the thought hits him right in the chest.

whoever he is, he cares, he’s good. and neil breaks good things.

billy falls asleep that night tracing the empty space where his soulmate’s message used to be, wrapped up in worries and dreams, and terrified for someone he’s never met.

the doodles that come and go over the years are terrifying and exhilarating and billy manages to hide every single one from his father. they only ever show up during the day, and they don’t linger. something billy is both grateful for and resentful of.

sometimes he’ll watch other boys’ hands in class. check them for drawings. he thinks he’s being careful, but a girl in his chem class, becca, catches him. she says it’s only because she knew what to look for. they share a cigarette under the bleachers and she tells him about a girl who likes green eyeshadow and writes homework reminders on her wrists using stars instead of bullet points.

it takes billy six months and a couple shots of tequila to tell her about watermelon lip gloss and bet you’re pretty and they both cry when he starts to wonder if his soulmate will be disappointed that he isn’t a girl.

on a rainy april afternoon she asks him to go to a gay bar with her. he tells his father he’s going on a date. she tells her’s that she had to reschedule a tutoring session and it’ll run pretty late.

they wait til it’s dark and get ready in a dingy gas station bathroom. when she’s smearing on her eyeliner she catches sight of his face in the cloudy mirror. he wasn’t going to ask her for anything. he wouldn’t have brought it up. the twinge in his heart and a hollow feeling of longing aren’t anything new, he can deal.

he feels and empty kind of rage every time old, well-meaning relatives give max girly lip gloss kits and eyeshadow pallets and shit normal preteen girls who care about finding their soulmates actually appreciate. she always rolls her eyes and throws them away. susan will fish them out of the trash sometimes, and leave them under the bathroom sink, like if max just sees them there she’ll suddenly give a shit and start using them. like them being there does anything but taunt billy with what he can’t have.

neil watches him like a fucking hawk every time that shit comes into the house. and max doesn’t fucking care. doesn’t notice.

but becca offers.

and.

he’s not about to say no.

he should’ve said no.

it feels good at first, like it used to, it feels like freedom and he likes what he sees when he looks in the mirror, and he kisses a boy for the first time and it isn’t fireworks but it’s something, and he thinks maybe it’s going to be a good night, but then…

neil is waiting on the curb outside becca’s house. they were heading there first, because her parents wouldn’t notice, she said it would be fine, she has makeup remover he can use, he can clean up and head home and everything was supposed to be okay, except. it wasn’t.

it’s the last time he sees becca. neil tells her parents what was actually going on, and she isn’t allowed to visit him in the hospital.

and then six months of rehab, one rushed wedding and a big ugly sold sign later, neil carts them off to hawkins, indi-fucking-ana. as a “family.”

billy was certain this town would be nothing but a prison. it’d be somewhere he’d never find a place to be himself, neil would make sure of that. there wasn’t a single thing to like about this place and its bullshit small town sensibilities. for all the open space it might as well have been stone walls and steel bars.

except.

except...here was a boy with soft eyes and nimble fingers, who gets a little wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates, and is always moving, fidgeting, fiddling with zippers and touching his elbows and looking at him makes billy itch. to touch, to soothe, to take, and…

things get complicated when aimless blue waves scrawl up billy’s arm. when steve follows him out into the parking lot. calls him pretty to his face. and suddenly billy’s eight years old and realizing this shit is real. terrified of what that could mean. spinning fragile dreams like spider’s silk, hard to shake but easy to destroy.

even entertaining the idea of putting on makeup while he’s still in hawkins is stupid and dangerous, but goddamn if he hasn’t risked more for less.

he’s sure he’ll regret it. like he’s regretted every other desperate bid for freedom. but when faced with steve harrington’s smile, he can’t find it in himself to say no.

(edit: pt3 here)

#harringrove ficlet #harringrove #billy hargrove #stranger things #soulmate au #a raven's writing desk #another part is coming #cuuuz #this was getting way too long kdfljgk #i had to split it up cuz the other stuff i wanted to write is. definitely just gonna be a whole nother post to itself lol

355 notes · View notes

tojitiddies · 4 years ago

Text

✰ TEACH

pairing ⋆ toji fushiguro x fem!reader

synopsis ⋆ in all your years of teaching you’ve never encountered a parent like toji.

warnings ⋆ vaginal sex, oral sex, creampie, dacryphilia if you squint, dumbification

ꔵ the first time you ever saw toji fushiguro was around second month of school, when megumi had began acting up in class. you knew megumi to be a spoiled rich kid, as he was always being dropped off and picked up in sleek black cars with tinted windows, along with his older sister tsumiki. sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of the driver if megumi ever needed assistance getting his bag out the car, but that was the only semblance of adult supervision you’d seen megumi receive outside of school faculty.

megumi was always dressed crisply and his meals efficiently packed. he really didn’t seem to understand the concept of sharing or caring and relied on his tiny fists to solve conflicts. this was all a stark contrast to his sister tsumiki, seeing as his older sister’s teachers only sang her praises. truly you had tried to get through to the seven year old, but out of all the trouble makers you’d ever taught, megumi really liked to work your nerves.

which brought you here, at a parent-teacher conference with megumi’s father, toji fushiguro. his large figure looked comical as he sat in one of the small plastic, colored chairs, usually inhabited by first graders of course. he wore a plain black t-shirt and white slacks. he also had a black blazer that he he had draped over the side of his chair. the side of his lips was decorated with a menacingly large scar that twitched occasionally as he listened to you speak.

“... all i want is for megumi to have a good time here in first grade. i know he and his sister are new so making an adjustment may be difficult, but i’d like to make the transition for young megumi as smooth as possible.” you finished as you fiddled with your fingers.

toji shifted in his chair with a slight grunt. “mrs. ____ is it?” he asked. you shook your head.

“just miss actually.” you corrected him shyly. his entire demeanor was so intimidating you didn’t want to insult him. you almost miss the mischievous glint in his eye as you lift your eyes to face him again.

“i understand your concerns with my son. i had no idea what a little shit he was being. especially to such a beautiful young woman as yourself.” his tone is suggestive, contradicting the polite smile adorning his lips.

you smiled uncomfortably. “thank you, but i would never think of your son as...a little shit. i’m sure he has a sweet side somewhere. which is why, i thought maybe megumi could benefit from some sort of counseling?” you suggested, pushing forward a slip of paper. toji leaned forward taking the document from the desk and began to read over it, his brow quirking up in interest. “alongside being a first grade teacher i also serve as a counselor here at the elementary school.” you began to explain. “although i’ve never counseled a student of my own in fear of bias, i think it would be wise if megumi had someone whom he was acquainted with.”

toji set the slip back down and set his gaze on you. you squeezed your thighs together as he fixed you with his stare. he really was intensely attractive. “hm, how unfair is it that my son gets more alone time with you than i do?” this time he smirked. so it wasn’t your imagination, he was flirting with you.

“mr. fushiguro?”

“i’m only teasing teach.” he chuckled. “i agree. i think we could all benefit from megumi’s counseling,” he folded his arms over his broad chest, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt. “so when does he start?” your eyes zoned in on toji’s biceps before blinking back up at him he pretended not notice you ogling him. “ah well...next wednesday perhaps? all i need is for you to sign the slip.” you said sliding him a pen from your desk.

your fingers brushed against his as he took the pen. you tried to ignore it, knowing he was probably only try to get a rise out of you. he began to scribble his signature, once he finished he stood up from his seat and you followed suit. “thank you mrs. ____ for contacting me.” he said, holding out his hand for you to shake.

you took it, letting his large hands envelope yours. “ah...again it’s just ms. ____. i’m not married.” you corrected him again with a lighthearted laugh. toji smirked at that before he leant in towards you. startled, you froze, afraid he might kiss you, until you realized he was only leaning towards your ear. “we’ll be in touch then, ms. ____.” he spoke in a lower tone. you were left standing there completely dumbstruck as he retrieved his blazer and threw it over his shoulder.

“yes...” you murmured quietly in response as he left you alone in the classroom.

ꔵ three months into counseling with megumi you had begun to see progress. his angered outbursts only came in waves and he had stopped using his hands and started using his words. his attitude toward you had also warmed up and he had even began giving you hugs. you were happy all the exercises you’d been working on with him were finally starting to pay off.

the only big issue? his father.

every time you spoke to him there was always a flirty or suggestive undertone. he never crossed the line but he would constantly get close to doing so. there was one counseling session a couple weeks ago when he came to pick up megumi (something he had suspiciously started doing ever since your counseling had started). you were both standing outside the door of the classroom, with megumi inside coloring, as you briefed toji on his counseling session.

“so he’s doing well then, i’m glad. but how are you doing teach? i know dealing with these little brats all day can’t be good on your stress.” he said, resting his hand on your forearm. you glanced down at his thumb caressing your skin before laughing nervously, brushing his hand down. “ah...really i’m alright mr. fushi - “

“i’ve told you to call me toji.” he interrupted, his voice dropping to that low tone once again.

you cleared your throat, trying to settle the butterflies that formed in your stomach. “thank you toji. but really i don’t mind it. i’ve been doing this for almost eight years now..” you tried your best not to let your voice waver under this suggestive tension.

toji stepped forward, the space between the both of you becoming almost non existent as your breasts came in contact with his chest. “well just know teach...” he murmured, lifting his fingers to your chin, “if you ever need any stress relief - “

“papa!”

you jumped back from toji like a frightened feline, while toji stood in place clearly unfazed by his child’s sudden presence. you’d been so focused on trying not to jump toji’s bones right then and there, you hadn’t even noticed megumi open the classroom door. “can we go home now? i’m hungry.” he whined, brandishing a cute pout on his face.

you couldn’t help but smile at the cute kid. toji bent down and picked him up, resting him on his hip. “hungry huh? well you can eat this knuckle sandwich for interrupting ms. ____ and i.” he teased, playfully twisting his fist into megumi’s face. megumi giggled slapping away his large hand before turning to look at you. “sorry ms. ____.” he apologized sweetly. yet another skill he’d learned from his counseling sessions.

you grinned and leaned forward to pinch his cheek. “don’t worry about it lovebug! it wasn’t that important anyway.” you chirped, glancing over at toji to see his lips twitch into a frown. you held back a giggle at how identical his pout was to little megumi’s. you leaned into the classroom to take megumi’s backpack off the hook, which toji took and swung over his free arm.

“say goodbye to ms. ____, megumi.” toji instructed. megumi raise his arm to wave, which you met with a small high five instead. “i’ll see you in the morning megumi!” you cheered. toji glanced back at you briefly. “don’t forget about my offer ms. ___.” he said with a wink, before turning back around and walking off with his son.

once he and megumi were out if sight you fell back against the classroom door with a whine. toji fushiguro would truly be the end of you.

ꔵ the afternoon sun shone through your window as you finished up the last of your student reports. as you began to pack up, you heard a knock at your classroom door. “come in!” you called out, not bothering to look up from your work.

you sighed as you gave up on organization and just began to sweep the papers into a folder, but before you could finish, a large hand fell on top of yours. you let out a yelp, looking up to find toji fushiguro smirking down at you. he looked as though he’d come straight from work, blessing you with a tight button down shirt and black slacks. god, he was a work of art.

“afternoon teach.” he greeted you.

“mr. fushiguro what a surprise. what are you doing here? megumi’s gone home already hasn’t he?” you asked, trying to keep calm as a million more thoughts raced through your mind.

“ah, that’s right. he’s long gone. ‘s just you and me.” he said as he fixed you with his strong gaze, his hand closing around yours. “i came because i wanted to thank you. i haven’t seen megumi like this in awhile. i know this was mostly a school thing, but he’s been less of a little shit at home too,” he informed you, his thumb slowly caressing your hand.

you were becoming putty under his touch. “yes...i’m glad gumi’s doing do well at home too. all i want is the best for him.” you answered, stumbling over your words a bit. toji brought your hand up to his lips kissing your knuckles. “mhm...so i was wondering if you’d thought about my offer?” he asked, looking back at you through those lustful eyes.

“mr. fushiguro - “

“toji.”

“t-toji...i’m delighted you would pay me a visit simply to thank me, but it really isn’t necessary.” you could feel his aura start to envelope you, the tension between you two thickening with lust. the most he’d done was kiss your knuckles and already you were trying to keep from rubbing your thighs together.

still holding firmly onto your hand, toji began to walk around your desk. “ms. ____, i insist you let me properly thank you because i feel you’re deserving of it. do you not?” he murmured, gingerly pulling you up out of your seat, guiding your hand towards his chest. your fingers instinctively hooked around the fabric where he’d left his shirt unbuttoned. his other arm snaked its way around your waist.

“toji...we shouldn’t. this is highly unprofessional, i could get fired. and what about megumi?” you rambled, trying to keep your composure. toji leaned down and began to press sweet wet kisses down your neck. you sighed out, letting your hand fan out across his chest.

“megumi will be fine teach. no one has to know anything as long as you can keep a secret. now let me take care of you.” he whispered, licking a stripe up your neck. his knee came to situate between your thighs, you wasted no time grinding against him. a soft moan escaped your lips as you let your head fall back against your shoulders.

“kiss me...please?” you mumured, hooking your arm around his neck. toji’s scar twitched as his lips formed a smirk. he lifted his head, grazing your lips against his before pressing forward. the kiss was rough and sensual, both of you devouring each other in a clash of lips and tongue. you moaned into his mouth, continuing to grind against his thigh. when your lips finally separated, a string of saliva connected you before dripping down onto your blouse.

“enjoying my thigh teach?” he taunted, flexing his thigh muscles and causing you to let out a breathy moan again. “y-you’re teasing me.” you whined desperately trying to grind your clothed clit against his thigh muscles. the hand on your waist slid down taking your thigh and pinning it to his waist, granting you better access. “so needy for me hm?” he murmured into your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth. “tell me what you want baby.”

your hand fisted his collar as you desperately ground yourself against him. “please fuck me toji. i can’t take your constant teasing anymore.” you whimpered, nuzzling into his shoulder. toji chuckled at that before reaching behind you, clearing your desk in one fell swoop. papers and files fluttered to the ground as he lifted you up on top of your desk, spreading your legs.

you both hastily begin unbuttoning your shirts, one of your buttons popping off in the frenzy. toji chuckles as he lowers himself to his knees, his chest muscles rippling as he moves. “i can’t believe you have the nerve to walk around in a tight little skirt like this.” he laughs wickedly, sliding up your pencil skirt until it bunches up at your waist. you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as the wet spot in your panties becomes noticeable. toji slides his finger up your covered folds, the slick coating his finger prints. “how lovely.” he purrs to himself.

“please...” you whine breathily, scooting forward hoping he’d take the hint. he chuckles darkly blowing against your clothed clit before pulling aside your underwear to marvel at your dripping cunt. “look at that.” he marvels before letting his tongue dip between your folds. you let out a choked moan. it had been so long since you’d been touched this way by someone other than yourself, it felt like heaven. he paused only to hook his fingers around your panties and discard them who knows where.

just as quick as he was gone, he’s back to hungrily bury his tongue in your cunt, switching between prodding your hole with his tongue and sucking your clit. your fingers fisted his raven hair, as you loudly praised his skill through moans and chants. the wet sounds of him slurping and licking up your arousal egged you on to grind against his mouth. waves of arousal just keep coming, whatever his tongue couldn’t catch dripping onto the desk.

your thighs threatened to close around his head as you felt yourself coming close to climaxing. “fuck stop! toji i’m gonna cum,” you whine out, weakly trying to push his head away. you hear him hum in amusement as he instead, moves his hands up to spread your thighs back further. his tongue works your hole, slowly spreading it wider before he’s able to curl his tongue inside. you let out a loud cry, your hips jerking and bucking as you’re overwhelmed with pleasure. your vision spots as you cum all over his tongue, your thighs threatening to snap around his head but his hands keep you in place.

toji finishes licking up the rest of your arousal before rising up from between your legs, towering over your trembling figure. one hand comes up to your chin, roughly tilting your head up to look directly at him. “open,” he commands, to which you obey immediately. your tongue rolls out lewdly as he spits your arousal down your throat. “good girl,” he purrs. “now turn around, i’m about to fuck the living daylights out of you.”

eagerly you turn around on your stomach, thankful for the desk supporting your torso as your sure your wobbly legs would not be able to. you hear toji unbuckling behind you as your spread your legs slightly, swaying your hips hoping to entice him to move a bit faster. toji’s hands come to spread over the globe of your ass cheeks, kneading them in his palms.

“you’re so fucking sexy. i’m sure you already know ever since we’ve met this ass has been all i ever think about.” he chuckled, letting his hardened cock slide back and forth between your folds. you let out a whine moving your hips back against him. “i want you to fill me up so badly, please hurry.” your croak out, your voice hoarse from your previous climax. toji brings down his hand against your ass harshly, receiving a yelp in response. “and who you do you think you are ordering me, huh teach? i’m not one of your little first graders baby,” he grunts, spreading your ass cheeks again, letting the tip of his cock tease your aching hole.

“beg for it.” he taunts in a sing-song tone, sliding his cock up and down and against your cunt. your let out a small puff of air as you turn your head back to look at him with your pleading eyes. “please toji...please stuff me full. i haven’t been fucked in so long i wanna be filled up please.” you whimpered, your hips stuttering against his cock, now lubed up with all the juices he’d collected. your begging seemed to please toji, his scar twitching as his lips formed a smug smirk. “good girl.”

toji slammed his cock inside you, no regard for easing you on to his length whatsoever. tears pricked your eyes at the sharp pain, your insides spasming around him. “shit, you feel like a fucking virgin squeezing me so tight. you weren’t kidding about not being fucked in so long, hm?” he chuckled. you didn’t get the chance to respond as he was already pulling out to slam back in. it hurt so good, the pain and the pleasure of being stretched around his girth. he continued to thrust harshly inside your cunt only receiving broken moans and strings of curses from your lips.

his hand came to your hair, his fingers roughly grabbing your head back. your arousal began to return once more, dripping down his cock and making the most obscene squelching and sucking noises. “such a naughty teacher, letting a parent fuck her right in the classroom, huh?” toji’s gruff voice came from behind you. you whined, one of your hands reaching behind you to spread your ass cheeks to grabt him more access. “feels so fucking good, fuck me harder, please.” you manage to say through clenched teeth. “harder baby? you got it.”

before you can even think to react, his arms come to circle around your thighs, lifting you up against his chest. you let out a small cry, your arm instinctively circling around his neck for upper support. toji holds you up, legs spread over his cock. the cool air of the classroom hits your clit causing you whine out in frustration. toji chuckles. “impatient, are we teach?” he murmurs before ramming his hips up into you, his cock sliding back in immediately. “fuck!” you blurt out in surprise.

this new position had him hitting you in places no one had ever discovered and your tits bouncing up and down with fervor. your cunt fluttered, hearing his grunts so much closer to your ear. your lips fall slack, your tongue rolling out ever so slightly as he fucks you dumb. everything just feels so fucking good. “fuck keep squeezing around me just like that teach, i’m gonna cum.” he growls into your ear “fuck...stuff me full of your cum t-toji,” you sob, feeling yourself come closer to your second climax as well.

you bring your free hand down to your clit, rubbing it slow in contrast his quick thrusting. you wanted to savor this feeling. “god, keep touching yourself just like that baby,” he moans, swiveling his head to sink his teeth into to your shoulder. everything seems to slow, the pleasurable drag of his hardened cock against your walls, him hitting your spot just right, the way you sucked him back in as he pulled out...

“toji i’m - “ you can’t even finish before a wave of pleasure knocks over you, your vision spotting once again as he brings you to your climax for a second time. toji continues to fuck into you faster chasing his own high before you feel the spurts of thick cum filling your insides. you’re barely able to think, your fucked out daze taking over. you barely notice him move you off his softening length to set you down. you immediately grab ahold of him, your legs unable to support you at the time. you can feel his cum and your arousal begin to trickle out from your cunt, earning a satisfied whine from your lips. toji laughs softly, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead. “i haven’t had a good fuck like that in awhile. you were better than i imagined, taking me like that.” he spoke, his voice sounding muffled to you as your daze still hadn’t worn off. you hum softly nuzzling into his warm chest.

toji bites his lip as he looks down at you, you’re just so fucking cute clinging to him that way. he lifts you up on to the desk, carefully dressing you back up. he can’t find your panties so he just pulls you skirt back down from where it had gathered at your waist. he tucks your breasts back into your bra and picks up your blouse from the floor. he smirks at the missing button, doing what he can to close your blouse back up.

you smile gently, watching toji perform his aftercare. this must be the fatherly side of him you rarely get to see. after he’s finished dressing you both back up, he sets his gaze back on you. “so, i’ll see you next wednesday ms. ____?” he asks, settling back into his usual smug demeanor. you scoff before muttering out a small confirmation. he grins that smug toji grin. “perfect then. i’ll be sure to tell megumi you said hello.” he walks out shutting the door behind him, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

authors note ⋆ hi! this is my first time ever writing and posting something here on tumblr <3 i really hope this wasn’t too bad this took me like three days to write and i deleted and added a bunch of stuff so i hope it isn’t too wacky. thank you for reading!

#toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #x reader

532 notes · View notes

gyeomsweetgyeom · 3 years ago

Text

you suck at crushes

College!Yangyang x College!Reader x College!Renjun

summary: Renjun wants to help you get with Yangyang who wants to help you couple up with Renjun but they’re both annoying, maybe one less than the other

word count: 4.2k

(warnings: swearing, mentions of food) ((lmk if I missed anything))

Taglist! @lanadreamie

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy!! I swear reader ends up with only one guy I just don’t want to give away the ending and I know the summary is ass

God it was like the beams of sunshine just followed him around. Providing him with a natural spotlight that only worked to draw your attention to him even more than usual. The voices around you faded into background noise, and everything else besides him became so fuzzy you could only focus on the one and only- Liu Yangyang.

“Hello?” “Y/N!” “Are you listening to us?” Someone gripped your shoulder and shook you until you were out of your Yangyang-induced-haze. “Huh? Oh yeah… totally.” You answered with absolutely no idea about the conversation happening at the very table you sat at.

Your friends snorted, teasing and making fun of you. A kissing noise, a high pitched teasing exclamation of the man of the hour’s name, and some playful elbows being jabbed into your side. When they finally stopped with the teasing and they actually filled you in you were able to answer some questions about the times at the library.

You slipped into your seat in your geology class, a poor choice on your behalf and quite frankly the school for describing it as something that would be ‘fun and exciting.’ What a total load of BS that was. The professor was an old man that went on and on about his days in the field 40 years ago and rambled on and on about subjects that were 70% of the time not on the tests. However, the one and only bright side was that you had your favorite distraction in this class, Yangyang.

How could one person asking a question about the tectonic plates or the striations on a stupid rock be so attractive? He made it possible.

“Staring yet again?” An annoying voice asked quietly, just inches from your ear.

“Who are you?” You asked annoyed.

“Y/N, that isn’t funny anymore. Not the first time you did it and not the hundreds of times after that. We lived on the same street for years before you decided to follow me here.” He answered with a huff.

“Renjun, will you just go away? You know I’m no good at this so go bother someone else.” You replied. You took your eyes off Yangyang, gave Renjun a quick glare, and focused back on the lab work in front of you. Something stupid about hills or some moutain. Wasn’t this class supposed to be about rocks?

“I don’t need help, I came to help you. We’re friends- shhhh.” Renjun started, quickly shutting you up before you could interrupt. “I can help you with this lab and help you win over your beloved Yangyang.”

You sent him a quizzical look. In all the years you had known Renjun he had never been this... generous- always wanting something in return. “He and I are friends, he’s been super annoying lately and complaining about some final project we decided to do together, but we have months to do it. If I help you guys get together in order to distract him, then he can stop bothering me about that final project. It’s a win-win-win situation.” He explained.

Well, that made a lot of sense. “What do you even have in mind? Yangyang and I don’t talk like we used to, how could we go from strangers to dating in just a couple months.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You were the person to show him around school when he was the new kid all those years ago when we were kids, you’re in better standing than you think. We all went to the same school, we already know each other, we all have this class, and I’m not going to let this fail because I do not fail. If I have to hear about the final project one more time I will rip all the hair off his head, three strands at a time.” Renjun pouted.

“You sound completely crazy-”

“If you two need some help all you have to do is ask, I don’t need you two to argue and disrupt the class. Mr. Liu, since you seem to have a good understanding of the assignment, would you mind helping them out?” The professor called out.

You and Renjun sent each other incredulous looks, were you really talking that loudly? “It’s earlier than expected, but don’t worry I got this,” Renjun whispered.

“You know if you guys had just spoken quietly, I could have left early but here I am. You can’t do anything without me can you?” Yangyang teased Renjun.

“Oh, it wasn’t me. Y/N here is just so stupid, I was trying to explain the lab and it’s like all my words go in one ear and out the other. Maybe you can explain better than I can.” Renjun gestured toward you wildly.

You immediately went to defend yourself but stopped when instead, Yangyang came to your defense. “Y/N isn’t stupid like you Injun, if you wanted some attention you didn’t have to bother someone innocent.”

Your face felt so hot, god this attention was too much to handle so suddenly. It was as if Renjun had thrown you into the deep end of a pool when you had just learned about the entire concept of swimming itself. If this was his attempt at getting you and Yangyang together you were now questioning the entire idea. It was just too much to handle so suddenly.

Yangyang quickly went on to explain the idea of the lab, giving you some tips to make the work easier and how it connected to past lessons. “Do you understand it a little more now?” He asked you.

You hissed when someone stomped on your foot beneath the table. Your eyes met Renjun’s while he discreetly shook his head, seemingly trying to send you some kind of message. But it seemed whatever he was sending was received because you quickly caught on, answering, “Oh uh, this whole class has actually been a bit more difficult than I anticipated, and you seem to have a way better understanding than I do. Would you be willing to maybe meet up sometime and just help a little more?”

“I’m free on Wednesday afternoons, let’s exchange numbers so maybe we can find out what you struggle the most with and what time works for you. Renjun are you coming too, you seemed to get the lab when I explained it,” Yangyang replied.

Renjun answered with a simple nod, sending Yangyang on his way for the remainder of the class. He was quiet the rest of the time, still sitting beside you. When the class was over he looked over at you, “This is going to be so much easier than I thought.”

Some point in the week after class you had all decided on the meeting place and time. Some little cafe just off campus after Yangyang was done with his last class of the day. He said the coffee was good and it wasn’t even expensive, to which Renjun was quick to add that they had friends working there so they got discounts.

Renjun insisted on meeting you a little earlier to go over the details of the plan he had finally come up with. The plan mainly consisted of you just catching up with Yangyang, which would then progress to just the two of you hanging out, then bam! Dating! Much easier said than done you were quick to point out. His plan was just an idea with no details. Like what do you talk about? How do you make him like you? What kinds of things does he like? Could he even like you romantically?

“He actually mentioned to me that he was happy to talk to you again, so I have very high hopes. That was one conversation with him that was not about the final. Just have some hope.” Renjun shrugged.

“You make this sound so simple, but you are not the one risking being embarrassed by telling the guy you’ve had a crush on since you were 10 about your feelings and having even less of a relationship than you’ve had for the past like 6 years.” You huffed.

“Since you were 10? That’s a little embarrassing.” Renjun let out.

Ever since you were kids it was like Renjun knew the exact words and actions to push your every button. Always getting on your nerves and getting under your skin. It was foolish of you to believe that he had matured enough to not tease you, even in your 20s and even in college. Huang Renjun sucked.

You brought your hands up to his neck, fully ready to wrap your hands around his neck and just squeeze- just enough pressure for him to get the idea to just shut up. But of course, that would be unacceptable in public and even less appropriate seeing as Yangyang had come right up to the table before you could do so. You improvised, changing your intended action of a throat squeeze to a nice hug, arms wrapped tightly around Renjun’s shoulders. You smiled brightly, tilting your head away from Yangyang so your lips were right beside Renjun’s ear, “I can go another 10 years buddy, learn to shut your damn mouth. I for one know how to follow through with my threats and will actually pull your hairs from your head- Yangyang, so good to see you!”

Yangyang looked between the both of you curiously, side by side, one with a bright, beaming smile and the other flushed, scared look on their face. He shook it off and pulled out his study materials while making small talk.

By the end of the study session you felt more confident in your geology skills and your chances with Yangyang. He had gotten exponentially cooler as he got older than the kid you met all those years ago. Sure, he was still chaotic and sarcastic, even still a little dramatic, but it nonetheless made your heart skip a beat, just like the first time you laid eyes on him.

Over the next few weeks Renjun slowly stopped coming to the study sessions. He always had some excuse or another, that neither you or Yangyang ever really questioned. In those few weeks you and Yangyang had grown closer as friends, texting each other about more than just class, checking in on each other, sending stupid memes and tiktoks, even a few inside jokes.

But of course, Renjun had to have his time too. Instead of just texting you, he would make conversation anytime he saw you on campus, even going as far as asking you to hang out when he wanted to know what was going on. Every night without fail, he would FaceTime you for at least an hour and a half to ask for very detailed updates which at some point became you two just talking about your days in general. He liked to judge your every decision, giving his own input on even minor things like the seat you sat in for a class he didn’t even have. He said his life lacked drama so he needed to live vicariously through his friends.

“I know we usually meet at the cafe, but even with that discount I really shouldn’t be spending all that money there every week. Do you mind if we meet at mine this week? I promise my roommate buys enough snacks to feed the whole complex and he makes me clean the place every week.” Yangyang suggested about a month and a half into your studying arrangement.

You of course agreed, you’d be crazy to not want to go to your crush’s home, just the two of you- alone, and talking about… rocks.

So when the next week came and Wednesday afternoon rolled around, you found yourself standing right outside your crush’s door, fist raised to knock. You were so nervous, just being alone with him in his home! This wasn’t the cafe where you had other people around, where you knew where things were, close to your home. No, this was his house, and that made you beyond nervous.

He pulled the door open, a wide smile on his face as he welcomed you in. He set your things at his kitchen table and gave you a short tour of the home. “My roommate will be back later tonight, but he made us some food if we get hungry later,” He told you while he brought out his own supplies, once again ready to conquer your weekly study session.

And even though you did at one point struggle very much with the subject, this particular topic seemed easier to understand. So after even correcting Yangyang a few times, the study session became more of a hang out session. So casual that you even answered Renjun’s texts, chuckling at him freaking out in all caps because you were in Yangyang’s home.

“No, but Renjun did that last time we hung out too! We were in public, like full on glass of water spilled across the table and he got so red,” you laughed recalling the memory from just a few weeks ago after watching Yangyang do the same.

Then just a few minutes later when you were both watching TV you mumbled, “I think Renjun would like this show. This is on Netflix right?”

Yangyang being the smart kid that he is, had pieces coming together in his mind, ideas that he wasn’t even sure if you knew yet. He was going to make this happen.

Renjun sat in front of Yangyang, a month before the end of the semester, finally working on the final project. Which, thanks to you, had not been mentioned even once since you and Yangyang started hanging out until a week ago.

After finishing his part for the day Yangyang leaned back in his chair, sighed and smiled. “I think I’m going to ask Sua from our history class out.”

Renjun choked on his drink, did Yangyang really have to pick the exact moment he took a sip of his drink to tell him this? He cleared his throat, “Since when do you like her?”

Yangyang shrugged nonchalantly, explaining that Sua worked at the cafe he was always at and at some point they just kind of hit it off.

Renjun nodded, a little excessively. In his head he was trying to figure out what the hell to do. He knew you liked Yangyang and how hurt you would be if Yangyang suddenly had a girlfriend. At this moment, you were the only thing on Renjun’s mind. “Really? I actually thought you and Y/N might be a really good match, and you guys obviously get along well.” He replied.

Yangyang hid his smirk by taking a sip of his drink, “I don’t know, Y/N is really just much more of a friend than anything. Like don’t get me wrong Y/N is cool, but I see Sua more romantically.”

Before Renjun even had time to process his words and think of the consequences, he suddenly blurted out, “Well, Y/N likes you- and has liked you since we were kids. You have to think about more feelings than just your own Yangyang. Think of Y/N.”

“Like you think about Y/N?” Yangyang replied. Renjun tilted his head in confusion, trying to understand what Yangyang was talking about.

“I know you never grew out of that crush you had in middle school- it’s that cute childhood neighbors to lovers thing. I know that whole plan you made so I could finally pay attention to Y/N, and while I admit it worked, because Y/N is a cool friend, this plan didn’t work the way you wanted it to. I see the way you look at Y/N and every time we hang out that’s all you can talk about. I’m smarter than you Injun, I know.”

Renjun flushed, these were emotions that he had buried deep down years ago. In just two months Yangyang had uncovered and brought his emotions to light. Emotions that had at one point been disguised as that annoying 13 year old kid that would bother you to your wit’s end and now evolved to Renjun putting your emotions before his own. Days that were once filled with him tugging on your hair or tapping on your shoulder and looking away as if it weren’t him, had now become days of texting or facetiming you regularly just to catch up like he had wanted.

“I think you should tell Y/N how you feel, don’t underestimate your chances.” Yangyang told Renjun as they made their way out of the cafe.

When Yangyang told you that he knew you liked him, that he wasn’t interested, that he was actually going to date Sua from his history class, you thought you would be more upset. Embarrassed that he knew you liked him all this time, angry that he didn’t tell you earlier, or heartbroken that your crush of almost 10 years didn’t like you like you liked him. But you weren’t. You weren’t embarrassed, or angry, or heartbroken. You felt fine, it felt like he was just telling you what he ate for lunch. “Okay, so how do you tell the difference between these crystals again?” You replied with a nod.

“And I know you like Renjun.” He added quietly.

You looked up suddenly, eyes wide with shock, “What?”

“Come on Y/N, I think this whole ‘Renjun annoys me to no end’ is just a ploy. Whenever we hang out he’s all you talk about, you guys FaceTime like every night, right? You smile every time he texts you, and even though you play it off as ironic shit-posting- those stories you always post with all the hearts and cheesy ass captions stopped being a joke at some point. You may not have realized it but even with Renjun as just a friend to you now, he means more to you than I do.”

You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, “You know you’re smarter than you look, but I really don’t like you psychoanalyzing me.”

He laughed loudly, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t exactly have a good record with crushes, obviously. I don’t know what to do now,” you quietly answered, “Anyway this seems like a good ending point, we’ll meet one more time before the final right? Just text me if you need anything alright?”

Before Yangyang could even stop you or try to reassure you, you were hastily packing up your things and out the door. How was he going to get the two of you together now?

It seemed that mother nature seemed to understand the tornado of emotions that were happening for you and Renjun, though you both had no idea about one another, what had started off as a gorgeous spring day had become a dark and rainy spring night. Even Yangyang laid in his bed, unable to sleep as he remembered that he had failed to mention or even plan out- that neither of you knew you liked each other. That would have been nice to know, but it was a little too late for that now seeing as it was like two in the morning.

If you liked Renjun, which it sounded like you did, according to Yangyang and the more you thought about it, it really felt like you did. Not some surface level ‘I like to admire you from afar for 10 years’ crush but rather a ‘I like you and want to spend time with you and I’d hate to see you smile at anyone else like you smile at me and possibly fall in love.’ You sat straight up in bed, flashes of the lightning outside lit your room up, did you just think about falling in love with Renjun? Before you could process anymore thoughts you pulled on a coat and some shoes, grabbing the umbrella you kept by the door. You had to tell Renjun how you felt.

Stepping out of your apartment complex, you thanked the love gods for allowing Renjun to live just a few blocks away from each other and not across town. There was no doubt in your mind that by the time you reached him, you would be soaked to the bone, but you had to do this. There was no point in keeping this crush to yourself just for nothing, you had to take the risk and just hope for the best. Best case scenario, you get a boyfriend, and worst case, well then you don’t talk to him for another few years and every time you see him your heart feels like it's being stomped on. You know, something that could become a regular feeling.

You hurried through the storm, dodging large puddles while trying your best to stay beneath the awnings of the buildings. You stopped at a light, looking out into the rain to see just how much further you had until you got to Renjun’s place. But instead you focused on the sight of someone rushing through the rain to get to the opposite end of the crosswalk. You squinted through the downpour, realizing that the person at the other end of the crosswalk was “Renjun?”

You rushed toward him, lucky that there were no cars at this hour of the night to dodge. He ran forward, meeting you in the middle, pulling your hand forward so that the umbrella covered you both. “What are you doing out here?” He asked you loudly so you could hear him over the rain.

“I was coming to see you,” you started, meeting his eyes that told you he was waiting to hear more, “Renjun I like you. I really like you. I don’t smile, or laugh, or feel happy or even feel annoyed with anyone else like I feel when I’m with you. I want to be happy and date you, use your stupid plans to plan dates for us. I don’t want anyone else but you.”

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that. I’ve had a crush on you since middle school, you don’t know how happy this makes me.” He beamed, using his free hand to cup your cheek.

His hands were wet, and his fingers were cold as they cupped your warm cheek. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?” You asked.

He surged forward, lips meeting your own in a passionate kiss as your eyes fluttered shut. Your lips moved against his own, wrapping your free arm around his neck to pull him closer. He let his other arm fall to bring you closer by the waist, deepening the kiss. With one arm holding up the umbrella you decided to just fuck it, dropping the umbrella you placed your hand at the back of his neck.

A sudden honk made the two of you jump apart, rushing back to the end of the crosswalk to avoid getting hit by an angry driver.

“You crazy kids! Living your movie moment! I did it!” You heard a voice yell over the pounding rain.

“Yangyang?” Both you and Renjun called out upon catching sight of Yangyang leaning out his car window.

He smiled, gesturing for the two of you to get in the car. You both shuffled into the backseat, hands held close and sitting side by side to warm each other up after being out in the horrible weather for so long. You were both shivering, teeth chattering, and lips nearly blue from the cold.

“Aren’t you guys glad I meddled? I mean look at you guys, all cute and cuddled up after your adorable kiss in the rain.” Yangyang giddily smiled as he shook some of the water out of hair.

“Can you just take us back to mine, I’d like to get dry so we don’t get sick. If that’s ok with you,” Renjun asked, whispering the last bit to you.

You nodded, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Yangyang nodded, putting the car in drive, chatting your ears off about how happy he was that the plan worked even when he didn’t plan well considering he forgot to mention that you liked each other. He told you both that he was on his way to Renjun’s to tell him that you liked him and force him to FaceTime you and confess.

He pulled up in front of the apartment complex, turning to give you a cocky smirk before you could even get out of the car or thank him for the ride, “So is Injun a good kisser?”

“This whole car ride made me realize how much you suck, seriously. I clearly made the right choice, so I hope and pray for your sake Sua has a mountain of patience, like you never shut up- ever. Thank you for the ride.” You ranted angrily before you made your way out of the car.

Yangyang’s jaw fell in fake offense, “You sure know how to pick ‘em Renjun.”

But he wasn’t met with the shocked face he thought he would see, he was instead met with a dazed, lovesick look. “Yeah I do, I might be in love.”

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop au #kpop reactions #nct #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream fic #nct dream x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct au #nct x reader #renjun fluff #renjun imagines #Renjun Scenarios #renjun x reader #renjun fic

172 notes · View notes