#and i mean this in the least pretentious way possible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

predestinatos · 2 months

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you mean everything - MV1 ೀ⋆｡🌷

summary: max needed a wedding date and you were used to being his fake partner.

tags: max verstappen x fem!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, max is so whipped, fluff, a bit angsty maybe?, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

notes: i've been writing (and thinking) so much about max... my period is coming please give me a break i'm sensitive. also would love to get some feedback if possible so i know if it's worth making a series out of this!!!!

"If you want to make it believable at least hold my hand" you half-whispered to Max, who was buttoning his blazer while getting out of the car, you behind him.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this with you" he said chuckling. His sweaty palm held yours tightly, and the feeling of it was odd. Knowing Max for so long meant that these romantic gestures felt almost cringeworthy to you both, and you both had to put up award winning performances every time you played this game.

The game in question being fake-dating. It started as a funny joke where you both thought it would be great to test out the Get A Champagne Bottle For Free At This Restaurant If You Propose theory (which worked, by the way). From then onwards, you used each other as dates whenever asked by annoying family members, creepy coworkers, or just because you felt like lying.

The talking wasn't hard - you both felt comfortable in that part, lying with words coming off almost dangerously natural - but when it came to acting the part, both of you felt awkward, like kids who found relationships absolutely repulsive.

This time, though, the performance would last longer than usual: it was a wedding. Max's friend's wedding. Max could've just gone along, or bring a friend (even you as a friend). Yet he had told his friend, after one too many shots on his Bachelor's Party, and after being chosen as The Guy Who'll Take the Longest to Settle, that he had, in fact, a girlfriend. His friends didn't believe him, so he showed a picture of you two together - a selfie really, nothing much. And they still said they didn't believe it. So here you are.

You couldn't blame him, even if you wanted to. You agreed to use each other as a fake partner for as long as you could in as many situations as required, although when it all started none of you ever thought it would lead to wedding attendances.

So now there you were, Max's hand on yours, entering the small church. His eyes locked with the groom, who waved and called for you to sit near the altar.

"So you ARE real" he said, nervousness laced in his voice even as he tried to lighten the mood himself. You giggled at the irony of it, nodding as you said your congratulations.

"Just wait until the guys see this" he continued gesturing towards the bench where 3 other men around his age sat. Men you had seen before in some Instagram pictures, men you spent the previous night trying to memorize basic information about so you didn't sound suspicious.

Max's hand now fell on your waist almost instinctively - it wasn't instinctively, he told himself once he noticed its positioning. And if it was, it was only because he took this so seriously, almost as a sort of method acting. Sitting down next to his friends, he noticed how all of them seemed surprised at your presence, and something like pride filled his chest. He loved winning, loved being right even if he was lying; but most especially, he loved how jealous other men seemed to be over the fact that he was (at least in their minds) dating you.

He couldn't deny - though he tried, really - that you two looked good together. His rougher features mixed with your softer ones gave you both an aura of near unreachability, which yes, was pretentious of him to think but he thought nevertheless.

The ceremony was quick and endearing, a smile spread across everyone's faces at the shared loved between the bride and the groom. As the crowd clapped, Max leaned into you, "don't tell me you're crying". "I am, just to think that I'll have to keep pretending to date YOU for the next 10 hours" you replied, his mocking smile recognizing the joke.

The reception hall was beautifully decorated with shades of soft green and violet orchids. Max tried not to think about how much it matched the shade of your dress, how you looked like you had come to life from a classical novel. He tried to feel like anyone but Mr. Darcy as you felt so much like Elisabeth Bennett to him.

Sitting down next to him, you found this part easier - mingling and socializing was something you enjoyed more than he did - especially with alcohol in the mix. It's a wedding, you thought; this is what weddings are for.

So you drank the wine with the main course and sipper champagne to celebrate and ordered a few cocktails when it was time to dance and talk - and you felt it on your body almost as much as you felt Max's hand occasionally sitting on your thigh, but not even close to how strongly you felt his thumb caress your skin as he did so. Truth was, he too was drunk; his eyes looked smaller and his cheeks were flushed, and the amount of times he ran a hair through his dirty blonde hair had caused it to look messier. As you looked at him, you felt he never looks as attractive as when he is like this - loose and carefree, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a smile on his face when he notices people laugh at his joke.

"I have to admit I didn't think it was true" his friend said when Max left to go to the bathroom. He looked drunker than the two of you combined, his words hard to decypher, like a riddle. "He's been talking about you for months now and we never saw you for real so we thought you didn't exist" he laughed, and you laughed back before it registered.

"Months?" you asked him, eyebrows furrowed yet attempting to remain composed. You shouldn't have asked it - a supposedly month old girlfriend wouldn't be surprised but you were his fake month old girlfriend and you weren't understanding it anymore.

"Yeah. He talks about you so much all the time I think even we started to date you" he laughed again, yet this time you didn't find the joke so funny. You were frozen in your seat, merely blinking as if trying to put the confusing puzzle together, the pieces not quite fitting the way you thought they would.

A touch on your shoulder unfroze you, almost like magic, like a disney film come to life. You turned around to find the groom, somewhat sober, smiling at you while also looking somewhat concerned. "He's calling for you... And he's also absolutely wasted" he said, pointing to the door of the hall.

"Shit" you cursed, getting up from your seat at a speed you couldn't believe, worry filling your heart, making you forget the conversation you were just having.

Opening the door to the garden outside, you found Max sitting down against the wall, shirt partly unbuttoned and disheveled hair. When he saw you, he grinned, such genuine happiness laced with tipsiness.

"Lightweight" you mocked as you crouched in front of him, trying to balance yourself on your heels, somehow managing it despite your own drunkness.

"You're laughing at my mis- Shit- my misery" his throat bobbed up and down, exaggerating his own agony with a hand on his chest and another on his forehead like a Shakespeare character.

"I have to admit it's quite fun sometimes" you bit your lip as you fixed his hair as best as you could, hands brushing through its soft, blonde mess.

"You're so– you're so sweet" he said, his words dragged and messy. He brought a beer bottle to his lips but you stopped him before any liquid touched them.

"I think that's enough of that for tonight" you grabbed it and placed it behind you, sitting in front of him.

"See now... Now you're being mean" his hand grabbed a strand of your hair and played with it softly as he pouted.

"Okay big boy I'm gonna get you some water" you say, getting up once again, yet his hand stops you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

You looked at him, startled. His drunken state is visible, and it felt frustrating that you had to be the one sobering up for him. The music vibrated through the wall he leaned against, somehow tickling him, making him giggle.

"Stay," he managed to say, eyes half closed, "I'm so glad we're- Fuck things are spinning so much" his hands rushed to his eyes and his head hung low, "Ah fuck. I'm so glad we're datin- Fuck, no, oops-" he continued laughing despite how sick he felt, the whole situation sounding hilarious when filtered through alcohol.

You giggled along with him, mostly because you wanted to see if you could convince him to move, scared he might feel worse or pass out on the cold floor if he doesn't do so. "Fake dating. Fake dating, I know. I knowww" he continued, his words dragged and his finger pointing at you before poking your nose with such innocent sweetness you were taken aback.

"Max" you tried to sound more assertive but found it hard to do so, your own intoxicated state making the situation lighter than what it actually was. Your heart racing was a symptom of it, one you wouldn't feel if sobriety was an option, you thought. Max's eyes wouldn't seem to stare at you differently were he sober as well, and the way he scanned your features, his gaze staying on your lips for longer than expected, wouldn't affect you in the slightest had you not drank some alcohol.

"I like it when you say my name" he looked up at you innocently, pleading, almost.

"Want me to say it again?" you asked, smiling. You complied with these demands because you knew they were childish whims of an intoxicated man, his happiness a priority in times like these. Upon his nod, you started saying his name, half teasingly, half reassuringly, the leaves rustling in the garden behind you.

"Max... Max!! Max Max-"

He shouldn't. It would complicate things, and he liked when they were simple, clean and organized. He knew he shouldn't even when his whole vision spun and his brain convinced him that he should do things he would never do otherwise. But every time he refrained from saying something he would stumble across all his words and trip and fall and his head would only hurt more, and it seemed as if he could only focus if he kept listening to you and talking to you and looking at you.

The lights shone behind you in a way that made it feel as though he was dreaming, like you were a mirage, too good to be true. Maybe his friends were right - you weren't actually real. He wanted to be sure, in that moment. That you were real and that he wanted you as much as he thought. And though he shouldn't, though it was a terrible idea, he couldn't help but lean over to kiss you.

He tasted like champagne - bubbly and slightly sweet, his movements sloppy given his state, yet you couldn't help but drink it all in. Part of you - a big part - reciprocated the kiss, felt his fingers on the side of your neck, pulling you messily towards him, and tried to steady him, guiding him gently with your own lips.

It was odd, how this felt so right yet the fake hand holding didn't. As Max kissed you, that thought entered his clouded mind - did it feel wrong because it was fake and this was real? Your skin felt so soft, so much softer now he could touch it freely and unapologetically.

"Fuck-" he started, pulling away, his head resting against the wall once again as he stared at you, noticing how it hasn't hit you yet; what you just did, how it affected everything. "I fucking love you" he shrugged as you fixed your hair, pausing with arms raised for a few seconds before smiling softly.

"You're drunk" you replied, looking at his own grin, the gleam in his eyes making him appear both innocent and guilty of so many things.

"I'm drunk and I fucking love you"

"Max..." you started, and he said your name back to you with such tenderness you couldn't believe his lips tasted of alcohol earlier and not something sweet.

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" you continued, waiting for the silence to swallow you both.

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animentality · 11 months

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Dude I'm so confused

Why are the redditors refugees here-

Whats up with the tag 196

AND WHY IS EVERYONE BEING SO NICE WITH THE TWITTER REFUGEES CAME WE GAVE THEM HELL (almost)

The Reddit refugees are here because several subreddits have gone private in protest of reddit's new policy of charging third party developers for access to its API.

Hence the term reddit blackout.

196 specifically was a very queer friendly subreddit that had one rule: that you post before you leave. 196 is trending because those Redditors have come here and they're basically sharing their memery here instead as they protest reddit's greed.

As for why we're welcoming them when Twitter refugees were seen with a little more irritation, well.

Think of the culture similarities.

Tumblr and reddit have far more in common than Tumblr and Twitter.

Twitter is about clout and manipulating algorithms and discourse in 280 characters or less. It's about bad takes that reach the right people and it forces you to see things you don't want to see and it's crawling with the worst people imaginable and you're forced to see them, all the time. They also brought bad tagging and 2016 Tumblr discourse with them, because Twitter culture really involves starting fights for clout and braindead opinions that no one really wants to come back to Tumblr culture.

There was a time when Tumblr did the same thing, but worse, with more words...but nowadays, it's really calmed down.

The worst people...went to Twitter after the porn ban. Ironically, it made the site less toxic and hostile.

But then they came back.

And it was like...hm. no thanks. Stay back where you came from.

But Tumblr and Reddit have much more in common.

Both have a more streamlined way of customizing your online feed. You can choose what subreddits you see on your home screen, just like Tumblr only shows you the content of your followers, on your dashboard, and in chronological order rather than what's trending. You can join a very specific weird niche group of freaks with a shared obsession, and not care about the rest of the site at all. You also don't have a character limit on either site, which lets you ramble more and share weird detailed stories.

Reddit might have karma, but like Tumblr, the majority of people are lurkers and not posters. It also allows you to downvote bad opinions, and moderators who have to adhere to certain guidelines of behavior, which means a lot of banning disruptive people.

Granted, sometimes their mods are power hungry, but. You know.

It does more to control its users than Tumblr do, and that's a good thing in terms of keeping toxicity and illegal shit off its subs.

Reddit also has a way more leftwing attitude than you would think.

It has a reputation for being full of incels but I honestly think that's outdated.

It's cleaned up its act quite a bit since the old days.

I see way more vile shit from Twitter and TikTok. Like seriously.

Twitter is crawling with conservative bots and propaganda machines and just outright inflammatory lies. TikTok literally has the worst comment sections I've ever seen, like edgy teenagers cracking racist and misogynistic humor and acting like it makes them different and special. Its algorithm also spoon feeds you garbage and is designed to be as addicting as possible.

At least reddit's culture, while chauvinistic and regressive in certain subcultures, is mostly on the tech positive, atheist libertarian side.

It can be a little pretentious and caustic about certain subjects, and a little full of itself. Some reddits are also very male leaning and disregard female concerns in favor of moaning about how men have it worse than anyone else on earth.

But for the most part?

...well.

I welcome them here, because if they left reddit in protest, then we always support protests. But 196 specifically is also a queer subreddit, and we support that even more.

Plus they're funny as fuck.

What's not to like, really?

You should welcome them with open arms too.

#reddit blackout #196

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 11 months

Text

Well, Actually

Summary: Spencer gets frustrated as Reader proves him wrong about an unsub's profile.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff-ish

Content warnings: discussions of gender, sexy implications, Ernest Hemingway

Word count: 1.5k

It’s when I flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED that I can finally breathe. Saturday Sale Days at the bookstore are usually easygoing, but most people took refuge at the windows thanks to the crime scene across the street. Another sex worker was murdered, according to the agents who were here earlier. Well, one of them looked like an agent; coated from head to toe in black and seriousness. The other, however, might as well have been a pretentious preppy middle schooler who thinks a doctorate — three doctorates (he made sure to correct me) — gives him the excuse to lack social graces.

I’m not used to running into FBI agents regularly. However, I’m fairly confident that questioning civilians is more about further insight and not running to the end with confirmation bias. Dr. Reid, on the other hand, had his confirmation set that he and his team were looking for a woman riddled with internalized misogyny who was killing sex workers and leaving quotes from Ernest Hemingway pieces.

So, is it wrong that I may or may not have said they might actually be looking for a male with possible gender nonconformity issues? According to the quotes written in lipstick and discussions revolving around Hemingway’s relationship with gender, it was the first thing to pop into my head.

And it was Dr. Reid’s first instinct to take it personally, like any other gifted child who’s never learned what it’s like to be wrong (possibly). His reaction mainly consisted of raising his voice and saying my assumption “was not relevant to our case” and taking a collection of Hemingway’s short stories without paying for it. I haven’t found a suitable way to explain that to my boss yet.

Regardless of his reaction, I had no reason to expect to see him again. I got a card from Agent Prentiss after she questioned me behind the counter and haven’t heard a word since. It didn’t matter then because we were closed, and I had the day off tomorrow —

Knock, knock, knock. A simple three-raps on the glass. The night makes it difficult to see who it is, but I’m more than familiar with the panic button under the register. So before I turn the lights out, I get closer to the door to find out who on the other side can’t read.

And without thinking, I open the door, but don't let him in. “Agent Reid.” I can’t help but push him just a bit.

“Dr. Reid.”

“Right.” I faked a laugh (years of practice). “Well as you can see we’re closed for the night so —”

His hand is out, holding the book. The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway. The paper cover is already pulled up at the corners and the spine is cracked. Nothing display worthy, that’s for sure. “I took this.”

“And you had it for six hours. How did you decimate it so quickly?”

“I was using it as a source while we were trying to solve the case.” His hand was shaking, from nervousness or lack of strength to hold a paperback in one hand for longer than a minute, either could be possible. “I figured a way to make amends was to come back and purchase it.”

I looked down at the book and looked back up at him. Sincerity and boyish charm force me to hold the door open for him and let him in. When he comes in, his under eyes are darker, perhaps because he's a night owl, or because of his job. His hair is still fluffy like this morning but droopy.

He was prepared to call it a night before coming here. But thievery is apparently too heavy for this agent’s shoulders.

I walk to the register, booting up the fancy tablet. “So did you? Solve the case, I mean?”

“We did.”

I scan the barcode, luckily he didn’t ruin that. “And? Did she explain the Hemingway quotes at least?”

Silence, only for a moment. I see his hands digging into his pockets. He pulls out a debit card and hands it over. “He, actually.”

“What?”

“He didn’t explain the Hemingway quotes but said he targeted sex workers because they were ‘freer than he ever would be.’”

Silence swallowed the room immediately upon saying that but of a different kind. The kind that was ripe for me to brag and possibly even do a little dance. But I’m patient, and I don’t like interrupting people. I tap the screen slowly so the good doctor can gather the words. I even took another glance and his eyes were already locked on me. It would’ve made me jump if he didn’t follow it with “You were right.”

There it is. “Hmm,” I say as I keep the arrogance down to a minimum as I contemplate my next words. I take his receipt and scribble before bagging the book. “So do I get a one-way ticket into the bureau, or do I take your place or —”

“Thank you for your help." He says slowly as if he were being ordered to apologize. Like he wrote these words in a document before coming here. “Your observation sent us in the right direction.” His hand is out, waiting.

I also have a talent for dragging things out. When I shut the techy stuff down again, I go back around and hand them to him, so I can get closer. Read his face. When he reaches out and just touches the paper, I jerk the bag back. “That’s not what you want to say.” I let the bag dangle off two of my fingers, shamelessly drinking in the moment. “Come on, it’s gotta be killing you.”

He rolls his eyes. Briefly, but enough for me to notice. “What could be killing me?”

“That you, an FBI agent, with two PhDs —”

“Three PhDs.”

This is so fun. “Three PhDs was outsmarted by a girl who works in a bookstore. Merely a bachelor's on my resume.”

“That is not the case.” He says.

“It seems relevant to the case now.” That intended to burn, and it did. Scorched actually. I could feel it from here, so I walked to the back to find the lights, expecting him to follow me.

He did. The creaking of the old wood floors echoed as we walked, there was no rhythm or synced steps, just two different walking patterns, one at ease and the other eager. “Just tell me how you figured it out.” He says. “Hemingway has been praised for his writing style and the way he wrote certain female characters but his macho personality indicated he enjoyed nothing feminine.”

A chuckle might have been appropriate, but I replied with a stark laugh. A bold “Ha!” As I opened the lightroom door. “Because macho men are known for being the happiest people on Earth, according to history.” With a click, the lights flickered steadily before turning off. I had my phone flashlight ready, though. “Honestly, Dr. Reid, it might be worthwhile to take a break from reading and watch a documentary on the man. It adds up quickly, even someone like you would get it.” I let the flashlight guide me back to the front, avoiding collateral damage from bookshelf corners.

Until Dr. Reid stepped in front of me, causing my head to collide with his chest. Somehow, I didn’t drop my phone and instinctively reached for my nose. “Someone like me?”

“Ow, first of all. But yes.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I rub my nose in the dark. “That even a predictable bookish boy like you can eventually come to grips with the fact that he doesn’t know everything.”

“And you do?” He asked.

“I never said that,” I admitted.

He looked at me skeptically. Even in the dark, I could feel my arrogance might have gotten the best of me here. I tried looking away, to another dark space.

He, however, did not. “What else did you say? Predictable?”

“You mean you don’t remember?”

He sighs, and air from his nose brushes above my lip.

Then so does his hand in my hair.

His lips, though, were quite the opposite. As if all his frustrations couldn’t take it anymore and needed to be let out with a teeth-smashing, saliva-coated spectacle (that no one could see. Not even us.) All I felt was wandering hands and the wall hitting the back of my head before he pulled away. His hands are still on my waist, and he breathes sharply in and out. “Was that predictable?” I heard him swallow.

I contemplated my response for a short while, wondering which one, a yes or a no, would get him to do it again. So instead, I just grabbed where I assumed his head would be and jerked him down to meet my lips again. It worked. His hands wrapped tight as if he glued himself to my skin. “Will you get reprimanded by your team for being somewhere you aren’t?” I ask between breaths and lip separation.

“Maybe. I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

“I won’t admit anything,” I said. Whether it was to see Dr. Reid’s night turn out worse, or to keep a secret from his boss about a makeout session in a bookstore, I’m not sure. But his body was thin, layered with clothes. Warm.

“What will you admit to?” He whispers, moving our bodies, begging for more kisses. Or just more.

“Dinner?”

“For?”

“Education purposes, Dr. Reid.” My hands can’t help but explore. “Seems like we’ve got a lot to learn.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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mysaintkitten · 7 months

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hii first of all i just wanna say your writing is amazing & you are so very talented 🤍!!!! every time i see you’ve posted something i can’t wait to read it :]

anyway!! i was hoping i could request a jonathan crane x reader fic in which he gets jealous and protective over his gf <3 reader is really pretty (like one of those pinterest or ig baddies) and not the type of girl people typically picture a doctor dating lmaoaoao but he gets jealous n stuff bc people hit on her 😭 ugh i’m rambling now but ty ily 🤍

thank you so so much !! you are so kind !! i appreciate it very very much !! ilyt !!

Claimed | Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

prompt: someone tries to flirt with you at an event, and jonathan doesn’t take it lightly (NSFW!! NO MINORS!!)

WARNINGS: brief awkward interactions with pushy men, mentions of spiked drinks/possible death, implications of murders/killing, unprotected sex (p in v), jonathan and reader are both possessive, breeding/pregnancy kink, squirting, creampie

word count: 4.3k *not proofread*

“sweetheart, we’ve gotta go soon!” jonathan calls out to you from the front room. he stands in front of a large full body mirror making some final adjustments before he leaves. he takes a deep breath and slides a small syringe into his pocket. hopefully he won’t have to use it, but tonight could be hectic.

there’s a large event in gotham tonight and jonathan wants to make sure he looks his absolute best before showing up. though, he doesn’t think he’ll have to worry so much. with you on his arm, he doubts anyone will be paying much attention to his looks.

jonathan wasn’t an ugly man by any means, but you’ve lost track of how many times people told you that you’re out of his league. you didn’t see it. he’s handsome, smart, and sweet. well, sweet towards you, at least. and that’s what mattered.

“i’m coming, just hold on!” you shout back from the bedroom as you slip on your heels. you quickly walk towards the vanity before flattening our your dress and shifting it around so it hugs your body just right. once you’re happy, you head out and meet jonathan in the front room. as soon as he sees you, his anxiety begins to fade and a proud grin appears on his lips.

“darling ..” he coos as he begins to take a few steps to meet you in the middle. he runs his hands along your arms and kisses you softly, making sure he doesn’t ruin your makeup in any way.

“do i look nice?” you ask, jonathan chuckles breathily. “you look stunning, my love. now come on, we’ve gotta go.”

you sigh as he lightly grabs your wrist and starts to lead you outside, “nothing wrong with being fashionably late, jon.”

the drive to the event is rather quiet, you stare out the window, jonathan stays fixated on the road with his hand on your thigh. after a few minutes pass and you begin to arrive closer to the event jonathan decides to give you a brief rundown of what to expect.

“all right, these people will be obnoxious. and pretentious. and dull. but all you have to do is smile and nod and look pretty, okay?” jonathan asks sweetly. he’s not exactly asking you, he’s telling you. but you don’t mind, this is his event after all, you’re really just there to be eye candy. a subtle little ‘fuck you’ to the people who doubted him and his abilities to find love. jonathan was perpetually single for years until he met you, and the people around him made it their mission to never allow him to forget it. but you flipped a switch within him. his soft, gentle side began to spill out more and more. although he still definitely kept his cold and calculated side, he just tried to keep it away from you as best he could.

jonathan pulls up to the gotham museum where the event is being held. there’s a handful of people outside, standing and talking, but the real business is going down inside. you start to feel a bit nervous, you knew this event was going to be big, but this was more than you had anticipated.

you glance over to jonathan and flash him a smile, hoping to convey authentic happiness, but when you see him frown slightly in response you realize you weren’t very convincing.

“it’ll be all right, darling. i promise. you can cling to my arm the entire night, no one will bother you.” he whispers, petting the side of your face gently, “they know what i’m capable of.”

the implication of violence gave you chills. it was hot knowing how evil and dangerous he could be, while on the flip side be so affectionate and loving. he’d get down on all fours for you, kiss the ground you walk on. he had never felt that way about anyone, not in the slightest. in fact, he held partial animosity towards most people. some stronger than others. after years of being picked on and ridiculed, it’s not surprising he felt this way.

you nod at his words and form a genuine smile, making jonathan smile in return.

“let’s head inside.” he hums.

you exit the car with jonathan and begin to approach the museum, already noticing people look your way and whisper amongst themselves. you wrap your arm around jonathan’s, holding him close as you enter the event.

as you’re inside for merely a few moments, taking in the scenery and people around you, you hear someone shout from afar.

“crane!”

you and jonathan’s heads shoot over to the direction of the shout, where you’re met with a man you’ve never seen before. you feel a bit worried, but then you look over at jonathan who’s smiling. you begin to relax, if he’s not worried, you’re not worried.

the man is finally face to face with jonathan, where he grins widely and sticks out his hand. jonathan laughs and shakes the man’s hand, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

jonathan notices your confusion and breaks the handshake to speak to you, “darling, this is a friend of mine from university, his name is dr. fiske.”

you’ve heard of dr. fiske before. jonathan said he was his only friend throughout university. it’s nice to finally put a face to a name. you smile shyly at him and stick your hand out to shake his hand, “pleasure to meet you.”

he shakes your hand and nods, “same to you, miss.”

“is this your girl, crane?” dr. fiske asks, a smirk forming on his face as he drops your hand.

jonathan nods while grinning proudly, “she’s all mine.”

“look at jonny go!” he exclaims happily, smacking jonathan’s arm playfully. jonathan laughs and shrugs, “i know, i know. i got very lucky.”

you can’t help but smile at his words, he always made sure you knew how much he appreciated you and how lucky he got with you. but to hear him tell it to others really solidified his love for you, you’d never been put on such a pedestal by a partner before.

“well, i won’t hold you guys up. it was nice to see you crane, and it was nice to meet you ma’am.” dr. fiske adds before leaving to head to another area of the event.

the night goes well. jonathan talks to people, and you do as he asked. smiled, nodded, looked pretty. and he was right, these people were like parasites. energy leeches. it was becoming more and more difficult to feign this contentment when your annoyance was beginning to boil inside of you. you can only hear so many rich pricks ramble about how great they are in one night.

luckily, the conversations begin to fizzle out.

“would you like to get a drink?” jonathan questions, already knowing what your response will be.

“yes, please.” you sigh with relief. it would be much easier to pretend to be interested if you were drunk, but having to do all this sober was really putting your acting skills to the test.

jonathan chuckles and leads you to the bar, “stay here for a moment, darling. i need to use the restroom. don’t move, i’ll be right back. order yourself whatever you’d like.”

he gives you a quick peck on the cheek before heading off to the bathroom. you really didn’t want to be alone surrounded by people you didn’t know. but you’re grown, and you remember what jonathan said. they know what i’m capable of.

“gin and tonic, please.” you order politely, the bartender mumbles and begins to make your drink.

as you stand there, clicking your nails against the counter while you wait, you’re disrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

“here all by yourself, hun?”

you quickly swing around with a confused expression on your face, and you’re met with an extremely tall stranger that reeks of alcohol. you have no idea who this man is, or why he’s decided to talk to you out of all people. of course this would happen the moment jonathan leaves your side.

“uh .. no, actually. i’m here with my boyfriend.” you respond flatly as you hear the sound of the bartender placing your drink down behind you, you thank them and grab your drink, bringing it up to your lips and taking a small sip.

“well .. he doesn’t seem to be around, love.” the man noticed while slurring, “doesn’t he know better than to leave a pretty thing like you unattended?”

“he’ll be back soon. and trust me, he will not be happy to see you talking to me.” you warn, feeling irritated at this man’s inability to take no for an answer.

he clicks his tongue and tilts his head, “aw. can’t even have a conversation with you? that’s too bad .. i’ll give him something to get angry over ..” he laughs as his hand begins to meet your hip, you push his chest back firmly, spilling a bit of your drink in the process.

“don’t touch me!” you snap, hoping to god that jonathan hurries up and saves you.

“sweetheart ..” the man chuckles lowly, putting his hands up defensively, “relax, now. what your little boyfriend can’t see won’t hurt him, right?” he whispers as he reaches to touch your hips again.

you go to push him again, “i said don’t touch me!”

in the midsts of your rage, your eyes meet with jonathan. he may be far away, but you can tell he’s fuming. he nudges people out of the way and quickly strides over to you, his expression becoming angrier by the moment. suddenly, he’s behind the man’s back with a drink in his hand. his gaze burning into the back of his head.

“is there a problem here?” jonathan growled, the man turns around and scoffs. jonathan’s visibly shorter than the man, but that doesn’t faze jonathan in the slightest. the man scoffs at him, “not at all, man. just chatting with this lovely lady.”

jonathan’s gaze switches to you, and you shake your head slightly, trying to convey to jonathan that you didn’t want to talk to this man at all. he knew what you were trying to say, and he knew this wasn’t your fault.

“interesting,” jonathan responds unamused, “well hopefully you’ve said all you needed to say. come on, darling. let’s go.”

he reaches his hand out for you and you quickly latch onto him, avoiding making eye contact with the unfamiliar man.

he laughs, “wait wait, this is your boyfriend? jesus.”

jonathan wanted to leave as soon as possible to avoid causing a scene, but these little digs were making it harder for him to think rationally.

“yup. she’s all mine.” jonathan sighs, “feel free to look. but you cannot touch.”

the man laughs, not realizing how scarily serious jonathan is being. the energy is making you extremely uncomfortable. he swallows and forces a smile, “here, man. no hard feelings.”

jonathan hands his drink over to the man, to which he accepts it and nods. “yeah man, no hard feelings.” he mumbles while taking a sip. you’re confused. jonathan has never behaved like this. normally, he’d resort to getting violent, yet he gave this man a drink like it was some sort of reward.

you clench harder on jonathan’s arm and the two of you turn to leave, you hear the man make one final comment from behind you;

“keep me in mind, sweetheart. i know you’ll be thinking about me.”

you shudder from discomfort, speeding up your pace as you head towards the door.

once in the car, you sit awkwardly in the passenger seat, unable to relax.

jonathan gets into the drivers seat and slams the door, “goddamn prick ..” he groans, aggressively putting on his seatbelt.

“baby, i’m sorry, he came up to me and he wouldn’t take no for an answer ..” your voice trails off as you can’t figure out what else to say

“no, no, darling, it’s not you ..” he assures, “it’s that stupid fucking bastard in there. who does he think he is? what makes him think he’s worthy of your attention?” though jonathan knows you wouldn’t betray him like that, he’s irritated at the man’s attempt.

you rub jonathan’s arm, “he’s arrogant. and he’s probably never been told no in his life .. he couldn’t win me over if he was the last man on earth.”

jonathan huffs and begins to drive off, you remember how jonathan gave him his drink.

“baby?” you whisper, interlocking your fingers with his,

“hm?” he responds, not taking his eyes off the road,

“why’d you give him your drink?”

he grins while remembering, “well, i couldn’t drink it anyway. i had to drive us home.”

that makes sense now that you think about it, maybe he was offered a drink and accepted it to be nice.

“and i slipped something into the drink.”

your expression drops, “what?”

jonathan just shrugs and continues to grin, “he needs to learn a lesson. i guess he just didn’t know what i’m capable of, but now he’ll know.”

what you didnt know at the time was as jonathan began to approach you, he slipped the syringe out of his pocket (which you didn’t even know about to begin with) and squirted the concoction into the drink hastily. your heart starts to race a bit, a mixture of fear and admiration. he really would do whatever to protect you. you don’t know how severely he’s hurt this man, whether the drink will simply knock him out or flat out kill him. you didn’t know, and that gave you a rush. he was already tipsy anyway, whatever happens to him won’t get pinned on jonathan.

“i’d do whatever for you, darling. anything.” he hums, clenching your hand harder, “i know, i know ..” you agree, “i’d do anything for you, too. i’m yours.”

he groans and loosened his grip on your hand, shifting your hand down lower between his legs, “all mine, pretty girl. all mine.”

you gasp softly as he guides your hand to his growing bulge, “you get so many men all worked up, baby .. yet i’m the one that gets to touch you, and hear all those pretty noises you make as you come undone.”

you run your hand along his clothed cock without his guidance and you feel yourself becoming aroused as your thighs tense together, the intensity of the situation was making your heart pound and your mind foggy.

before you know it, he’s pulled up outside of the house.

“get inside, go into the bedroom. i expect to see you ready by the time i get there.” he purrs, you hum while taking your hand off of his bulge, quickly heading inside and shutting the door behind you before kicking off your shoes. before you’re even near the bedroom you begin to unzip your dress, giggling quietly as you hear jonathan enter through the front door, locking it behind him while sliding off his shoes.

as you stand in the bedroom, you fully slide the dress off, tossing it on top of the hamper before quickly unclasping your bra and sliding off your panties. you scramble, slightly breathlessly, onto the bed, and lay back as you wait patiently for him.

a few moments later, jonathan enters, sighing at what he sees.

“oh, my girl ..” he purrs, walking over to the bed before crawling onto it, planting kisses on your ankles as he works his way up your legs, “so well behaved .. all for me ..” he praises as his kisses make their way to your thighs, where you slowly spread your legs apart for him. he groans at your pussy, continuing his desperate kisses along your inner thigh.

“look at that pussy ..” he hums lowly while using his index and middle finger to spread your lips apart, “god. i’ve killed men over this cunt, you know that, darling?”

you whimper at his tone as you shake your head, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth while staring down at him.

“well ..” he coos while sliding a finger inside of you, “i have. i’ve kept track of the men that have harassed you, hurt you, annoyed you, hell, even the men that looked at you the wrong way. notice how you’ve never seen them again?”

the more you think about it, the more you realize you never had to deal with these men more than once. the incident would occur, you’d tell jonathan, and he’d take care of it. it’s sickeningly attractive to know how far jonathan will go for you, knowing how absolutely pussy whipped you’ve made him.

you gasp as he slowly fucks you with his middle finger, your mind finding it hard to focus on one specific thing.

“for .. for me?” you whimper, feeling yourself becoming slicker

“all for you, my love.” he sighed against your thigh as he continues to place small kisses along your inner thighs, his lips inching closer to your swollen clit, “all for you.” he whispers one last time before suckling gently on your clit while continuing to finger you, sneaking a second finger in while you writhe beneath him.

“o-oh ..” you moan, “jonathan, please ..”

your pussy clenches around his fingers and he hums against your clit, slipping a third finger in as you whimper loudly,

“j-jonathan, please!” you mewl, snaking your fingers down into jonathan’s head and tightly locking your fingers into his hair, he briefly pulls off and continues to finger you while groaning “let me taste your pretty pussy for a bit longer, darling ..”

your cheeks burn at his praise, your thighs beginning to twitch around his head as you become wetter, the sounds of his slick tongue and drenched fingers become even louder. lewd squelches and soft whimpers are all that can be heard, along with jonathan’s occasional hums against your clit.

he can feel you become close, he’s able to recognize your involuntary jolts and twitches all too well. he pulls his fingers out and takes his lips off you, huffing quietly as he brings his slick fingers up to his mouth and sucking the arousal off.

the dirty act makes your chest flutter, he’s so desperate to taste each and every drop of you, trying his absolute hardest to make sure none of it goes to waste. once his fingers are cleaned, he brings his hands down to his zipper and button, where he urgently unbuttons and unzips his pants.

“who do you belong to, baby?”

“‘m yours, jon ..” you moan, batting your lashes at him. he groans as his jaw hangs slightly slack while he tugs his pants down, his cock nearly bursting out of his boxers. he palms himself while staring down at you, “‘n who do i belong to?” he smirks,

it rarely crossed your mind that the possessiveness went both ways, you were normally so enamoured by jonathan and his admiration for you that you rarely considered anyone else as a threat. but occasionally, jonathan would get hit on in front of you, and it would make you immensely angry and insecure. he’d barely even look in the same direction as other women, yet they’d still somehow think that was a sign to approach him. he’d shoot them down harshly. even the women that you felt could easily take your place, jonathan’s loyalty towards you never faltered. he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t have to go to the same limits that he would to keep outsiders eyes off of you.

you shake those thoughts aside to respond to him while biting your lip, “you’re mine ..”

he hums in approval while sliding down his boxers, both the boxers and his pants now sitting at his mid thigh, “that’s right, darling.”

he inches his hips forward and runs his cock head along your folds, spreading the slick around before teasing your clit with his tip. pressing against the bud and gently moving his cock side to side, watching as you wriggled at the teasing.

he chuckles and dips his cock back to your opening, slowly sliding just his tip in before pulling it back out, fucking you agonizingly slow with the head.

“d’you know how many men are gonna be jerking off to the thought of you? ‘n how many of them wish they could just get a glimpse of your pussy .. let alone sit here and tease it ..” he breathed, beginning to slowly side more of his cock inside you. your breath hitches at the developing fullness, “more .. please ..”

“aw, poor baby,” he coos almost condescendingly, “you want me to fuck you properly?”

you nod mindlessly and huff, purposefully clenching around him in hopes of getting him to put his full length inside. it partially works, you think, as he groans and slides more inside, still not bottoming out yet.

“use your words, darling.” jonathan commands, halting his movements again and leaving just his tip inside once more.

“please, jonathan .. please fuck me properly ..” you whimper embarrassingly, as those words leave your mouth he laughs breathily before sliding his full length in, nearly knocking the wind out of you as he thrusts back out and pounds into you again. he forms a quick, rough pace that makes you nearly cry with pleasure.

“o-oh, mmh, fuck!” you whine loudly, your back arching as jonathan’s cock forcefully hits your most sensitive areas.

“this cunts all mine, you hear me?” he groans while gripping your thigh with one hand and grabbing your face with the other, “if i wanna fuck it, slap it, breed it, abuse it, whatever i want. it’s mine. right, baby?”

you nod quickly with furrowed brows, pathetic little mewls falling from your lips as you stare at him through your lashes. you loved this duality about jonathan. sometimes you’d purposefully rile him up just to get him to fuck you angrily and almost animalistic. sometimes, he’ll make love to you and praise you the entire time like you’re a goddess that’s a blessing on this earth, other times he’d fuck you like you’re a filthy whore that’s sole purpose is to be stuffed full of cock. you needed both in moderation. right now, you were long overdue for one of his dirty rough fucks, so it’s kind of nice the way things panned out tonight.

“wanna breed this pussy so goddamn bad .. you like how that sounds, sweetheart? you want me to fuck a baby into you?” he purrs, his grip on your face and hip still tight, you nod and moan loudly, “y-yes, jonathan!”

he chuckles before quickly switching to a low groan as he feels you become slicker around him, “god .. you’re gonna look so fucking good all nice ‘n full .. i’ll make you my wife .. you want that, hm?”

“yes, yes!” you ramble as your mind goes blank, it feels nearly primal. like deep down, you’re just two ravenous, hungry creatures who need each others bodies and want to reproduce. that’s all humans are really meant to do, isn’t it?

“good girl .. such a good girl .. i’ll take such good care of you and our baby, darling ..” he hums, “open your mouth for me ..”

you lazily open your mouth and stick out your tongue, small whimpers being punched out of you as you do so. after grinning at how malleable you are in his hands, he spits in your mouth. he doesn’t even need to tell you to swallow, you do it anyway.

“that’s it, god you’re fucking perfect ..” he praised, it made you feel so dirty, your mind running on overdrive at the intense amounts of pleasure. you hadn’t even realized how close you were until you felt yourself beginning to slowly tip over the edge. this didn’t feel like your normal orgasms though, you felt something different within you.

suddenly, through jonathan’s harsh thrusts, your orgasm spills out of you while you whimper loudly. the clear liquid poured out of you and dampened the blanket beneath you along with jonathan’s pants. you twitch at the after shocks of your orgasm and jonathan’s pace never slows, “look at that .. drenched my fuckin’ pants baby ..”

“i’m sorry, ‘m sorry i couldn’t control it ..” you apologize as your cheeks flush from the embarrassment, you had never squirted before, and now you feel partially guilty for ruining his pants. not too guilty, though, because your other senses are still being dulled by the feeling of his cock pounding into you.

“no, don’t apologize, sweet girl .. ‘s cute .. made you feel so good, you made such a mess ..” he soothes, loosening his grip on you face and sliding his hand down to grip the other side of your hip with his now free hand.

his thrusts begin to get shaky and his breaths get heavier, “gonna come- fuck, baby, ‘m gonna come ..” he huffs through gritted teeth, his eyes shutting tightly as his grips get harsher. after a few more pumps, he’s coming inside you. groaning lowly as he holds your hips tightly against his, making sure he shoots his load as deeply inside of you as he can.

he thrusts a few more times to really get his come in there before slowly pulling out his softening cock. he leans back on his knees, you scan him up and down from between your legs. his cheeks are pink, his hair is messy, his forehead is sweaty, his glasses have slid down the middle of his nose bridge, his chest rises and falls laboredly, and his almost fully soft cock sits between his legs, his pants still around his thighs with a large visible damp mark from when you had orgasmed.

once he’s caught his breath, jonathan speaks;

“maybe other men should flirt with you more often.” he chuckles.

—

i have to be honest, i don’t think this is good at all, but i hope you guys at least like it! i’m sorry it’s taken me a while! i’ll be back on track soon! :)

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #hope y’all like this #:)

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

Text

ALPHABET BOY- S.G ROGERS

Pairing: Brothers Best Friend! Steve x Innocent! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: you despise steve and his constant teasing with you- the younger sister of his best friend bucky barnes. little do you know that teasing is flirting, and it comes in handy when you’re trapped at a costume party with no way home.

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, daddy kink, petnames, slight breeding kink, praise kink, swearing, size kink (steve is like 6′5), dry humping, slight degradation kink, lots of teasing, alcohol and drugs mentioned

“i'm not a little kid now, watch me get big now- spell my name on the fridge now with all your alphabet toys.... you won the spelling bee now, but are you smarter than me now? you're the prince of the playground little alphabet boy” - alphabet boy, melanie martinez

You were sick of him.

Sick, sick, sick.

He plagued your brain, consuming you whole like some flesh-eating maggot. The thought of him was enough to send shivers down your back, make your stomach curl in on itself like rotten milk.

Steve scared you.

He scared you in a way you didn’t even know was possible, in a way that was rooted deep in your core. The embarrassment you got whenever he was around sent you spiraling.

You were the shy, timid and innocent little sister to Bucky, though you weren't so little, he and his friends always thought of you that way.

I’m not a little kid! You’d often whine to him as he teased you, times never changing. Steve was Bucky's best friend, a brother to him if you will. Always lurking around, always popping up in places you'd least expect him.

He was the character that was always slouched on the couch when you got home, acting as if it were his house, and you were the guest. You might as well be, with the way he teased you.

Always making your cheeks heat whenever he mocked you, called you names, picked on you for your cutesy, little pink outfits. It made your toes curl in their socks, your hands balling into little fists as if you were fighting the urge to swing at him.

He’s being mean to me again Bucky! You’d often call from your bedroom as Steve towered over you, leaning against your bedroom door frame- eyeing you up like you were the star dish on the menu.

Let him! He’d call back, making Steve’s smirk grow even wider.

It was torture, being around him. Any comments you shot back to him ended up backfiring almost immediately.

You were smaller, dumber, younger- didn’t you know better?

No, you wanted to snap back. No, I don’t know any better. Because I’m stubborn and he’s being a tease.

Steve would build you up like building blocks, just to bring you back down again. Yet you refused to be away from him for too long. Yes the thoughts made you feel sick, tummy starting to ache as you thought of his cool, stern gaze, that cocky smile and biceps as large as your head.

It made your thighs clamp, palms turn clammy when you thought of the happy trail that lingered down his abs whenever he’d stretch and yawn while him and Bucky were watching the game, knowing you were watching from behind your little hiding spot.

Damn him. Damn him and his mocking, pretentious ways. Damn him for always winning you back over, with little sweets and treats and the odd compliment, or attention he knew you so desperately craved.

It was obvious, how drawn to him you were, like a lost puppy. Though you tried to fight it, you were always rewarded with a snarky comment.

You’re so dumb. So dumb, such a baby.

You could never win, when it came to Steve. He was the golden child in everyone’s eyes, always doing the right thing, always working so hard and succeeding! You were just trying your best, getting the soft, sad smile along with it.

They didn’t see how Steve treated you. They didn’t notice the sly looks he gave you, knowing he had beat you at every hand he dealt.

He was the prince of the playground. You were just a pawn for him, something to direct his mocking, sarcastic ways towards. Though you refused to cry in front of him, knowing that would irk his comments even more.

I’m just teasing you rabbit. Don’t be so sensitive. Was his form of an apology. And you ate it up every single time, licking the plate and utensils before seconds.

It was cat and mouse between the two of you, always pulling each other's leg. Or hair, in his case. The sexual attraction you felt towards him was undeniable, nonetheless. You were drawn to him and his charming ways, the facade he put on for others.

How could no one see him? The real him?

The Steve who always trailed his hand up your leg to pinch your thigh tightly when you were forced to sit next to him, the Steve who always looked at you as if you were his next meal.

He was an angel to the world, but his halo was anything but bright. You thought of him now, in your own set of angel wings- costume party in full swing. It was late, the hour growing long and you wanted nothing more than to stumble home.

Even if that meant taking yourself.

The alcohol was buzzing in your system, the bottle drowning you way past your limit. You were such a sucker for peer pressure, wanting nothing more than to please others.

So you drank, and drank, and drank until you were a babbling mess, the world seeming to bend over backwards, flipping each and every way as you adjusted your little wings and took another sip of some fruity cooler.

It was so saccharine you swore your teeth started to tingle as it swished around your mouth.

You needed to leave.

It was too stuffy and hot, bodies all packed together as the wallpaper glistened from the low lights, and the smoke started to cover everything like a shield. Nobody listened to you, your friends long gone as you attempted to beg for an exit, an escape route for you to stumble down.

Everyone had morphed into another being- you weren't sure who was who anymore, with all the masks and makeup. It was not your scene. Not at all.

Somehow, after a few loud, floor-shaking songs later you had managed to stumble over to a hallway, slowly guiding yourself past the couples who were dry-humping eachother against the picture frames, kissing with so much teeth and tongues it was like they were having a battle on who would gasp for air first.

The red solo cup had slipped from your nibble fingers, clattering against the hardwood and splashing red up against the walls.

It looked like blood.

The cool air hit you like a train on a track as you stepped out into the dark abyss, large forest looming in front of you as the porch light flickered. The shadows of the trees looked like clawed fingers against the grass, the gust of wind causing goosebumps to spread up your arms.

You needed to get home.

There was a trail that connected this property to yours, though it was long and windy. The smart thing to do was to call Bucky, explain to him the situation.

I’m drunk. Like really drunk. And I’m scared and I need someone to hold just for a few minutes while they take me home. It was a mistake and I’m so sorry, I really am.

But he wouldn't hold you. He probably wouldn’t even pick you up, saying it was your fault for getting in this situation, so you should find a way out of it.

No, no that was intrusive thoughts talking. You couldn't tell the difference anymore. Everything in your brain was swimming, the world stretching and warping like a fushigi ball.

Bucky would pick you up. Of course he would. But you knew the consequences that would come with it. Which is exactly why you put another foot forward, pushing yourself off of the old, weathered siding.

You would be treated like a child, mocked at for being so careless. Well, he could shove that mocking up his ass. You were tired of him and his friends always being so mean, always bullying you because you were seen as careless.

You didn’t need any company, but it didn’t mean you were opposed to it. A shadow, one even more intimidating than the towering trees appeared, lingering behind you. It was stretched, shoulders wide as you peered down at it.

“You shouldn't be out here all alone.” the voice murmured, low and deep as you turned. Your eyes met with a strangers, mask covering his face- deep looming pulled eyes staring at you.

Ghostface.

You had seen that movie with Steve and Bucky, though you had never been a fan of scary movies. “It’s not safe for little girls like you, you know.” he drawled on.

It should've scared you, his sudden interest in you. He had appeared out of nowhere, quite literally from nowhere, keening to the likes of you. But it made you feel special, knowing this mystery man was talking to you.

“I’m not alone, you’re out here.” you giggled, stumbling forward towards his 6’5 frame. You felt a weird desire to be in this mans arms- though there was no doubt about it that it was the booze that rushed to your head.

“You should be scared angel. Not stumbling towards a stranger, all doe eyed like that.”

“But you seem nice!” you chirped out, forgetting your original mission to make way back to your home. You liked this man. You liked Ghostface.

“ Mhm you’re lucky I am. I take pity on little girls like you.” His arm extended, tight black henley sleeves rolled up to his bulging biceps. Mystery mans hand was warm to the touch, the brush of skin against your own sent heat licking down your spine. It was then you noted the tattoo that was all too familiar, the twist and curves of black ink that bent around his wrist like a snake.

Steve.

“Steve?” The hand that shrugged off the mask confirmed your suspicions, long blonde hair curling at the nape of his neck, blue eyes sparked with mischief.

“You really shouldn't be so vulnerable, ya know. What if I actually was a stranger? It’s dangerous.”

The scolding began. You were too dazed out to fight back, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I really am. Just- just don’t tell B-bucky!” you hiccupped, praying he would help you. This was the first time you had needed Steve. Had wanted him to stay, and actually care.

He clucked his tongue. “I won’t. But we need to get you home, yea? Silly girl. Silly, silly girl.”

“I’m sorry.” was all you could mutter, stumbling as he squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, fighting off the chill of the night air.

“Don’t be stupid. You weren't thinking of going in the woods alone, were you? There really must not be a brain in there after all.” he mocked, taunting you as he guided you onwards, towards the creaking trees, their limbs dangling down like claws that would scratch your skin lean off, leave you bare and vulnerable.

You took a deep breath, the fresh air heightening your senses as a twig snapped from under his weight, a soft tune leaving his lips as he whistled. You shuddered, leaning into him more, his larger hand in yours squeezing your digits a little tighter.

“You scared angel?”

“N-no. Never scared.” you lied, staring straight ahead, though you couldn't see much besides his flashlight beam aimed at the little path in front of you.

“Not even when I spooked you that one time when you were with that pink bunny stuffie in your bedroom? What were you doing with it anyways?”

Humping it to the thought of you, you wanted to confess but kept your lips shut.

“Having a tea party.” you grumbled, to which he laughed. It brought you a sense of comfort in the moment- that laugh. It wasn't mean, or directed. It was just easy, carefree, and light as it bounced off an invisible sound barrier.

He wasn't laughing at you. He was laughing with you.

“Cute. You’re so cute bunny. You know that?”

“No.” you giggled, cheeks heating as hot as the sun, whether it was from the booze or his affections, you didn’t know. It seemed like time was stretched and warped, the path ending as soon as it started when you were with Steve.

You felt weirdly protected with him near, the warmth of his body drawing you closer, the scent of his cologne making your head spin as he murmured to you. It was hard to comprehend what he was saying, your mind in a different place as you stumbled into your backyard.

The lights were off, the structure appearing empty and hollow as you stared up at it. “Looks like Bucko wouldn't of came anyways sweetheart.” he sighed, noting his car wasn't in the driveway, the doors appearing locked.

“Does that mean I’m alone?” you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice. You didn’t think you could be alone tonight. You were too anxious and on edge to deal with the warped shadows, bending and following you like a contortionist.

And if you puked, who said you’d be able to get off the bathroom tiles?

“I’m staying with you angel. You’re too stupid to think for yourself right now.”

You fought your urge to stick your tongue out at him, but you knew he was right. He teased you for having next to no thoughts in your brain all the time, but this time it was actually true.

“Let’s go.” he tugged at your arm, causing u to stumble after him as he made his way towards the back door. His legs were so much longer than yours, stride extensive and full of authority. Steve knew exactly where to go, digging the key out of the hiding spot and unlocking the door.

You didn’t even know how he knew where it was. You surely didn’t remember.

The light flickered on, humming softly as it illuminated the little breakfast nook. “Steve why do you hate me?” you blurted out, hiccuping as you bent down to unbuckle your shoes, kicking them off by the door.

His face contorted into a look of confusion as he peered down at you. “I don’t hate you bunny. Far from it.”

You just nodded, taking his word for it. He was stumped by your level of compliance, as you normally would fight or bicker with him whenever he made a claim. But you were quiet, humming a little song as you trudged towards the stairs, hands out in front of you to guide you instead of turning on the rest of the lights.

“Stev-” you gasped as suddenly your body was lifted from the ground, swung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Your head spun as you stared at the world from a much taller height, body squirming as he moved.

A hand smacked your thigh that poked from under your little dress, making you yelp. “Stop squirmin girl. You're not walking up these stairs.” he grumbled, making the trudge up the rickety wooden stairs, hand rubbing your thigh as you felt your panties start to dampen.

His hand was so warm, so nice as it stroked your skin, even when it stung.

“I’m fully- fully able to walk up.” you slurred and he chuckled.

“Mhm I don’t think you should think for yourself right now baby bunny.” he teased, and you giggled. Your bedroom door opened with a creak, and he walked you past the pink walls, past the frilly whites and endless stuffies as he plopped you down on your bed.

You laid back with a sigh, tracing the soft sheets with your fingers, sinking into them as you closed your eyes. Steve felt himself getting harder and harder the longer he gazed at you, so soft and delicate- like a little doll.

You were so in your element, basking in the comfort of the silk and cotton, just savoring how fuzzy you felt in the moment.

“Can you help me with my costume Stevie?” you whispered, eyes fluttering open to smile at him. He thought he was dreaming. He needed to be pinched.

But you needed his help, craved for his touch again as you lay there- almost helpless. You swung your leg up, toes curling against his abdomen in your socks, stretching your arms over your head.

“You’re such a tease, you know that?” he murmured, tugging at each sock, peeing them away from your skin to reveal your bubblegum pink nail polish.

“Mhmm so tired though Stevie. I can’t do anything.”

“Oh I know.” he smirked, hands slowly inching their way up towards your thighs, fingers walking their way across your skin.

“Just need your help, you gotta take care of me.” you giggled, back arching as he tugged at your dress, pulling off the rest of your costume. Your breasts were bared, shining in the pale moonlight as the air whooshed past his teeth.

No bra.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck.” he murmured as you giggled softly, batting your eyelashes at him as if you were a schoolgirl. “What’s the matter Stevie?” you asked, reaching for him, nails softly scraping against his biceps.

“You’re so fucking adorable angel. Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, grabbing his hand, guiding it down towards your lacey underwear that was now soaked, letting his fingers circle your button through the fabric.

You moaned, back arching against the sheets as he smiled, that wicked grin that drove you wild. You couldn't help yourself. You were on cloud nine, head in the heavens from the way he looked at you, the way he touched you.

Hands slipped up to grope your breasts, massaging them, squeezing each nipple as your mouth parted into an O shape, moaning his name. His hands slipped under your undergarments, fingers coaxing you open as your legs fell limp- purely under his control. Submissive and willing for him.

It drove him wild, the sweet, innocent little sister of his best friend- the person he had craved for years was now under him looking like a doll.

“Gotta open you up first princess. Don’t wanna hurt your sweet, little hole hm?” he whispered, thumb circling your clit, so sensitive under his flesh, aching for him.

You were just so needy, practically begging him- words slurring as you humped his hand, mindlessly reaching for one of your stuffies to cling to as your body rode him.

“Mhmm so… daddy..” you gasped out, emitting a low growl from his lips. You moaned into the fur of the animal, to which he quickly ripped away.

“Don’t hide your sweet little noises for daddy baby, don’t you know better? We’re all alone here, just the two of us. But even if we weren't, wouldn't you want everyone to know how good daddy's fingers feel stuffed in your cunnie?”

You nodded viciously, gasping for breath as heat licked down your spine, burning bright in your core as he rocked into you deeper. It was taken away in an instant, a startled gasp leaving your lips in disappointment before you saw his hands fumbling with his belt, muttering under his breath.

“Fuck I’m sorry angel but I can't take this anymore.I need- I need to be inside you I’m-”

You whimpered as he tugged down his bottoms as quickly as the two of you had entered this tangled affair, barely having a second to process what was happening before he was in you, and he was in you deep.

Plunging straight to the hilt, hands clawing at his biceps as you moaned, cried his name so sweetly he almost combusted right then and there.

“I’m so sorry angel I just- been waiting too long, FUCK you’re so goddamn tight n wet..” he murmured, head drooping low as he breathed you in, watched the way your juices coated his cock as he slipped out just slightly, only to plunge in even harder.

You clung to him so nicely, as if you were just made for him and only him, delicate and dainty. It was so easy to make you drool, so easy to watch you melt deeper into the mattress as he used you as his own personal fleshlight, muscles tensing and flexing as they adjusted you to the exact positions he wanted you in.

“You’re so good to me Stevie. So, so good, filling me…” you sighed, eyes hazy and glazed over as you peered up at him, admiring the man you hated with a passion, but the one you also craved like a drug.

He was so careful with you, guiding your tipsy body home, but so rough and eager with you now, as if he was feral.

“Stevie?” you asked softly, face distorting slightly the longer he looked at you, confusion now smeared across your face like a kids finger painting. “Stevie?”

You were muffled- trapped underwater. Murky.

His eyes flew open with a start, meeting yours as he blinked the fuzz away. His hand was so close to your body, just mere inches away from the place he had been touching you in his dream.

“Mhm?” he asked, noting he had somehow ended shirtless in your bed, the girly bedsheets wrapped around his low midriff, and you fought not to stare down at his happy trail.

“You were dreaming I think. Mumbling something.” you slurred, head smacking down back onto the pillow as he stared at you, your eyes now closed once more.

He didn’t fully remember what had happened. He had teased you, felt you up, and helped you home. But now he was in your bed, despite the fact the two of you bickered constantly, and nothing had happened.

Your little skimpy pj’s were still on. His boxers were on. Though he wished more than anything they were off, that everything was off and he could feel you the way he had ten seconds earlier.

He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest as you fell back into a drunken slumber, hand slipping over to cup your warm cheek before he could stop himself.

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lou-struck · 4 months

Text

Distracting

Keiji Akaashi x reader

College AU!

WC: 2k

~ Thanks to the new library aid, your once quiet study spot has become much more… Distracting

a/n: sorry I have been gone for so long, it's been hard to do things lately. I hope you like this one. I tried to make it cohesive but when you start something and stop it in bi-weekly intervals you tend to loose yourself a bit in the process.

There is always that one damn professor who takes an extra step to make their course more challenging for students for no reason in particular.

Yours is your history professor, known throughout the campus as Dr. Asshole. He is known for handwriting confusing exam questions and surprise Pop Quizzes on material chapters ahead of the assigned reading.

His newest pretentious obsession is assigning massive papers and requiring that his students research the whole thing using non-digital sources. This wouldn't be an issue normally, but your university is in the middle of nowhere, and there are at least a hundred students in this particular class. Which means every desperate student looking to raise their grade will be flocking to the library trying to find as many sources they can.

As soon as your class and you start your usual walk to the university's library, your usual study spot, and hope it will be the goldmine of information you need it to be.

The sliding glass doors part for you as you enter. The faint smell of books wafts under your nose as you enjoy the natural sunlight that streams in through the glass skylights. The quiet, studious atmosphere lacks the noisy distractions that are back at your place. The air is comfortable, not too warm, and not too cold.

Your usual table is bare and sun-soaked under the glass skylights. Your book bag slides stiffly down your shoulder, and you wonder if it would be a good idea to leave it unattended for a few minutes.

Your eyes scan the room. There are a few students lounging in the corner on some large beanbags, Little white earbuds snug in their ears as they scroll through their sleek, thin, laptops. You see the back of one of the Library assistants slowly pushing a cart of books down a lowly lit aisle.

Your gut tells you that you can trust the small group of randos. You set your bag down on the table so you can begin your search for academic materials. Slowly, you make your way down the rows of books. The space has never looked cleaner; all the selves, even the hard-to-reach ones, are free of dust, and as you flip through possible sources, you notice that someone has taken the time to smooth out previously dog-eared pages and pluck out the old bookmarks.

After only searing the shelves for a few minutes, you have an uncomfortably tall stack of books in your arms.

For balance, you stretch your chin out to steady the stack as you start to walk back to your table. The smooth laminate of the book jackets causes your literary mountain to quake as you shuffle through the shelves. Your arms burning from the weight as you turn a blind corner.

There's a crash

There's some cursing

And you are on the ground…The books clattering to the floor around you as you wonder how you ended up face to carpet.

Books are scattered all around you as a hand comes into your peripheral. It extends itself toward you as if it was trying to help you up.

"Are you alright!? I am so sorry." the voice of its owner says. Their voice laced with genuine concern as you take in the worried face of and the dark, slightly-messy hair of Keiji Akaashi. You know him as the setter for your university's Volleyball team.

You have only ever seen him with his friends walking to practice or from the stands whenever you make it to a home game. Never up close like this. He is so handsome that you wonder if you hit your head during your fall to have just noticed it.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks again, and you realize that you haven't answered him at all. You must've been too busy admiring how great the lean athlete looks in his cream-colored sweater.

"Yeah," you reply, taking his hand and allowing him to help you to your feet. "I'm all right."j

"Really?' His blue eyes are looking you over again as if he doesn't believe you.

You know your head and give him a sweet smile. "I'm positive. I'll take a whole lot more than a book cart to take me out."

"That's a relief." he chuckles, "I guess I got a bit distracted earlier." his gaze casting downwards slightly. They embarrassingly land on a half-open book, which must be the cause of this whole thing.

"Pride and Prejudice?" you muse, craning your neck to view the title. "Good choice. I'd get distracted too."

"It's a great book." he sighs, "But I should've been paying more attention to where I was going. Especially with the cart, those wheels are stubborn."

You look at the cart behind him and find yourself agreeing with him. The library may have been renovated fairly recently, but those carts were not included in the remodel. "I see what you mean; they certainly have seen better days." Your fingers reach out to gently tug at the peeling top layer of paint on the cart. The tan color covers up chipped and uneven coats of grays and black from years past.

It brings a silly smile to your lips when you think about the similar paint job covering the light switches back at your rental. College housing does not have the highest caliber or repairs, and so it is often subjected to the 'landlord special.'

You notice that he is watching you, his blue eyes scanning your features like he is reading a book. They flicker from your eyes to your mouth as if he is trying to discern what you are thinking at that moment.

This careful attention isn't creepy at all. It's rather endearing. Especially coming from someone as blatantly attractive as Keiji Akaashi.

Your cheeks burn with embers of youthful bashfulness, and you hope that he doesn't notice.

"Oh wow, you were really carrying a lot of books," he comments, looking away from you long enough to notice your stack of fallen library books. Without any hesitation, he crouches down and begins gathering the pile for you.

"You think so?" you ask. "I still don't know if I have enough for my assignment." the somber tone of your voice causes the library aide to inspect the large stack of books in his arms.

"Let me guess, you have Dr. Asshole this semester." he chuckles dryly. "I had him last spring."

"He's really the worst," you chuckle. "I just want to get this paper over with before everyone is fighting over the same three books."

"I remember that," he laments, "Bokuto- uhh, my friend was in that class for about one hour before he dropped it. I think that was the smartest thing he has ever done."

"I think I'm a bit too stubborn to drop." you chuckle, holding your arms out to take the books from his sweater-clad arms.

"And I'm a bit too stubborn to give these back to you." he glances at the tables behind you. "Where are we taking these?"

"I- can take them back myself," you say defiantly, a light playfulness to your tone.

"I'm sure you can. But it's the least I can do after running you over with a book cart."

"It's hard to argue with that logic. My spot is right there." you point to your lonely table as he follows behind you. Easily carrying the stack of books you had selected.

Having a gorgeous man carry your books was something you thought only existed in coming-of-age rom-coms (or whatever). But now that it's happening in real life, you can't say that the experience is not enjoyable.

"Is there alright?" he asks, gesturing to the tabletop. When you nod, he sets the pile down at your spot and notices that there is a student waiting by the checkout counter, their fingers drumming impatiently against the wood. Keiji sees them and lets out a deep sigh, "I guess I have to get back to work, but if you need any help finding more books for your paper, I'd be more than happy to help."

You hate that this little moment, whatever it was, is over. But you understand that he has a job to do, and so do you. "Thank you, I will definitely let you know if my pile is too small."

He smiles so genuinely at your words that you start to wonder if him hitting you with that book cart is one of the best things to ever happen to you.

As he walks away, you get settled into your seat and take the first book from your pile. Your eyes scan over the crinkly, water-damaged pages without really processing anything.

How could you think about anything other than Keiji Akaashi, the volleyball-playing, sweater-wearing, snarky library assistant who keeps glancing over at you from his desk?

You hide your smile with the palm of your hand, determined to pretend to be engrossed in your studies.

Half an hour later, you have not made any progress on your paper at all. Your poor, distracted brain tries to read those tiny words. But you can't comprehend anything. So you're just staring down at the pages with a furrowed brow.

It's not your fault, really…

It's his…

You wonder if he takes pleasure in distracting little old you.

As if to test this theory of yours, you shyly glance back over at the checkout counter only to make direct eye contact with Akaasi. His blue eyes shine almost mockingly as if to say, 'I caught you.'

You look back at your incomprehensible book, trying to make your movements as natural as possible. But from the corner of your eye, you notice that he's coming over.

"Someone just turned this one in," he says, placing a well-loved book at the top of your pile. "I thought it would help you with your paper."

"Thank you." you beam, not realizing that your empty page of notes is shining up at him.

"It's not a problem." he smiles. 'You may want to move on from that one; it doesn't seem to be giving you anything useful."

He caught you. You feel that familiar, embarrassing heat creeping its way up your neck. You shake it away and look at him with a reassuring smile.

"Masterpieces take time." you chuckle, "What would Dr. Asshole say if he found out I rushed through this precious little paper of his."

He leans against the wood. "There's a difference between taking your time and getting distracted." the way he murmurs that last word sends the butterflies resting in your stomach flying all over the place. Their imaginary wings tickle your heart as they travel upwards.

"Just watch." you grin, taking a new book off of your pile. "I am about to make so much progress."

"I'll believe it when I see it," he says, turning to walk back to his table. You may not notice it, but the tips of his ears are flushed a deep shade of pink as he glances back at you from over his shoulder.

Determinedly, you read away. Jotting down little bits of information with a newfound energy. Cute library aides may be distracting, but passing this class is a bit more important at this moment.

You manage to get a decent amount of work done before your water bottle runs dry.

The warm air makes studying without it rather uncomfortable, so you grab the cylinder and take it to the water fountain near the bathroom.

By the time you come back to your spot, you notice a little blue notecard on your tabletop taped to a pack of gum.

Sorry again for running you over. I had to go to practice, but I hope this makes up for it. - K. Akaashi

In this moment, you couldn't care less about the gum. How could you when his phone number is carefully printed at the bottom of the card?

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#keiji akaashi #Akaashi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #x reader #Akaashi #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader

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physalian · 7 days

Text

What No One Tells You About Writing #7 —The Editing Edition

Today’s list is all about the post-draft process, as I slog through another round of it.

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

1. No one cares about your book baby as much as you do

Trying to say this as objectively as possible, but it remains an ugly truth. Your WIP might very well be the most important project on your mind for months. Unless you have a significant other totally and completely invested in your writing journey, no one else will have the same priorities you do concerning your beta readers and editors. They all have their own lives and jobs to think about.

Whether it’s your editors not approaching your book with the same level of emotion as you do, or not working on your timetable as quickly as you’d want them to, your book’s biggest cheerleader will remain you, the author, and no one else. Doesn’t mean your book is bad, niche, or boring, it’s just not as special to anyone else as it is to you.

2. Your editors will have their arbitrary hills to die on

I have said this in other ways before, but editors aren’t robots (or at least they shouldn’t be), and we all have our own reasons for not liking books, and those reasons probably aren’t reflective of you as an author. You can have an editor with moral objections to some of your themes and characters, but who is still quite competent at critiquing pacing and flow.

Or one who just fundamentally dislikes a side character or a romantic subplot, while agreeing that it is well-written. Or one who does not agree with how a scene should be told, what elements it should include, what they deem offensive, etc. This is why it’s important to have as many eyes on it as you can for a full spectrum of opinions. One editor might hate a scene that five others love. You can’t please everyone.

3. This is where you will hate your own narrative the most

The amount of times you will read over the same lines of dialogue, the same jokes, the same introspective pining, the same gushy romantic scene, can be incredibly frustrating and demoralizing. You’ll second-guess yourself constantly. You’ll wonder if it really is that funny or that romantic or that compelling. You’ll convince yourself that it’s dumb or pedantic or pretentious and consider deleting entire scenes and characters.

When you’re neck-deep in cleaning up crutch words and fixing syntax and arguing with yourself over the placement of a period or a comma or whether or not to use “said” or a different verb, there’s not much fun to be had. Go slow, step away from the project when it gets too much, and come back with fresh eyes later. You do your book baby no favors editing with an attitude.

4. Your favorite elements will end up on the cutting room floor

This is why I think it's important to archive your deleted scenes. Some characters, important lines of dialogue, or themes and motifs get axed as a byproduct of deleting the scenes that contain them. You can either shuffle those beats around to other areas of your book, or save them for a later WIP, or a sequel.

Sometimes your book isn't what you thought it would be, and that doesn't make it any lesser for what it is.

5. However long you think it’s going to take, guess again

As mentioned above, no one works on your time table. Beta readers can be very hard to find as the definition of what beta reading looks like isn’t very set in stone. How I beta read is very different from the work delivered by some that I hire as we all have different elements that we focus on.

Some try to edit your book into a story they want to read, overriding your voice as an author. Some only give line-edit feedback where you’re looking for more big picture notes, or vice versa. Some give less feedback than you think the narrative warrants.

Some skip entire scenes and leave you unknowing if there was just nothing special to say about them. Some will miss important edits that later editors slap with valid criticisms. Some just quit, and you have to start over. Some will give you vague feedback, or contradictory feedback, or feedback that just isn’t helpful and you have to do your best with what’s been given to you.

Editing is a very long and tedious process and vetting editors can get mighty difficult when we all have our own stipulations for what we think a quality edit means. It costs a pretty penny, too, if you’re like me with WIPs that consistently top 100k words.

—

In the end, editing remains vital to any story, original or fanfic or otherwise, if you want it to be as successful as it can be. I don’t think there is a perfect, flawless narrative out there, even by the greats. You’ve already dedicated so much of your time and effort into your work, do it justice by giving it the TLC it deserves.

#editing #book edit #writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #what no one tells you about writing

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cuubism · 2 years

Text

actor hob, and pretentious asshole film director dream

[ this got so long and so weird and specific i'm so sorry ]

so hob is an everyman actor. a good actor, charismatic, funny, fan favorite, but not the type that gets cast in highbrow art films. mostly he does like romcoms, mid-budget action movies, feel-good family films, etc etc. and he's totally cool with that, he's good at what he does, and people enjoy those films, anyway. he might be getting a bit bored though, a bit stagnant. might be thinking it's time for some reinvention. and there might be a certain director whose ridiculous and nonsensical but dreamy films he's particularly enamored with...

dream makes REALLY pretentious art films. the types that get studied in graduate level film classes and have fifty different academic papers with fifty different theses trying to puzzle them out. dream is a master of themes and images and subtle construction. he is also a COMPLETE asshole and impossible to work with, an auteur in the most stereotypical way possible, he writes and directs, he micromanages all his projects, he asserts his vision and god help anyone who goes against it. nobody can handle him, nobody can STAND him, and the only reason he still gets funding for these projects is because they win awards, so many awards, and the studios want to ride on the coattails of those awards. but it's getting to the point where even his most ride-or-die producers are ready to give up.

right off the back of dream's most recent bafta, a rather naive Big Exec approaches him to direct the next installment of his Big Superhero Franchise. dream is immediately like fuck off with that bullshit but the exec pleads with him that the franchise is flagging and they really need something new to spice it up. plus the pay will be enough for dream to finance like 10 of his own ridiculous art films without having to rely on producers for money. and dream really is about to get cut off for being a complete insufferable asshole so he takes the gig. it kind of feels like prison though.

anyway, he gets to work trying to make this shitty boring film at least marginally less shitty and boring. he doesn't have a lot of leeway -- a lot of the story is locked in, half the cast is set from prior installments etc. dream immediately regrets taking this job, he'd rather die in actual prison than work on this mindnumbing piece of trash. it feels like it's taking an eternity and who could possibly stand an eternity of this???

well. enter hob, whose agent managed to snag him a 2nd-lead sort of role in this thing. it's not QUITE the reinvention he was going for but the pay and exposure are really good -- and even if they weren't, the moment hob saw that dream was attached he was immediately on board.

cue dream tearing his fucking hair out and basically being a complete menace and diva on set -- no that wasn't good, yes we have to do a 57th take, oh my god this dialogue is horrible give me that shitty script i'm writing my own thing, what do you mean the plot is linear???, wait there are how many cgi aliens????? i'm going to kill myself -- and Hob, pretty much Just Happy To Be There as always, takes one look at this beautiful dramatic emo asshole and is like oh. yes. i don't know what i'm saying yes to, but i'm saying yes. just immediately enamored with this bitch against all logic, he's like i've seen all your films i know how your mind works you brilliant nihilistic mess of a person. i'm on board. let's go.

first scene that hob's in dream is once again ranting about the atrocious script, which he did not write and is hardly allowed to change -- or, every change he makes is too weird and the studio keeps nixing it. everyone keeps sighing and being like oh my god can we please just shoot i wanna go home, meanwhile hob's like alright then. let's workshop it. and dream's just like. what. you aren't just gonna tell me to shut up? and hob's like no, youre right, this script is trash, but i know you're just going to write something really weird and psychedelic that they won't let you shoot. and dream's like you dare to speak to me that way??? and hob just puts his hands on his hips and is like listen, i actually know more about this sort of general audience family film thing than you do, mister arthouse, so are you going to work with me or not? and dream's just like what... is happening... because usually people who try to 'handle' him either just cave to his every demand like wimps, or just fight him on everything to 'prove' that they're in control, and hob is just kind of... not doing either of those? anyway dream doesn't know what to do with him.

so they workshop it. turns out hob actually DOES know how these sort of general audience all-follow-the-same-three-act-structure films work and how to improve things within those confines, and also he understands what like, normal people like, you know, casual feel good movies, not everything has to be a mindbender, jesus. so they bounce ideas off each other for like 3 hours until they finally get something that's okay enough that dream no longer wants to fling himself into the sun. meanwhile everyone on set is staring at them like 👀. then dream is like come back to my trailer we are rewriting the other 116 pages of this script right NOW. what else is hob supposed to do but follow.

then hob becomes the designated Dream Handler on set. dream starts using him as his barometer for what 'normal people' would like because he does not understand that at all. ("hob, will 'people' accept this?" "well considering youre spinning the camera around on a string i'm gonna go out on a limb and say no"). dream becomes kind of obsessed with him because his life is so like, normal, and he's okay with it?? he doesn't find existence to be an insufferable prison from which there is no escape?? and hob is like aw i know you're such a tortured artistic soul *pats him on the head*. plus, hob is actually a good actor, and he's able to put a lot of heart into even this mediocre big budget film, and kind of forces dream to confront the idea that there's more than one good type of story. that different stories serve different purposes and a straightforward happy story is okay, actually.

(and that the problem is the corporatization of the storytelling, not the story itself)

anyway the movie ends up being pretty good, dream still kind of hates it because he wasn't given full artistic license but he has to grudgingly admit that it has at least some merit. after the premiere hob is like (cheekily) so you gonna direct the sequel? and dream is like i did not write that to have a sequel. and hob's like it has a cliffhanger? and dream's like so???? and hob's like well theyre definitely gonna make a sequel. and dream's like i hate this planet. also no i'm not going to make the sequel. i'm going to fuck off to the woods and make a movie about teeth. do you want to star in it? and hob's like you're so fucking weird i'm obsessed with you i'm going to kiss you now.

so yeah, that.

#dreamling #the sandman #just chuckin aus into the void cuz who knows if i'll ever actually write them #sorry this au became insane XD #it got SO much longer and more meandering than i was aiming for i just wanted to write a little 2 paragraph summary LOL #then it grew several legs #long post #anyway dream doesn't have a 'full name' in this btw he just directs under Dream like he's beyonce or something 😂#you can think of dream as sort of like ingmar bergman or luis bunuel #and hob is like. mark ruffalo. so you can try to imagine that dynamic if you wish XD #sort of inspired by the way art film directors keep getting roped into directing marvel and disney films for some reason??#my writing

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digital-domain · 7 months

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HI HI🫡🫡

thinkin about the absolute loml gojo who hates fancy settings but goes to one anyway because he knew reader would be there😭 like he sees them all dressed up which is a rarity and can't take his eyes (or hands wink wonk) off them. i can just see reader having to scold him for being so touchy but he can't help it, its not like he cares about the eyes that might be watching them anyway lmao. but no cus he'd probably be whispering absolute FILTH into their ear😭

this is just a basic idea, add as much spice or anything else you want🤭🤭 ALSO I LOVE YOUR WRITING<3

Ahhhh thank you so much!! <3

I LOVED this prompt so much that it ended up wayy longer than I anticipated. Around 2k words I think?? I hope you enjoy :)

Content tags: hmm I’d say suggestive but not nsfw? But Gojo is being a menace. In the best way possible.

An art gallery. Who the fuck wants to spend a Friday night at an art gallery? You, apparently. Enough to turn down Gojo’s generous invitation to a much less pretentious, much less obnoxiously-well-lit bar in the center of the downtown entertainment district. It would have been fun, pulling you out onto the floor, convincing you to dance for what he can only assume would be the first time in your life. If you’d ever experienced it, you would have gone with him. Instead, he’s here, surrounded by sculptures which seem to depict nothing in particular, searching for you in the crowd. He can’t really be mad at you for turning him down tonight. Apparently, you’ve had these plans for months - you’re friends with the artist-of-honor, or whatever you call it. He wasn’t really paying attention to the specifics. And he’s not paying attention to the art, either. The promise of free wine intrigued him, though - if only he could find a server.

There’s a dress code, too. Suits only for men (or tuxes, but he doesn’t own one of those). The one he’s got on is light blue, standing out among a sea of navy and black and grey. He absently wonders what you would have worn if you’d gone clubbing with him instead - he’s imagining a short, black dress, or maybe a sparkly one, or jeans with one of those tops that seem to just be bras in disguise. He’s never seen you show off that much, but it’s fun to picture. Maybe there’s something to that idea of “leaving things to the imagination.” When it comes to you, he has a vivid one. A sly grin creeps over his face as he thinks of what might have happened tonight - flashing lights, dark corners, a dense crowd pressing the two of you together. Inevitably. Finally. In the most technical sense, you’re still just a “friend from work,” but you both know it’s more than that. He’s not exactly the subtle type. He’s been flirting hard for weeks - and you’ve flirted back. Even almost kissed him once or twice. You’re just a little bit shyer about things than he is. A little bit scared. It’s always “Someone could see us!” Or even worse: “We can’t. It’ll make things too complicated.” Always with a strange mixture of fear and excitement in your voice. You’re at least as interested as you are intimidated – it’s not an uncommon reaction. And he hasn’t pushed you too hard. He’s been holding back. But then again…so have you. And tonight could have been just the opportunity you both needed. In fact - it still could…

His moment of self-indulgence is broken when he checks his phone. He’d texted you a full five minutes ago ( “surprise! I’m here. Come find me ;)” ) and you still haven’t responded. Perhaps you’re simply enraptured by the weird little metal ornaments around you. Or maybe - no. There’s no way you’re purposely ignoring him. He put on a suit for you. And a matching tie. And flirted with the girl at the front table so he could get in without an invitation…

Hm. Maybe you’d seen that. It wasn’t his best performance - but he was here! The methods, in this case, totally justified the means.

He scans the room for you again. You shouldn’t be hard to find - he towers over the people around him. Over in the corner, maybe? Pressed up against a wall…

Oh. There you are.

He almost didn’t recognize you at first - he hadn’t expected that little black dress he’d been imagining to become a reality. Especially not here, where most of the women he’d seen were wearing long dresses or jumpsuits or blazer sets. It’s form-fitting, short, and two little shoulder straps are all that’s keeping it on. You stand out - and just like that, the little bit of self-control he had left is gone. You need encouragement? He’s going to give it to you. He zips across the room, almost knocking over that server he’d been searching for moments earlier, then doubling back to pick up two plastic glasses of red wine. He sidles up behind you, wrapping his arm all the way around your bare shoulder, and proudly holds one of them up to your face.

****

Oh no.

You decided weeks ago that you weren’t going to do this. Not with him. As soon as his hand first not-so-accidentally brushed up against yours, as soon as he made his intentions clear – you’d made up your mind. Getting…involved…with Gojo Satoru would be a huge risk. He’s simply too strong. Too complicated. Too much. In terms of power, personality - everything. Everyone wants a piece of him, everyone’s watching him, and you don’t want those same pairs of eyes falling upon you. You can flirt back – sometimes, it’s impossible not to – but that’s it. It’s just simple fun. A diversion. It’s going to create issues if it becomes anything more.

However. You’ve been playing these little games for weeks, and you just find yourself getting closer and closer. And now, he’s here.

You whip around at the sudden appearance of Gojo’s hand, nearly knocking the contents of the glass in front of you to the floor. You’re aware that you’re staring. But you can’t exactly look away. He’s here, standing before you, for absolutely good reason. Although…no. You’re sure that in his mind, it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. But only because he’s a little bit insane.

He grins shamelessly, and casually sets the wine on a nearby display shelf, dinging the rims of the two cups against the sheer pane of glass. “Haven’t you been checking your phone?”

“No.” You shake your head, eyes wide in disbelief. “How did you even…never mind. I don’t wanna know.” His smile only grows as you narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve developed a sudden appreciation for modern art.” He bites his lip, looks you up and down, bright blue eyes flashing over you. “Especially the kind that wears dresses like that one.”

“Satoru…” you sigh. Although you’re not unaffected by the compliment, you know you have to resist a little bit - he’ll pounce if you give him an opening. But he’s so over-the-top that it’s hard not to be impressed at his efforts. And, you have to admit - he looks incredible in formalwear. “You are…a complete menace.”

“Impossible.” He gestures down at himself. “Look at me. I’m very classy.”

You roll your eyes. “Only on the outside.”

“I wanna go outside.” He dramatically loosens his tie. “It’s hot in here.”

He’s ridiculous. The farthest thing from classy - or subtle. “No. It’s really not.”

“Well, of course you’re cold. You’re barely wearing anyth-“

“Satoru!”

He shrugs. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Maybe not.” There’s a pause.

Within that pause, you struggle to force your brain back to rationality. And you fail terribly.

He points to your shoulder. “You know that strap is slipping?” You look down, and in the split second that your eyes leave his face, he darts forward to “fix it” - you’ll never really know whether it actually needed fixing. You take a step backwards, shaken out of your thoughts, caught off guard by the sudden movement. In your surprise, you nearly trip - and he catches you by the waist. The most humiliating thing is how he has to lean down to murmur in your ear, smirking all the while.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize I was gonna sweep you off your feet.” He loosens his grip - giving you an out, perhaps - but you don’t pull away. He’s never touched you like this before, never been quite so blatant, and despite the setting, you can’t help but enjoy the attention. Even as you’re embarrassed by it. Maybe that’s the real humiliation - the fact that you can’t get yourself to resist him, as much as you might want to. As much as you really should.

He’s encouraged by your reaction, and presses on: “I’m just lookin’ out for you. Did you even read the dress code?”

“It’s a dress,” you protest, already feeling the warmth spreading over your face. He’s so infuriating. And obnoxiously pretty. His eyes are even more beautiful when brought out by the blue of his suit, his body even more distracting when it’s inches away from you. He even smells good. It’s beyond irritating. “Dresses are formal. Therefore - I’m dressed formally. It’s not like I had a ton of options in my closet. I wasn’t gonna go out and buy something new -“

“Sure.” You know you sound flustered, and he clearly thinks it’s adorable. It always seems to happen so easily. And he wants more of it. He tightens his hold on your waist and drags his hand up the outside of your thigh, all the way up to the bottom of your dress, eyes flashing mischievously as you squirm at his touch. “Didn’t realize formal could be so sexy.”

You can’t respond to that - it’s far, far too dangerous. Instead, you glance around the room, suddenly very aware of the people around you - a lot of them are doing more than glancing as they pass by. “You’re making people stare.”

“Me? Pretty sure it’s you doing that.” One finger slips under the hemline of your skirt, his nail scratching slightly against your skin. He presses his lips to your ear, his voice barely a whisper. “You wearin’ anything under here?”

Your face is burning now, and you’re sure he can tell. “Yes.”

“Yeah? Cuz I don’t feel anything.”

“No shorts…just…” You realize what you’re telling him, and force yourself to shut up. “Fuck you.”

“If you insist.”

“Clever.” You’re torn. Half of you wants to slap him. The other half…well. You’ve been holding back the other half for a very long time. And you’re getting tired of it.

“Aren’t I?” There’s that grin again - the one that’s been flashing through your mind more than you’d like to admit in the past few weeks. “You should’ve come out with me tonight. This behavior would draw a lot less attention where I wanted to go.”

“If you’re concerned about that, you could just…” You squirm. “Y’know. Let go of me.”

“But do you really want me to?”

This is your last chance. You could say yes. Probably should. But it would be a complete and utter lie. And those eyes…they make all of your worries so easy to forget.

“Mhmm. That’s what I thought.” His hand brushes over your jaw, tilting your face, insisting that you meet his gaze. “I’m not concerned. About them, or about…anything else.” In that moment, you feel like his eyes are piercing you. He understands perfectly. He’s read your mind. “You’re gonna be just fine. And if you’re still not sure of that…that just means I need to try harder to convince you.”

You look up at him, anticipating his next move even as you ask: “What does that mean?”

“Well…”

He leans in.

Oh god.

He leans in and kisses you.

And your mind goes blank.

You kiss him back, and pay no mind as his hand slides under the skirt of your dress.

Okay. Maybe not no mind. But you certainly don’t mind. Not even a little.

Your eyes flutter closed, blocking out your surroundings. People are definitely staring, but in the moment, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to care. You’ll worry about everything else in the morning. For now…

He pulls back, hands still locked around your waist, your upper thigh, a palpably hungry look in his eyes. “You still mad at me for showin’ up?”

One more chance to walk away – but he knows you won’t. Your answer is obvious, but you spell it out anyways. He wants to hear you say it. “No. I’m glad you did.”

“Mhm. And…” He nips at your ear, his fingernails digging into your leg, the smirk broadening on his face. ‘’You wanna come with me when I leave?”

You quickly nod, breathless. “Yes.”

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on sticking around here for long.” He sighs dramatically, breathing deeply into your hair. “And I would hate to leave you all alone.”

Again – ridiculous. Infuriating. And…impossible to turn down. It’s all you can do to stay upright, and follow him to the door, his hand laced tightly between your fingers, arm still wrapped around your waist. You forget about your coat, too – it’s still in the backroom somewhere. Maybe you’ll make him go get it for you in the morning. But you don’t want to think about the morning just yet.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo

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la-pheacienne · 1 year

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Whenever I see people saying that Hugo's admittedly insane info-dumping in Les Miserables is due to the fact that he was paid by the word, I get unreasonably angry.

Guys, no, you just don't get it. YOU LITERALLY DON'T GET IT.

The guy was writing this book for 20 years. 20 YEARS. It was the work of a lifetime. He travelled around, in France and abroad (Belgium), just to get a close look of all the places he was writing about, talk to the people there, communicate with the place etc. And like, he didn't travel by a motorbike, or cars or airplanes. This was not the vibe at the time.

Also, since we are in the 19th century may I remind you that there was no Google Search at the time. You couldn't just go to Wikipedia and learn about Louis-Philippe and the July Monarchy, you couldn't go to Youtube and watch documentaries about the June Rebellion and testimonies of people that were there and witnessed it. You couldn't just go to Spotify and listen to historical podcasts about the Battle of Waterloo or watch live footage. You couldn't know shit about the way Paris functioned, the history of the city, the importance and the role of infrastructure (INCLUDING THE SEWERS YES) and the way the infrastructure of a city is literally a reflection of the people and the customs and the social plagues that were specific of that city, unless you were, quite literally, a Statesman (and only if you gave a shit, which most didn't). There was no Vice News to inform you of the shit that happened in monasteries or in the labour camps. There was no possible way for anyone to have access to information on any of these things, things that were all of VITAL importance for the fate of french people, that were, for the most part, illiterate, ignorant, and/or struggling to survive until the next day. The solution for this was political conscience and social awakening but how could you do that if you don't have a voice and you don't have basic information and knowledge? But. There was a man that had the means, that had the ressources, that had the money, and he decided to actually do something with that. He decided to speak out. He decided to write a novel about an entire human society and the people in it. How they lived, what they dreamed, how they suffered, how they tried to change their fate, how they failed, how they tried again, and failed again. He gave voice to people who, quite literally, didn't have a voice. It is no coincidence that the book was loved by the people (the mass) but hated by pretentious critics, including other novelists of the time. It wasn't a novel about critics, it was a novel about people. And people loved it. They loved the info-dumping cause it wasn't "info-dumping", nor a """""""filler"""""""" for god's sake, it was quite literally a window to their world, their living space, their history, their roots, their political struggles, a window that they simply didn't have before, and that book gave it to them. It educated people at the time when they couldn't be educated otherwise, at a time when education was indispensable for social change.

But sure Hugo just dedicated 2 decades of his life writing """""fillers""""" to pass the time and get more money lmao. Shut up for the love of god.

Final note: I'm not saying that Hugo's portrayal of french society is without flaws or totally realistic, or that his characters don't seem simplistic at times in their misery and total victimization. This work doesn't delve deeply into the person, that is its flaw. It goes mainly outwards, because its main goal is to educate, while at the same time being immensely entertaining, (at least for people who weren't used to instant gratification like nowadays). That is his value.

#victor hugo #les miserables #aspa rambles #aspa reads les mis

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grievetherat · 4 months

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I feel like rambling a bit about the Beatles; they have been my special interest for a while now but recently I've become especially hyperfixated.

I'm in college right now but my experience goes back to the 2010s when my father brought me trinkets from his trip to Liverpool some of which were Beatles-related. Living in a Eastern European country was a bit of a bleek experience as a child if you grew up being influenced by Western media. Being glued to the family computer or the TV, all I could do was admire the ways decade's leading up the the 21st century was shown in media, times which I was told were the darkest for my family (no electricity, no running water, the looming Soviet Union).

As such I was a yearning middle schooler, jealous of the Western world and their ability to create media that I admired. Don't get me wrong, I have gone back since then to realize even my home country had its charms and memorable breakthroughs in our culture of music or style but for me, as a kid being infatuated with the West, I was jealous of people who had their parents pass down cool records to them because they lived through the times when such music was popular, have access to merchandise or memorabilia, or the ability to visit certain historical places because I was worlds away from them.

As such I became fixated much of my teenagehood on the prospect of "what it could have been" for me, If I had the chance, I was basically a westernboo, I was chronically online most of the 2010s, exploring the emerging internet culture, the online sphere, youtube (because who else would have been the perfect subject to develop a parasocial relationship with British vloggers ahem dan&phil), but I also began to develop taste in music. As such it coincided with my father's visit to Liverpool, which fascinated me, the trinkets he had brought back along with the LOVE album CD, were mesmerizing. I mean I enjoyed my fair share of 2010s pop music, but by the end of that CD listen, needless to say, I became a pretentious prick.

To say I was interested in them is an understatement, I was obsessed; but I couldn't really explore my Beatles obsession with anyone my age so I paraded my hyperfixation to my father (a beatles fan, who took pride in me developing this interest) and the adults in my family, as simply an infatuation with the decades (the 60s-70s) to seem smart and sophisticated. They would praise me for being a history nerd and ask me to tell them fun facts about the Beatles which i pretended to simply comply with, but in reality, I just wanted an excuse to bring up the Beatles. Of course, those fun facts needed reading-up so i consumed as much reading material online (or from the few english history books my school library housed) as I could. I read of their contributions to music, their history, rock n roll, the pre-Beatles, post-breakup, their solo careers, the hippie counterculture everything ( i guess as much as a i could comprehend at them time lol) but most importantly, i read of John's tragic passing as well as the many articles, hypothesizing on 'what it could have been' for the Beatles.

My undiagnosed brain had melted at that one singular possibility.

Truly, in modern internet slang, the alleged/hypothesized Beatles reunion has been my Roman empire since the day I graduated middle school to today simply because I think of it every day at least twice. Eventually middle school obsession had matured into a primary interest, a personality trait, more of a "hello, I'm Nym, and I'm a big fan of the Beatles" and it would automatically tell the type of person I was. Only a few things after the Beatles had the same lasting effect on me (Gravity Falls as an example lol).

It also didn't help that I listen to them and their solo releases on the daily and that they're actually everywhere, being the greatest band in the world, but I think it's only in my tism brain that can't scratch that itch that makes my enjoyment of the Beatles such a surreal experience. Perhaps I could finally put it into words to give middle school me some sort of closure:

There has always been something so devastating to me about John's and George's passings. humans come and they go but for them it was abrupt, cruel; living in the 2020s now, there's something so poignant to me that begs the world why they never got to experience the next century to its full potential.

We knew the Beatles were over in 1980, the tale isn't as obscure as the Roman Empire because it feels like it has only just happened, it's part of modern popculture right? And yet we live in the 3rd decade of the 21st century, completely shifting the perspective to a type of lingering wound from such a long time ago that it never really heals anymore.

At the time, I had told this to my mother, how it bothered me so much. She had assumed I had realized the concept of sudden death and become afraid of it, and to her credit, she had tried her best to help me 'overcome it' as well, but it was never death that bothered me, it was the unfairness, the lack of closure and I guess the bittersweetness that lingers with me every time I turn on a Beatles song.

Being a Beatles fan has been a surreal experience really; I believed this weird, almost para-sociality with the closure that never came that I yearned for so long as a middle schooler would dissipate over time and I could enjoy the Beatles legacy as every other adult had around me, enjoy a fun fact now and then, get a trinket from a trip. I never really achieved that, I'm in college and they still essentially function for me as the fall of the Roman Empire. Especially with the release of Get Back a year or two ago and Now and Then, it's essentially gotten worse. Sometimes I can't bear to think about it anymore and sometimes I can't help but reminisce on what it could have been.

Anyways, I still treasure them in such a weird way, I think it takes a lot for a human tale with all its flaws to be this compellingly tragic and bittersweet to keep up a gen z college student at night over half a century later. Idk

#the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back #60s icons #rambles #dad rock #autistic things #i guess now and then could potentially be that closure that i longed for #but also calling it the last beatles song kinda made my eye twitch #kept me up at night even more #not sure where this came from #peace and love

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lemon-natalia · 15 days

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Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 37

hmm yeah it is suspicious that the Emperor has to be locked away during the attacks. he gives an explanation, but we really only have his word for it

the Lyctors seem perfectly (and very convieniently) made to be able to enter the River while still defending themselves, which makes me wonder if that was the original purpose of creating Lyctorhood, and the Emperor maybe has some kind of plan revolving around it?

now this guy is quoting fucking Psalms 26 in Latin?? thats different to the quotes from before, the fact that its religious is interesting given this guy is apparently ‘God’ now, but he’s quoting a biblical text. also given Harrow can’t possibly know what he’s quoting 90% of the time, he’s awfully pretentious

Harrow’s eighteen, i’m pretty sure she knows how babies are made dude. at least she definitely knows after you guys nearly had a threesome in front of her on the dining room table

he’s been thinking Harrow and Ianthe are a thing omfg

the mysterious A.L.! somehow i was right that the Annabel Lee poem connected to her. and her having another name, and being dead for ten thousand years, i feel like thats a pretty good candidate for the good old Locked Tomb body. at least, thats my current theory.

‘She was my Adam’ again with the biblical stuff, this guy is seemingly religious, but also thinks he’s God??

and apparently the First House was destroyed via climate change and nuclear explosions. if i needed any other confirmation that its Earth (or some equivalent) then i’ve got it here i think

also he was just a normal person before the world ended, and he was the only one who survived and somehow became an incredibly powerful necromancer. i mentioned waaay back at the beginning of this liveblog that i knew there was a guy named John who had something to do with an apocalypse, but i didn't know if i was misremembering him being actually responsible for it, or if i was mixing it up with the Magnus Archives. and i, uh, still have no clue if that is the case or not from this convo, though i do feel like there's more he's not saying about this anyway (please no spoilers about this, i really appreciate everyone explaining things to me in the notes but i'd like to find out whats actually going on with this specifically while reading)

and A.L. was not a ‘normal human being’ whatever that mean, and the Lyctors are ‘in a very real way’ A.L.’s children … what on earth does that mean? she discovered the secret of Lyctorhood maybe?

well that whole conversation both answered a whole bunch of questions and absolutely nothing at the same time 😂

well okay the dude’s gone past playing parent and just outright told Harrow he sometimes wishes she was his daughter. i really don’t know how much of that affection is genuine

imagine telling someone you view them as a surrogate daughter and they fucking. smash a glass table in response lol. and yeah if its been ten thousand years and you haven’t developed emotional intelligence yet, then i don’t think its happening mate

ohhhh shit she’s telling him about the Locked Tomb. and i suppose there are worse ways this could have ended than him not believing her at all, but i really don’t think she’s wrong, especially since Gideon said she saw her do so/saw the door open in the last book, i think she did get in there somehow

wait i was working under the assumption that it was the Emperor who’d messed up her memories, but its not! did she do it to herself then after writing the letters?

#lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #harrow the ninth

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tiny-merkitty · 17 days

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caretaker/dad jonathan crane hcs 𓅨₊˚⊹

ⓘ i do not consent to k!nk interaction! any nsfw account that likes, reblogs, or in any way interacts with this post or my blog will be blocked and reported.

under the cut !

okay to preface, batman begins is set in the mid-2000s therefore these hcs are set in the mid-2000s

whether or not that's important is irrelevant it's for the vibes. its 2005 ok

needless to say Jonathan Crane is on the less outwardly affectionate side,

sterile is a bad word. vapid is a worse one

he definitely tries to ease up around you, initially giving the usual one-off remarks and eyerolls whenever anything went slightly array——

once he realized that was probably not the nicest thing in the world, he tended to keep his tone less flat. sort of.

definitely a learning experience, after awhile you both have to realize that despite him looking like he's trying to set you on fire with his mind, he is genuinely being nice most of the time. or at least neutral.

he takes a big priority in ensuring you're doing well though, while his attachment doesn't show through words or facial expressions he tries to come up through gifts and small acts.

whether it be making you every meal or washing your clothes or doing your hair, his presence is almost always joined by careful hands and a quiet voice,

he did have to teach himself to keep things you actually liked in his office though—

Jonathan learned quickly that sugar free gum and altoids are not an appropriate snack for a kid cooped up in the psychiatric asylum he's busy working at.

he's not clueless with kids though, in all fairness he read about fifty different blog posts. he also got marketed a multitude of sippy cups and blankets and maybe a piece of furniture but that's unrelated

he can come off as a little crass as previously mentioned, he'll word things carefully and speak gently but if he says bedtime at 8pm he means bedtime at 8pm and no later.

maybe a little later if you ask him to make you hot chocolate but 8:30 at the latest.

maybe 8:45

his parenting methods are on the strange and unusual side, given that he himself is on the strange and unusual side—

having nightmares? don't worry, Dr. Crane will make vague threats at the imaginary monsters and claim he can create things five times worse. sleep tight ??

breakfast!! this pancake is shaped like. a rorschach test

don't ask him about work he will keep that as far away as possible from you,

the extent of the last question he got was 'I work with sick people.' and then he continued drinking whatever mixture of too-much-espresso and soy milk was in his mug.

it's not that he doesn't trust you, per say, but he doesn't want you meddling with things that will more than likely harm you.

definitely huge on alot. alot of self care stuff .

have you seen his face there's no way he's not pouring at least a quarter of his paycheck into skincare

this extends to you of course, extremely overly fancy bathtimes with matcha bubble bath and overpriced baby lotion,

candles that are up high enough to not!!! be a fire hazard. little lavender sprays for your pillow,

he'll even do those vaguely scary looking animal themed sheet face masks with you

he's not a sad beige mom. leave him alone he's just pretentious

his favorite activities with you involve staying indoors,

usually crumpled under a pile of blankets with store bought cookies and whatever movie you picked out to watch,

blu ray. obviously. do you take him for someone who does not own a blu ray player (he didn't until last week)

he likes things that are intellectually stimulating for you as well, whether that be numbered blocks or simple puzzles,

he's always around to tell you that you did a good job, or to help if you're stuck on something,

very involved overall -- he doesn't do great with playing pretend but he'll wear colorful band-aids and sit on the floor if you want to play doctor,

Jonathan's life before was somewhat methodical outside of his other ....... escapades

you're a welcome addition and if anything he enjoys having someone to look after.

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beautifulpersonpeach · 10 months

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Bpp my love what do you think about people who bias hoseok (knowing hes one of your faves)

***

It’s a bit weird for me to answer this because then I’d also be talking about myself. But you asked, with an odd but sweet endearment attached, so I’ll try.

Deep down, we're all Type A bitches with a specific kind of kink. No point sugarcoating it. And Hoseok scratches that itch.

Whatever he is, we see it and we're mad for it. We’re all gaga for him and shameless about it.

I mean,

Holy Mary Mother of Christ that is a man who is serving cunt sweet and hot.

Not to be vulgar, it's just hard to talk about Hoseok, to think about the choices he’s made as an artist - the way he quietly supports the team with practical advise, the way he chooses when to use music or dance to communicate his point, the way he balances how severe he is in his beliefs and principles, with the emotional and physical needs and limitations of the team, his very palpable ambition as an artist and the skill he exhibits every time he gets in the booth or steps on a stage… It’s hard to talk about this man without wanting to bite my fist.

But one thing I do want to say before I lose the plot is I’m glad to see how healthy he looked at Yoongi's concert. He looked happy and content, alert and savvy, basically himself. And that made me happy. But with Hoseok, it's not like I really worried for him in the first place. You know? I think other Hoseok biases would agree or at least, know what I mean. Military service comes with specific challenges that I don't doubt he's capable of handling. Though it’s also possible he's not exposed to the most extreme risks, so that could be working in his favour as well.

When I think of Hoseok as a person, his conscientiousness is the first thing that grips my heart. It’s something Hoseok biases recognize instinctively I think. That man cares about the work he does. He cares so much about everything in his life, that sometimes I worry that he could burn out fast. But that care is also one reason he’s become one of the best in the field, at just 10 years into his career.

That care he puts into his work translates so beautifully into his music btw. As a quick experiment, I'd like you to listen to Dionysus.

(This is the extended version from Mama 2019)

youtube

What do you think? Have you heard anything that sounds exactly like that, anywhere? Have you ever heard a song that combines punk rock, synth-pop, and acid trap, to express the joy, anguish and momentary insanity an artist experiences when making the effort to create something worthwhile… a song that uses Dionysus - the God of fertility and wine, the patron of the arts, as the central lyrical motif. Do you notice the production choices in the pre-chorus and bridge?

Dionysus is easily one of the best made songs in all of k-pop. In my opinion. And it was made primarily by Jung Hoseok.

Hobi biases see that he’s the kind of person to care a lot. He takes constructive criticism seriously, he wants his craft to be assessed with no bias or favouritism. Just honest, raw, expressions and feedback, that’s one of his primary goals and you can see that in the lyrical and stylistic choices in Jack in the Box.

Hoseok biases see all that in him, and we cream our panties.

That’s the truth don’t lie.

This is going to sound so pretentious but it has be said because it’s true: Hoseok’s cerebral intensity, the way he loses himself inside his work, is such a turn on. I’ve said before that I can see why a lot of people in the fandom underestimate him or don’t really bother to look past the giggly, goofy, sweet and social media savvy Hobi cheerleading the members, but Hobi is the only member who could show up wielding a riding crop and I won’t laugh in his face.

Because we all know, he’d know exactly what to do with it, he’d enjoy pushing you to your limits because that is what he does himself, and that you’d enjoy it.

Hypothetically.

Anyway,

Another reason his conscientiousness matters to me, is because I recognize that for Hobi, the 'work' he loves includes his team. His love for his work boosts my confidence in BTS as a lasting unit. Because Hoseok cares too much about his work to risk losing them, simply because they are so connected to it.

It's so simple with him.

Taking it back to Hoseok biases, we like to act superior, like we're not also sluts for his visuals. We act like we appreciate him in a more holistic sense. But the fact is that we see him, and bark.

I'm just going to come out and say it. I'm proof. I barked. On reflex. I don't know how it happened exactly, but I saw this pic one Friday afternoon and the sound that left my mouth certainly wasn't human.

Generally and maybe hypothetically speaking here, toys are nice and all, but completely unnecessary when Hoseok exists and you’ve allowed yourself to be chosen by him. His music, his person, seeing him in his element is all it takes.

I mean…

The details… Sheesh.

Everything about Hoseok and his sense of style is a gag.

He’s just always, so Effortlessly himself.

….two fingers would be enough. Just saying. Two fingers would do the job.

He's too smooth for his own good.

Some people somehow forget this happened and well, now I'm reminding them. Look at him, really look at him... isn't he perfect?

This isn’t a hot pic but it’s one of my favourites of him. This is the only pic in this post from my top 30 Hobi pics. Enjoy.

When he does cute it's a very particular type of cute.

…

I miss Hobi.

This doesn't happen often, but sometimes I wish time didn't exist for a while and we could be in 2026 now. We'd get to see Hoseok 3.0 and my god will that be a sight. Their performances are already god-tier even in hiatus (thank God for those three encore concerts that showcased the active members in their element), so imagine how unrestrained they will be, how epic their performances will be then.

If there’s one thing I’m nearly certain about with BTS, it’s that the wait will always be worth it. And a big reason I can say that is because the team has Jung Hoseok.

I just hope Hobi biases can keep our shit together till then because heaven knows we’re…

You know.

Stream Jack in the Box, put an order in for your box set version if you haven’t gotten around to doing that yet, get yourself your caffeinated drug of choice (mine today is a flat white with whole milk. I’m not really an Americano gal), and enjoy Chapter 2.

#one more thing #this could be just me #but I love that he’s a scaredy-cat #I love that about him so much #It's the one thing that fully humanizes him for me #hoseok #jung hoseok #Hobi #j hope #BTS #Bangtan #bts rapline #rapline bias

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