#but anyways I'm currently writing a scene I've been very excited to write for a long time so focusing on the positive!

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[lemotmo]

Okay I'm going to partially tell on myself. I am new, as in the Buck/T kiss showed up all over my dash, as did all of Oliver's interviews and I just thought he was the yummiest most delightful human being I had ever seen and heard (my god is accent is heaven) new. And I thought that first kiss was really well done. It was a great scene. Now, that being said, I didn'twant to jump into a show that was seven seasons into the story with zero context, except the stuff I had been seeing on my dash for years. So I started from the beginning, with the full intent and excitement of getting to T in season 7. Imagine my surprise when he popped up occasionally in earlier seasons. His only good part was when we were supposed to believe that Chim could lift him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, haha. That was great.

Anyway by the time I made it to season 7, it was too late. I had just watched 5 seasons of Buck and Eddie. There was zero room for T to compete on any level. Which is why the behavior of some is so confusing to me. Let me say first that I do not think the show always intended to put Buck and Eddie together, I don't think that's been the intention since the beginning. There is however a very good case to make that Eddie's introduction was Buck's actual Bi bell ringing moment though (*what a man plays in the background*). I do however agree that the writing has trended, increasingly so, in that direction. The writers do not hold all the blame however, Oliver and Ryan have kind of acted them into a corner. There are several scenes, multiple scenes, where the acting choices the two of them made were interesting, to say the least (looking at you 'go for the title' kitchen scene I love. Buck was flirting on every possible level in that scene).

Sorry, I got off track, back to my point. The people like me, who came in after the kiss popped up everywhere, being all in on T is somewhat fine. The problem would be the ones who are deliberately refusing to go back and watch the entire series before pontificating on B/T being destiny and all that other nonsense. There is an argument to be made that they're avoiding it because they know most of the history dismantles their current ship fixation. So as a result those people can be easily dismissed because they have zero context to any of their opinions. The ones who were with you all for 5 seasons though, yes I've seen their posts, who lost their shit over 2 pairs of lips touching, is what I cannot wrap my brain around. I completely understand the excitement behind that first kiss. It was a much anticipated moment for BUCK. He was the important person in that scene.

But confusing, or deliberately misinterpreting, Buck's revelation and sigh of relief at finally figuring out something pretty significant about himself, as being about him finding T is a gymnastics act I did not expect to see from so many long haulers. I mean, it should be obvious but T wasn't important in that scene. His gender was what was important. Which is why they have barely bothered to show him since that episode. And the interactions they have shown, minus the hospital kiss, that they made sure to show Eddie's reaction to btw, have all been red flag scenes. Little things that show this relationship isn't really that different from his previous relationships. Buck may have figured out the gender part but he's still making the same relationship mistakes. It's why the few scenes they've had together, and it's the bare minimum of effort, have been about Buck trying to initiate some level of communication and emotional connection and him being dismissed or having it turned into a daddy kink joke. I also think Oliver's enthusiasm dipped drastically by the end and it showed.

Which brings me to Eddie. The show, and more so, Oliver and Ryan have already done the hard part. The emotional connection, which is way more difficult to pull off than a physical connection, is already there. Their chemistry is already established.They're partners in every way but physically. As a result it is not a huge character leap to eventually bring a physical relationship into it as well. That will not be a shocking character development for either character. It goes back to the way the two have been written and they way Oliver and Ryan have interrupted those scenes. I won't touch their interviews because I think it's pretty clear, at this point, they seem to agree it's the way to go. There's more story to explore with them learning how to navigate an actual relationship than there is in bringing in other, lesser characters, to firstly try to compete with that connection, and then try to establish endgame status. I don't know. It's not about any two pairs of lips touching it's about the right two pairs of lips touching. Because when it's the right couple the characters get that sigh and exhale of finally! But the audience gets their sigh and exhale of finally as well. That is the point.

Sorry this got looooong 🤣

Ooooh Nonny, you speak right to my heart.

First of all, thank you for going back all the way to season 1 to actually sit down and watch the show. We aren't just making up Buddie. It has been there since the beginning. I'm so glad you got to witness their beautiful history together and that you realised just how right they are for each other.

I can't speak for the people who suddenly turned 180° and dropped Buddie for BT. I have been shipping Buddie from season 2, so I don't understand their reasoning or motivation either. It like you said so beautifully:

"It's not about any two pairs of lips touching. It's about the right two pairs of lips touching."

And that is what it comes down to. We can be content with a lackluster, meaningless relationship for queer rep. Or we can be exhilerated with an amazingly complex and years in the making relationship, which will be so much better for queer rep. It will be revolutionary in so many ways to make a slow burn queer ship canon.

(Before anyone comes at me for talking about queer rep. I have slowly been figuring myself out over the last couple of years and, looking back at my life and relationships, I've come to realise that I definitely belong somewhere on the ace spectrum. Not sure where exactly, I'm still searching for the right label, but it feels right to me. This is actually the first time I said this on a public forum for people to read. Kinda scary to be honest.)

I know what I would choose for myself if I was faced with these two options. Why wouldn't we automatically choose this for Buck and Eddie as well? It's mind-boggling really.

So yeah: queer Eddie and Buddie canon in season 8! All the way!

Don't apologise for your great post. I loved reading it. Feel welcome to drop in whenever you want. :)

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

Green Dress - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader

Summary: Easy Company hits the town for a much needed night of fun and relaxation in Paris. Reader, who's always in regular military wear and very tomboy, decides to dress up for the night and receives varying reactions from the boys.

Warnings: 18+ content, cursing, oral (f receiving), 1st person female POV (no use of y/n), I think that's it.

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt2: This is my first time writing any type of explicit sexual scene, let me know what y'all think. As usual likes, comments, and reblogs give me love. Enjoy!!

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I look at myself in the mirror and can't decide if I like what I see or should call the whole night off and stay in bed. I've styled my hair in a simple design, flowy but still away from my face. Light make-up highlights my eyes, cheeks and lips; just enough to make everything pop without being over the top. My hands run down my dress, picking away invisible lint. It's a deep, gorgeous green that almost shimmers in the light, falling just above my knee in a way that would cause outrage back home but is just this side of acceptable in Paris.

Ah, screw it. Let's have some fun. With a final twirl, I flash myself a smile and excite my hotel room to meet the guys downstairs. I stop briefly at the top of the stairs and look at the group waiting for me. We've been through a lot together; Toccoa, Sobel, jumping (literally) into Normandy, countless battles won and lost, losing fellow brother's, etc. Never once did they make me feel alienated or less than, each providing different facets of friendship and overall making a family.

In a weird way I was nervous to have them see me so feminine and semi dolled up. I've never wore anything other than the standard OD uniforms and was always down for "boy activities" in the down times. I was constantly referred to as "one of the boys" and never really cared until this moment. I was worried my effort would be turned into a joke. Just once I'd like them to see me as an actual woman. Well, at least one of them to anyways.

Just as I started my decent towards them, Luz catches sight of me and gives a loud whistle before beginning to clap. This catches the others attention and pretty soon the lobby is filled with whistles and claps until I reach the bottom of the stairs. I give them all an embarrassed smile, fully aware that my face is burning a deep red and I'm fighting the urge to run back upstairs and hide.

"Lookin' good kid!" Toye comes up and gives me a small kiss on my cheek, smiling as he motions for me to twirl around. I do a small spin, setting off the whistles and claps again.

"Oh, stop you hound dogs." I laugh lightly, waving my hands at them to quiet down.

"You knew a lady was underneath all those clothes and dirt." Luz shoots me a cheeky smile, grabbing my hand and giving it a kiss. I flip him off once he releases my hand, making him laugh. "There she is!"

"Alright let's get out of here, I'm dying for a drink." I start to make my way through the group to the exit. This causes a small, playful scuffle to erupt as some of the guys move towards me to grab my hand and be my escort. In the end Liebgott wins, shooting everyone a smile and me a wink. As we all spill out into the streets in search of the bar, my eyes briefly connect with Bill and I'm left wondering what's caused the frown on his face.

Two hours later, I'm on my fourth beer and loving the buzz I'm feeling. I've just finished another turn around the dance floor, being passed between Tab, Luz, Bull, and even Martin joined for a few beats. Needing to catch my breathe, I settle on a barstool and wait for my water to arrive. Before my water can get there, a few shadows come up to my side. Expecting it to be some of my group, I spin around with a wide smile and am met with three strangers faces.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were part of my Company." I give a small laugh, slightly embarrassed. The one closest to me just smiles and shakes his head slightly.

"No need to apologize ma'dam, if you'll have us we'd like to keep you company though." His English was nearly perfect, made sweeter by his French accent. What's the harm in a little flirting?

With a soft smile, I extend my hand out to them and give my name. They each take turns telling me theirs and giving my hand a kiss afterwards. While definitely being more flirty than I imagined they'd be, they were pleasant enough to talk to and even made me laugh a few times. When a new song started to play Pierre, the first one to speak to me, asks if I'd like to dance and I agree.

We are halfway through the song, having a really good time, when someone taps Pierre's shoulder. To my shock and confusion, there was Bill. He looks like he is holding himself back from killing Pierre, for what reason I have no clue.

"Mind if I cut in." It was a statement, flat out. No room for but's or giving a raincheck. I see Pierre is ready to go toe to toe with Bill, but that is a fight he'd never win and I don't want the night to turn sour.

I pat Pierre's shoulder and tell him it was alright and I've had a lovely time. He looks skeptical at Bill, but gave me a perfect smile mirroring my sentiments and gave my hand a final kiss as he walks back to his friends. Without wasting anytime, Bill grabs the hand that was just kissed and tugs me flush against him.

It takes a few seconds to get into a comfortable rhythm after that awkward start, whatever the hell that was, but we manage and are soon swaying between the other dancing partners. I was torn between reveling in the feeling of the heat of his hand on my waist and the skin to skin contact of our hands, and how confused and frustrated I am with how he acted.

"I don't know why you did that. Pierre was a nice guy." I speak low enough so the words stay just between us and can't float out to the Easy boys that seem to be watching us with barely concealed interest. They must have witnessed the exchange too.

Bill scoffs and his hand squeezes my waist for a half second. "Pierre. What kinda name is that for a man. Fucking French." I shoot him a small glare.

"Don't be rude. He was a gentleman." Bill rolls his eyes at me then spins me out then back in.

"Gentleman my ass. He was only interested in getting to know you because you're looking like a lady."

His words turn my body into stone and I frown up at him. "Looking like... Fuck you." I rip my hand out his and push him slightly, it doesn't do more than make him shuffle his feet but it's definitely got his attention.

"What the hell is your problem?" His jaw is set and his eyes are burning daggers at me.

"My problem? I don't have a problem. What's your problem? I'm not some dumb little girl that doesn't know what men are like. I know he was flirting with me, hoping for me to go off with him. He wasn't going to get anything, but guess what...I liked the attention! I liked having someone notice that I'm a woman and reminding me that I can be desirable. I'm not just looking like a lady, I am a damn lady you asshole." With a final shove, I turn on my heel and leave the bar before him or anyone else can try and stop me.

I'm halfway down the street, heading to the hotel, when I hear someone jogging behind me. I decide to ignore them and pray it's someone wanting to get someplace fast and not actually coming to talk to me or convince me to come back. Sadly, my prayers are not answered as a hand grabs hold of my elbow spins me around. I'm once again face to face with Bill.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore." I growl out, trying to yank my arm back to no avail.

"You don't gotta talk, just listen. I need to set some things straight." He's using his stern, Sergeant voice, and normally that'd have me blushing but I'm too angry for it to have it's usual effect on me right now.

"No thanks, I've heard enough for the evening." I make another attempt to pull my arm out, but he just pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me arms and waist, pining me against him. All I can do is glare.

Bill scans the sidewalk and road quickly, slightly nodding to himself as he makes some internal decision and lifts me off the ground, walking us a little ways into an alley to our right. We are far enough in that no one can stumble upon us easily but we can still get some of the street light so it's not pitch black.

"What the hell Bill? Have you become a psycho killer?" I push a little away from him, but that only presses me against the alley wall. He uses this to his advantage by taking a step forward, caging me between him and the wall. My brain short circuits a little at being so close to him.

"You're wrong." When he doesn't immediately continue, I raise an eyebrow hoping to encourage him to elaborate. After a few more seconds he continues. "We know you're a lady. The whole damn battalion knows you're a lady. Wearing OD's doesn't hide the shape of your ass when you bend over to help with the car engines or the outline of your breasts when you take your jacket off to cool down. All you have to do is glance around and you'll see the boys drooling all over themselves staring at you." His hand lands on my hip and squeezes. Hard.

I have to take a few deep breathes to steady myself before formulating a response. "If that's true, then what was the big deal about those guys flirting with me tonight?"

"Because they don't know what everyone in the battalion knows. You're my girl. It's one thing to have the boys dance with you or give you compliments, they'd never cross that line or I'd kill 'em. Those French twats wanted to cross that line." I barely registered anything after his declaration: my girl. His girl.

"You're girl?" My words come out in a whisper. Bill's face finally starts to soften and an easy smile starts to spread across his face.

"You really are oblivious. It's the worst kept secret in Easy Company. You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Gorgeous, funny, sweet, and just the right mixture of feminine and tomboy. Everything I've ever dreamed of. And you're wrapped up like a damn present in this dress and I've been dying to get it open all night." By the time he's done speaking his mouth is a hairs breathe away from mine, eyes searching mine for any sign of rejection.

All words have left me so I decide to respond with action and close the distance between us. What starts out as gentle and timid, quickly transforms to rough and frenzied. Bill gives my bottom lip a bite, causing me to gasp and allowing him access into my mouth. I don't bother putting up a fight, I'm putty in his arms and give him full dominance. The hand not squeezing my hip so hard I know there will be some type of bruise, grasps the back of my neck and angles my head to the side to give him better access.

My hands have made their way up his chest, to his shoulders, and finally still with one in his hair and the other at the back of his neck. When the need for air becomes to much for me, I turn my head slightly to the side and break the kiss. Bill's breathing just as heavily as I am, but doesn't stop his assault. He moves my head again and starts trailing kisses up and down my neck, alternating between nips and licks based on my reactions. When he hits a particular sweet spot, I can feel him grin before biting there again hard enough to leave a mark.

"Fuck." I moan out, scratching the back of his neck. "That's gonna be hard to hide." With a final kiss on the new mark, Bill lifts his head to meet my eyes. His eyes are dark with lust and he can't stop smiling.

"That's the point, sweetheart." I roll my eyes at him, but smile back.

"If you get to mark me, I think it's only fair I get to mark you."

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to me. I'm yours." His voice is so deep, it makes my legs shake and I'm instantly happy I have that wall to hold me.

"I think you owe me an apology for what you said to me at the bar before I decide what I wanna do you with you." I mean more as a joke, but he seems to really be thinking about. Before I can reassure him that I'm not upset anymore, he gives me a kiss that has me seeing stars.

Before it leads to another make-out session, Bill breaks away from my mouth, trails kisses down the other side of my neck and then suddenly drops to his knees in front of me.

"What are you doing?" The situation wasn't bad enough to do this.

"I'm apologizing." Bill's eyes are so dark they could pass for solid black and his voice is deep and sensual. My response is cut short as I feel his hands run up my legs, going under my dress and grasp my thighs. With a smirk, he slowly finishes his trek to my underwear and starts pulling them down.

"Bill." I don't know if I say his name to make him stop or because I'm praising him. Either way, I have nothing to follow it up with. He keeps his eyes on me as I shift my feet helping him get my underwear completely off, noticing that he stuffs them in his pocket.

"Just lean back and enjoy baby. Be a good girl and hold this for me." He pushes my dress up to my waist, waiting for me to take hold of it. Good girl, Jesus.

"Sir, yes, sir." I take note of the tightening of his jaw and how his eyes somehow become even darker. There's something to explore later.

Bill grabs hold of my thigh and drapes it over his shoulder, trailing soft kisses on the inside. As he gets closer to my center, he bites and sucks a mark just for us to know about. A small moan escapes and my unoccupied hand lands in his hair. Before the sting has completely faded from his bite, I'm taken over by the sensation of his tongue gliding through my folds.

The only sounds to be heard is our combined groans, my heavy breathing, and his tongue working me like a man starved. His hand not holding my thigh in a death grip, maneuvers around to spread me more open for him and I nearly pass out when he sucks on my clit. I yank on his hair which only seems to spur him on as he starts starts alternating between licking and sucking.

The only words I seem to be able to say is his name and fuck. As my approach to my orgasm comes closer, I'm able to mumble out that I'm close. Bill tabs my thigh to make me look down at him and I nearly cum at the sight.

"Let go, sweetheart. That's an order. Cum. Now." His words, combined with the determined look on his face and a final hard suck on my clit has me falling over the edge chanting his name over and over again.

Bill doesn't let up as my orgasm washes over me, licking and drinking up my release until I start to whimper at the overstimulation. Slowly he places my thigh back on the ground, gently stroking my legs, and tugs my dress back down to cover me again. My hands grip his shoulders as he stands back up and I take in the sight of him. Hair completely wrecked from my fingers, face red from his efforts, breathing heavy and looking like he might drop to knee's to do it all over again.

I grab his jacket and pull him flush against me, kissing him with all the strength I have. He returns the kiss with as much force and pulls my thigh up around his hip, making our hips meet. I moan into the kiss at the feeling of his erection so close to my center and roll my hips to grind against him.

"If you don't stop that, we won't make it back to the hotel." Bill growls between kisses.

"Then you better get us there quickly." I give his lip a quick bite, before a laugh slips out at how fast he starts pulling by the hand back to the sidewalk and towards the hotel.

I think I'll wear this dress more often.

[lorneytunes]

Beginner Mindset

Recently while doing a tarot reading for myself about my shifting journey, I drew a card that said I needed to "embrace a beginner mindset". I've been thinking a lot about what that means, and as a results I've begun the process of starting my shifting journey from scratch. Coincidentally, I’ve also seen a lot of posts from others about going back to that baby shifter feeling, when it's all about being IN your DR not GETTING TO your DR; thinking about the end result, not the way of getting there.

In that vein, today I saw a YouTube video about training your brain to lucid dream after years of failure, and re-capturing the feeling of excitement around it. I’ve decided I'm going to apply the techniques outlined there to shifting.

These were the main points:

List out all the things you're excited to do in a lucid dream and highlight your top three

Think throughout the day, “This is a dream” and then imagine if this was a dream, what you would do to take control and achieve one of your top three things.

Keep lucid dreaming at the forefront of your mind throughout the day

There were other points too, but these are the ones I think are most applicable to shifting. So from now on I'm going to focus on one DR, and start keeping that at the front of my mind and think about all the things I'm excited to do while shifting there.

I’ve already started by writing the list of 20 things and highlighted my top three (let me know if you want to see a follow-up post with my list). From here, throughout the day, rather than tell myself I’m dreaming, I’m going to go, “Oh, I’ve shifted!” and then imagine that instead of being wherever I am, that I’m currently experiencing something from that list. Preferably the top three, but it was very hard to pick just three things so I don’t see why I can’t expand it to more. The idea was to increase my desire to go to/excitement over that DR anyway, and that has definitely happened.

I’ve been thinking for a while that the reason some people might be having more success than me, is that for a very long time now I’ve found it really hard to daydream. I don’t know why, given I used to do it every night to help me sleep, but for years now it’s like I keep stopping myself, like it's silly or something. Being a writer I often get too caught up in what’s realistic or a good plot/scene rather than just enjoying the process, so I can absolutely see how I could get in my own way like that.

My hope is that giving myself these parameters like, “Imagine you’re actually having lunch in [x] right now!” or “Imagine what it would be like to learn [y]!” will help make daydreaming more achievable. Rather than imagining bigger stories, I’m just living through those tiny everyday moments. And from what I’ve heard from some of the bigger experienced shifters, imagining those everyday moments can really help your subconscious start to see your DR as a real place rather than a fantasy.

At the very least I’m going to try and do it every day for a week. Given I find it really hard to build habits, I’m not expecting to remember to do this very often in the first few days, so I’ll definitely be extending the experiment to up to three weeks if necessary.

Anyway, thanks for reading my first post and another Big Brave Step for me into the shifting community after two years of mostly lurking. Please send love and encouragement so I can do more of these. I'd definitely be down to blog how the experiment goes from day to day, or answer asks about my DRs (I have so many 😅).

[ashenlavellan]

Thoughts on my 1st Blue Lions Playthrough [2/4]

Again, first off to my DA/ME mutuals - this is another post purely focused on Fire Emblem: Three Houses since I've been playing this non-stop instead of working on my stories (lmao - sorry, not sorry??)

Second off (once again) - to everyone that's part of the FE3H fandom, I've now reached Azure Moon and have completely avoided spoilers online and have been playing this blindly. No one spoiled me on the last post and I'm very appreciative of that - please continue with that with this post! ^.^

As of writing this post, I'm about to reach the infamous reunion at Gronder Field and where I'll soon hear the iconic line...

"Kill every last one of them!"

I will admit - yeah, it was pretty menacing hearing that line during Verdant Wind, especially since I had NO clue what they had faced and was busy working on the rapport within the Golden Deer [as well as Byleth pursuing Claude].

Now?

Just the thought of witnessing that scene now and what's to come has my brain scrambling and I feel utterly helpless; I've been trying to figure out if there's anything Byleth can do and I've been theorizing how he regains his sanity.

Like, yeah, I see that Dimitri is unable to deepen his bonds with anyone right now - yet you're showing me in the support menu that it could be in the future! When the hell is that? [that's a rhetorical question - please don't answer that, I don't want to be spoiled.]

It's been heart-breaking seeing how twisted and mentally tortured Dimitri has become during the time-skip. My heart fucking shattered when you reunite with him (initially) and he begs for whatever hallucination it is of Byleth to leave him be - then, the complete shock once he realizes that she's alive and truly there.

There were a few comments and reblogs (specifically the tags) that mentioned that this would be an emotional rollercoaster and holy shit, I was less prepared than I thought I'd be.

I'm just waiting for the second the option to deepen the bond between Dimitri and Byleth opens and I'm able to see their A-Support dialogue. As well as his dialogue with everyone else post-timeskip.

Also, I think I made him ridiculously strong because not only can he take so many fucking hits and deal heavy punishment on enemies, I keep getting his fucking critical hits and I bet deep down, Byleth is like -

Anyway, there's my update currently with my playthrough for Blue Lions/Azure Moon - it's been a rollercoaster and I've been enjoying it! I'm super excited to see how this turns out and how different it is, when compared to the Golden Deer/Verdant Wind.

[lissomelace]

Would love to hear about “Learn Me Right” and “A Wilder, Wider World” if no one has asked about them already?

(Also thank you for tagging me in the ask game but unfortunately I’m sick as a dog rn and absolutely do not have the energy to think about my own WIPs 😭 I appreciate it though!)

Thanks for the ask! I'm so sorry you're sick, I hope you feel better soon.

Both of these are in the Point of Pride universe, currently tangentially in the works. Learn Me Right is the Russingon prequel/sequel to Gilded Silks and Linens. It's considerably more adversarial to start with, which is sort of why it's coming second--I didn't really feel my skills were up to that level of almost enemies to lovers, starting out, and with the groundwork and aftermath currently laid I think it's going to be a little easier for me. Most of the draft is scattered scenes and outlines at this point, but here's a little excerpt from what might be the middle:

“Thanks,” Findekano muttered. He couldn’t manage to find his enthusiasm, even now. He poked at the dish with the offered fork. Russandol sat down next to him. Findekano could feel eyes on him as he tried to convince himself to eat. His stomach turned. “So,” Russandol said after a long pause. “What is it?” “What is what?” Findekano asked, glad for the opportunity to stall for time but worried about the question. His fears were confirmed when Russandol nodded at the plate. “What’s wrong with my cooking.” “Nothing’s wrong,” Findekano said halfheartedly. “It’s great.”

It's going to be angsty in different ways from Gilded Silks and Linens, and I'm hoping the wildly different reactions involved won't make it retread too much of the same ground.

A Wider, Wilder World is further along in the series--the fourth installment, probably--and it's the Flight of the Noldor AU. I'm not going to get into too many specifics, because this is sort of spoiler territory for some of Gilded Silks and Linens, but I will stick a pretty benign excerpt beneath the cut if you like (mild spoilers sort of for how Findarato ends up after Gilded Silks and Linens, but I've been pretty clear he gets a happy ending anyway, so...):

“It isn’t good,” Findarato said, taking off his cloak to hang up by the door. He was out of breath, Russandol noticed. He must’ve run hard all through Laurelin’s bloom to get back to Curulonde. Findekano pushed off the couch. “Let me get you something to eat.” “I’m fine,” Findarato insisted. “Later.” He gripped the back of the couch. “Things are bad in Tirion.” “Yeah, that’s new,” Tyelkormo said from where he was grinding out notches in his arrowheads from his morning practice. Normally Russandol would have told him to do it outside, but… Well. Nothing was normal these days. Findekano disappeared into the kitchen, bringing Findarato out a glass of water, at least. Findarato took it with murmured thanks. Once he had drunk deeply, he set the glass aside. “Is Feanaro still gone?” “Yes,” Russandol confirmed. “He’s with Amme and Curvo, at Mahtan’s home.” He frowned. “Do you need to speak to him?”

I'm very excited to get into writing this more eventually, but there's a lot that has to come first!

[spacecasehobbit]

Slowly regaining some of that magical concept known as free time for writing, which means...

I'm finally making more progress on Chapter 2 of the Groundhog Day AU!

(Technically Ch. 3 according to ao3 labeling, but the first one was just a prologue and thus doesn't count in my head, haha.)

It's been a longer wait than I'd hoped for, but it's also turning into a long chapter. (The longest one so far, though Ch. 3 might give it a run for it's money based on the current outline.)

5k words into Ch. 2 so far, probably a few more to go, and then I'll finally be able to clean it up, do a last editing pass, and get it up on ao3!

The beginning of this chapter gave me endless trouble, but it also has one of my favorite scenes so far, and I am excited to finally be getting it close to posting-ready.

Hopefully someone has as much fun reading that bit as I had writing it, but it still makes me laugh either way. Given that amusing myself with Felix's inability to escape this Very Bad, Extremely Horrible Worst Day Ever is most of the reason I started writing this AU, this scene will stay one of my favorites regardless just for giving me motivation to keep working even as the beginning took approximately a zillion rewrites till I finally figured out the right way for it to go.

In the meantime, here's the current Ch. 2 summary in my notes for anyone interested:

--

Felix: Fine. Clearly, Oliver is getting his Saltburn party. Doesn't mean I can't ignore him all day, anyway, until this time loop ends! Oliver: Fine. Who cares about stupid Felix. We're in a time loop, Felix hates me forever, and apparently I've had a lot of repressed anger that I was trying to ignore... Guess I don't have to worry about repressing that anymore! Felix: Wait... Is ignoring this problem even harder, like, not going to solve it? Even though I don't want to deal with it?? What do you mean, I might have to talk to someone when I don't wanna??? Oliver: Oh. Oh. So, if I kill enough people, Felix eventually stops ignoring me and pays attention to me again. ...neat! Felix: Um, obviously I'm still going to ditch you forever and never speak to you again as soon as you stop killing people and we get out of this loop - no, wait, what are you doing, please put down the knife for the love of-

[oh-katsuki]

original pinned!

hello :)) okay so i mentioned this a little bit ago, but i will be moving blogs in the coming days and will be shifting entirely onto the blog @woahjo. i've decided to go by the same pseud i currently use, (because i feel like i'm lying if i don't and i hate that LMFAO) though i considered going by a new one, and my ao3 will be staying the same. i also won't be reposting anything to the new blog just yet (maybe a few of my favorites eventually), but i'll be leaving this blog up! the new blog (ofc) is a writing blog and will function essentially the same way this one does. please come join me over there if you like. i'd feel very honored <3

i'm not sure how many people really care all that much about what i have to say about this, but i'll say a little bit anyway bc i feel a lot of responsibility and big feelings towards this blog.

tldr; i'm switching blogs. it's silly to get emotional but i love it here, i love you, please come say hello over on the new one if you'd like.

i've been feeling this way for a while, and while the recent discourse had an effect, it's mostly a result of my own feelings. i just think it may be time to get a bit of a fresh start. i've had this space for nearly three years now and the community that's been built on this blog is beyond what i ever could have imagined when i first started writing. i know i'm getting a little sappy, but frankly, im shocked people wanted to be here and follow my writing at all. (i never know what to say when people tell me they do) it really humbles me and i hope to continue writing for many many years to come.

i recently took a long look at the way i view fandom culture and space, as well as how it affects me, and i sort of came out on the other side realizing that it might be time for a change of scene. i love this space. i love this community. it's something that i am deeply proud of to a point that i feel very emotional over leaving (clearly lol). in fact, i'm incredibly nervous about posting this. there's a lot of anxiety in posting your art for people to see and it makes me feel vulnerable to type a post like this telling y'all just how much i appreciate you and the part you've all played in this lovely little spot. i'm very emotionally attached to this place.

but!!! i'm excited for the type of creative refresh effect a new blog might have, as well as the ability to get to chat with you guys a little more and make friends. things get lost on here (both because tumblr sucks and because my blog is so messy that it makes me physically nervous to think about) and im hoping to be able to keep my new blog clean and tidy so that everything is easier to find. i've been feeling writer's block for a while now and i feel like having "more space to roam" (for lack of a better phrase) might have a really nice effect.

anyway, all this to say that i love it here. for those of you that choose to follow me to my new blog, please come say hello. and of course the group of old mutuals who are no longer active, i love y'all. if you ever come back to tumblr when ur old and gray, come say hi since i'll probably be writing x reader anime fic still. lol

[pookiebearmick]

weekly tag wednesday 👀🌈❤️✨

thanks bbs for the tags!!! @gallapiech @spookygingerr @thepupperino @jrooc ����🥰🥰

Name and ao3 handle: Deckard, pookiebearmick

Current Location: My home!! 👏

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom? One day I will make little fanart but for now I've only written a few things and made a couple of gifsets hehe, I like this little ficlet I wrote and this gifset I made!! ✨ (if u wanna send me a prompt i would write some shit for you OR if u have some scene(s) you want a gif of i might be down for that - send me an ask!)

Why is it your favourite? I love fluffy shit and I think Ian hiding in the pool is SO funny (plus I hadn't seen a "pls Mick" gif and I needed it lol)

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? I feel a mix LOL gifs take so long and the most frustrating thing for me is always having too big of file sizes to actually upload them on this godforsaken website 😭

Last ao3 fic you commented on? Okay look I am SO behind on reading any fics, I've been in a "I don't wanna read" mood lately so I've mostly been listening to little YouTube vids or watching Shameless clips when I would usually be reading so I think it might be what do you know? by @em-harlsnow (so cute btw, def worth the read) 🥰

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? I'm with Pie on this one, Things Beyond Mistake by Grayola lives RENT FREE in my head 24/7 my god.

Favorite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? Big fan of fluffy soft husband shit, enemies to lovers, slowburn, and slice of life 🌈❤️

Least favourite? I don't love the omegaverse stuff lol, just not my thing!

Secret or surprising kink or trope? I don't think so? I don't know that I'm very secretive with the things that I enjoy reading LOL

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? I feel pretty energized for a bit and super excited about the thing, but then mostly just like relief at finishing a task TM (even if it's not a required thing but just a personal "I wanna do this" thing)

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: I'd say my partners 🥰

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? Play snails in the Discord server lol I love that stupid little game. If I'm really feeling the bad day I'll either find a comfort fic (thank u Boy Best Friends by @whatthebodygraspsnot and from way up there (you and i, you and i) by @sam-loves-seb or if i'm feeling something longer Suncatcher by @wehangout) ✨

anyways i've yapped long enough lol, tags below the cut!

if you wanna!! (sorry if you've been tagged/posted already i've only been on for a bit and might not have seen your post yet hehe) @heymrspatel @mickeym4ndy @burninface @rxinbowwparadise @twinklyylights @transsexual-dandelions @transmurderbug @celestialmickey @gardenerian 🥰🥰🥰 also if u weren't tagged at all this is ur tag!!! i'm missing so many people lol

[crescencestudio]

Devlog #31 | 05.29.23

Hi everyone!

I am once again bringing you a monthly update. As some of you may know, I recently announced I am participating in Otome Jam this year. With that said, this devlog will be a bit unique in that it will include updates for both "intertwine" (very general updates) and "Alaris" (our usual program of updates) \o/

Writing

Ah, the section that made me sad every time I looked at it for the past two months (kidding, I'm being dramatic). As you all may know, I'm creating a project for OtoJam, "intertwine."

“Would you choose me in every lifetime?”

With another creative project and my dissertation, I was nervous this month that Druk's route was going to make little progress in the writing department yet again.

BUT I AM VERY HAPPY TO SAY THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN OWO

Intertwine has very much given me the creative boost I needed to combat my burnout/rut, and I was able to make a lot of progress on both projects (and my dissertation!). Intertwine script is currently sitting at 15k words and is in the final developmental stage as we speak. I was able to write up a little under half of Druk's script and it currently sits at 20k words!

There are still a couple of scenes I need to go back and write in, but I'm confident they will be easy to write because they're more fun/juicy scenes. Additionally, the remaining half of Druk's route will be pretty action-packed, which is much easier for me to write than the more subtle plot beats. So I'm quite confident I'll be able to finish Druk's route by our next update, which also means Alaris will officially reach the halfway mark for the script!!! AAA. I also wrote 10k words for my dissertation, so I wrote like 50k words this month YAY I WAH

Art

Regarding the art front, most of my attention has been on intertwine this month due to time constraints. I've finished the base sprite, most of the GUI mockups, and some CGs!

We also got this beautiful logo from puchi for the game, and I'm excited to soon show you all more progress pictures ^^

Promo art feat. Vân and Game Logo

For Alaris, Vui continues to hit it out of the park with the backgrounds. I have previews of the Dawn and Dusk Court for you all, and they are beauty! I'm so excited to receive more Fae related BGs from him, though I may not be able to show as many to you all because spoilers from here on out <\3

Dawn Court

Dusk Court

Additional Notes

The remaining soundtracks for Alaris were completed this month by Peter as well! I still am in the process of reviewing them as they're moreso in the draft stages, but they're sounding beautiful so far.

Intertwine will also be featuring voice acting, and with auditions closing soon, we’ll be selecting a voice for Vân as well in the near future ^^

No market research this month, but I did read the Villains Are Destined to Die manhwa and that art and Callisto are so yummy

Anyways, I think that's enough from me, so that is all for this month's update! Stay safe, and see you all next month <3

[edwinspaynes]

who do you think the dbda (the main four) would like the most and the least out of the tlh gang, and why?

who do you think the cat king's fav would be?

(hope u have a good day 🫶)

this is so amazingly fun because i'm currently writing a crossover fic about these characters! i've written some of their interactions, so i'll answer this ask with supplemental snippets from the case of the five half-angel curiousities!

edwin's favourites are alastair and cordelia.

cordelia, because she reminds him of niko in some ineffable way...

Edwin was fairly certain that the enchantment was either made by someone extremely stupid or extremely malicious, but he was not about to say that. “We know next to nothing as of now,” he said. “A good detective must assess all the facts before drawing conclusions. Luckily, I am good at that, as is the friend we are meeting.” “Friend?” Cordelia was smiling. “Yes. Niko. Do you recall when I told you that you were reminiscent of someone? I was speaking of her.” “She sounds lovely, then,” Cordelia laughed. Alastair rolled his eyes.

and alastair because they share a sense of humor and are gang on matthew sometimes for fun:

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Cordelia said. “Tell me the oddest thing about the world today, something that I’m unlikely to know.” Edwin considered this. “Have you ever been to a Primark?” “What is a Primark?” Cordelia’s voice was curious. “Ridiculously inexpensive clothing store. I am certainly fortunate that I can conjure up whatever outfit I wish with ghost magic; the living sell the lowest-quality things and get excited over them in a way that I simply cannot understand.” Alastair nodded along with him, a superior expression on his face.

(and later also because they have a lot of poignant conversations about, like, edwardian homosexuality...)

charles's favorite is thomas initially and he becomes close with matthew as well as thomas.

charles about thomas:

“Bet,” Charles said. “And also, I like the look of them. Especially the tall guy. Thomas. They’re all solid lads, don’t you think?” “I’m quite honestly concerned about their newly acquired feline friend,” Edwin mused, “but yes. They’re altogether inoffensive. The girl as well. I rather like her. She’s oddly charming.”

charles and matthew:

“I burned it to the ground, if you must know. My school, I mean,” Matthew said, deciding to leave out the fact that he had only made an impact within the South Wing. “Considering what you have just shared, perhaps you would like to know it. I ought to be ashamed, but I was thirteen. And am still rather proud of my ability to create explosives at such a tender age. Such takes far more analytical abilities than you might think.” “I know. I can make Molotov cocktails,” Charles said approvingly. Thomas spoke. “What’s that?”

niko gets along really well with cordelia

<3 :

“I think we should just call the ‘item that underwent factuari’ a ‘factuari,” Niko said. “Do not be silly,” Edwin chided, giving Niko an affected but pointed look. “Factuari is a verb, not a noun. You cannot change parts of speech simply out of personal conveience.” “I’m going to anyway,” Niko said, and because Edwin could not be mad at Niko, he smiled as when rolling his eyes. “I think I will, too,” Cordelia agreed, and Niko looked at her with an approving grin.

crystal immediately adores james, but unfortunately that's in an upcoming scene. they do have an entire chapter to themselves, though, with a little bit of cordelia.

as for the cat king, well, someone i love very much wants to learn how to pop into existence with a chandelier over his head... but i haven't written this chapter yet <3

and a bonus <3

“So,” Edwin said, “what year were you all born? I estimate that we’re likely around the same age, and am quite curious.” Cordelia clapped her hands. “I thought we may have lived during similar time frames as well.” She looked delighted. “I was born in 1886, and Alastair in 1884. I died in 1964; he and Thomas in 1965.” “Both of them?” Edwin asked curiously. “Do you know how some married couples expire within hours of each other?” Cordelia’s eyes were shining. “Well, both Alastair and I did, with James and Thomas. An odd coincidence, but…”

[bonesandthebees]

hey. it’s been a while :) not sure if you remember me but i just wanted to pop by and say that i will forever cherish your writing. your fics gave me a lot of comfort through a very dark time of mine, and reading about the silly fictional brothers made me feel a lot more excited and joyful in a world where i felt very lonely.

whenever i would read your stories, i couldn’t contain my very very dramatically fun reactions that i would say out loud to myself in my room (jumping up and down, screaming, crying, gasping, monologuing to myself, etc). i read so many different AUs and oneshots of yours and i couldn’t get enough! your work is so wonderful and i am AMAZED and how you can create such high-quality writing in a surprisingly short timeframe.

i loved clinic so much that i entered a 30 hour state of hyperfocus where i COULD. NOT. put it down. ruined my sleep schedule but it was so worth it!! and then i read it all again 2 days later. and then i read it AGAIN out loud to my friend over discord so he could enjoy it too :) i recommended world forgetting to a friend and it destroyed her (/pos). i kept recommending all of my friends your fics because they were all so wonderfully entertaining and had a level of quality that was hard to find elsewhere.

i loved clinic, world forgetting, stars, 17 hours, the vampire au, the mermaid au, and starman (?) (the horror one with the giant eye) and i’m sure there’s plenty more that are slipping my mind.

i’m currently in a place where i cannot decide if i’m even able to separate a content creator from his character. even the characters have been soured for me and it’ll be very tough to separate them. i hope i can, because they brought me so much joy in the past, and so did your writing :)

over the past year and a half or so i’ve been so lucky to be blessed with an absolutely wonderful girlfriend that i love very much, and i feel a lot less lonely and a lot more lighter. i’m more active in the real world and i’m doing more things that i love. because of this i’ve distanced from dsmp and unfortunately haven’t had enough time to fully understand qsmp (which is a shame because i love quackity and have been watching him quite literally since 2013 and he is very dear to me). but!! i still rant and rave about your stories to my girlfriend and i even got her to read clinic :)

ANYWAY… very long ramble hahah but all of this is to say that your work was very important in my life and even if i’m going to distance myself from this fandom, i will always love and cherish your writing!!! thank you for your labor of love and i won’t be forgetting about you anytime soon!!

i hope you’re doing well. take care of yourself!! have your favorite cookie!! sending hugs! <3

and ps, the scene where siren has his identity revealed is still one of my fav scenes in writing EVER and i still think about how beautifully tragic it was <3 i think about it a lot. u made me cry for like 45 minutes how dare youuuuuu hahah

I hope you know before I even read this ask I saw the url and immediately went "oh my god lostmellohi it's been so long I've missed them!!!" so, don't worry, I remember you very well and I'm so happy to see you here again!

it makes me so happy to hear how much you've enjoyed my writing over the years. hearing stuff like that only makes me more confident in my decision to not take down any of my stuff regardless of recent events. I never want to take away something of mine that has given you and others that much joy. these stories are mine first and foremost, but as readers they're yours too. they've given you so much enjoyment over the years and that can never be taken away from you.

I totally understand what you mean about being unsure if you'll be able to separate the cc and the character in the future. it's not an easy thing and right now I get the urge to wince every time I read wilbur's name, even if it's in the context of c!wilbur and/or a fic. I believe it'll get easier for all of us with time, so don't worry about it too much right now. it's only been a week since shelby's stream happened. feelings will settle.

congrats on the girlfriend!! I hope she enjoyed clinic lol. I'm so happy you've been doing better though and have been able to do more things that you love. enjoy that kind of stuff whenever you can. qsmp isn't going anywhere and you'll always be able to catch up whenever you have time.

thank you for this it genuinely made me so happy to read. wishing you the best for things in the future and I hope you take care of yourself <33

also, yeah, whenever I think back on the siren identity reveal I'm like damn I did pull that off really well huh. lmao so glad you enjoyed :)

[iocainesmoothie]

Been playing ffxiv, paid to skip HW but really enjoyed stormblood, saw emet-selch for the first time.

I'm very impressed that his first introduction to the player was to be shot and rag dolled down the stairs, it immediately differentiates him from the other ascians who just say ominous and vague nonsense that never amounts to anything. It was almost more sinister, because it really illustrates the point that the ascians are noncorporeal horrors piloting a meat puppet.

Also very minor detail but I noticed even back in stormblood, instead of writing a boring talk quest as "go talk to so-and-so", instead they say "go meet SOMEONE at such-and-such place". Like it's so very minor, but instead of straight up telling me who you're going to meet they just sorta hint and say how excited that person is to see you again.

Mechanically it's the exact same boring quest format, and maybe I don't otherwise even care about that character, but even that tiny bit of speculating who it is and the implication that they have any kind of emotional response AT ALL is already elevating the writing.

I get the majority of quest text boils down to telling the player to go to X or talk to Y or collect Z and there's only so many ways to do that, and clarity of communication is always top priority, but in something long format like an mmo where the player has likely plugged in a hundred hours already you can kinda assume they've been trained to expect a certain order of events and can play with the format a bit.

Also the last duty of sb was one of those "everyone shows up at the big battle as npcs and cheers at you to go on to the big boss while they hold back reinforcements" fights and it's very anime but honestly it always works on me.

Been leveling up dark knight, but I bought the level 80 warrior boost because I hate playing with other people and I wanted to solo a bunch of the main scenario raids instead of queueing. Also I'm playing dark knight because aesthetics, and tanking for a group is too much responsibility for me.

Honestly dk kinda sucks compared to paladin and warrior, way less mitigation and self healing, and though it feels like I'm doing more damage it's still not as much as a pure dps.

Also bought a bunch of clothes on the shop in a moment of weakness, but now my outfit is so cool I don't want to change into anything else! And I kinda miss wearing vanilla gear and seeing your outfit change as you pick up upgrades. Oh well atleast I'm cute and it avoids those awkward moments when a piece from a new set doesn't fit with your current fit.

Ffxiv clothing designs are so gorgeous, even the shitty low-level vanilla garbage is kinda cute. Ppl who buy store stuff obviously look good but I have way more respect for the glamours I see where people just got really creative with in-game items. The graphics are like 10 years out of date but the hair and clothes and faces are still miles better than some of biowares stuff (guys I love you I'm on your side let's figure this out you can't just make everyone bald)

Also I've noticed the cuts scene cameras do a trick anime does a lot to cut down animation costs, the framing and panning and angles do a LOT of the work when they otherwise can't get these limited models to emote that much. Or else they just fully cut away and let a sound effect imply an action took place and your brain just fills in the difference.

Anyway I'm addicted and am probably wasting a lot of time on things I should be doing instead but it's nice to have something to hyper fixate on for a while, and I haven't even started SB or EW and I've heard they're both life changing so maybe I'll just glut myself until I've wrung all the dopamine I can out of it.

Also I've realized there is such a jump in writing quality in SB that I'm only really emotionally attached to lyse and hien and the general, the rest of the scions are all kind of... idk unlikable?? They're all the same kind of snarky but not really funny, and speak intelligently but not really with any character or having much to say. Allisae being maybe the exception but I feel like she doesn't get much screen time compared to her brother.

It was very touching that she's the tough prickly one, but very honestly tells you she feels alone and sadly asks you not to leave her in a moment of vulnerability before the fight where she reaches for your hand desperately before her soul is teleported away. Like damn yeah this is manipulative but you got me! I'm invested now!

Also that little crystal cat boy was in arr and I never finished/paid attention to his quest line so idk how he ended up i SB, guess I'll find out.

[not-poignant]

Hi! I read your Fae Tales series 8ish years ago, and I fell in love with Augus and Gwyn. I had the random urge to look you up again after nearly a decade, and I am THRILLED that you’re still writing about them! I’m currently re-reading the old stuff and it brings me such comfort, but I’m also excited to read your new work next! Much love from a long time fan. <3

Hi hi!

It's been 10 years of Game Theory like... today, or... in like 5 days. It's soon anyway. It will have been a decade and if I wasn't so um, me-ish, I would have done something special for it.

Instead I'm just putting up chapters like always.

I am finished with the canon, and I've nearly finished with writing them in general (The Nascent Diplomat is all that's left of Augus/Gwyn), but I'm enjoying the AUs of other characters, and I've been working on some other original stuff behind the scenes!

But I'll always love Fae Tales and Augus and Gwyn and the whole crew, it's led me into some of my favourite stories of all time, both to write and read, and it's also led me to the very best people. :D

I hope you enjoy the new work if you read it! :D :D And it's so so cool to 'hear' from you! *waves happily*

[itsclydebitches]

The RWBY Justice League trailer is out. AU crossover fanfiction with a budget.

I just watched it and honestly? The plot seems fine. Painfully generic, but given that I support painfully generic things whose primary draw is the niche characters/references of a particular fandom (or in this case two), it's whatever. I like AU crossover fic, so I fully understand why, for current RWBY fans, getting that on a movie budget is a dream come true. Plus a few of the scenes looks nice, like Wonder Woman going after that grimm.

On its own I'd be fully wiling to go, "Eh, it doesn't look like anything special, but I'm willing to watch it on some random, weekend night" and leave it at that, but as with all things RWBY, this film is caught up in the franchises' other problems. For example, prior to watching the trailer I assumed that this was an AU in the sense that the DC folks have always existed in the RWBY-verse. AKA, Batman grew up as a faunus. However, now I've learned that they've actually been transported here... and de-aged... and some have randomly become minorities? I don't know anything about Vixen as a character, but taking the guy whose entire fighting style is based around his insane amount of wealth--whose philosophy is embedded in enacting change that even his power as a wealthy white man can't touch--and giving him bat wings that, in this world, is a symbol of the oppressed species seems... messy.

This is just the cycle for RWBY nowadays. Fans are excited and I'm genuinely happy for them. What they're excited for seems pretty lackluster to me. Then I think about it for a hot second, specifically in the context of RWBY's history, and go, "Wait..." At this point, I actively hope that any new installments are just "fine" as opposed to "potentially offensive to a large number of viewers."

Also, this is SUCH a nitpick and a wholly own up to that, but Ruby's nonsense encouragements drive me nuts nowadays. Most RWDE folks have aired their grievances over "What's the plan, Ruby?" / "Don't let anyone else die" (or whatever the exact quotation is). Now we've got "What do we do??" / "We... fight." Like yes, right before this Ruby has another "I just might [have a plan]" line, so of course there's something resembling strategy here, but I haaaate that cheesy, 'inspiring' call to action when characters are LEGITIMATELY asking how they're going to defeat a powerful foe. As in, what's the plan, Ruby, not the hopeful outcome. It feeds into the very non-nitpick-y problem of the characters coasting by on the meta assurance that things will work out because they're Good Guys/Main Characters, and likewise flies in the face of the earlier Volumes where Ruby did come up with truly excellent plans. Remember the days of taking out the Nevermore? Team attacks against Roman's mech? Shooting Nora with a lightning bullet? The era when fans were (imo rightly) pointing out that Ruby was the team's core strategist, despite how often the dialogue insisted it was Jaune? Now we've got individual fights against the Ace Ops, blinking against the Hound + the Schnees dealing the final blow, attacking Cordovin without a thought to the consequences, risking a Kingdom's worth of lives because they'll defeat Salem ~somehow~ and it's a writing MESS, so whenever Ruby has a generic "What do we do? We fight ✊" line it hammers home that RT isn't developing combat strategies anymore. Which, you know, for a show built around its combat is a bit of a problem for me.

ANYWAY /rant over lol

[tacomedli]

rant abt writing and stuff

UUUUUUUUUUUGHHHGHGHGH

i love my book. i love the story i've created, the characters, the vision of it in my head, everything.

but my worldbuilding and plot and such have all changed so MUCH since i started writing it. i'm ok with that, since i have a better idea now of what i want the story to look like, and one day i'll probably go back and change a lot of things to make the cringey, confusing beginning flow a lot better.

here's the problem though:

i'm sharing this story with some irl friends as i write it. so they have to deal with this really shitty first draft that has me figuring things out as i go and changing the setting and time period and whether there's magical elements or not. because it was a modern time period at first! and now it's some weird dystopian steampunk something or other with a fashion style that i see very clearly in my head but i don't even know what year it's from! i see this world so well in my head but i don't know how to describe it in a way that i feel they'll understand! especially since it's changed throughout the story!

i really made this hard for myself. in some ways i wish i could go back now and get rid of some of the things that are bothering me and causing story problems, but that's also really intimidating to think about.

i know if i go back now i'll get all bogged down in the details, and i don't know if i can fully fix everything properly yet when i still don't know what i want the ending to be.

and i'm excited for where i am in the story. i've been on the cusp of these REALLY exciting plot points for so long, and now i'm finally, FINALLY starting to reach them! this is where the good stuff really starts! this is where i can start adding the scenes i wrote ahead of time months and months and even a year ago!

and i know the ones that care will stick with it, and honestly they're following along pretty well. i'm just ashamed at how much it feels like a jumbled mess. i feel like my stress is causing my writing quality to go way down, because the only way i can get myself to actually write is to say "it's okay, let the writing be shitty now, you can always go back and edit it later"

which is technically good advice in general for me, but lately i haven't been going back and editing it before i show it to my friends, so i just feel really bad. normally i love editing but with how jumbled my chapters have been lately (writing scenes out of order and trying to piece them back together, lines of dialogue i like too much and refuse to delete despite them causing problems, not knowing wtf im doing with this plot, etc) it's a nightmare just to think about, so i just. don't.

maybe i should slow down my update schedule. but i'm worried i'll be letting them down, even if only 1-2 reliably read it and leave comments anymore. i'm afraid that if i write completely at my own pace, i won't write at all. and besides, i NEED those few comments to keep me going. to remind me that someone else is actually interested in this book.

so i keep writing this way. "it's a mess right now, they're reading it as a mess right now, but one day, when it's finished, you'll go back and rewrite what you need too."

which is, like, fine. it doens't bother me TOO much, i think venting abt it helps a lot, but i really want to print a couple copies when this is done, but i dont wanna print the shitty version, i wanna print the fixed version. and im worried that i won't actually fix it bc i have at LEAST two other unrelated books that i've promised myself for literal years that i would finish/rewrite, and i think about those almost as much as this one, ie daily

so idk what will happen. i guess i'll cross that bridge when i come to it. anyway i hope i have the energy to edit this current chapter before i update bc my self imposed deadline is coming up very soon and this one's another mess lmao