Goncharov Lore Thus Far, based on the top tumblr post results
Main cast are Goncharov himself, his wife Katya (née Michailov), and Andrey
One side character is named Mario Ambrosini. He is described as a “sad boi” and is involved in gambling.
Set in Naples and involving a drug ring/mafia. The plot seems to involve Russian organized crime attempting to get a foothold in Italy.
There is a Boat Scene. Katya survives via resourcefulness.
Andrey and Goncharov have a substantial amount of homoeroticism. Andrey also has an internet in Katya. This forms a true love triangle.
At some point, Katya threatens to shoot Goncharov. This is framed as a Girlboss Moment.
There is also a Beer Bottle Scene.
Katya fakes her death.
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Something In The Midnight Hours
Rating: T | WC: ~ 4.0k | Pairing: Lee Chan x F!Reader | Genre: besties to lovers, fake relationship, rom com, fluff
“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend at my New Year’s Eve work party.”
“There better be an open bar. And I’m not kissing you at midnight.”
“Deal.”
Warnings: alcohol use, swearing, kissing
Lee Chan is fucked.
That’s the only way to describe his current situation. He’s fucked.
Royally, epically, astronomically.
All because of one offhand comment he made six months ago about you being his girlfriend, back when he was still trying to fit into the company.
Now here he is on his couch, staring at the email invite to the New Year’s Eve party and trying not to freak out, his eyes glued to the subject line.
BRING HER OR YOU’RE FIRED (JK (OR ARE WE))
He sets his phone down on the coffee table and covers his face with his hands, his palms pressing into his eyes to stave off the growing headache as he goes over options in his head.
1. He says you broke up.
This is obviously the worst option, both because the thought of you not being around makes him tear up and because then he’d have to stop talking about you, which is virtually impossible for him.
2. He goes and doesn’t bring you.
This is the second worst option as it would open him up to relentless teasing and might also result in his expulsion from the company, neither of which he would like to happen.
3. He begs you to pretend to be his girlfriend and you go together.
This is the craziest option, but it’s also the most viable. Sure, you’ve been best friends since you were kids, and sure, he’s almost certain you’re not into him like that, and sure, you’re a terrible liar, but all of that can be overcome! Right?
“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend at my New Year’s Eve work party.”
You stare at him blankly, your face unreadable for once, as he explains the situation. You haven’t stopped him at all and it’s like he can’t stop talking, the words just flowing out of him like water through a strainer.
“Everyone had a partner, literally everyone, and I was as single as could be, so when Wonwoo asked who my lockscreen was, I might have said you were my girlfriend. And I might have updated my desktop to be a picture of us together at that carnival last year. And I might have continued to lie about it every day since.”
You nod slowly, your eyes narrowed at him in skepticism, before tilting your head and saying, “And telling the truth is out of the question because…?”
“Because they would roast me alive,” he scream-whispers dramatically, imploring you with his eyes to understand his plight.
“They would, wouldn’t they?” You murmur pensively, fully knowledgeable of how often he’s under fire just for being the youngest in the office.
He nods emphatically, latching onto your kind, protective side and hoping it’ll carry him through this.
“They would be so mean to me, Y/n. Please don’t let that happen,” he hates being manipulative but at least he knows you can see right through it, your years of friendship making you familiar with all his tricks.
“Ugh! Fine!” You throw your hands up and roll your eyes, stifling your smile when he hollers in grateful joy and tugs you into his arms.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“There better be an open bar. And I’m not kissing you at midnight.”
“Deal.”
It hits him when the uber is on the way to the hotel, what he’s gotten himself (and you) into. Not only is this the first merging of his work life and social life, but you and him will have to pretend to be a couple until the party is over.
You’ll probably have to hold hands and smile at each other lovingly and, fuck, you’ll have to disappear before midnight because you already said he can’t kiss you and it’ll be suspicious as all hell if he doesn’t lay one on you when the ball drops. Even worse, you’re barely even affectionate as best friends - you don’t cuddle, you don’t hug, you even sit at opposite ends of the couch for movie night.
He doesn’t know why, all he knows is that it’s been this way since you first met. The most you ever touch him is to ruffle then fix his hair, or pat him on the back when he’s sad, or pinch his cheek and call him a baby even though you’re only seven months older than him. It’ll be awkward to have so much physical contact with you, to interact with you like a boyfriend does.
He’s a little… excited, though. It’s exciting to think about all of the guys finally meeting you after six months of him telling story after story. It’s exciting to go to his first ever corporate party, and to have you experience it with him. It’s exciting to think about how the two of you will take full advantage of the open bar and likely giggle yourselves to death in some closet as the clock strikes midnight.
He can’t tell how you’re feeling beyond knowing you’re nervous. You keep playing with the hem of your dress, and you’ve been looking out the window this whole time, and you haven’t talked much since you got in the car, though he’s made multiple attempts to draw you into a conversation. He decides to make one more, hoping that he can distract you and help you relax before the car pulls up to the hotel.
“I really like this dress on you. I don’t think I’ve seen it before, is it new?”
You turn to him, your lips quirking in a smile as you smooth your hands over the champagne silk.
“It is! it’s been a while since I got something nice so I decided to splurge for the party.”
“You bought it for this?” He asks almost incredulously, endeared and grateful you wanted to put so much effort in. You don’t often buy new things as you’re saving up to put a down payment on a house, and before the night is over, he swears he’ll find out how much it costs and send you the full amount.
“Yeah? I wanted to look nice to meet all your colleagues,” you respond quietly, shrinking under your seatbelt as if you’re self conscious.
“And you do! You look beautiful,” he scrambles to dispel your anxiety, kicking himself for accidentally bringing attention to something you’re seemingly shy about. You smile brightly and straighten up, replying, “You look good too, I don’t remember this suit.”
“It’s a rental,” he confesses. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“So I can’t go up to one of your coworkers and say, ‘Hi, I’m Chan’s girlfriend, his suit is rented’? Darn.”
He’s too focused on you saying you’re his girlfriend to hear anything else, an unfamiliar fluttering starting up in his belly as he replays the words in his head. He hates to admit it, but he kind of likes the sound of them coming out of your mouth.
He gathers himself enough to respond, “You can say the first part but not the second.”
“Ahhh, so just, ‘Hi, I’m Chan’s girlfriend,’ then?” You quip back, grinning at him teasingly and reaching up to pinch his cheek. His hand catches yours before you get that far, and while he’d normally let go, he decides to keep holding on, tangling your fingers together and bringing your hand up to press a kiss to the back.
“What’s that for?” You ask shakily, your eyes darting between his face and your entwined hands.
“Practice,” he says innocently, fully aware that he’s freaking you out and loving it.
The uber pulls up to the hotel before you can answer, and Chan thanks them before rushing to get out of the car and running around it to open your door and offer you his arm. You climb out as gracefully as you can, a bit unsteady in your heels and clinging to him for stability as you cross through the sliding glass doors into the lobby.
It’s decorated for the holidays, warm string lights and fresh evergreen covering nearly every surface, and the sight of you spinning in a slow circle to take it all in makes his heart feel too big for his chest. The party is being held in one of the ballrooms, the fanciest one, he was told, and he can’t wait to see your face when you set eyes on the opulence of it all.
He needs to find it first, and he exhales a sigh of relief when he spots his company’s name printed on signs leading into a grand hallway. He points so you see them too, leading you over and consciously slowing his steps so you don’t have to work to keep up with him.
You’re letting out oohs and ahhs as you walk, your eyes catching on every shiny statue and gilded candelabra occupying the hall. Chan can’t hold back the grin, he’s always loved to see how you appreciate your surroundings, and he’s so happy he gets to watch you experience this beautiful place.
The signs lead to a palatial set of doors, the party in full swing and audible behind them, and he stops you before you can reach for one, pulling you to the side and setting his hands on your shoulders.
“Listen, I know you’re not good at lying, but I don’t want you to be stressed tonight, so just follow my lead and don’t worry too much, okay?” He says in his most reassuring tone of voice, gazing into your eyes and waiting for you to square your shoulders and say, “Okay. And I’m great at lying.”
Literally everything betrays you, the expression on your face, your tense body, the way you’re suddenly avoiding his eyes.
“Sure, baby. Sure,” he agrees amicably, nodding and taking hold of your hand again.
He’s never called you that before, only ever refers to you by your name or stinky (you are the greatest smelling person he knows and you’re both aware of that fact), but for a first test, he thinks it goes well.
Your hand squeezes his, your eyes get brighter, and the corner of your mouth scrunches up in a small, pleased smile. All signs point to you being not only alright with the pet name, but maybe even happy with it, and if he's being honest, for him it felt… easy. Right.
On that note, he tugs open the door with his free hand and follows you inside. You both stop short, stunned by the magnificence of the ballroom and the amount of faces that greet you. Chan knew he worked at a big company but there’s at least two hundred people here, and only a few that he recognizes.
They find you quickly, apparently watching the doors for your entrance and agreeing to immediately converge upon you before you can even grab a glass of Dom Perignon. It’s scary, almost, the sight of the twelve friends he’s made so far weaving through the crowd to reach you.
There’s nowhere to go, to run, to hide. He has no choice but to stand his ground and allow this to happen to him.
He glances over at you and feels some tension leave his body, knowing that no matter what, you’re here for him and you always will be. That’s what gets him through the next half hour, plus the champagne Jeonghan so considerately brought over. He makes introductions, laughs off the comments about how long it took him to finally bring you to a function, and bites the inside of his lip every time you have to answer a question.
You manage to tell the truth most of the time. Many of the questions are about you, who you are and what you do and, from Seungkwan, why you’re with Chan. You don’t have to lie until that last one, but he’s impressed by how quickly and smoothly you manage to answer.
It still makes him grin, thinking about what you said.
“Because he’s made me happy and taken care of me all my life. It just makes sense.”
They all softened at your response, and the conversation naturally deviated to their own partners, a few of which are in attendance tonight. He’s not sure why they’re not with his coworkers but he can’t complain about having less people to keep up with. It’s hard enough tracking a conversation between fourteen.
Eventually, everyone splits off into groups. You and Chan make your way to the bar with Soonyoung, Jun, and Minghao, the rest of his friends disappearing back into the well dressed masses. You’ve both finished your champagne and are ready for a real drink, and it’s shockingly easy to order them even with how crowded the bar is. Even Minghao is drinking tonight, likely because he doesn’t love crowds or parties, but regardless of the reason, he’s more happy and giggly and kind than normal and Chan is entirely delighted he gets to see him like this.
Jun and Soonyoung are already deep in their cups, and knowing them, they likely pregamed at the apartment they share, forgetting that drinks would be free all night. He just hopes they don’t embarrass themselves, and vows to himself that he’ll make sure they get cut off if they get too crazy. They did the same for him the first night he ever went out with his officemates, when he had a few too many and found himself troublesomely drunk, and he’ll return the favor if need be.
You seem to fit right in, your humor similar enough to theirs that you have them cracking up at every turn, and it’s not long before they’re begging you to spill all of Chan’s most embarrassing secrets. They seem nearly giddy with the prospect and you seem primed to share, and all he can do is tug you away, shouting, “See you later, we have to go!” over his shoulder as he makes his escape.
You and Chan finally get to take a breather on the balcony. The chilly night air stings but the view is gorgeous, the city lit up in reds and greens and bright, warm whites, the countdown displayed on a skyscraper across the way. There’s an hour and a half left till midnight, and Chan is starting to wonder if there even is an accessible closet in this hotel for you to hide in when the time comes.
Maybe you could sneak away to the bathroom, but you wouldn’t be together then and Chan wants to enter the new year with you by his side. There’s always the option of leaving before the ball drops, but everyone would wonder why and they might even be disappointed in him, which he’d like to prevent if possible.
The consternation must be clear on his face because you reach up to smooth away the wrinkle between his eyebrows and ask gently, “What’s wrong?”
He sighs and takes your hand, swinging it softly and playing with your fingers as he says, “I’m trying to figure out what we should do at midnight.”
“What do you mean?” You sound confused, as if you think there’s nothing to figure out.
“Well, you said I can't kiss you but it would be suspicious if we didn’t, so I’m trying to think of where we could go to get out of it.”
“Oh, about that, I’ve been thinking-”
“So this is where you snuck off to,” Seungkwan calls from the doorway, with a mischievous smile on his face and Vernon in tow.
“Just needed some fresh air,” Chan pastes on a smile but internally he’s screaming, raging at them for interrupting you when he thinks you might have been about to say something important.
Of course, everything you say is important to him, but if he’s following the vein of logic, it’s possible you were going to say he can, in fact, kiss you at midnight, which would honestly rock his world. Both in the life-altering sense and in the wow this is so amazing sense, because, he has to admit, he can’t stop thinking about it.
When you take a sip of champagne, he’s watching your lips pucker around the edge of the flute. When you’re speaking, he’s thinking about tasting your words. Even when you’re not doing anything, his thoughts are occupied with what it might be like to feel your lips pressed against his and your body in his arms (and don’t get him started about your body, especially in this dress).
He knows that’s not something normal best friends think about, but you’ve always been more than a best friend to him. You’re everything to him, and he’s beginning to think you might even be it for him. You fill so many roles in his life: friend, confidante, protector. Why couldn’t you pick up one more?
It could all be so simple, so neat, and all of those well-meaning but embarrassing inquiries about when you two would finally get together could finally be answered. He thinks the transition would be easy, you seem to have no qualms touching him and being affectionate now, and he’s definitely finding it easy to reciprocate.
Fuck, but he has no clue how you feel. You’re chatting with Seungkwan while Vernon nods and laughs at the appropriate moments, and he’s thankful you noticed he was elsewhere mentally and took over the conversation. He doesn’t want to seem too deep in thought, but it’s difficult not to be when he’s having the startling realization that he doesn’t want this relationship to be fake, that he actually wants to date his best friend.
Shit, it’s an hour and fifteen minutes now, and Chan’s no closer to knowing what to do. He might even be further away, might be even more confused with the added layer of knowing he absolutely wants to kiss you.
Vernon and Seungkwan excuse themselves to grab more champagne and he takes the opportunity to pull you to one of the darker corners of the balcony lest his other coworkers discover your location. He needs to talk about this with you, now.
It’s just not normal or right for him to hide things from you, the biggest thing he’s actually ever kept being that he told his office you were his girlfriend. He’s not positive he’s ready to lay it all out though, especially when he’s not sure where you’re at.
“What were you going to say before?” He asks urgently, taking hold of your other hand and holding both of them tight.
“Ummm, I don’t remember,” you lie, so very obviously, and this time he’s not going to let you get away with it.
“Yes, you do. Please tell me, I need to know.”
You squint at him in scrutiny, your mouth bunching to the side, and let out a big breath before speaking.
“I was going to say that I’ve been thinking about it a lot and… I think you should kiss me at midnight,” you say, looking away from him and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in your dress.
“A lot, you say?” He jokes, only because he knows it’ll make you feel annoyed instead of nervous.
Predictably, you roll your eyes and scoff, “Of course that’s what you focus on.”
He lets out an easy laugh, tugging you closer with his grip on your hands and leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Practice.”
His lips touch your other cheek softly. He can feel it heat up and breaks into a fond smile, his hands squeezing yours as you breathe, “And that?”
“More practice. And maybe I couldn’t wait until midnight to kiss you at least a little.”
Your eyes dart to his and he catches a flash of vulnerability before you grin it away and glance over your shoulder to check the time.
“Just forty five more minutes. Do you think you can make it?” You tease, and he feels his own cheeks flush as he realizes that you’re flirting with him. He likes it. Very much.
He grimaces, sucking in a breath through his teeth and shaking his head, “I don’t know, baby. I really don’t know.”
You just smile and push at his chest with your joint hands before asking, “Should we get some champagne?”
He’s barely tipsy, and he can tell you’re only a little buzzed, so he nods and lets you go, only to offer you his arm. He escorts you to the table of glasses, taking one and offering it to you before grabbing one for himself. You hold your glass up and he clinks it with his, taking a sip and looking around the room.
He spots some of his friends but they’re all engaged in conversations, which is fine with Chan, honestly. He’s enjoying this time with you, and he’s not ready to share again.
You pass the next half hour warming up and people watching, waving to his friends when they spot you and narrowly escaping before they start to make their way over. He feels a little bad about avoiding them, but he doubts you want to kiss him for the first time in front of everyone. He needs to find somewhere with a little privacy, looking around for a corner or…
Or the giant ass column behind you. It’s perfect, still in the ballroom but secluded enough it’ll almost be like it’s just the two of you. He takes your hand again and gently pulls you over, situating you so your back is to the stone just as the ballroom starts to spark with energy. It’s only a few minutes to midnight now, and Chan can already feel his heart racing just at the thought of what that means.
You seem similarly affected, your lip bitten in nervousness but your eyes full of anticipation. He takes a step into your space and lifts his hand to cup your cheek, murmuring, “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” you nod, tilting your face into his hand and covering it with yours. A hush comes over the ballroom before the counting begins, and you join in unison as he starts leaning in, “Five, four, three, two, one.”
One is whispered against your lips, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses his mouth to yours. You taste like champagne and lip gloss and possibilities, and even though other kisses end and cheers erupt, Chan can’t make himself stop kissing you.
Eventually, it starts to veer into indecent territory, with wandering hands and seeking tongues and sounds not fit for public consumption. He forces himself to pull away, smirking slightly at the way you try to follow him before your eyes blink open. There’s a bright glint to them, and before he knows it, you’re both falling into each other and struggling to contain your giggles.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” you whisper through your smile.
“Me neither,” he laughs. “Our moms will be so happy.”
“I bet our dads placed bets,” you murmur, winding your arm around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “Happy New Year, Chan.”
He lets go of your cheek to hug you back, his hand still wrapped up tightly in his.
“Happy New Year, Y/n.”
You’re dozing against Chan in the uber when his phone buzzes in his suit pocket. He opens it to find a message from Wonwoo, one containing three pictures that make Chan’s heart beat so hard he’s scared it’ll wake you up.
The first is just before he kissed you; you’re staring at him with brand new eyes, and he’s gazing at you with obvious infatuation.
The second must be just after midnight, he’s still kissing you but he’s got a hand dangerously low on your back and you’ve got one in his hair.
The third is when you both collapsed into laughter, and he smiles at the joyful tears in your eyes and matching beaming grins before making it his lockscreen.
He’s not sure why Wonwoo was taking pictures of him instead of kissing his wife, but he’s forever grateful, and he tells Wonwoo just that. These are photographs he’ll treasure for the rest of his life, because they document the start of something great, something real, something he hopes will last forever.
He can’t wait to print them out, they’ll look perfect on your wall (your apartment is nicer than his and he’ll be moving in as soon as you say the word).
AN: Happy almost new year!! ily all 💖 i wish you light and blessings 💫
My Masterlist
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THIS LOVE — j.m
pairing actor!jj maybank x actress!reader
chapter summary jj faces the possibility of his scandal going public. then, he ends up reconnecting with you after five years. what happens when the two of you end up as costars for your upcoming romantic comedy?
warnings mentions of a sex tape, mentions of domestic abuse (jj and luke), language, violence, sexual content/eventual smut, anxiety. ex best friends to lovers, fake dating. this will be updated as the story develops. [2.2k]
author's note just a little post of the first chapter to build the hype! hope you enjoy and decide to continue reading ♡︎ also special s/o to @mvybanks and @jjsbank444 for beta reading and quelling my nerves <3
recommended listening second chances by kiana ledé ft. 6lack
this love — the complete playlist ;; the masterlist ;; the tag list
❝ CHAPTER ONE ❞
JJ
Threesomes are fun. Foursomes, however, are a blast.
At least, JJ Maybank seems to think so.
“You have three different women threatening to release your sex tape. It’s not a good look for you, JJ.”
Well, he does when they don’t include a secretly-filmed sex tape and three fame-thirsty girls trying to ruin his career for a quick cash grab.
“It’s not like they’re three separate tapes. We were all together when it was made,” JJ smirks.
Josh, his manager, lets out an exasperated sigh. “That doesn’t make things any better, and it does nothing to help our circumstances. You need to clean up your act and you need to start doing it now, Maybank, or you’re going to lose everything.”
JJ rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time in the fifteen minutes that this meeting has been going on. It’s bullshit, really. He’s one of the hottest actors in Hollywood right now. He’s youthful, dashingly handsome, and loaded. The world is his freakin’ oyster, and he deserves to have some fun.
“You’re supposed to keep up your whole approachable, goofy, boy-next-door image intact, and having a ménage à…quatre, is not the way to do it.” my publicist, Andrea, chimes in. “If you aren’t careful, you’re going to lose your entire fanbase. You’re one of the most universally-liked celebrities in the business, right now. If this gets out, you’re going to have to kiss your crystal clear reputation goodbye.”
“So, let’s just pay ‘em the hush money. What do I care?” JJ says, taking his cap off and running a hand through his unruly strands.
“And you’re fine with forking over ten million dollars? Just like that?” Andrea scowls. “What if they take the money and still decide to release the tape? Or demand more?”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Andrea. Now, are we done here? I’m supposed to meet my co-star for my new movie in an hour and I’d really like to get in another — how did you put it? Ah, yes. Ménage á quatre — before I go.”
Josh runs a hand over his face, “Do you care about anything anymore?”
JJ ignores his statement, putting his hat back on and sitting up in his chair. “Can I leave?”
He can tell that Josh wants to scold him or make some witty remark in return, but he bites his tongue.
“Go. And, please, for the love of all things holy, do not screw this up.”
If JJ had a penny for every time he’s heard that, he’d be richer than Jeff fucking Bezos.
-
Y/N
“And last but not least, this is your dressing room. You’ll have your own trailer, but this is more for when we’re actually on set and in between takes.”
You grin as you look around the luxurious room. There’s a huge vanity in front of you, as well as some plush couches, and you don’t fail to notice the large mini-fridge in the corner of the room or the flat-screen TV plastered onto the wall. There’s a window as well, letting in the California sunshine you’ve come to love and appreciate beyond your beliefs.
“Wow, this is…amazing. I can’t thank you guys enough for this opportunity. I’m so grateful, I hope you know that.”
“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You’re the very reason we wanted to do this project in the first place. If anything, we’re the lucky ones,” Derek, the director states with a grin. “So, you ready to meet your co-star, or what?”
“Yeah! I mean, I’m nervous, but, beyond excited.”
Derek leads you back into the hallway, and you make your way to one of the offices.
“I think you’ll love him. Word is, he comes from the Outer Banks just like you. Who knows, you’ve probably met him in passing.”
Wait…what? He’s from OBX? No. No way. He couldn’t possibly mean—
“Y/N Y/L/N, meet the esteemed JJ Maybank,” Derek states, his proud smile growing sizeably larger than you thought possible.
It doesn’t matter how excited he is, though. All you can focus on is your heart beating out of your chest and the ringing in your ears. You see Derek’s lips moving but you can’t hear a thing. Your eyes are caught on the blonde in front of you, and all you can think about is how painful it is to look into those oceanic eyes after five years.
It’s equally as painful as it was the last time you saw him. If not, more.
“Uh— Y/N, I…it’s— it’s been a while,” JJ stutters out.
It’s all too much. Seeing him here, in front of you. His eyes locked on yours, his hand reaching out to touch you but retracting once he notices the fear in your gaze. Your eyes flit over to Derek, whose face has a more than confused look painted over his features.
“Excuse me, Derek, I— I need to get out of here.”
You speed into the restroom, locking the door behind you and setting your hands on the counter. Your chest tightens, and your breathing speeds up. She shudders, trying to shake it out as the room starts to feel like it’s closing in on you.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. You can do this. Don’t let him get to you,” you say, staring at yourself in the mirror. “It’s just…it’s just JJ.”
You feel the tears start to well in your eyes and you watch as they overtake their boundaries and roll down your flushed cheeks. You’re quick to wipe them away, though, refusing to admit defeat.
“Stop,” you tell yourself. “It’s been five years. You’re better than this.”
You aren’t sure if the words are true to your heart, because all you can think about is how the boy you loved from the ages seven to eighteen — the one who betrayed you and shattered you into a million pieces — is now your co-star for the romantic comedy you’ve just been cast in.
What could possibly go wrong?
A lot, you think. A lot could go wrong.
JJ
JJ watches as you make your way back into Derek’s office, shooting him a convincing smile.
“My apologies, Derek. Girl troubles,” you say.
JJ still knows you well enough to see that you’re hoping Derek will believe your bullshit excuse.
“Oh, uh, no worries at all, Y/N. I completely understand. I’ve got three daughters at home,” he speaks, trying to assure you that everything is fine. He places this hand on JJ’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “JJ, here, was just telling me how the two of you have known each other since you were in elementary school. It must be quite the hell of a reunion, huh?”
You plaster a fake grin onto your lips, “One hell of a reunion, indeed.”
JJ refuses to look at you, his ex-best friend, and vice-versa. Truthfully, he’s terrified to catch your eye again. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to form a coherent sentence if he does.
“Well, I’ve got some stuff to take care of, so I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
Derek exits his office, and you and JJ are left in complete and utter silence.
God, JJ missed you so much. He’d seen you making headlines just as you always said you would, but he was always quick to click away, deciding not to dwell on everything he’d lost. But this, now, seeing you right in front of him as gorgeous as ever…it made the walls he’d worked so hard to put up begin to crack.
Then again, you’d always had that effect on him.
Even after all these years, he was still a complete wreck over you. You held his heart in the palm of your hand and he wasn’t even sure if you knew it.
Your scent was still etched into his mind, still buzzing deep within his senses and his memory. You smelled of the saltwater beaches of the Outer Banks. The notes of coconut from the shampoo he’d recognized still lingering in the tresses of your hair. The sweet hints of vanilla that clutched to your skin are prominent as ever. The combination sounds like a lot, and it was, but not in the overpowering way one would assume. They blended into one heavenly and unique fragrance.
She smelled like her, he thought. She smelled like home.
To be honest, JJ wasn’t sure whether or not this was a reminder he wanted to welcome with open arms, but either way, here it was. Here you were. After the way he’d hurt you and destroyed your relationship forever.
After he lost himself.
Funnily enough, you’d always had a way of popping up whenever he needed and longed for you. He never even had to speak a single word. You just always knew. And you might not have guessed it now, but he needed you more than he ever had before.
JJ scratches his brow with his index finger. “So, um…how have you been?”
“Don’t. Just…don’t.”
“Y/N, please,” he pleads. He almost wants to get down on his knees and beg. You can’t even look at him, and that hurts more than he could ever put into words.
“No. I don’t wanna hear it. I’m fine with being professional while we film this movie, but I’m not getting into this with you. I’m not getting into any of it.”
JJ remains silent, choosing to nod because he’s not totally sure he can find his voice.
As much as he hated to let the thought in, you were a walking reminder of every bad decision he’d made since he left the island and never looked back. He looked at you, and he saw two things. The first being the crinkling of your bright eyes when you smiled. The melodic laugh he could pull from your lips at a moment’s notice. Your hair blowing in the wind as you stuck your head out the window of John B’s Twinkie. And the second being the look of despise and pain on your face as you confronted him. The mascara-stained tears flowing down your heated cheeks. The way you walked away from him and deliberately chose not to look back and steal a second glance at him.
How was he expected to act all suave and cool when you were right there in front of him, actively choosing not to even look in his direction?
Truth is, he doesn’t think he can.
-
JJ glances at his phone once he leaves the production office still shaken by the day’s events.
2 Missed FaceTime Calls from John B
JJ swipes to the right and watches as his phone rings, awaiting his best friend’s answer while he plops down on the steps in front of the building. The line rings for a few moments before he hears shuffling through the speaker, followed by John B’s face appearing on his screen.
“Hey, man. how was your meeting? Your new costar as hot as we imagined?”
JJ tears his eyes away from the camera, his lip sinking between his teeth. His complexion pales, and John B picks up on it.
“Jeez. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Because I have,” JJ deadpans. He’s still reeling from your presence, and it shows.
“Huh?”
“It’s Y/N…my costar is Y/N.”
“Ooh, yikes,” John B responds. “Did she nut-punch you?”
“It’s not funny.”
JJ tugs his cap off as he always does when he’s stressed, and his fingers card through his hair. He tugs lightly at the strands as he tries to alleviate the tension building up in his head.
“She couldn’t even look at me, John B. Her eyes were on me for all of five seconds before she made an excuse to go to the bathroom. Then, when she came back, she looked at everything but me. She barely even let me speak to her.”
“Well, to be fair, you guys didn’t exactly leave things on the best of terms.”
“Yeah, JB. I know. Thanks for the reminder, as if I didn’t fucking know that already.”
“All right, look. Did you fuck up majorly? Yeah. But the love the two of you had…it ran deep. It doesn’t just disappear without a trace, especially if things are this heated after five years. I think you can get her to forgive you.”
JJ scoffs, “Yeah? And how do you suppose I do that?”
John B gives him a knowing look through the screen.
“You have to tell her the truth, JJ.”
“Funny.”
“J,” John B mildly scolds. “The reason she hates you right now is because you weren’t honest with her. The JJ she knew before that night never would’ve treated her the way you did. Buck up. Tell her.”
The call disconnects, and JJ is left staring at his screen with a tense jaw. He knew John B was right. He was always right. But how on earth was he expected to muster up the courage and tell you the truth about that night? He doubted — no. He knew it’d be impossible to convince you to hear him out.
Then again, he also knew he had to try. Because he couldn’t stand to be around you nearly every single day for the next few months, knowing that you wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.
jj tag list: @pankowperfection @oncasette @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @maybank-archives @whoisdrewstarkey @aliyahsomerhalder @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @poppet05 @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @jjmaybankisbae @enhypens-hoe @pankhoeforlife @cecesrings @wildflwrdarlin @loverofdrewstarkey @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @topper-thornton @em0-b0ysworld @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptherecs @bloody-mf-bsc @maybanksbabe @sarah5462 @slut4drudy @lvvrgrl @dancinglikeaballerina @somerandos-world @shahanaazsoumah @peachpitlover @pinkpantheris @julesmendoza890 @emmalandry @blueicequeen19 @madelynie
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my works ! (Avatar, COD, & OPLA)
published works as of last updated - Avatar: 2 / COD: 1 / OPLA: 0
I write for the avatar fandom (both 1 and 2, and future movies once they come out), COD (not many characters, i’m a fake fan ik 😔) and the live action One Piece series <3 I write x fem reader fics n drabbles of any listed male characters unless specified.
I can’t reply to comments becuz this isn’t my prim blog but if you ask to be tagged in a fic I will tag u <3
Request guidelines;
None (regarding topics)! I may not always agree to write for the request, but I’ll always respond to them, even if it takes a while. Requests/Suggestions always open
Topics I will/won’t write for;
I won’t write x reader fanfiction for any female characters as of last updated, but other than that I’ll write for anything. That includes dubcon, somno, etc (I will always include appropriate warnings)
AVATAR
Col. Miles Quaritch
Speak up, Love Ongoing series
pt. 1 pt. 2 etc
⤷ Recom!Reader is selectively mute, shy, n a scientist/medic.
Miles ‘Spider’ Soccoro
⤷ N/A
Jake Sully
⤷ N/A
Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan
⤷ N/A
Lo’ak Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan
⤷ N/A
Tonowari
⤷ N/A
Ao’nung
Saccharine metkayina reader, ongoing series
🐚 ⭐️ 🐚
⤷ inspired by this tiktok
Tsu’tey Te Rangloa Ateyitan
⤷ N/A
Multiple Characters
⤷ N/A
Call Of Duty
König
⤷ N/A
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley
⤷ Yearning. pt.1 pt.2
⤷ In which, user and Simon go for a walk and share a conversation outside. The conversation ends a little too flirtatiously for Simon to handle.
Kim ‘Horangi’ Hong-jin
⤷ N/A
John ‘Soap’ Mactavish
⤷ N/A
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick
⤷ N/A
Cap. John Price
⤷ one WIP
Keegan P. Russ
⤷ N/A
ONE PIECE
Zoro
⤷ one WIP
Koby < - only fluff or platonic
⤷ N/A
Buggy
⤷ N/A
Usopp
⤷ N/A
TO BE CONTINUED.
Last updated; 12-11-23
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Matching Set Masterlist
college!AU
popular!jeongin x introvert!reader
summary: Y/N and Jeongin had been together since birth. Seriously since birth– their mothers were best friends and while hanging out to complain about their never ending pregnancy, bam. Rumor has it that Y/N took a little while to cry, blinking around for a couple of minutes until the gentlest of screams came out of her tiny body. Only later, when the parents got together to congratulate each other, did the mothers found out that Jeongin had been born five minutes before Y/N, and it seemed that her quietness had been her own early way to wait for who would later be her best friend. And as if sharing a birthday wasn’t enough, these two had to share everything else; from their lunch at school to the bed they slept on. Thankfully, as next door neighbors, the trip was minimal.
It continued like this for decades to come, through middle school, high school, and finally, college. Their applications were sent together and their letters came in the same day. Miraculously, they chose different degrees, and for an entire night, Y/N cried to her mom about losing her best friend. Maybe this will be a good experience for you two, she laughed, petting her daughter’s head. But Y/N just couldn’t see a positive side to being without her Innie. Later, they would make a pact– one that vowed to always be there for each other. And he looked so earnest and honest that Y/N just couldn’t understand where that nagging doubt tugging on her heart was coming from…
What happens when these two experience freedom like nothing they’ve ever seen? And what will be of the matching set when they are put apart? Can the lifelong friendship survive the ultimate test of time– college?
update schedule: Every Sunday :D
——————————————————————————————
🌚 chapter one: hyung I’m suing you
🌝 chapter two: fellow clowns
🌚 chapter three: what bothers you, my little freeloader?
🌝 chapter four: forgiven but not forgotten
🌚 chapter five: she doesn’t need me anymore
🌝 chapter six: Mandatory Movie Marathon™️
🌚 chapter seven: delayed reactions
🌝 chapter eight: no turning back
🌚 chapter nine: things are about to change
🌝 chapter ten: another case of innie being innie
🌚 chapter eleven: see you then
🌝 chapter twelve: it’s a date
🌚 chapter thirteen: we need to talk about yesterday
🌝 chapter fourteen
🌚 chapter fifteen
🌝 chapter sixteen
——————————————————————————————
hi lovelies! I know I have been a bit gone from the fake text scene, but I’ve been working on this for a bit now, and I am really, really excited to share this new story with you all! Han’s story will be going into HIATUS as I’m trying to sort the overall plot and details and will be reworking it after I get my muse back fro Rhythm & Rhyme. Also: there are timeline plot-holes and for that I apologize! Because it’s been a while since I wrote these, there was a mixup with the timeline of all the following stories, so truly, I am sorry-- I’ll do my best to keep everything together neat and tight! Thank you for your love and constant support!
IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO GET TAGGED FOR THE RELEASE OF MATCHING SET PLEASE LET ME KNOW AND I’LL START A TAGLIST!
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Getting Over It - Peter B. Parker
notes - GOD I LOVE MY CRUSTY DILF SO MUCH! I am so happy to put out my first fic for this fandom and hope everyone enjoys it! I'm going to be seeing the new movie soon as well, so I can bring you fics for more characters!! I hope you enjoy this and have a super day!! Stay hydrated!
word count - 1,208
WARNINGS - nothing super crazy, but it's pretty angsty as it talks about Peter going through divorce
You remember when he called you after his divorce, hiccupping on his own tears. You told him that everything was going to be okay, that it was okay and normal for him to not want kids. He thought something was wrong with him, but you reassured him that that was not the case. He never believed you though, called himself a failure to himself, to MJ, hell, even to the world, which of course you didn't agree with, seeing as he was literally Spiderman.
You remember the first time you saw him as Spiderman. You were surprised that a superhero was waltzing into MJ and Peter's home like it was nothing. MJ had invited you over for dinner and apparently didn't expect it either. And then Peter took off the mask and you all laughed about it that night at dinner. They trusted you with his secret, but you were surprised you didn't know about it sooner.
You had known Peter for a long time. The two of you went to college together and were a hard duo to separate. You obviously weren't mad that he didn't tell you, just surprised.
And you had been very close to MJ as well. Crying at her wedding with Peter and always going out together on weekends.
But to see the two split up broke even your heart.
She wanted kids.
Peter didn't.
And so, that was the deciding factor and the two were divorced, MJ already back into the dating world.
But Peter, he was still broken. He could barely manage himself after the divorce and felt like everything was wrong with him. He felt like he broke her heart.
"I know this must be hard for you," you had told him when you helped him move into his new apartment. "But for your own mental health, Peter, you need to move on eventually."
"From MJ?" he asked, a tear pricking the corner of his eye. "That's a lot harder than you think it is, y/n. She was perfect."
You just nodded and continued helping him in silence. Everyone has their own way of getting over things, and Peter took a long time.
He thought that MJ was the only person out there for him, the only one who could ever love him. And he thought after the divorce, he was unlovable. He complained that he put on weight and he hid behind his Spider-suit, acting like Peter Parker had vanished.
But even through tears and leftover pizza, you swore to him that you would always be there when he needed you.
He knew this too and to get his mind off of what felt like such a miserable life, he would always call you to go do things with him. You two went bowling more often than not and dined at crappy restaurants, taking leftovers to empty parking lots. But most importantly, the two of you always found something to laugh at. The gray streak forming in his hair, watching pigeons, the villains he would have to fight, stuff like that never failed to make you two smile in a time when you really needed it. When he really needed it.
After a long time, you convinced him to start dating again if he was up for it. He tried dating websites that didn't go over quite well and sometimes met girls out that he would ask on a date or two, but he said it wasn't really leading anywhere and put that down quickly.
He and MJ stopped talking, unfortunately, but he would always ask you updates about her, since you two were still very close. But even after a while, he stopped doing that and continued on with his life with a smile, fake or not.
He was trying, that was all that was important to you. He was getting better by the day as well, his apartment cleaner every time you would come over. You were so proud of him.
On Valentine's day, a year that Peter seemed at his best in a long time, you decided to show up with a bouquet of flowers and a teddy bear at his door.
You knocked, waiting, hoping that he wasn't out at work or busy. But to your delight, the door flew right open and you were immediately greeted with laughter from Peter. He told you to come in and took the flowers and teddy bear from you, setting them on a coffee table.
"This means a lot, y/n," he said, still laughing a bit. "Thank you."
"Anytime." you said with a smile, sitting down on the couch. "Anything you wanna do today? Or are you just gonna hang around here?" You looked around at his apartment, that had sunlight pouring into the windows and smelled like fresh laundry.
"Well, there is something I was planning." he said, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.
"Oh? Is that so?"
He averted eye contact with you and played with his own fingers. "I was just wondering if uh... you would wanna... go on a date with me." His voice trailed off at the end, nervously and his face went from light pink to dark red.
You looked at him with surprise. You have obviously considered going on a date with him more than once. He was beyond handsome and never failed to make you laugh, so you definitely developed a huge crush on him, but he was asking you out?!
"You wanna go on a date with me?" The words rushed out of your mouth with surprise.
He nodded, still not facing you. He was clearly nervous about the whole thing.
"I would love to." Your voice was small, but you were definitely smiling like an idiot.
Peter turned to you, somehow looking more surprised than how you felt, and immediately pulled you into his large arms.
The night was wonderful and one of those rare times when you got to see Peter in a suit. It was a date, but it didn't feel that way since you were both so comfortable, making stupid quippy jokes and making fun of each other. Sure, it was fancier than going bowling or going to Burger King, but it felt the same in a good way. You didn't feel forced to be a different person, even in nice clothes and Peter could be himself without worrying about his past.
You couldn't have asked for a better night as you said goodbye to Peter at his apartment, allowing him to lean down and place a kiss onto your forehead.
"I don't wanna go yet." you whispered into his ear as you hugged him, playing with his fluffy brown locks.
"You can stay if you want." he told you, rubbing circles into the small of your back.
You pulled away from the hug and smiled before realizing that you were staring at his lips. He giggled and subconsciously leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You pulled at his hair with a smile into the kiss and he shut the door behind the both of you.
When you woke up in his arms, his hair puffed out like a bird, you knew that this was the best choice made in years.
~~~~~
into the spiderverse masterlist | pinned post
2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated
~~~~~
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I just saw a post about an Ao3 writer who took down their fanfic because they were salty that they were not getting enough comments on their work & is now bitterly only emailing updates to those who did comment, and I cannot express more how deranged that kind of behavior is for a creator.
You are not entitled to the type of engagement you like on your work.
If your main motivation for creating is for that engagement, then you're just an attention whore.
Yes, writers love detailed diatribes on how much you love our work, but we can’t hold shit hostage over our fans like that. I know I've said this multiple times over the years on here because every time I saw one of those posts circulate that basically tried to guilt trip people into commenting on fan works for the sake of the creator, it made me roll my eyes so hard they flew into orbit.
"Comments motivate me to continue writing!" Yes, they're a great endorphin boost, but it's not on consumers to compensate for your insecurities.
"It's rude to consume what I create & not leave a comment!" I highly doubt that you took the time to write a Letterbox review on a movie/submit a book review/post a detailed analysis of a music album, etc for every piece of media you've ever liked. Does that mean you don’t appreciate the people who made it?
"I'm not getting paid for it so the least people can do is like & comment!" Unfortunately, even if you were getting paid, you still are not entitled to engagement. The vast majority of consumers partake in their media of choice quietly. Your injured ego is not changing that.
"If you don't comment, then the algorithm will ignore me!" Do you want fake, forced interactions for the sake of maybe a 1% boost in a fickle algorithm or do you want sincere & freely given feedback?
"How else am I supposed to know people want to see more of my work if they don't comment?" This is where you have to divest from needing an undetermined amount of outside validation to do what you allegedly love to do.
If you find yourself having trouble continuing on a creative project, it's fine to take a step back and re-center yourself. But do not lash out at your audience; it's a terrible look & it will not garner you the results that you want. If you let yourself be puppeted by the desires of randos who can & will turn against you the moment you stop being a content vending machine, you will burn out FAST.
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☆ 3 jaemin the virgin sacrifice
❝ i hope the board demon takes jaemin. ❞
⌗ NOTE 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 hi!!!! what's going on with you ☺️?? okay the xiaojun fic is about finished and this week im practically going to be GONE (regents week + my winter formal this friday) so this is like my last update before i crawl into my hole and suffer.. um i hope this somehow makes someones monday better and i'll see you this weekend hopefully with xiaojun 👍
⌗ WORD COUNT 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 1.4k
⌗ PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT
"WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU DOING?"
it is currently nine pm, the shift today tired you, but not enough for you to drop everything and immediately head to bed, though you wanted to do that, your body wouldn't exactly just let you. you had the sudden urge to draw an architectural sketch of a house, it was like when you drank an espresso shot and then had the sudden urge to bake cookies afterward (you hope that's normal for most people— you hope). you understand why renjun walks in and is instantly concerned.
"this is how i de-stress" you reply, continuing your sketch, but all renjun does is narrow his eyes, trying his best to judge your behavior nicely.
"you look more stressed than anything" renjun clicks his tongue, taking another sip of his tea. "have you tried to sleep at all today?"
"i can't sleep!" you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air. you end up startling renjun, who jumps back at the volume of your yell. "sleep is practically impossible at this might, i'm just trying to distract myself" you say, giving him your run of the mill fake smile.
renjun blinks, then sighs, knowing there's nothing he could say to convince you to stop working. so, he rubs his temples and shakes his head. "alright then, i made us dinner, come eat".
"i'm not hungry—"
"y/n, come eat or i'm going to force feed you".
the threat, though presumably a false one considering renjun never actually puts his hands on people, somehow scares you enough that you drop your pen, rolling your sketch up and finally taking your hands off it since you began it a good two hours ago.
"have your parents still been urging you to visit them?" renjun asks, though his words are muffled because there's a spoonful of fried rice in his mouth. he covers his mouth and clears his throat, still awaiting your answer.
"yes, but they always get mad when i inform them i can't just not attend my classes to visit them" you lean your head on your hand, moving your spoon around in your meal, not really having an appetite.
"don't play with your food" renjun scolds like a mom, giving you that familiar but rare cold glare, the type he always gives to donghyuck or jaemin when they do something fairly idiotic. "eat".
"okay okay" you frown, and renjun just smiles, feeling victorious. "don't kill me".
renjun smiles a totally non–threatening smile and just hums. "i'll consider it".
"DID YOU KNOW WE SELL OUIJA BOARDS HERE?"
you look up from your phone and at jaemin, who stands before you holding, low and behold, a ouija board. a small chuckle escaped your lips as you stare at the display, and you can hear jisung's gasp from behind you. "ooh! we do?"
"we should try it".
mark's statement is met with immediate rebuttal from the rest of your coworkers, which is a huge surprise to you, because knowing them, you assumed that they would've been elated at the opportunity to summon something from a ouija board at work.
"are you crazy? yoon would kill is if we somehow summoned a demon in the store" chenle crosses his arms as he deadpans at the eldest of the group, you laugh at the way he isn't inherently against the idea of using the board, he just doesn't want to get in trouble for summoning a demon using the board.
"we should sacrifice jaemin to the board demons" donghyuck comments absentmindedly, the empty tone of his voice causes for mark to burst out laughing, pretty much dying right there at the counter. "like those virgin sacrifices that happen in movies".
"jaemin's a virgin?" jeno asks, as if that was the most concerning thing about donghyuck's words. the words make you snort, and jaemin's jaw just drops as he stares at all of you.
chenle turns the other way and crosses his arms, trying to not make his giggling obvious, jeno glances at all of you, still waiting for an answer to his question. donghyuck isn't laughing though, just looks at jeno and scrunches his nose.
"that wasn't— how is that all you got out of the conversation!?"
"i heard jaemin and virgin sacrifice in the same sentence so i put two and two together!"
and you might be asking— why aren't you guys doing your jobs? well sunday's are never busy, and even if you do get customers, they usually just do things on their own and only come to you to check out, ask for something minor, or just pay for their stuff and go.
so really, sunday's are just free days for you, all the eight of you do is stick around, probably do some missing schoolwork, and gossip (okay that's mostly donghyuck and chenle, but everyone participates in it once in a while), and while you know that's probably not what you should be doing when you can be restocking shelves or cleaning messes on the floor, but whenever you guys have a chance, you like to be lazy.
"speak of demons.." chenle mutters, pointing towards the door, where your manger can be seen on his way in.
donghyuck quickly hides his phone, and jaemin totally not suspiciously throws the ouija board on the ground, out of sight. "good morning" jeno politely greets, but the older man is anything but polite.
"it's almost twelve thirty".
"good afternoon then!" though his correction comes off as sweet, there's no hiding the obvious distaste in his voice, and jeno has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes because he doesn't want to be written up for "disrespect".
"how was yesterday?"
you laugh awkwardly, twirling your finger between your finger. now you could so easily eat jisung out and let him face the punishment he should face for the idiotic stunt he pulled the day prior, so you bite your inner cheek and do not say the words that laid on your tongue.
"fine, fine" you say, and it comes out so casually that it really seems like that's it. you can pretty much feel jisung's inner sigh of relief as you say those words.
"really?" he raises an eyebrow, totally suspicious, and you nod again, so so awkwardly that renjun has to touch your arm as a way to tell you to 'stop nodding'.
"i heard something about.. a fire?"
you awkwardly laugh out loud again, and you feel donghyuck pinch you, hard, as a way to say "cut it out and act natural".
"oh that was.." you pause, trying to figure out what exactly to say. "that was a false alarm! i left food on the microwave for too long and wasn't paying attention, so the fire alarm went off!"
you are so impressed with yourself, because you came up with that lie so fast it was like that scenario actually happened, if you weren't so anxious right now, you'd look like a natural, but you are currently very anxious, but you manage to keep standing.
well— that's mostly because jeno is rubbing your back, coaxing you just enough that you don't feel like you'll breakdown anytime soon.
"okay then.." he narrows his eyes weirdly at the eight of you, but you all just pretend that nothing is wrong. "make sure to.. you know, do your jobs?"
"yep!"
"we got you boss!"
the moment he leaves the room, you finally let out the breath you'd been keeping in for a good few minutes. your stomach curls uncomfortably, and you feel as if there's bile sitting in your throat.
you have no idea why you felt so bad, it's not like you haven't lied to your boss before, but this one time just makes you feel horrible, sick even.
"i'm gonna throw up".
you don't even try to talk to your fellow coworkers, just brush past them and make your way to the bathroom, having no time for any more small talk.
your day was just going amazing!
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It is TIME to countdown!
Winterhawkhood-tober starts October 1st! To prepare for this incredible event where we will flood the world with winterhawkhood content, check out:
-The SEVEN bingo theme cards
-Prompt Request list (will be updated as requests come in)
-31 Days of Prompts Master List
The AO3 Collection
Friends, foes, family - this is going to be epic.
Bingo Cards:
Prompt Requests:
Prompt Requests from fellow fans! These are free to use and can be used as much and in as many ways as possible:
If you send in requests to this blog we will continue to update the list!
From blubblesandink
-Mr. And Mrs. Smith AU/ mistaken identity
-soft spot for animals(willing to act heinous towards humans, but saves a puppy)
-Bro you really live like this? (Ie, break into their house and then make it better)
-Eiffel Tower
From Taxi-cab-to-slowtown:
-Jason/Clint/Bucky/plus one or more
From Claraxbarton:
-Rule 63: different gender(s)
------
31 Days Prompt Masterlist
Below are 31 Days worth of prompts. These are very general, with each day featuring one (1) dialogue prompt and three (3) other prompts. Feel free to respond to as many or as few as you like! There is some overlap from bingo cards to these prompts.
Day 1:
“You were right.”
-Different Robin
-On the run
-Friends with benefits
Day 2:
“You lied to me.”
-Royalty
-Friends to lovers
-Breakfast in bed
Day 3:
“How long have you known?”
-Healing
-Karaoke
-High School Reunion
Day 4:
“I wish I’d never met you.”
-Fake dating
-sex toys
-stakeout
Day 5:
“Wait, are you ticklish?”
-Wedding
-Avengers Team
-bad pick up lines
Day 6:
“Do you trust me?”
-Enemies to lovers
-backstory connection
-seeking/wanted ad
Day 7:
“Miss me, sweetheart?”
-cardigan
-kissing in the rain
-being in a crowd
Day 8:
“Please.”
-shaving
-stargazing
-mission
Day 9:
“You don’t have to say it”
-clothes sharing
-picnic
-beach
Day 10:
“I’m not a monster.”
-dating app
-baking
-identity porn/mistaken identity
Day 11:
“I told you not to touch that.”
-Sleeping
-canon divergent
-late
Day 12:
“You weren’t supposed to laugh.”
-sexting
-time travel
-co-workers
Day 13:
“Did you hear that?”
-autumn
-one bed
-matchmaking
Day 14:
“I deserve it.”
-coffee
-dancing
-secret dating
Day 15:
“I want to take care of you.”
-house/pet/baby sitting
-meet ugly
-hobby
Day 16:
“Is that my gun?”
-sex work
-modern/canon fusion
-love triangle
Day 17:
“I don’t remember.”
-size difference
-historical
-bets
Day 18:
“I remember.”
-Accidental
-military
-hand holding
Day 19:
“I’ve missed this.”
-Urban fantasy
-neighbors
-intimacy
Day 20:
“It’s three in the morning.”
-Sports
-horror
-vacation
Day 21:
“I can explain.”
-Writer
-shopping
-movie night
Day 22:
“I thought you were dead.”
-FUBAR
-arranged marriage
-hugs
Day 23:
“Then tell me the truth.”
-parent
-haunted
-sacrifice
Day 24:
“How much of that did you hear?”
-Academic AU
-bad luck
-savior
Day 25:
“I hate this feeling?”
-Olympics
-injury
-conflict resolution
Day 26:
“Don’t you dare walk away.”
-ballet
-allergies
-family
Day 27:
“Tell me a story.”
-Gotham
-costumes
-apologizing
Day 28:
“One last kiss.”
-pornography
-uniforms
-platonic
Day 29:
“Go fuck yourself.”
-blind date
-holiday/special occasion
-Western AU
Day 30:
“You left me.”
-surprise party
-bar
-drunk
Day 31:
“I can explain about last night.”
-pining
-lingerie
-one night stand
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halcyon 1/2
pairing: morpheus x f!reader | rating: E | words: 5.2k | ao3
tags: #1 emo boy’s coping strategy being avoidance?, checks out, halloween party, the mask comes off, pining, angst, jealousy, possessiveness, semi-public sex, exhibition kink, fluff, no use of y/n,
summary: Getting ghosted by a literal dream felt... very small. A niche subgroup that you couldn’t really turn to anyone about – and that you’d rather not even belong to in the first place.
or
That time Morpheus doesn’t keep his promise.
Until he does.
a/n: the sequel to influx is here! tags will be updated when part 2 is posted. hope y'all enjoy, let me know what worked and what didn’t<3
The party has been going on for a couple of hours now. Your friend has all but abandoned you to go after some situationship, leaving you with acquaintances who you barely recognize beneath the layers of greasepaint and masks of different movie slashers.
Weight shifting on your feet, you look around.
The guy your friend has roped you into seeing rounds the corner, mask tilted to the side as he grins at you. He’s dressed as that slasher from Friday the 13th; or at least, you think so. A hockey mask sits tilted to one side of his face, jaw and jowls smeared in sticky fake blood, costume haphazardly put together with a bloodied orange prison uniform.
Everyone needed a costume to get in – your friends had made sure you weren’t able to sit this one out because of a lack of it. And so, you got put in a deliberately skimpy outfit — bare shoulders with a low cut, and stay ups.
Pretty. Flattering. Inviting.
Even if it still was up to interpretation as to exactly what you were supposed to be.
“Thought I lost you.” He holds out the can of generic brand hard seltzer towards you, smiling.
That was unlikely. You hadn’t moved on an inch from where he’d left you, and you fight the urge to raise a doubtful brow.
You don’t really remember his name (was it Josh? John? James? … Jason? the outfit would be eerily fitting, in that case, maybe even on the verge of bad taste), just that he’s shown interest before at some mutual event. Hung around, asked about you, added you on your socials afterwards. Liked every picture posted and swiped up on every story, heart and fire emojis in abundance.
You’ve blown him off with that easy, breezy way that you use on people you have no real interest in. Let him down easy, not wanting to cause a scene. He is, after all, on the fringes of your friend group, and it would be sad to make that circle any smaller than it already is.
So, you’ve let Josh put his hand on your hip, fingers splaying out against the small of your back. Let him get a good look down your cleavage every time he so much as turns to look at you. Let him guide you into conversations with that hold on you, like you might vanish into thin air if he lets you out of sight, or as if you might get stolen away by some other adversary.
With a small thanks, you accept the drink. The crack and fizz as you open it and take a sip fills the void for long enough that Josh starts talking again, ushering you back into the crowded living room with his hand on your hip, too low to just be friendly.
And why not? It wasn’t like Morpheus had been around.
At first, the visits had continued. As he had suggested.
Morpheus would appear at the oddest times – in the middle of your living room, or in your bedroom. One time, you’d stepped out of the shower and gotten a real fright, much to his smug amusement.
And it wasn’t as if he’d just show up and fuck you through the nearest available surface, as you might’ve suspected first. No, he was good company, too.
If you offered dinner, he’d accept, even help (he would, however, not eat much, only poke the food around, despite trying everything). If he was still around in the morning, you’d wake up with his arms around you. It had even gone so far that you would make enough coffee for the both of you in the mornings – a new addition to your daily routine.
Perhaps you had grown a bit attached, as he had alluded to. More days than not he would come around. And you had certainly grown accustomed to having him around; that there would be twin pairs of cutlery and plates in your dishrack at the end of the day.
And if you didn’t want to… well, you hadn’t found yourself in that particular predicament yet.
If you asked, he’d even come along on errands. He wouldn’t say much to anyone else – just listen in on your interactions with cashiers and clerks, observe those around you with a slightly guarded expression. One time he had even joined you on some silly little non-errands; collecting parcels and treating yourself to coffee and cake.
Hadn’t even protested or pulled away when you wrapped your arm around his on the way home. You had, of course, done everything to make the gesture seem natural and not the carefully planned and orchestrated action it had been, heart thumping in your chest the entire time.
In fact, you had thought he looked rather pleased at the casual affection.
After getting home that day, he managed to run up your water bill some more. Barely let you get into your apartment before he was on you.
Hair wet and clinging to his face, eyes glimmering up at you as he let you dangle on the precipice of yet another orgasm.
You wet your lips with another sip of your drink, trying to rid the image of Morpheus on his knees in your shower.
It was as if he had vanished without a trace. Slipped through your fingers like sand.
A month had passed. From the beginning of October to the end of it — only really dragged to this particular Halloween party by your friends because you were a moping mess most of the time that refused to elaborate as to why your mood was so depleted.
Morpheus had used you. It— it had worked. You were out of his hair – no longer his problem. He had taken back what had been unwillingly bestowed upon you at that first meeting, so many weeks ago, and left you high and dry.
It had been what you wanted; the ability to get your rocks off had definitely returned. But now, you acquired another, different, problem. Every orgasm was fueled by thoughts of him; making up for lost time, masturbation statistics shooting up faster than rent in a gentrified neighborhood. All of them subsidized with new fantasies, no– memories replaying across your retina.
Still quivering from the comedown, Morpheus lodged inside you, grinding deep, almost too deep for comfort. Lean arms wrapping around your torso, slender fingers digging into the softness of your sides, pulling you down in union with his raised pelvis. Hips pistoning, tapping repeatedly upwards, until you wail into the crook of his neck, unable to do anything but letting him take what he needs.
Thighs rubbing together, you shift on your feet, inhaling through your nose, steadying yourself from thinking more about any sexual ventures.
As the days turned to weeks with no further call or interaction from Morpheus, not even the merest whisper in your dreams (that had all returned to the same boring routine of your teeth falling out or other mishaps) that he cared, you had started to suspect that he... had forgotten about you.
Used you for the purpose he had stated and then left. That you were nothing more than a means to an end.
And sure, that happened. Not like you’d been a virgin, or even inexperienced in the one night stand department—
It just—
He had not seemed like the type to instill false hope into you.
But as time passed you couldn’t help but feel as if that was the case.
Why had he stuck around then?
Getting ghosted by a literal dream felt... very small. A niche subgroup that you couldn’t really turn to anyone about – and that you’d rather not even belong to in the first place.
Was it something you said? Something you did? You had recounted every interaction, every exchange like a heartbroken teenager, trying to find a reason for the abrupt end. Even shed a few tears about it in the dark of night.
Maybe it had been true, what he had called you – lonely girl. So desperate for a connection that this mere fling of intimacy had your heart soaring, had brightened your days enough to make you actually look forward to them.
Suddenly despondent, you take another sip of your drink, feigning a smile as Josh finishes yet another story that has the cluster of people surrounding you laughing. Again.
Really, you had thought you’d even gotten better at reading Morpheus’ cues. The little telltale signs that he wanted to touch you, wanted you to touch him, that he needed to leave or that he found whatever it was that you dragged him along to was particularly amusing. Even with your limbs entwined in bed, you had gotten better at figuring out his cues – exactly how he wanted to be kissed, wanted to have you.
Had you been wrong all along?
Perhaps it was the same as what you were doing to Josh. Leading him on by not swatting away his hand the moment it landed on your hip, by laughing along at a bad joke he told. Instilling him with hope, the promise, that you would go home with him, maybe even let him pull you into one of the many vacant bedrooms on the floor above and let him do as he pleased.
Maybe you were the same as Morpheus.
Maybe you deserved what he’d done to you – how he’d left you. Alone and hoping. A thin layer of something like sand in his wake you’d spent the good part of two days finding scattered across your apartment and which you had subsequently vacuumed up, cursing him under your breath the entire time.
Thoughts turning dark, you zone out all the noise, the music, the people, around you; the bass is the only thing you feel, thrumming through your system.
In the peripheral of your vision, something moves. Barely, you turn around in vice like grip Josh still has on your hip, eyes searching in a crowd of muddled and masked faces–
A person, dressed in all black moves through the crowd, just a few feet away. A mask so unusual that it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before covers their face; made up of a long, boney appendage and tinted pieces of glass shielding the eye sockets. Around you, people stop and stare, almost startled as they’re passed by. No one makes any moves to approach the mysterious figure, letting them pass by as if all they’re seeing is a mere stranger on the street.
The stranger doesn’t seem to mind, no– notice, any of the odd looks.
Instead, the scarlet glass covered eyes lock with yours, eerily familiar.
A shiver races through your system.
As if nothing has happened, noise fills your ears again, loud music reverberating through your system, everyone around you seemingly forgetting the sight of the wispy form of a stranger.
What was that?
“Just gonna get another drink,” you mumble, barely giving any mind to pleasantries for the moment, untangling yourself.
“You just got one.” Josh’s brow furrows momentarily. Instantly, you’re reminded that he was the one who got the can for you, that hurt tinges the fringes of his voice. Like he’s a puppy you’ve just kicked.
“Not a big fan of cherry.” You lie on the spot, scrunching your nose up and shaking the can back and forth. “I’ll be right back,” you add over your shoulder, hitting him with the most charming, reassuring smile as you leave to investigate.
The eyes that you feel lingering over your rear are unmistakably his.
Quickly, you act, intent on not losing track of the figure.
You don’t know what you saw — just that you feel inexplicably drawn to it. The mask was weird, in an uncannily familiar way; as if you’ve seen it somewhere, passed it by in a shop window without sparing it a single thought. With its giant bug eyes it would’ve looked like an overgrown dragonfly if it wasn’t for the spine-like mouthpiece – and surely, you think you would remember seeing that.
Getting through the crowd is easy; and as you move into the hallway you swear you catch something moving towards the end of the staircase.
Tendrils of black smoke lick at the varnished wood posts going up to the second floor. They curl upwards and inwards like tails, a soft beckoning motion, before vanishing into thin air, one after another.
And like a dog on a leash – you follow.
The last wisp of dark shadow sneaks around the bend, just enough that you don’t miss it. Drink willfully abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, you start the climb upwards.
A long corridor greets you, filled with large wooden doors in the darkest of oak, dimly lit and foreboding.
Hand on the stair post as you twist around, already forming a plan to start your search at the shorter end of the hallway when you feel it.
Maybe it’s some primal instinct from when humans were prey more than predator – but the hair on the back of your neck prickles, feeling the weight of a presence behind you.
Your breath hitches.
Slowly, as if any sudden movements would scare them off, you turn around.
Your own reflection stares back at you, painted red like guts. It’s even stranger up close, the mask; all metal and stone, glass and bone. Much more of a helm than a mask, you note.
“... Morpheus?”
A ruby dangles around his neck, crimson like thick blood.
“Take off the mask, it’s creepy.” You say, suddenly uneasy at seeing yourself in the bugeyed reflection. “You look like the cryptkeeper.”
“That’s my sister.” The voice is distorted through the helm, but sure enough – it’s him, the baritone familiar, intimately known to you. And he obliges, hair even more tousled than usual as he removes it.
“...What?” You blink, shaking that off as you take him in. Despite it all, he’s still gorgeous – the mere expanse of his neck sends a tingle through your body, trying your hardest not to stare at his Adam's apple, the lips you know are soft, that you know has kissed parts of your body that even the skimpy outfit isn’t showing off. “W—what are you doing here?”
“Attending the party.” Morpheus motions to the helmet in his hands.
“No— very funny,“ his reply shifts you off key, like it’s impossible that he would be here for that simple reason alone. Regaining your footing in the midst of emotions filling you is harder than it should be, and all you manage is a scoff, shrugging. “I wouldn't know. Not like you’ve been around.”
His eyes roll over you, taking in the costume, the carefully guarded tone you’ve chosen, before he replies. “Circumstances have gotten… complicated.”
By your sides, your hands form fists, jaw clenching.
“Great fucking excuse,” you smack a hand into his chest. Him being here doesn’t make you feel any less jilted, any less upset–
The impact doesn’t even seem to faze him, only meeting the resistance of his chest, but momentarily, his dark brows pull down. “I do not expect you to understand.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol in your system making you braver, angrier, but you voice raises above the conversational volume you’ve kept, no longer able to keep the hurt in your chest contained–
“Understand? How hard is it for you, of all people, to let me know in a fucking dream or whatever that you didn’t want more than—“
From the foot of the stairs, someone calls out your name.
You’ve taken too long. Now, Josh is looking for you, intent on leading you towards the end he has imagined all evening.
“It’s Josh,“ your whisper sounds panicked, even to your own ears as you turn towards the sound.
“A friend?”
You don’t hide your eyeroll at his terse tone. “Just some dude—“
Morpheus scoffs.
At once, your head whips back to meet his gaze.
He’s frowning at you, like a skulking child.
“Are you serious?” You’re still whispering, and you’re not sure why. “You can’t be seriously upset that I– that I–”
What was it that you were doing, really? Replacing him by leading along a guy who's had it bad for you since the moment he laid eyes on you? At the realization, the way you’ve clipped your own tongue, you decide that you don’t particularly feel like talking to Morpheus anymore.
“You left me.” You simply hiss, turning back to hurry down the stairs.
You’re gearing up to answer Josh’s call, air rushing to your lungs – when slender fingers wrap around your elbow.
Instead, all that leaves your lips is a startled sound as Morpheus shoves you into an empty bedroom, seemingly exerting no strength while doing so.
“Hey!” You protest.
Morpheus hushes you, actually hushes you, as he leads the way with you in front of him, out on the bedroom's adjoining balcony.
Below, the garden is alive with people. Fairy lights twinkle, people in masks and costumes laughing and drinking, music still loud enough to be heard outside. The lights are a bit redundant; a full moon sits fat and round in the sky, illuminating the scene in pale light – a perfect addition to the Halloween party. No one thinks of looking up – or at least, you hope so as Morpheus presses you against him, your back to his front.
Now, he was the one with a front row seat to look down your cleavage.
“Stop,” your fingers snag around his wrist, about to struggle to get free, to make the distance more controlled, “let me go.”
“Quiet,” he retorts, “they’ll find us.”
“It’s all your f—“ the words are cut off as his fingers smarts a garter against the soft plump of your thigh.
You gasp, momentarily stunned before you’re readying up to turn around and smack him again when his grip tightens.
“Quiet.” The command is repeated in a whisper right by your ear, punctuated by a pinch to your thigh. Pulling you tighter against him, slender fingers digging into the natural curve of your waist, making sure the two of you are shielded from the inside of the bedroom.
Warm fingers soothe the hurt on your thigh, even warmer breaths hitting the soft skin of your neck. Gods, you’ve shivered for less.
And, you feel compelled to listen to him, heart beating at the pit of your throat, adrenaline surging through your system.
Like a bloodhound on a trail – Josh has followed you.
Even from out on the balcony, you hear him in the hallway, looking for you, accompanied by someone.
The hands on your midriff move upwards.
“Where could she have gone?” Josh’s weary sigh is audible enough that you realize he’s right outside the bedroom door now.
Fingers with light pressure behind them trail up against your ribcage, taking their time before reaching their goal.
“Not over ‘ere,” responds the other voice, slightly slurred.
Tucking his head against your shoulder, Morpheus’ hands curve up from below, cupping your tits in his broad hands. Pushing them up like the most scandalous push-up bra would, molding them against his hands as you wriggle in his hold and you think you could curse him now. Heat starts flowing through your veins, and he has to know, feel it through the layers of clothing separating you, embarrassment and want stoked like a fire by his attention.
“So responsive,” he whispers, a thumb following the natural curve on the underside of one breast, a hot trail left in its wake, testing the plumpness of you with easy pressure.
Deftly, the soft pads of his fingers shift ever so slightly, hooking in the hem of your already low neckline, and slowly, slowly, drags the fabric down.
Stiff and aching, your nipples tighten even further as your breasts spill out and meet the cold night air.
Finally, you gasp out loud.
Anyone could look up from the garden below, see you–
Morpheus tuts, right by your ear, a quiet reminder of his earlier command.
The door handle to the bedroom is pulled down.
At once, you freeze.
You hear Josh tentatively call out your name again, peeking around the room.
Warm hands move downwards, gleaming eyes following the path from the valley between your bared breasts.
“Do you think she ran away?”
Beneath the layers of your skirts, fingers ghosts over your mons pubis, stroking your innermost thighs with a soft touch, until he’s cupping your cunt in his hand. Toying with the crease of wetness that’s obviously there, that has the gusset of your underwear sticky, fingers skirting against your folds as his palm grinds down, pressure applied to your clit.
“Be just like her to just vanish, wouldn't it?”
It feels so good, warm honey spreading across your limbs, and you’re hazy with want, body reacting with a full body rush as his touch ignites your body, a thin sheet of sweat breaking out across your skin. Even when your hand grasps around the wrist moving under your skirts, it’s half hearted – you don’t actually want him to stop. He knows exactly what makes you tick, what makes you putty in his hands.
Perhaps it would feel like losing a battle if it didn’t feel so damn good.
His touch has that effect on you – soothing the anger, overpowering it with pleasure.
The conversation, the noise, the people below in the garden, is all buzzed out from his hands on you.
Someone sighs something – and this time you hear nothing, only the small huff from Morpheus by your shoulder, the low whisper of your name as your legs start to tremble.
His head buries into your neck – incisors finding soft skin and biting down, tongue slowly alleviating the trail of stinging sharpness he leaves in his wake. A large hand comes to rest against your sternum, keeping you to him tightly, fingers tracing against your collarbones, thumb slowly drawing circles at the divot of your throat, protective, possessive.
A digit strokes around the perimeter of your still covered core, but stays withholding. You bite your lip to keep from whining, eyes squeezing shut as you swivel your hips, trying to entice it to enter you, give you anything to clench down on.
If they– if they stepped closer to the balcony, leaned out the expensive lead framed windows, they would catch you. They’d find you entangled with a stranger; one of his hands tucked under your skirt, tits out on display like a heathen. Embarrassment courses hotly through your veins, the mere prospect of getting caught making a new rush of wet soak Morpheus’ fingers.
It’s not something you should want – but it’s been part of your daydreams enough time that Morpheus has to know, has to be intrinsically aware of what this does to you, the thrill of being seen. Just how little he seems to care if someone catches you is only reinforced by the press of a digit to your center, willing you to come apart under him, coaxing– no, daring more sounds to spill from your lips.
Blood pounds in your ears, almost deafening, shutting out everything around you, making you careless–
Before the first, proper moan has time to make it past your mouth Morpheus has it covered with a hand, as if he had felt it vibrating in your throat. The ministrations between your legs don’t even pause, no reprieve awarded you. Two fingers even make it past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, muffling more sounds – it’s mere instinct, but you still suck on the digits, wrapping your lips around them.
You melt into it, into him, a puddle of want as he unravels you, working you like only he knows how to.
The click of the door shutting reverberates through the room.
Instantly, Morpheus' hand is off your mouth.
Gossamer spit still connects your mouth to his fingers. He presses them together in front of the both of you, spit glistening as he inspects them.
“You were saying?” He breathes by your ear.
The haze that’s settled over your mind is dispelled.
“Forget it.” You pull away from him with a start, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, tugging the neckline back up over your bare chest. In the stark moonlight his eyes glimmer as if there’s stars in them as he watches you right your clothing.
“It seems you have moved on.” He remarks, too casually. As if he deliberates on congratulating you on finding someone interested in you.
“Stop it. You’re the one who hasn’t—“
A million demands for explanations, reprimands and sour, hurtful words fill your mind, all of them sitting at the tip of your tongue. A hot sting of tears also tetters dangerously on your lower lash line, ready to burst through – you force that down deep, deep inside. Gods, were you that desperate? Maybe that was why you’d thrown yourself at the first person to show you an ounce of attention as soon as the realization that Morpheus had left you settled in.
Except… he hadn’t.
He was standing in front of you, on the balcony of some Halloween party you got dragged to. Even brought a mask for the occasion.
The cold breeze lightly tousles his dark hair as he peers down at you imploringly. You knew what that hair felt like, the texture of it, had wrapped locks of it around your fingers. Had run your fingers through it, tugged and tousled and smoothed it and done everything in between to it.
Wrapping your arms around yourself now that his heat isn’t there to shield you from the chilly night air, you start again. “Is that why you’re here? Because someone took your spot?”
You wish you could text him, or had some way of contacting him that wasn’t dependent on him being receptive to your advances (or on him simply making those advances first). All this had done was leave you with a feeling of being stranded – no way of knowing when or even if he was coming back. Stuck in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean.
You huff. “It’s not like I can get a hold of you.”
“I am not available at mosts’ beck and call.” The way he says it makes you feel like you’re getting a parental scolding. “My realm is vast, my duties never ending. Other matters have needed my attention–”
Nails dig into your palms. Imprudent, you cut him off.
“If you wanted to, you would.”
He looks like he’s never been interrupted in his entire life. Probably hasn’t – being who he is.
What he is.
Oh–
Where he came from is the place between the stars and the sky, the unexplored trenches of the sea, the still hidden places of this earth that you knew nothing of.
Endless, an ebb and flow you can’t even begin to comprehend. Millenia of consciousness in one person– no, in one being.
Suddenly, you feel stupid. Infinitely small and insignificant. An amoeba in the grand scheme of things.
The tears feel a lot closer to spilling over your lash line than they did before.
“And,” Morpheus finally says, as if he’s been privy to the thoughts racing through your mind, “I tend to forget how differently time is perceived by mortals.”
It’s not an apology. But you feel as if he’s admitting something he never has to anyone else, ever.
You fight away the unbidden fat tears with the back of your hand, voice only wavering slightly. “How– how did you know where I was?”
“I haven’t been completely idle in seeing to that your well-being was kept,” he pauses, scowling at the wetness of your eyes, words hanging in the air before he continues, “up to standards.”
Not that you’ve been well – he’s not using that particular terminology to describe the state you’ve been in. Because well, you hadn’t. Probably, he knows exactly how mopey and depressed you’ve been, sitting around waiting for him to arrive, to make good on his promise.
It– it must’ve been something urgent needing his attention if he didn’t come to you, didn’t let you know, despite that.
Intuitively, you sense that he doesn’t want to discuss that with you, what had caused him to be so swallowed up he couldn’t even bother giving you a dream version of a wyd? – atleast, not now. No matter what kind of talents you may have acquired for the arcane, there were many things you didn’t understand, that you didn’t know about Morpheus.
“How?” You ask instead.
“A raven.”
“A raven?”
CAW
As if on cue, a raven takes flight. Almost silent, the large wings spread out as it takes off, the leaves from the tree it had been perched in parting softly to let the watcher in the canopy pass.
“His name is Matthew.”
The raven circles high above you, cawing again in greeting, corvid outline stark against the brightness of the full moon.
“I’ve never met a crow named Matthew.” You say, eyes stuck on the bird in the sky.
“I’ll have to introduce you.”
You laugh at that – the first unfeigned laugh of the evening, of the past weeks.
Morpheus’ face cracks, if only slightly. A secret uptick of his mouth as he takes in your smile, the sound of your joy.
Without any further prompting, you feel your walls fall. It’s disarming, seeing him again. Hearing him. Being near him. It’s as if your magnetic field shifts – you want to orbit closer to him, want to stray from your already pre-designed course if it meant being just an inch closer to him. A gravitational pull as natural as the ocean’s ebb and flow controlling the tide.
Slowly, you inch closer to Morpheus. Arms wrap around his narrow middle, pressing closer, resting the side of your head against his chest, nuzzling into the dark fabric, the feel of coarse fibers against your skin a reminder that it’s real. He feels warm — decidedly warmer than the chilly, almost November air.
You whisper into the textile, voice small as you speak, as if he’ll disappear if you let him go.
“I’ve missed you.”
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then, his arms circle your frame, keeping you tight against him.
It feels wonderful, being in his arms, being close to him after so long. Breathing in his scent, as ineffable as everything about him.
The full moon sits fat and round in the sky, painting the both of you in pale light. It frames him well, you think, enhancing the dark of his hair, his gleaming eyes. The cloak, almost night itself, shields you from some of it, covers your sides as he cages your form, envelopes you.
If someone looked up from the garden, they would only see two lovers embracing.
Quick, and before you lose your nerve, you rise up on your tiptoes, giving him a peck on his chin, soft and unassuming.
At once, Morpheus has your face cradled in his hands, thumbs tracing against cheekbones, brushing away remnants of wetness still lingering, lips ghosting over your forehead, before he leans down and finally, finally, kisses you.
The wind tousles both of your hair, chilly and cold. You don’t notice it, barely feel the icy needles digging into your exposed skin – only feel the fire inside you, the molten core reginiting, atoms vibrating from the exchange of heat between you, returning the kiss in kind.
You think he missed you too.
-
thank u all for the love on influx<33 i am so happy so many of you liked it! please let me know your thoughts, i love comments and tags and hearing your opinions, it fuels me. let me know what worked and what didn’t.
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After suffering through Ghosted and Grayman, both of which I watched weeks or months after they came out, I cannot tell you how disinterested I am in Red One. There’s no movies to look forward to or Marvel style press where you got funny interviews and interactions with his costars. You literally wanted to be friends with them all. If I hadn’t seen them on screen together I would’ve guessed that Ryan Gosling and him never met and now I just think they don’t like each other. Seeing Ryan do press for Barbie vs Grayman is eye opening. Even his remaining fans don’t seem to find Chris likable anymore, you only see them talk about his past roles not him as an actor and personality which is something he traded on for decades. They find him fake and feel tricked which is his prerogative, but again, these same remaining fans all admit he doesn’t have the acting chops to fall back on and that they would cast other actors in most roles he would be up for. He lost so many long standing fans on all platforms including tumblr (I can’t believe half of these people are still here) and large updates accounts like the Brazilian one on Twitter. His continued “life choices” seem in place to continue alienating and dropping more every day. Maybe this is the spell on me having been broken but I don’t see how he doesn’t go right to low B list at best. The guy is already doing Cons without being under contract to do them for Marvel. And that’s fine if he wants it but he’s got a steep climb if he wants much of a career going forward.
A lot here I agree with, some things I might think a little differently about. But I think most of us understand we're now in a fandom which is contracting daily, and dwindling. Many people aren't here for him at all, they're here for Steve Rogers/Cap, and that's valid. However, that means these are not the types of fans who are going to promote or even necessarily see his future work.
I will say, though, with absolute honesty... the return to the cons threw me for a loop. It always seemed he only attended them due to the clause in his Marvel contract about promotion. But I think this looks more like a very dispassionate form of a money grab. (As a person who used to go to cons, I don't say that lightly. I always hated guests who seemed like that.)
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With BlackBerry, Matt Johnson continues to show no other director has a better understanding of our modern, media-molded minds
For those unfamiliar, Matt Johnson is a 37-year-old Canadian indie filmmaker, whose new film BlackBerry, which he co-wrote, directed, and co-stars in, was released this past week. BlackBerry charts the rise and fall of the Canadian creators and company behind the once ubiquitous “BlackBerry” smart phone, a device that’s now a relic to the pre-iphone aughts. The film chronicles the triumphs and tribulations of the phone’s creators, underdog nerds Mike Lazaridis and Dough Fregin, and cutthroat businessman and Blackberry co-CEO Jim Balsillie, who both launched the phone to its successes and helped destroy all they created. Johnson’s previous features are The Dirties, a found footage dark comedy/drama about the lives of two film obsessed high schoolers leading up to a school shooting, and Operation Avalanche, a period thriller about low level CIA agents faking the moon landing – a film in which said agents con their way into NASA, which Johnson and his crew actually did in real life when making the low budget indie film. However, Johnson’s most iconic work, and most beloved by many, is his mockumentary comedy series, which started as a web series and was later adapted to TV, Nirvanna the Band the Show. The series details the misadventures and schemes of a fictionalized version of Johnson and his friend, musician Jay McCarrol, as they try to get their band – Nirvanna the Band – a show at the Toronto restaurant and music venue “The Rivoli.” You might know this series from the now famous "Update Day" clip in which the duo sing along to the Wii shop music. In 2021, Johnson and McCarrol even made a three-episode animated children’s spin off of Nirvanna the Band, titled Matt and Bird Break Loose. A unifying aspect of much of Johnson's work is his narrative documentary style of filmmaking, often employing real people in Sacha Baron Cohen-style moments.
Something about me: I'm kind of a Matt Johnson obsessive. Any time I meet someone from Canada under the age of 40, I ask them if they've heard of Matt Johnson or Nirvanna the Band the Show. I have multiple back-up hard drives with the complete web series and TV seasons of Nirvanna the Band because it's impossible to get/find now in the US. Anytime I'm in a large media store that sells 2nd hand movies (like Amoeba Records), I religiously spend time searching to see if, by some small chance, they have one of the physical copies of The Dirties (the ones with the variant covers that look like Criterion Collection covers) - it's kinda my physical media holy grail. My DVD of Operation Avalanche is one of my most prized possessions. Hell, I’ve even tried my hand at replicating Johnson’s style numerous times, a short film I made while at film school abroad in France being the main example. So, suffice to say: I was very excited for Blackberry.
With BlackBerry Johnson is making significant stylistic and scale leaps from his previous works, “making it to the big leagues” as someone more confident than me with sports metaphors might say. It’s a bigger movie than he’s made before, getting a limited national release here in the US, by a major indie distributor (IFC), starring two sizeable, well-known actors (It’s Always Sunny in Philidelphia’s Glenn Howerton and comedy mainstay Jay Baruchel). All this far from the rag-tag, small scale, underground nature of his previous works, where the cast was the filmmakers and the biggest names involved were Vice (and its since defunct TV network) and Kevin Smith whose company distributed The Dirties. Stylistically, BlackBerry makes the jump from Johnson’s previous found footage/mockumentary movie (both terms sounding far more derisive to the idiosyncratic style of Johnson’s films than I’d like) to a fully “traditional” narrative feature. With both The Dirties and Operation Avalanche, as well as NTBTS, the characters are involved in the actual act of filmmaking, for one reason or another, and aware of the camera filming them, the cameramen being acknowledged entities. The footage you’re watching is filmed, edited, and staring the characters on screen. But, with BlackBerry, besides a fun visual gag from Glenn Howerton at the beginning of the film, the cameras exist as they would in any normal movie – invisible watchers of the events.
What makes BlackBerry and Johnson’s filmmaking so great though is that he doesn’t just abandon all semblance of his style and aesthetic, becoming some bland gun for hire, like so many indie directors plucked from festival success to helm the next cinematic toy line for Marvel. Instead, he finds ways to work his style into this more traditional film in compelling ways. While the camera is no longer literally in the story, it still hovers around the characters, with longtime Johnson DP Jared Raab often shooting through the obstruction of windows, from far away, and with the back of heads in the foreground. The camera zooms and focuses in and out of different characters and things in the moment, cinema verité style, Johnson describing in a Q&A for the film having been influenced by documentaries like Pennebaker and Hegedus’ The War Room. The looming, documentary-like camera works perfectly for this constantly manic story of slap dash, neurotic tech wizzes and on edge CEO sociopaths, the camera matching the characters nature. For this story of greed, corporate malignancy, and the loss of ideals, the camera’s living style also feels like what you’re watching is covert, hacked CCTV footage. It makes the viewer feel like they’re seeing what actually happened: secret footage from inside the office, fly on the wall stuff, intimate to these people and these conflicts.
True to the overarching motif in Johnson’s work of media’s permanent place in our cultural language and experience, Blackberry is filled visual references to other movies: from a non-diegetic montage of famous sci-fi technology over the opening credits, to scenes of the lovable band of “Research in Motion” nerds enjoying movie nights of Raiders of the Lost Ark and They Live, to movie posters lining the walls of the RIM offices and featured on Doug’s t-shirts. Johnson perfectly described how necessary referencing other media was to his film when he explained “Pop culture that we think of as just nerdy ephemera, I believe sincerely, winds up dictating what technologists create that will become the future.” Well timed needle drops help ground the work in its specific world of a nerds 1996, 2003, and 2007, and frequent Johnson collaborator (and aforementioned co-star of Nirvanna the Band) Jay McCarrol brings a pumping synth score, not too dissimilar to Trent Reznor’s work in The Social Network, but with a uniquely quirkier, lo-fi essence that fits perfectly with the indie feel of both the film itself and its subject matter.
Thankfully we’re not entirely deprived of Johnson’s charismatic, comedic screen presence in BlackBerry. While not the Orson Wells-style leading man both in front of and behind the camera he was in his previous works, he still features in Blackberry as the third of our main 3 characters, Doug Fregin, co-engineer/creator of the famous phone, who acts in a way as the film’s audience surrogate. Despite Doug being a “goof” as Balsillie describes him, he’s the heart of the main three characters, the moral center to which we compare Balsillie’s shrewd cunning, lies, and manipulations, and Lazaridis’s tragic moral downfall from tech idealist to bottom-line businessman. Doug is undoubtedly a character in the typical “Johnsonian mold” - a movie quoting, John Carpenter t-shirt and sweatband wearing, ninja turtle loving hyperactive who uses Star Wars references in business meetings. In fact, the character seems molded in the film more on Johnson than the real man, given that, as Johnson explained, he’s a “true cipher… has never done a taped interview,” leaving Johnson with room for interpretation.
However, while Johnson delivers a more lighthearted, comedy performance, as a director he pulls some impressive dramatic performances from Howerton and Baruchel. It’s true that the movie is, at its core, a dark comedy, so there’s some great comedy in the lead performances, Howerton delivering that trademark snark and unhinged rage his Always Sunny character has become known for and Baruchel with his awkward nerdiness. I have no doubt Howerton’s scene in which he, in a rage, screams “I’m from Waterloooooo! Where the vampires hang out!” - in a moment that must be seen to be believed - will become a quoted classic before long. But the characters aren’t just farce Social Network parodies, they have depth and drama to them, a credit to Johnson’s directing and Howerton and Baruchel’s acting. You feel Balsillie’s underlying insecurity and attraction to power that drives him. You hurt seeing Lazaridis slowly turning into what he once stood against and the tragedy of him reaching his ethical “point of no return” when he agrees to the BlackBerry touchscreen phone being manufactured overseas, in order to meet budget and deadline. We also get some delightful supporting performances from the likes of Saul Rubinek, Rich Sommer, Cary Elwes, and Michael Ironside as an imposing, rotund, bolo tie wearing, hard ass COO.
BlackBerry is a tragic tale of ambition and passion succumbing to ego and greed, and in so it’s not only a movie about the tech sector, but also about the struggle of making art. Lazaridis struggles, and ultimately fails, to maintain integrity while creating a technology he loves and believes in against a world run by people like Balsillie who only seek profit and status, quality be damned as long as it sells. Anyone who makes art, especially films, is up against the same problem. There will always be Mike Lazaridis and Matt Johnson’s, there will always be Jim Balsillie’s and David Zaslav’s, and there will always be a struggle between the two: art and commerce. The tragedy comes when the creator, like Lazaridis, loses their principles, and begins creating not for the love of it, but out of obligation and out of profit. The triumphs come when the creator finds a way to take what they love, what they’re good at, and what is meaningful to them, - their vision - and deliver it to the masses with the heart intact, as Johnson has done throughout his career, now with BlackBerry more than ever. It’s up to the creator to stand fast and endure to create their meaningful works, as oftentimes the sharks will get along either way, as we see in the end credits with Balsillie, who avoided any jail time for his stock fraud committed while co-CEO of BlackBerry.
While I don’t think they're for everybody, Matt Johnson's works capture the modern media deluged culture that we all exist in better than any other modern artist or filmmaker. His movies are always about movies, whether they narratively are or not, just as our lives have become subsumed by media consumption, regurgitation, and reinterpretation. We now live in a world where almost every movie and TV show is at our fingertips 24/7 - a religion, the upgrade to dreaming, the codex we classify our existence on - and his film-making style and characters reflect that. The characters, especially the characters Johnson portray, speak in a lingua franca of movies quotes. His camera is alive and involved in the action, often literally, just as our cameras and screens are every day. His editing blends the real world with the movie world, blurring the lines. His movies are not documentaries, but they’re certainly not just fiction, something in between, a dreamlike blend for our media-soaked minds. I’ve never been one good at the rigid definitions of “modernism” and “post modernism” in art, but I have to believe Johnson is the cutting edge of whatever “post-post-post…Modern” stage we’re at currently. The Dirties is about media’s role in the lives of a youth more connected but also alienated than ever before. Operation Avalanche takes the uniquely western art form of film and uses it to represent how governments often use media to manufacture their own fictions to control the public narrative. Nirvanna the Band the Show shows how media influences our everyday lives, friendships, personalities, and dreams. And now BlackBerry serves as a cautionary tale for the fate an artist can fall to if they let their work become a product instead of a passion and art. As we drift further into the oblivion of inevitable ecological, political, social collapse, media becoming the God of our reality, Matt Johnson is our guru, beaming our media-soaked psyche back on to the screen, creating innovative, funny, compelling stories of life through the lens of a movie-fed world.
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Beyond What the Lights Could Offer - Chapter 1
Soukoku Kowloon Walled City 1980s Filmmakers AU. Prepare thyself for agonisingly slow updates, a lot of references towards Hong Kong and me screaming into the void.
original fic link on AO3 (by yours truly): Beyond What the Lights Could Offer by Lemon(ivlenyxx)
May 14th 2023, 29 years, 10 months since the release of Stray Dogs.
“Nakahara-san, Dazai-dan, nearly 30 years have passed since the release of the hit movie ‘Stray Dogs’,” the interviewer says with a smile. “It has grossed over 800 million USD at the box office and many consider it a classic. Many fans have wondered ‘Just what is the story behind the film?’. Now that’s a question that’s been asked for nearly thirty years now, so we beg of you,” she claps her hands together to form a prayer gesture and bows her head. “What exactly is the story behind Stray Dogs?”
The pair sitting opposite her both chuckle, amused.
“Alright, alright. Since it’s nearly the 30th anniversary, we’ll tell you.” the man in the fedora answers.
Nakahara Chuuya, age 52, executive producer of “Stray Dogs”, sits up straighter as he ponders the question, combing through his faded copper hair with his hand; his partner, Dazai Osamu, age 51, director of “Stray Dogs”, smirks slightly, wrinkles spreading across his face. “Come on, Chibi, can’t keep our fans waiting,” he nods towards the interviewer and the TV crew across from them. “Unless the Great Nakahara Chuuya is getting slow in his old age.” he teases, leaning over Chuuya’s neck.
Nakahara noticeably bristles under his partner’s breath, that discomfort quickly morphs into annoyance and reaches its stunning conclusion as Chuuya grabs Dazai’s collar. “I swear to God, you shitty mackerel-” he snaps as the other man whines and wallows dramatically under his grip. “We’re the same age! I can’t take a moment to think?!-”
“No! Oh no! Chuuya is attacking me!” Dazai exclaims and yaps, notes of fake panic and amusement dripping from his voice. (The interviewer sits awkwardly in silence while the rest of the crew whisper amongst themselves) “My God, this is marital violence!” He throws up his arms (making sure to flash a gold wedding band at the camera) and easily overpowers his dear Chibi, shoving him onto the far end of the couch before redirecting his attention to the interviewer, the poor unfortunate soul bearing witness to Nakahara making grabby hands at Dazai while the latter holds him off with a hand in his face. “It goes a little something like this…”
April 29th 1986, 8 years before the release of Stray Dogs.
Chuuya’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but okay.
The red light floods the crowded, 40 square foot room, Chuuya’s eyes hurt from the strobing lights;Chuuya’s ears are bleeding from the music blasting through the crackling radio.
Oh second thought, not okay. Chuuya wants to leave.
He puts down the half finished glass of cheap whiskey before manoeuvring his way through mountains and seas of people dancing to the beat of something that just came on. (something American, he doesn’t want to know) The red lights continue to pull assassination attempts on his eyes, which is only made worse by the pixelated screens displaying images of half naked men and women “available” in this cursed brothel-nightclub hybrid. The two dozen people making out in every direction doesn’t help either.
If there was such a thing as unsee juice in this world, Chuuya would like 10 litres of it, please.
Finally, Chuuya makes it out of the brothel-nightclub, (thankfully in one piece) he looks back at the bouncer, who doesn’t even spare him a glance. Hell, he didn’t even ask him for any form of ID, despite him obviously being underaged. His short stature speaks for itself.
Guess that’s Kowloon Walled City for ya.
Chuuya makes his way through the interconnected hallways, counting and reading the posters plastered all over the place. 1, 2, 3, 4… 28. He thinks half of them are advertising stuff for the Port Mafia Gang. Interesting. He’d heard of them, of course. The most powerful underground organisation of the Walled City, operating in the dark (well, as dark as the City of Darkness could get) or even beyond. He’d heard rumours of them stretching all the way to Lantau Island and the Shatin District. Hell, even Cheung Chau’s underworld carries traces of their interference!
Not that he’s ever personally been down there, of course. The underworld, he means.
Chuuya kicks at his feet as he makes his way up to the rooftop of the building, the gate creaks agreeably every time he pushes it and it returns to its original position with a pleasant clang! He squeezes his way through the drying sheets, careful not to bump into them in his dirty clothes, and legs it across a huge pile of scrap. At last, he reaches the edge of the rooftop and leans on the railing, taking in the sight of the City in the middle of the night. There are still a few lights on at this hour, not counting the establishments of the night, aka the opium traders, nightclubs, gambling dens, makeshift casinos etc etc. He spies one on the far left, the light of the balcony flickers in a way that reminds him of moths flapping their wings, and under the light is a boy his age with black hair and a bandage over his right eye, teetering back and forth on his feet, fingers gripping tight on the handrail. His eyes are downturned, expression blank.
What a weirdo. Chuuya thinks. He turns away to light a cigarette and takes a long drag. The next time he looks, the light is off, the boy is gone.
He can’t help but feel disappointed, somehow.
Chuuya shrugs off the feeling and takes another drag of the cigarette, looking straight ahead, beyond the Walled City, at the Kai Tak Airport. Planes take off and land dangerously close to the buildings nearby, another few soar mere metres above Chuuya’s head, their loud, rumbling engines sing a comforting tune to accompany the city’s orchestra of dripping air-cons and creaky pipes down below.
It’s as beautiful as ever.
One of these days, I’m getting outta here. He vows, before putting out the cigarette and flicking it off the roof.
He doesn’t know how many hours have passed, only that this is the perfect way to celebrate his fifteenth birthday.
Chuuya continues to admire the view of the Kowloon Bay, occasionally glancing over to Victoria Harbour for a glimpse of its colourful and lively skyline. The best part about this corner of Kowloon Walled City? It contains the tallest building. One can pretty much see everything within a 20 km radius, and if one’s lucky, the clouds’ll part for the stars, and even the shortest, most 150-centimetre-ed of people could enjoy their glory.
He reaches for the radio beside him, switching between channels until he finds one that plays something that suits his favour.
It ends up being an English channel, playing something from a new writer from America.
“Now playing: The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe,” the presenter states calmly, before a low and unsettling voice takes its place, narrating the tale of an insane man who murdered his elderly housemate.
Chuuya listens absent-mindedly as he lights another cigarette and continues to watch over the Walled City, his position giving him a handy bird’s-eye view over everything else. More lights have switched on, the opium dens are starting to close, the bars and brothels are chasing people out like a restaurant owner at animals like you see in movies or it’s 20-something A.D. and they have leprosy. Must be nearly morning.
Oh shit it’s nearly morning.
His eyes widen as he catches the faint blue ring of the sun rising over the horizon and slowly but surely evolve into a blinding orange light that pours over the Sai Kung District to the east, then to the Uni of Sci and Tech, to Tseung Kwan O- Chuuya throws his cigarette over the railing for the second time before shutting off the radio and making a mad dash for the gate, legging it over the scrap, nimbly contorting his body to avoid touching the sheets, before finally bolting down the stairs and out of the building. He passes the town square - a relic from the Walled City’s past as a Song Dynasty military outpost - and nearly slams straight into a bunch of bakbaks and popos doing taichi. A couple of them yell at him for his insolence. He zips his way through alleyways full of drunkards and shakes off a madman trying to gut him with a knife, (it’s the Walled City, he’s seen worse) he looks up for a split second and stops in his tracks.
He can see the sky from here.
The small slit of bright, warm blue peeks out amongst the mess of pipes and haphazardly built roofs, the clouds dance across it in pinks, soft oranges and light yellows. Chuuya stares up at that beautiful sight through the gap, the City has never been this generous before, the most daylight he ever got to see was approximately none, except for when he headed out of the Walled City every few months to run for supplies that the Triads couldn’t access.
Chuuya looks around for a landmark that he can bookmark into his memory, and spots another one of the Port Mafia Gang’s posters on the wall to his left.
He sighs. That oughta do. And so the poster enters his mind.
He allows himself several more minutes of staring at the sky before booking it back home, he just hopes that Shirase and Yuan won’t be too pissed.
Unbeknownst to him, a boy with jet black hair and bandages all over has been looking at him through a window for a while now.
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Love Isle Resort Part 1
Jamie Lomas is a extremely hot British soap star actor on the English show the young, edgy and soapy Hollyoaks for a whole new generation.
He is visiting on vacation when I caught him in his hotel room upon a request waiting for him on the bathroom I can see him in the reflection.
The mirror previously cleaned he stops to be his own admirer posing at the mirror with s huge fake smile and dental implants galore of course.
He flips the light switch on the light radiating on him I continue to hide in the shadows of the bathroom as he looks up to see the light blink.
He curses the lights as he bangs the wall all goes dark for him his eyes stay upward lock on the light frozen on time it malfunctions according to my plan.
I glee with excitement sneaking out of the closet I reach in back of him embracing his body with mine as I dig my nose in to his shirt.
This lifeless husk of a body is mine it to play with hours unfortunately he taste sour and ripe from a few hours of the gym my hands enjoy.
My hands begin to roam on his body feeling how plump his pecs are, erect his nipples are and his upper body strength fully bulked up.
I lean in laying my lips on his skin first his face then down his shoulders tracing it to the chest and his abs so broad and godly I had to have him.
“Can you hear me Jamie? Answer me love” I demand of his attention instinctively.
“Yes…. I can hear you.” He replies to me.
“You will do everything I instruct of you.” I add.
“Yes sir.” He issues.
“Your cock, nipples and pecs are hard.” I tell him.
“Uummmmm….aaaaahhhh….yyyeeesss” he howls.
“It’s throbbing and you are burning fucking hot.”
“Oh God! It’s burning “
“Strip off your clothes you need too”
“These damn clothes….oofff”
“Much better “
“I feel sexy “
“Let’s play “
“First off get in the shower and clean up “
“Yes”
“After be my entertainment for the night “
“Your wish is my command “
“I am deeply programmed “
“In the mean time let’s peruse this den that use to be my hotel.”
“God most of this like a movie set”
“ Time to update the clothing for today”
“One swipe and the staff will prep the pool”
“Now for my main course “
“You are back? Excellent! Put these pieces on.”
“Meet my by the pool after “
“I have plans for you “
“Sir Yes Sir”
Leaving the room he compiled automatically as if on autopilot the clothes rip off the bed and the towel falls to the floor in a frantic way.
He cleans up the room putting everything in its proper place as I designed in his mind as his architect and now rule for a lifetime well obviously.
He grabs his wallet, keys, cellphone and his hotel room key as he exits the sweet aroma of the cologne I left for him mix with his own scent fills the halls.
He pops on the elevator pressing the pool side button as it descends his mind is in a whirlwind of emotions overtaking him in his own madness.
Walking off en glides over to me standing far too tall his shadow overcast on me then I grab him and yank his lips down to mine as we kiss.
We make out intensely feeling each other up in more ways then I can say as he kisses me slowly and we touch I am enamored at his ways.
“How do you register yourself?”
“I am slave nothing less nothing more”
“Good boi! This will be quite blissful.”
The end
Love isle Resort Part 2
“When you look in my eyes what do you see?”
“Fuck you prick”
“Look in my eyes “
“I said….”
“LOOK IN MY EYES”
“Damn it”
“It’s so much easier”
“To stare and obey “
“S-t-a-r—e”
“O-b-e-y”
“You belong to me”
“I belong to you “
“Take me to your room”
“Wait!”
“Yes”
“Finish your drink “
“As your wish “
“Let’s go “
“How about we do some role play”
“When you arrive upstairs….”
“YES MASTER!”
I exit the elevator walking on to the floor in a state of frenzy knocking on the hotel door for room 403.
Ashley Taylor Dawnson opens the door for me standing shirtless waiting for a pizza order as programmed.
He stares at me checking me up and down
I can see his cock growing, body pecs are bouncing and I assume control.
“Well hell there”
“Would you like to come in”
“Excuse me!”
“You heard me hot stuff “
“Where’s my pizza”
“I see it in your pants”
“Oh my god!”
“Sure! Let me teach you a few lessons”
“Hell yeah!”
“Slam the door “
“Crawl to me and kneel “
“Mwahahahahaha “
The end
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Life, Book, and Writing Update (long):
Hey guys, just writing a little long overdue letter to let you know whats been going on in my life and why I haven't been as active, so lets dive in.
Firstly, my job. My job has been hell on wheels from the middle of May and continuing on until now. I have been semi-actively looking for a new one the entire time this has been happening, with little to no luck which sucks (job market is HELLA insane where I live rn), but it is what it is. My job wont give me hours and therefore I am not getting money and so I'm really stressed because in order to live and have a roof over my head I basically sit in my house all day stressing over many things such as:
The next life update; Moving. I'm moving! After three years in my very first apartment I'm moving with my partner into a nice new place with a friend (the only way we could afford too). But that has also been extremely stressful as it was something that was quite literally decided down to the minute and we were worried we weren't going to get a place on time but we managed with 4 days to spare. This last week has been helping our friend pack and move and unpack and try and figure out who's keeping what and what's going where and more brain vomit I won't bore you with. But that's been.... a lot on my plate in my irl. Taking up most of my thoughts.
Which brings me to why I haven't been updating my writing frequently. My writing is different from other folks on here in the sense that writing isn't an outlet for me. I don't do it to destress or to get my feelings out or any of that jazz. My writing is because I enjoy telling stories, and for me I have to be in the mindset to write otherwise I can stare at the page all day and get zero done. All the words jumble kind of like that one scene from percy jackson (movie) and it's a mess. That's what's been happening these past few months of editing. I'll get a couple paragraphs in and then it's like my brain goes into tv static. I hate it, but every little bit of progress is progress.
And lastly, the book: The pre-order was Not a scam, Not fake. Very VERY much a real thing. I have the paper with me and everything. I haven't taken your info and done anything with it, I super duper pinky swear promise. It is sitting securly where I asked you to give it to me, has not been touched or tampered with, and I will be working on making them so so soon to get out to you wonderful humans who wanted them. Once moving is done and I have a printer again with ink that works it's my number 1 TO-DO.
If you have signed up, you WILL get your book. I promise. I have a wonderful human who I met on here who can vouch for me too, she's met me irl and knows I'm a real human with the best intentions, just a little busy, brainfogged and battered from all of it.
If you have ANY questions about it please PLEASE feel free to reach out and ask. I will be 1000% transparent with everything.
But yeah, that's the gist of it, personal family drama and life aside. I'm trying my best, and nothing has been forgotten. I will be completing everything, in time. I promise.
I hope that's okay.
I love you,
Yoon <3
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Women‘s rights movement // General stuff continued 🔗 links —> Part 3
Protect your account
MADRE — a global feminist fund
Facts about women‘s rights
South Korean feminists — 6B4T
Girl Math — inspirational women
The process of male & female socialization
Things you can do to help women
Literary Resources
💫 Women‘s History 💫
Andrew Tate
Radical Action: Period Poverty
Social Justice movements from a feminist lens
Jack the Ripper victims petition
The Pad Project
Men as a terrorist group
Take care of yourselves
Barbie trumps Oppenheimer
Reasons NOT to get pregnant
The story of Franca Viola
Greed is Male Culture
Suffragette Flag
"Not like other girls" GNC perspective
Men‘s insults
Women‘s anger
OSA women
UNITE, don‘t divide
The b-slur
Socialization ≠ bioessentialism
Classic hypocrisy
Female separatism benefits all women
Pedophiles on the rise
Men don’t see us as human beings
Sex for pleasure 1
Sex for pleasure 2
Fuck conservatives
Motherhood is difficult
Misogyny by any other name (article)
"Oppression Olympics"
Damned if you do, damned if you don‘t
The reality of double standards
Don‘t bother with misogynists
Conservatives
Fatphobia is wrong
Male Collective Identity
Female reproductive anatomy
Misogyny vs. misandry
Whitefem hypocrisy
Women‘s Economic Space
Misandry ain‘t real
Usurpation of women‘s ability to create life
Men being pathetic (education)
"Progressive" hypocrisy
Women‘s accomplishments >>>
OSA separatism
Don‘t invest in men
Men are violent anyways
Megan Thee Stallion
"Man-hater" vs. woman-hater
Feminist wins/progress
Penetration & degradation
Male loneliness
"Misandry" isn‘t racism + update
Radical feminism vs. basic feminism
Small changes are meaningful
On shaving
Shaving anon
Socialization: Let‘s talk
Male approval
Don‘t fall for gaslighting
Fake accountability
"Choice" ≠ choice
Barbie isn’t "anti-men", but men‘s movies are often anti-women
Advice for dealing with men
Refuse to bow down
Advice for women with SH scars who date men
A win for female CEOs in the U.S.
More general information
Global majority women and third world countries MATTER
50:50 with men is a scam
The "bimbocore" trend
Why misogyny is so normalized
Sexualization of women in sports
Women‘s rights are for all women
Misandry isn’t real, but if it was, it‘d be a male thing
Side with women or be guilty
Men exploit women‘s empathy
Male violence is normalized, women fighting back is demonized
Which rights do women *actually* have?
Reasons to dump him
Historical feminist writings
Ethnic cleansing of Palestinians — War crimes committed by the State of Israel
Stop antisemitism — State of Israel ≠ Jewish people
Affection is NOT absence of bigotry — every man needs to be held accountable
Maternal equality is crucial for feminism
Massacres/genocide of Palestinians in Gaza
How to actively help women in Gaza with period products
Gender disparity in Indian organ transplants: 4 in 5 living donors women, 4 in 5 recipients men
How misogyny harms women‘s footballers
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