#i wrote it with the intention of trying out a different pov and It Fucking Worked

[rolandkaros]

y'all are about to be aghast by the fic i've just written 😭

[heartingw]

If you're too shy (let me know) - Ellie Williams

Warning: adult content even if not explicit; pining!ellie and pining!reader; ellie being lowkey a tease; kind of invasion of privacy; praising; making out; dina being a good friend; jesse is reader's brother, but reader's physical characteristics is not implied (safe space for all women); ellie being so damn in love with reader; heavy petting; joel is not dead here; a little bit perverted, but mostly romantic; maybe typos and bad writing since i'm not an english speaker; both pov's, but you'll know; also me being fucking cheesy, so if you don't like it, don't read the final 'letter'. I'm a romantic, sorry.

Words: almost 3k.

A/N: I hope it's not bad and too rushed. If you see anything weird in the writing, please let me know and I'll fix it immediately. I don't have a beta reader, so…

♥ To be Ellie's patrol partner you had to know that she often went on patrol looking extremely tired from spending hours of the night strumming her guitar, drawing, or writing songs.

Jesse and Dina were already used to trying to hold some kind of conversation with her - or gossip, Ellie loved a good gossip - to keep her awake and alert all the way back to Jackson in those days. But it was a little hard to do that all the time, since most of the time they didn't have much knowledge about her personal hobbies. And neither of them were particularly good at drawing or creative enough to write song lyrics.

That's why Ellie ended up, somehow, getting close to you.

Since you're Jesse's sister, she's known you pretty much since when she arrived in Jackson years ago. A shy girl who only answered when you were spoken to or when Jesse forced it out of you. Ellie never minded. In fact, she hadn't even paid much attention to you at first. Living in Jackson, having a peaceful life after the hell she and Joel had gone through had left her a little bewildered for the first few months.

Honestly, she only started talking to people because Dina decided that they would become best friends whether she wanted to or not and started talking to the green eyed girl at any opportunity. And Jesse, as a good boyfriend, went along.

Ellie was 16 when you heard her playing guitar at dawn on the porch of her house.

Though still a little shy, you apologized and immediately recognized the song Ellie was playing, one Joel had just taught her. Smiling and singing the rest of the lyrics that you had interrupted. And even a little embarrassed to have been seen playing outside, Ellie couldn't help but be intrigued by you for the first time in two years.

Over the time, the friendship grew as well as an internal conflict within Ellie.

She found that you liked several different types of music and sometimes hummed the lyrics to her. That your brother had found a music player that still worked and that you were able to charge it and since then you always listened to music before bed. That you, just like her, liked to write, but you never showed anything you wrote. Ellie didn't mind that much, tho. After all, she never showed anyone her private notes either.

She had noticed that you always had a soft smile when she played any song for you. That you had the habit of biting your lower lip and that you lifted your eyebrows while talking to people, giving them full attention.

She noticed that you rejected all men who approached you with the intention of flirting. And that you never looked at any of them with any kind of desire. Ellie also noticed how much you liked her hands and that your eyes always went to her mouth when she wet her lips with her tongue.

When Ellie realized how much she paid attention to you, she understood how fucked she was.

Jesse's sister. The girl she knew who had grown into a fucking beautiful woman. Who had also become a close friend. Who liked music, liked to write (God knows what), and that seemed genuinely curious when Ellie spoke some random curiosity about space.

Suddenly you had become the reason Ellie wrote romantic lyrics and poems during the night.

On your 22nd birthday Ellie found out she wasn't exactly discreet about her feelings for you. Her eyes widened when Dina sat next to her in your small party and asked if it was that year she would finally take her chance and confess to you.

Ellie didn't even know if you were into women, she wasn't going to spoil your friendship like that.

After most of the people had left the party, Ellie approached you. You looked fucking pretty in a summer dress and Ellie was feeling like crap for having to force herself not to look at your legs and breasts.

"Hey, I have something for you."

You interrupted what you were saying to Jesse and turned fully to her, a cheerful smile on your face. "Oh, so that's why you brought your backpack. I was wondering why you came here with it."

"Did you really think I wasn't going to give you anything for your birthday?" Ellie asked you with a side smile and teasing voice. "So much faith on me, I see."

She pulled a notebook out of her backpack. The cover was adorned with constellations and symbols of zodiac signs - Ellie had told you how people used to relate the day they were born to personalities and you had become obsessed with it.

Your eyes widened, delighted with the gift and your hands slowly moved towards the notebook, picking up gently while whispering her name like you couldn't believe what you were seeing. In the blink of an eye you already had your arms around her neck, hugging her tight and putting your face on her neck.

"Fuck, Ellie, thank you so, so much! I've wanted a new one for so long and Jesse never brought me one from patrols." Your voice was charged with emotion as you thanked her in her ear. Ellie knew that writing was like therapy for you – you'd already mentioned this several times –, she also remembered when you complained to her you had already filled out all the pages of your notebook and Jesse never brought a new one, but always brought something to Dina.

"Maybe I didn't give you one so you wouldn't write those things anymore, can you imagine if our parents read that?" Ellie's eyes turned to Jesse, who was smiling and teasing his sister with no real malice involved. "I didn't even know you knew those things. So intense that I blushed."

Quickly you turned to slap your brother's arm, your ears and cheeks red, and mouth slightly open with shock. "You weren't even supposed to have touched that notebook, let alone read it!" Your voice sounded high-pitched.

"My little sister, now a woman. Writing p- ow!" Dina pulled on Jesse's ear, causing a groan of pain from the man who then burst out laughing and gave you a bear hug. "Chill out, I'm just joking."

Ellie watched as Jesse laughed and you tried to get out of his embrace still trying to slap his arm weakly. Dina also laughed as she told her boyfriend to leave his sister alone.

If there was one thing Ellie was very proud of about herself, it was that she always minded her own business and respected others' privacy. But what her friend said was like a vortex in her head. Jesse asking what you would do if your parents read what you wrote. You, all red and embarrassed.

What the fuck do you write in your notebooks? ♥

It was one of those days that Ellie went on patrol extremely sleepy.

It wasn't something she was proud of, but this time it wasn't her fault. It was yours. What do you usually write? She thought maybe it was something like horror, but Ellie knew you were fearful and didn't like to be scared. And horror wouldn't leave that fucking beautiful red color on your cheeks.

Could it be something naughty?

God, Ellie fucking knew you had a perverted side that you let slip once or twice, but you're not as open about it as her or Dina. Did you write dirty stuff in your notebook? What would you write about? About characters you created? About people you knew? About yourself? Ellie scolded herself at the thought you could write about her.

If you were to write about her, what would you write?

"I hope there won't be any infected today or we will die in less than 2 minutes," Dina said with a teasing voice. "What got you so distracted today?"

Letting out a sigh, Ellie decided to trust Dina. It's not like her friend is going to tell Jesse what she was going to say anyway. If there's one thing Dina believed in the 'chicks before dicks' code. Honestly, Ellie needed to unravel before she went crazy.

"It's just," she cleared her throat. "I can't fucking stop thinking about what Jesse said at the party. About the notebook."

"Oh, that," the brunette let out a low chuckle as she shook her head. "Well, I might know a thing or two, but I won't tell you."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Thought I was your best friend." Ellie's voice sounded playful. "C'mon, throw me a bone."

Dina felt bad she was having so much fun at Ellie's expense, but she couldn't help but find it funny how the auburn-haired girl wanted to know anything that was related to you. As she got older, Ellie had become a more closed off person and disinterested in other people outside her personal circle. Seeing her grow closer to you was impressive to say, at least. Dina liked you much better than Cat.

"Look, Jesse didn't give many details, but that day he seemed a little dumbfounded by what he read," Dina spoke as she led her horse to go slower. They were arriving at the patrol building. "He commented something about how he didn't imagine you'd write those things, but that he should have expected it by now, since you're an adult."

When they arrived at the building, Ellie and Dina got off the horses and grabbed their backpacks. As they walked up the stairs, Dina wondered if she was doing the right thing by telling her friend what she knew, but she was tired of seeing the two of you obviously crushing on each other without doing anything about it.

"Listen up, I didn't tell you anything. You don't know anything! But Jesse said you wrote about girls. Intimate letters about girls. Now can you stop making excuses for yourself and try to get your fucking dream girl?"

Ellie was not religious, but she thanked God at that moment for the opportunity. You liking girls was a victory. Now she needed to convince you that the two of you would be fucking awesome together.

♥

If Ellie thanked God earlier, now she was cursing him. If he really existed, he was doing some kind of cruel test on her.

A simple and very organized room. It was easy to see what you liked when she walked in. Your books, your posters, your desk with some pencils and pens lying around. The slightly open drawer that Ellie could see the notebook she had given you as a gift inside.

She couldn't hear you in the bathroom, since it was downstairs. She didn't even know if you would take a long time in the shower. But her eyes were glued to the drawer and her fingers were itching to pick up the notebook and read at least one page of what you wrote.

"Fuck," she whispered as she got closer to the drawer. "I'm such a fucking bad person."

And it was at that moment that she, without making a noise, opened the drawer.

♥

Even with the world pretty much ending, you loved the fact that Jackson allowed people to have a little bit of peace. This allowed you to dress more comfortably - you were not one of the people responsible for patrols - so wearing dresses, for example, wasn't a problem for you. And you liked it.

Which led you to wear a dress today. Today, the day Ellie had arranged to watch a movie with you. In her house.

With limited resources, you had to make do with the basics of personal hygiene. Soap and a simple shampoo did their best to keep you clean and smelling good. And you had to admit you used it a lot to always make a good impression on Ellie.

The girl with a freckled face and green eyes you've been in love with since you were 14 years old.

But today Ellie was acting differently. Ever since you came out of the bathroom, already dressed, she was acting weird. Not a bad weird, but weird all the same.

You could tell Ellie was touching you more than usual. Her hand guiding you by soft touches in you back while taking you to her house, sending shivers down your neck. Her whispering things in your ear as if she was telling you a secret and 'unintentionally' touching her lips to your ear while sitting on her couch during the movie. Her voice sounding hoarser than usual. Jesus Christ, you didn't even know someone's voice could sound so hot.

Ever since you met Ellie, she had never spoken or acted like this to you. Maybe it was because you were Jesse's sister or she wasn't attracted to you. The only thing you had was your imagination. And you imagined a lot of things with Ellie Williams.

Your notebooks were proof of that.

What you weren't expecting was a scene of a couple kissing deeply in the movie. It was a suspense movie you didn't even remember the title. The chances of those characters dying were high, but at that moment, the man was pulling the woman by her hair while devouring her mouth. Fuck, you could see their tongue inside each other's mouths.

With your body rigid with embarrassment and your throat dry, you could feel your face heat up as you took a deep breath. Then you felt Ellie's eyes on you. Her hand slowly reached yours while she got closer, her shoulders touching your when she slightly leaned forward staring into your eyes.

"Hey," her voice low, she was so close you could feel her breath hitting your cheeks. You didn't look in her direction. "You alright?"

The guy took off the woman's blouse while kissing her neck. The woman let out a moan as she tried to rip off his shirt. Your eyes turned to Ellie's and you gave her a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm good."

Emerald eyes stared at your mouth. Her face tilted slightly as she moved closer and closer. The hand that had previously touched yours was now holding your chin lightly not allowing you to move your face away from her. Not that you really wanted to. "Bet you are."

Her lips were like a phantom touch, making you crave for her. Her nose lightly caressing yours. Ellie could get you mesmerized easily. The moans became background noise. "Ellie..."

"Let me kiss you," she sounded almost desperate. You wondered if she wanted you as much as you wanted her. "I promise it'll be good. It's going to be so fucking good."

Kissing ellie was hot as lava.

♥

Kissing girls has always been good. They were soft everywhere, and it felt so good to feel every bit of them during the kiss. Their arms around her neck, the soft waist that Ellie loved to squeeze against her. Their weight on her lap and their breasts pressed against hers. The moans they let out against her mouth. Kissing women made perfect sense to Ellie.

But kissing you was a fucking whole new experience.

Maybe it was the feelings involved. Ellie remembers that Dina had mentioned how special it was to be with someone you really loved. Now she gets it. She understands the way you kiss her back so enthusiastically, as if you've been waiting for her all your life. She understands because she's been writing songs about what it would be like to feel your mouth against her.

Her hands ran down your back and arms until they stopped at your waist, pushing you against the couch. Your body didn't reject hers, you obeyed Ellie's silent commands without a second thought. Your hands went to her neck, pulling her against you. Your legs wrapped around her waist, making your pretty dress slip up to your hips.

Every piece of clothing that came out, Ellie was more sure that you were everything she ever wanted. Your fucking delicious moans, your warm skin against hers, your mouth demanding hers, your hands running possessively down her body, you whining her name. The way you fucking begged her.

The way you fucking tasted against her mouth.

You, with a thin blanket of sweat on your skin guiding her to the ground, climbing on top of her, kissing her body in every way. Using your tongue to send shivers down every part of Ellie's body. Calling her beautiful, while kissing her stomach and lightly squeezing her breasts.

"I've always dreamed of this." Your voice came out fluttered as you made your way between her legs.

Ellie fucking loved space. And she felt you show her the whole fucking universe with your tongue.

♥

"If your freckles spread over the rest of your body like on your face, I would kiss and caress each of her with my tongue. Did you know that? All I can think about at night is your husky voice saying my name as I imagine you lying next to me in bed. Your fingers dancing through my body and your mouth glued to mine as if you can't ever let me go. And I wouldn't. Not where you can't reach me. I wonder if I would ever have the courage to hand you these letters. If I'll be able to taste you one day as I always write on these pages. Holding you in my arms while I drink everything you can offer me between your legs. I wouldn't let you go until all you could think about was me.

I don't know if I'd be enough for you, Ellie.

But I would give everything for you to love me as I love you. To kiss me like you kiss me whenever I think of you while I make myself come in my own hands."

[little-annie]

Genuine Leather

8.4k E Complete

Steve's belt keeps disappearing and when he does manage to find it, he's discovers much more than he expected to behind Eddie's bedroom door.

Or, a little bit of pining and some filthy smut

Or, a piece of fanart had me drooling and I felt legally obligated to write a fic to go along with it

[Roommates | Bondage | Breath Play | Improper Use of Steve's Belt]

Licorice Ice Cream

3.8k 2/?Ch T WIP but chapters can be read as stand alone

It's damn hot in Hawkins Indiana and of course the Munson's AC is busted. But at least Starcourt Mall has functional AC and an ice cream shop and what is that? Steve Harrington in a Sailors Costume?

[Eddie's POV | Scoops Ahoy | Supportive Uncle Wayne | Heat Wave]

Ghostly

3.6k 2Ch E Complete

"It started in the nights where he'd awake from the horrors of his nightmares to a sudden chill that'd linger at his side. An eerie but oddly comforting feeling that'd press against his body with intent. Pressure at his back and wrapping around his waist, a touch he'd longed for but never had the chance to experience. A touch he'd been desperate for since spring break of 86'. A touch he'd wish to experience in the aftermath of hell but never once had the opportunity before it was taken away and left to rot in the barren wasteland of the Upside Down.

A touch of a man he knows he could have grown to love."

OR Steve falls in love with Eddie's ghost

...but I was high on cold medicine when I wrote this lol so don't expect too much

[Post S4, Ghost Fucking, Happy Ending]

Something More

3.8k E Complete but may add to later

Steve Harrington's not gay.

He just needs more.

And well, 'The Freak's' more.

Or the start of something more between 'The King' and 'The Freak.'

[Internalized Homophobia | Public Blow Job | Steve's First Time With a Man]

In this Lifetime

2.4k T Complete

Years down the road Steve asks Eddie to help plan his proposal, specifically what to say to his future fiance and well, things don't go quite as planned when Eddie's the one who ends up down on one knee.

Or, Eddie never bothered coming out to the ragtag group of monster hunters and so Steve had always thought a future with him wasn't in the cards.

Or, they inevitably sort their shit out and realize they're in love with each other

[Roommates | Post S4 Eddie Lives | Requited Unrequited Love | Panic Attack]

Figured it'd be Different

9.7k E Complete

He has a big fat crush on Eddie and Steve Harrington's never really been good with words so he hoping his actions might spur Eddie to take charge and do something about it.

OR Steve decides to make Eddie jealous by sleeping with people while he knows Eddie's awake and has no choice but to listen.

OR Eddie goes half nuts trying to figure out if everything Steve's doing is intentional or not, he finally clues in when Steve tells him word for word what he's doing any why.

[College | Exhibitionism | Accidental Voyeurism | Fluff and Smut]

They Have to Tell Them

2.6k 3Ch T Complete

Eddie and Steve have been together for a while and they think it's finally time they tell their friends.

OR They come out to Dustin, Robin and The Party on three separate occasions and it's quiet hilarious

[Coming Out | The Party | Secret Relationship]

Closets and Dill Pickle Chips

11.8k E Complete

Steve comes out to Robin a few times whether he means to or not. When he finally does it sober, she helps him devise a plan on how to win over Eddie.

OR From Steve's Bi-Awakening, to Bi-Panic to figuring out he loves a boy.

OR A glimpse into Steve's self discovery and getting the boy of his dreams

OR The first time in years Steve allows himself to cry, is the first time he makes love to Eddie Munson

[Coming Out | Eddie is Steve's Bi Awakening | Friends to Lovers | Bi Panic]

Art by @ahhrenata

Mission: A Very Steddie Christmas

21.6 E Complete but may add to later

The Party and Robin are sick and tired of Steve and Eddie dancing around (read: being hopelessly blind to) each other's affection. So, like any good friends, they set out with a plan to have the pair coupled up before Christmas. Shenanigans and scheming ensue and sooner than later we find the boys giggling and entangled under the Mistletoe.

[My 1st Complete Steddie Fic | My First Time Writing Steddie Smut | Xmas Fic | The Party | Friends to Lovers | Fluff | Eventual Smut]

[daechwitatamic]

V. Say What You Mean || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

You and Namjoon weather a storm together.

Section Warnings: language, drinking, kissing, pov change

WC: 6k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Thursday October 25th 

Something wakes you up in the middle of the night, hours after you’ve been asleep. You lay there, eyes closed, listening to see if you can identify what it was. 

You become aware of pouring rain, and a flash startles you just seconds before the apartment shakes with a clap of thunder.

Mystery solved, you think. You pull the comforter up to your ears and try to get comfortable again, but your mind starts immediately racing - about the assignment you should have finished last night and didn’t, about what you’ll submit for your next poetry assignment, about Taehyung, about Namjoon, about yourself. 

It’s too much. Lightning brightens your room again and you sit up, reaching for your phone. A quick check tells you it’s almost three am. 

You wrap yourself up in a throw-blanket you keep at the end of your bed and shuffle out to the living room. 

You’re surprised to see a light in the living room - the light from Namjoon’s laptop on the coffee table. He’s on the couch, hunched over to type, the screen lighting him up from below. 

He turns when he hears you, looking a little like a kid caught up past bedtime.

“What are you doing up?” he asks in a whisper, which is so fucking cute, because it’s not like he’s going to wake you. 

“The storm,” you say, your mouth struggling to form the words, your body still mostly asleep. 

He sits up straighter, pushes the laptop away. Like suddenly this is serious. “Are you afraid of storms?” he asks intently, like he needs to know, like he’s ready to make it better. “Come rest out here so you’re not by yourself.”

You can’t help but smile. “No, it just woke me. I’m not scared.”

“Come here anyway,” he suggests, his voice like gravel.

Something is happening here. The tension in the room crackles with more electricity than the storm outside. You make your way to the couch, blanket tight around your shoulders, and settle in next to him, a good five inches away.

He shifts mostly sideways, facing you, and rests an arm along the back of the couch. 

Thunder cracks again and you jump. Namjoon narrows his eyes. 

“There’s a difference between scared and startled,” you say defensively. Then you look at his laptop screen, a word document open, the cursor blinking patiently as it waits. “Are you working on your book? It sounded like you were in a flow.”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d work on it. You just caught me for the one sentence that happened to come easily. I barely wrote anything.”

You settle sideways on the couch, facing him, leaning against the plushy back. His arm rests near the top of your head. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” you ask. Then, you smile a little deviously. “Are you scared of storms?”

He ducks his head against a little giggle, then looks up at you through his bangs, the smile still on his face. “Would you think less of me if I said a little?”

You giggle too. “I’ll protect you,” you tease. 

“My hero,” he quips, huffing out a laugh. Then, more seriously, he adds, “I couldn’t sleep because… my ex texted me today.”

You sit straight up, your blanket falling off your shoulders and pooling around your middle. You fix it in a hurry, trying to watch his face as you do. What had made him open up? You two had never talked about anything super serious or personal before, except the one conversation about your family, which had been brief. 

“No shit?” you say, once you’re wrapped up again. “What for? I mean, do you want to tell me about it?”

He exhales, peering over his own shoulder to watch the rain cascade down your tall front windows. “To be honest,” he says slowly, eyes on the water, “I really do want to talk about it. But I don’t want to unload on you. I can wait until tomorrow and catch Yoongi or Hobi.”

“I’m up anyway,” you point out. “I don’t mind. It might be nice to get the perspective of someone who isn’t a twenty-three year old guy?”

“Okay,” he sighs. “The thing about Elyse is…” He takes a long pause, seeming to weigh different choices in his head.

“You don’t have to pick your words carefully,” you say quietly. “It’s just me. You can say what you mean.”

He sighs, turns back to face you. “It’s hard,” he admits. “I’m careful about my words twenty-four-seven.”

“The thing about her is, what?” you prompt. You scoot a little closer, the knee you have bent underneath you just barely touching his.

He shakes his head. “Elyse was… amazing. I was so crazy about her. I don’t mean to imply that she was a bad person - I don’t think she is, at the end of the day. But she knew… how I felt, and sometimes it felt like she…” He pauses again. You wait him out, and he continues, “Sometimes it felt like she’d play games, try to see what my limit was. Does he love me enough to… whatever, or something. I’d bend over backwards for her. I’d do whatever she asked. I thought… if you love someone, that’s what you should do.”

You wait to see if he’s going to continue, but he seems to have stopped. 

“So what happened?” you ask, even though you’d heard Yoongi’s interpretation of things at game night a few weeks ago - “he loved her way more than she liked him”. 

He laughs once, darkly. In the unlit room, his eyes shine black. “She figured out the answer to her little science experiment was the limit does not exist, and got bored. About the same time I figured out that me doing everything she asked and her giving me the bare minimum back wasn’t a healthy relationship, so it’s for the best.”

“What an ass,” you mutter. 

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure she even realized what she was doing. She just needs… she has some growing up to do.”

You take this in silently. It’s valiant of him to defend her character, despite being hurt by her. You kind of like that he isn’t the type to name-call, even if maybe she deserves it. It makes you feel like if things started with you and ended badly, he’d still be respectful after. 

“So what’d she want today? When’s the last time you talked?” you finally ask. 

“Not since we broke up,” he admits. Behind him, a flash of lightning lights the neighborhood, illuminating the tree outside the window before darkness falls again. The resultant roll of thunder comes less like a crash and more like a grumble, the clouds disgruntled and complaining. “She asked me if we could meet up.”

You lean forward, almost getting in his face. “Is that where you were tonight?”

He laughs at your enthusiasm. “No,” he assures you. “I told her I’d think about it. I went out… just to walk. I needed to clear my head.”

“Did it work?” you ask with a little smile. 

He laughs again, reaching up to rub his face with his hands. “No,” he says, the word muffled by his palms. “No it did not.”

“What do you think she wants?” you ask.

“No fucking idea,” he says. His arm slides a little on the couch as he shifts, coming to rest on your shoulder, his hand hanging behind you. You wiggle to give him room, his forearm cushioning your cheek as you look at him. 

“Got any theories?” you say.

“Several,” he says dryly, and you laugh. 

There’s a sudden burst of lightning and thunder at nearly the same time - you’re still airborne jumping from the flash when the slap of thunder startles a scream out of you.

You both laugh at yourselves. Namjoon’s hand closes over your shoulder blade, ever so gently pressing you closer to him. You wonder if he can feel your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Do you think she wants to work it out?” you ask, and he closes his eyes, fingers twitching against your back, like the question pains him.

“I don’t want to think that,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Would you say yes?” you ask.

For a second, his gaze is hollow. “I’d like to say no,” he admits. “Logically, the answer is no. But sometimes she just… has this pull over me. It’s like I’m powerless, no matter what logical decision I came to.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’ve been there.”

He looks at you, then. “Do you want to talk about -?”

“No,” you say firmly. “Right now I very much do not.”

He doesn’t take his gaze off of you. “You deserve more,” he says finally, like it’s so simple. “You deserve more than someone who can’t even see how much you’re willing to give them.”

“I could say the same to you,” you point out in a whisper. Namjoon’s laptop shifts into sleep mode, the screen going dark, leaving you both lit only by the streetlight outside. There’s only the sound of the pounding rain, the low rumbles of thunder, for one beat, two beats. Then you’re crawling into his lap, lips seeking his, hands on his shoulders for balance, blanket forgotten behind you. 

You press your lips to his, hard, and you feel his hand on your back instinctively pull you closer. Then you lean back, panting more from shock than anything else. “Sorry,” you gasp. “I shouldn’t have -.”

He cuts you off, surging forward to recapture your mouth, his hand flat on your back pulling you in, in, in. His spare hand comes up to cup your cheek, so gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll break you. You want more, need more, and you lightly suck his plump bottom lip between yours, teasing it with the tip of your tongue.

He growls, immediately moving his hand from your face to clutch at the dip of your waist, and a shock of desire shoots through your belly as you both shift. He leans back against the arm of the couch and you throw a leg over his lap, not breaking the kiss. He kisses you hungrily, forcefully, hands settling onto your hips. You can feel the press of each fingertip into your body, ten little divots. 

He toys with your mouth, more skilled with his tongue than you would have expected from him. You groan into the kiss, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him impossibly closer. He raises a hand to tangle it in your hair, both of you trying to get closer by degrees. 

When you finally break to breathe, you gasp for breath against his neck. He holds you tight, both arms around your middle, like he’ll try to keep you there if you bolt. Like he expects you to bolt.

“Namjoon,” you whisper. “I should have… that was out of order. I should have told you first - that I like you. I should have said it first.”

His hold loosens, just barely, just enough that if you hadn’t been paying attention you might have missed it.

He laughs against your hair, reaching up to smooth it down. It’s the first time you’ve really noticed how fucking large his hands are. He tips your chin up with his index finger, urging you to look at him. “Me too,” he tells you seriously, looking into your eyes. “I could have told you that, too.” He kisses you once more, chastely. 

Part of you would like to keep kissing, but it’s the middle of the night, and you’re surrounded by the dark, and your eyelids are so heavy. You shift to stretch your legs out, laying next to him but draped partly over him. He keeps one arm wrapped around your back as you settle against his side, laying your head down on his broad chest. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, suddenly feeling very unsure. You’re unsure of a lot of things - starting with A: how you ended up like this, and landing at Z: where you go from here.

He gives your body a squeeze as an answer, his spare hand curling into a fist that he uses to cover his mouth as a yawn overtakes him. He reaches for the blanket you’d abandoned and tugs it out from under you, flapping it and letting it flutter over top of you both. 

You lay there in silence for a while, listening to the rain, listening to Namjoon’s heart. Then, quietly, you ask, “Do you think you’ll do it?”

“Do what?” he murmurs. You tilt your head to peek up at him. His head is back on the arm of the couch, and his eyes are closed. 

“Go meet her? Do you think you will?”

He shakes his head, his thumb stroking your back over the thin pajama top you have on. “No,” he says finally, sounding half-asleep. “Not going.”

You nod against his chest, curling your fingers in his shirt and closing your eyes. The rain, his heartbeat, and the thunder sing you to sleep.

– 

Namjoon wakes with a crick in his neck and sweat gathering under his tshirt. It’s bright - brighter than normal for morning in his bedroom. He has a split second of absolute panic that he’s missed an alarm and is late for class or work, but that panic is knocked off course as his body catches up to his brain to inform him that he’s not in his bed, and he’s not alone.

He looks down at the top of your head where you’re still cuddled against his ribs, breathing heavily. His arm tightens around you instinctively as everything from last night comes back to him. 

Elyse’s text, out of fucking nowhere, tilting his earth off-axis. 

Laying in his bed, wide awake, thoughts racing. Pouring over every faction of their relationship, the good and the bad, his faults and hers, his merits and hers. Obsessing over each mistake he made, the ways he needs to change in order to not repeat the past. 

How she had ended the conversion - “think about it, Namjoon? for me?”

How, if he did what she asked and met up to talk, he’d be falling right into those old patterns - Elyse says “jump” and Namjoon says “off what?”.

He reaches slowly for his phone, trying not to wake you. You stir at the movement, but settle back in. His phone tells him it’s still early - barely even seven. You’ve only slept a few hours since you’d talked. Since you’d kissed. 

Namjoon wishes he had time for a walk; he needs to get his head straight, even more than he did yesterday. 

He needs to know how you feel. He needs to know what’s happening here. He can’t make decisions without all of the information, it’s just not how he operates. 

You said you like him, and he believes you. But it doesn’t remove what he can see clear as day - Taehyung was there first, Taehyung takes up most of your heart. 

Namjoon’s not a jealous person, by nature. He likes to think he’s pretty emotionally mature, too. But if you’re going to be with him - and he’s fully aware that the conversation hasn’t even gotten that far yet, he’s getting ahead of himself, no one has discussed being together in any capacity - then you need to be with him. Not as second place, not as a consolation prize. 

He’s willing to give you the time and space you need to figure that out, to decide if you can do it - give a good-faith try. 

But, you should probably talk about if either of you wants to pursue this in the first place. 

Would he want to date you? If he boils it down to the simplest facts, then sure. You’re smart, have similar interests, you make him laugh. He finds you really pretty - likes how your eyes show your moods before the rest of your face does, gets knocked down by your smile when you really mean it. 

Add in your baggage - loving someone who doesn’t want you. He doesn’t know the ways this affects your emotions or mentality, but he’s sure if something starts, he’ll learn. Would you be able to let go of the familiar? Would you constantly compare him to this idealized, “untarnished and pure” love, as you’d once described it? Would you cling to insecurities of never seeing an equal love, having experienced the lack of it for so long? There’s no way for him to know. There’s no way for you to know. 

It’s less simple now.

Add in his baggage - he knows Elyse left him a little fucked up. A little less trusting, a little afraid to love. His problem, over and over again, was loving too much, creating an unbalance. Or maybe it was choosing wrong, choosing partners who could only give less. 

It’s hard to fight the instinct, now, to pull it back, to temper it, to tamp it down. If he started something new, no matter who it was with, he’d have to be aware of that, have to actively fight against the urge to protect himself.

He doesn’t know if he’d be able to discern if a partner is fucking with his head the way Elyse would, or if they were just mixed up, just flawed. 

Maybe it’d be easier not to try.

This thought goes out the window when you stir beside him, stretching your toes down to the far end of the couch, burying your face into his side to hide from the morning sunlight streaming in the big windows, whining a little.

“Good morning,” he says, feeling the smile take over his face. 

You freeze, your entire body going still. He can feel you hold your breath, feel your heart hammer against your back under the weight of his arm.

Then you seem to remember where you are, what happened, who you’re with. You exhale, and he wonders if he hears relief in it. 

“We need to install curtains out here,” you answer, instead of good morning. Then, you reach up and use the top of the couch to pull yourself into a sitting position. Namjoon sits up more too, partly to give you room, partly to look at you.

You seem unsure for a minute, tongue peeking out to wet your lips nervously, eyes on the ground.

“Y/N,” he says gently. He knows a spiral when he sees one. You don’t look at him, so he reaches out, brushing a thumb lightly along your jawline. “Hey.”

You look up, the uncertainty written all over your face. “Sorry,” you say, though he can’t imagine what you’re apologizing for. “Did I fuck everything up? Should I not have done that?”

Namjoon shakes his head, still smiling. “Did it seem like I wasn’t into it?”

You make a face. “No,” you admit. “But I still feel like I demolished a boundary.”

He laughs a little at this, quietly. “It was a joint effort. But, I think it’s okay. I’m okay - are you… not? If you regret - or, I mean, if it’s better - we can just pretend it didn’t -.”

“No,” you say quickly. When he stops talking, you cast your eyes down again, take a breath, and then meet his eyes. “I don’t regret it,” you say quietly, making sure he knows you mean it. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Good,” he says, laying a hand on your blanket-covered knee. “Me either.”

You rub your eyes sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Nearly seven,” he tells you. 

“I have class,” you groan. “I need to go shower.”

He shifts out of your way so you can get up, helps you untangle your legs from the throw-blanket. 

“Hey,” he calls as you cross the threshold of your bedroom. You pause, backtracking to look at him expectantly. 

He gives you a playful smile. “Thanks for protecting me from the storm,” he says, and you laugh, giving a teasing eyeroll, before disappearing.

Namjoon rubs his face, stretches, and makes his way into his own room. When he returns, freshly showered and ready for class, you’re already gone.

–

Namjoon tries to keep things to himself. He tries to process on his own, sit with his thoughts, sort through his shit.

He cracks before noon.

[11:49 AM] Namjoon: so if i tell you guys something

[11:49 AM] Namjoon: it needs to be SECRET secret

[11:49 AM] Namjoon: none of the guys can know, seriously

[11:51 AM] Hobi: ominous, my dude

[11:52 AM] Namjoon: Y/N kissed me last night

[11:54 AM] Hobi: wait, what??? 😲🤯🫢

[11:54 AM] Hobi: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[11:55 AM] Hobi: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[11:56 AM] Yoongi: ok but why

[11:56 AM] Hobi: ….yoongi.

[11:57 AM] Namjoon: fuck you yoongi

[11:58 AM] Hobi: i need all of the context pls

[12:02 PM] Namjoon: uh the backstory is elyse texted me yesterday? 😅

[12:02 PM] Yoongi: again… but why

[12:03 PM] Namjoon: tbh i have no clue. she wants to “talk”. i havent told her yes or no yet

[12:04 PM] Hobi: 👁️👄👁️

[12:05 PM] Yoongi: you’re nearing your daily emoji quota, jung

[12:06 PM] Hobi: it’s only been six!!! 😤

[12:07 PM] Yoongi: 7

[12:07 PM] Namjoon: guys???

[12:08 PM] Hobi: 🤐

[12:08 PM] Yoongi: 8

[12:09 PM] Namjoon: GUYS

[12:10 PM] Yoongi: ok ok go ahead

[12:13 PM] Namjoon: ok so i was up at like 3am bc… elyse texted me and i just… had a lot of thoughts

[12:13 PM] Namjoon: and we had that storm and she woke up and came out to the living room and we were talking… about elyse… about idk relationships in general and idk the vibes were right and she just kissed me

[12:14 PM] Namjoon: so that happened for a little and we fell asleep on the couch?? like fully woke up with her this morning??

[12:14 PM] Hobi: oh shit 😲

[12:15 PM] Yoongi: wow man

[12:17 PM] Hobi: so what now?

[12:17 PM] Yoongi: what about taehyung?

[12:20 PM] Namjoon: those are indeed both questions 🙃

–

When you get home, Namjoon is standing beside his bed, folding shirts and putting them into a small, faux-leather travel bag. You give him a quick wave as you shuffle past the door, then do a double-take when you notice the bag.

“Are you… leaving?” you ask, coming closer. 

He looks at you, surprised, hands stilling mid-fold. “You don’t know?” he asks. “We’re all going away this weekend. The guys.”

You frown, glance at your phone in your hand, like you’re wondering if you missed a text. “Away?” you repeat.

Namjoon turns to face you. “Yeah, we’ve had it planned for a while. We’re all staying out by this brewery in the countryside? We’ll be back Sunday afternoon.”

Your frown deepens. “Who all is going?”

“Me, Yoongi-hyung, Hobi,” Namjoon lists, “Jin-hyung, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin.”

Your frown turns into a full pout. “Who am I going to hang out with all weekend?” you cry. “Leave someone here! I don’t care who it is, anyone will do!”

Namjoon shoots you a smile and resumes folding. “You’ll be okay. It’s just two nights.”

“Two nights!” you howl dramatically, clutching at your face like you’re The Scream. “I will simply not make it.”

“Maybe you can get some writing done,” Namjoon suggests lightly, crossing the room to dig out a pair of shoes. “No distractions.”

You give a hmph of dissent. “Whatever,” you say eventually, before heading for your bedroom. “You’ll just miss me and come back early. All of you.”

Friday, October 26th

“Did you ever answer Elyse?” Hobi asks from Yoongi’s passenger seat, turning clear around to peer at Namjoon in the back. 

Namjoon stares out the window. “I told her I was going away for the weekend and I’d get back to her after.”

“Wow,” Yoongi says, one hand on the steering wheel. “Very assertive of you.”

“Shut up,” Namjoon grumbles. 

“Are you going to meet with her?” Hobi prods, ignoring the bickering.

Namjoon isn’t sure. He’d told you no, but he wasn’t sure you’d care if he changed his mind. He could change his mind, right? “I still don’t know what the fuck she wants,” he mutters. “It feels like a trap.”

“Glad your sense of self-preservation is working,” Yoongi says. “It is a trap. Elyse is a puppet-master. She just wants to make you dance. If I ask Namjoon to come, he will. You know how she operates. Wouldn’t it feel good to prove her wrong?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer this, and Yoongi lets him get away with silence. 

“I’m still curious, though,” Hobi pipes up, voicing Namjoon’s conflict for him. “What if she’s pregnant?”

“I will kick you out of this car,” Namjoon growls, shoving his knees through the seat into Hobi’s back. Hobi bends over with laughter and Yoongi’s shoulders shake. “Don’t even say that,” Namjoon continues to scold. “Don’t even give the universe any ideas. Fuck.”

“You’ve been broken up for four months,” Yoongi points out. “I think she would have told you before now.”

“Puppet-master,” Hobi reminds him helpfully. 

“I want to go home,” Namjoon laments. “Turn the car around.”

–

The house the guys rent is plain and sparsely decorated, but the real pull is the expansive wooden deck, from which there is a beautiful mountain view. It’s also a short drive into town, not far from the brewery they’re touring on Saturday, and sleeps seven - which was important, because they’ve all agreed they’re too old to share beds, now.

Yoongi’s car is the first to arrive, which means they get to choose rooms first. Namjoon picks a small single that’s practically in the attic; he doesn’t mind the size - he’s just happy it’s a space he doesn’t have to share, and that it’s far from the main floor where the most noise will be.

After doing a quick unpack and making a list of what they need, they load back into the car to make a quick grocery run. By the time they get back, trunk loaded with snacks and drinks, there are two more cars in the driveway, indicating that the rest of the group has arrived. 

They all help organize the groceries - or, rather, most of them help, and Taehyung and Jungkook watch from the kitchen table, happy to be babied. As they do, they discuss the general plan for the weekend.

“Today is kind of open,” Jungkook, who is the mastermind of the trip, tells them. “I figured we’d eat together tonight, but everyone can do what they want today.”

“The lake is close,” Namjoon says. He’d looked it up before they left. “I thought I’d walk around there.”

Yoongi gives him a sideways look. “You walking to get there?”

Namjoon gives him a sheepish smile. “I was hoping someone with a license might want to join me.”

“If Yoongi-hyung is okay with me taking the car, I’ll go,” Hobi says.

Yoongi shrugs. “I brought work to do, so I’m staying here. The car’s all yours.”

“I wanted to go into town,” Taehyung admits. “They actually have a few small galleries I wanted to peek at. A few shops, too.”

The group inevitably splits up for the various activities. Seokjin and Yoongi both opt to hang around the house, Jimin and Taehyung take a car into town, and Jungkook joins Namjoon and Hobi in the car towards the lake, wanting to do something a little active.

It’s probably not as active as he would have liked, being just a flat, paved trail around the lake’s perimeter, but when Namjoon apologizes Jungkook insists this is still better than following Taehyung and Jimin around the town’s shops.

The lake, small enough to look across, glitters under the mid-afternoon sun. They walk the whole trail in about an hour, strolling and talking. When they pass a pavilion with benches, they sit for a while, watching the water, the ducks, the clouds floating by. 

Hobi talks about his recent job search, the hardship of applying place after place, how he’d worked hard for his competitive internship and how it didn’t seem to be paying off. Jungkook shares a little about his thoughts about graduating after next year, where he might want to go from here - the uncertainty that he’d picked the right field, that he’d see success.  Then, as he’d dreaded it would, the conversation lands back on Namjoon and Elyse. 

Hobi is the culprit, asking Namjoon, “Do you want to talk about the text you got?”

Jungkook’s head swivels, immediately interested just from the secrecy alone.

Namjoon sighs, looking out at the water, leaning heavily on the pavilion’s wooden railing. “No,” he grumbles.

“You probably should talk it out,” Hobi presses. “You’ll need a clear head about this. For multiple reasons.” He’s being cryptic, since Jungkook doesn’t know anything about you. But Namjoon understands and resents that he’s right. 

Namjoon flops backwards onto the bench, staring at the pavilion’s roof. “Elyse wants to meet up,” he says. He can’t see it, but he knows Jungkook’s eyes go wide.

“Why?” the younger man asks, shock in his voice. “What could she possibly want?”

“To make sure I’m miserable?” Namjoon suggests. “To win one more round of If I Ask, Will He Do It?”

“You could still say no,” Hobi points out gently. “In fact, if you’re asking, my advice is to say no.”

“That’s definitely the power move,” Jungkook agrees. “Refuse to play the game.”

“Then why does that feel like letting her win?” Namjoon complains, a little whine in his voice. “Wouldn’t that look like I’m still affected by her, like I can’t handle being around her? And that’s not the case. Shouldn’t I prove it?”

“Namjoon-ah,” Hobi says gently, “what if you go and she tries to get back together?”

Namjoon lets out a sound that’s both a laugh and a growl.

“Seriously,” Hobi presses, insistent. “She could! What will you do?”

“She might not even mean it,” Jungkook mutters, toeing the ground with his sneaker. “She might do it just to see if you’d say yes.”

“You’re making her out to be way worse than she was,” Namjoon protests. “She was immature, not evil.”

“I think it looked worse from the outside,” Jungkook explains kindly. “Watching you play her games… it sucked for us, bro. I hated seeing you go through that.”

Namjoon feels discomfort in his chest; he hates that the conversation landed here. He doesn't want to talk about Elyse. He’d rather talk about you, about where that will go - if anywhere. He’d rather work out what he wants from you, hear some opinions on what the guys think you’ll want. 

He’d rather talk about kissing you, how it had felt like the lightning outside the apartment came from inside his bones, how your body had fit so neatly beneath his hands, how he had slept deeply with you pressed against his side.

He’d much rather talk about that. But he can’t. Not with Taehyung still tangled up in this.

“I don’t want her back,” he says, firmly. “She’s not even on my radar right now.”

Jungkook looks at him sideways, a little sly, and Namjoon avoids the gaze as best he can. 

He’d told you he wasn’t going, before you’d fallen asleep. 

“Find out what she wants first,” Hobi finally suggests. “Don’t go unless she’ll tell you.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, turning his head to look back out over the lake. “Maybe.”

–

The guys grill out on the deck for dinner, lounging around on the wicker furniture with drinks and snacks as Yoongi and Seokjin take turns turning the meat with a pair of tongs. 

They stay, drinking and laughing, music playing quietly from someone’s bluetooth speaker, until long after dark. Some of the older guys head to bed - Seokjin, then Hobi. 

“You can see so many more stars here,” Taehyung observes at one point, laying backwards across Jimin’s legs, eyes on the sky.

“Way more constellations,” Namjoon agrees, following his gaze.

“You know,” Taehyung continues, voice slower and more lilting than normal - Namjoon wonders if he’s a little drunk - “Y/N hasn’t texted me once.” He lets his voice fall into a pout. “I swear, she has a boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

Namjoon snaps his mouth shut, feeling the blood rush to his face, even though he knows he’s not your boyfriend, knows he’s not the reason you aren’t texting Taehuyng. Or, well, he could be the reason - it just wasn’t because you were at this exact moment too busy spending time with him. But maybe you had another reason. 

He wonders if you really are pulling away from Taehyung by degrees. He wonders if it could be because of him. Does wondering that make him full of himself? Or just an idiot?

Yoongi’s eyes are on him intently, and Jungkook murmurs to excuse himself and rises, heading into the house and away from the mess he probably senses. Jimin watches all of this silently, but says nothing.

Someone has to speak.

“You know that’s not true,” Namjoon says, finally. “No one comes to the house but you guys.”

“I know,” Taehyung mutters. “But still. Something’s off.”

Namjoon’s not sure what makes him brave enough to say it - maybe because he’s been drinking, maybe because the speaker is playing something soulful and moving, maybe because the vibe seems to be along the lines of Therapy Night. Maybe because Jimin and Yoongi are still here to do damage control. But he opens his mouth and asks, “Taehyung… what would happen if she did start to date someone?”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide and he hurries to mask it, faking a yawn that he covers with one large hand. Under the table, Namjoon kicks him lightly in scolding.

“Ah,” Taehyung says, flapping a hand at them. “You guys know I don’t see Y/N that way. Our friendship isn’t like that.”

To you, Namjoon thinks. 

“Seriously,” Taehyung insists when he’s met with silence. “She can date whoever she wants. She can do whatever she wants.”

“Right, I know,” Namjoon says quickly, before Taehyung can get too defensive and shut the whole line of conversation down. “But seriously - it would really change things, don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t have to,” Taehyung says petulantly. 

Jimin hops in for the first time, and Namjoon’s flooded with relief that someone else will push this line of questioning, to take the focus off of him. 

“But Tae,” Jimin points out, “when she does, and things get serious, and she starts spending all of her time with some guy instead of with you? Telling him about her day instead of you? Calling him for dinner plans instead of you? Will you be okay? Both of you?”

Taehyung laughs - but that’s the thing about Taehyung. It’s all a big joke from the outside. But Namjoon’s known him long enough to know that Taehyung laughs louder when he’s got an emotion to hide from.

“What,” Taehyung protests through a defensive laugh, “do you think I’m helpless, just waiting around for her? I do okay for myself!”

“We’re not implying that you don’t,” Namjoon says. “It’s just… I remember when Elyse started spending more of her time with me instead of her girlfriends… they hated it, hated feeling like they weren’t her priority anymore. She had a hard time with that - some of her friendships were never really the same.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad about that, hyung,” Taehyung says, missing the point entirely - or avoiding it. “That’s what’s supposed to happen. Your partner becomes your priority. Your friends have to figure it out, if they really love you.”

For a second, Namjoon feels something like relief, and enough time passes that he thinks the conversation is over. Then Yoongi asks, quietly, “Do you think that you could do that with Y/N? You think you could ‘figure it out’ if she had someone else to love? If you weren’t her priority anymore?”

Taehyung sits up, brows furrowed. “I’m not her priority.”

All three guys snort in tandem. 

Taehyung exclaims wordlessly in indignation. “I’m not!”

“You are,” Jimin tells him, placing a hand on his arm in apology for the tough love. “And based on your whining tonight, the rest of us are just worried about how you’ll handle it if that changes.”

Taehyung gets up, clearly a little pissed. “I appreciate the concern, I guess,” he grumbles. “But I’m not a kid. And I don’t need Y/N. I’m fine without her.”

Without another word, he heads inside. Jimin gives a heavy sigh, shoots Namjoon a look that he doesn’t want to decipher, and follows.

Yoongi looks at Namjoon silently.

“Fuck,” Namjoon says, lowering his head to press it against the wooden dinner table. “I know, man. I know.”

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm not even gonna say anything i'm just gonna wait to see what you all have to say!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! how are we feeling, mffmhh fam???? pls let me know!!! <3 as always, thank you for being here!!!

[nym-wibbly]

Reading across your fanfictions I was wondering how you choose the right euphemisms for the sex scenes? I mean it's different in your Pet Shop of Horrors to your Once Upon a Time. What makes you choose a word like cock or cunt from the alternatives?

Good question! It's about context, mainly. I tend to write smut from the POV of a participant in the sex, so I think about how they'd use their vocabulary in that situation, extrapolating from how they speak or narrate in other situations. I try to make informed guesses about which words the character would use naturally and which they might choose for effect in a heightened emotional situation. That much is the same whether it's a smutty scene or not.

I ask myself, does the character's use of language usually change with their mood or circumstances, or is it more consistent? Does it alter or slip when they're emotional or overwhelmed, or depending on the company they're in? Is that behaviour second nature to them, comfortable, or is the way they speak part of a mask they wear, a performance they put on to distance themselves from the world a bit? If so, what provocation could make it slip, and what lies beneath? How mature are they in how they express themselves, how mature about intimacy overall, and is that likely to be reflected in their sexual word choices? Crude or sensitive? Shy or bold?

Then I think about the character's mood and intent within the sex scene itself, about how inhibited or uninhibited the character feels if there's a partner with them, how self-conscious they feel or have historically felt about sex and bodies, and whether they have a learned sexual response to particular words or phrases. Does 'dirty' talk excite them or shock them? Inside their own heads, or just out loud? Do they have words that they find distasteful or think of as crossing a line into inappropriateness?

Most of the characters I write smut about are pretty worldly-wise, with full dictionaries to work from even if they aren't normally inclined to use them, so I had to make a lot of mental adjustments for the sheltered version of Belle I wrote in A Bed of Thorns. She was fired up with the discovery of her own sexuality and her specific passion for Rumple, grabbing the physical outlet he offered her with gusto, but she only had a limited vocabulary with which to describe the experience. I found that really hard going until Rumple taught her a few key words!

The final thing I consider is whether I'm writing a scene that's meant to titillate the reader or not. Not every sex scene is meant to be erotic, and not every erotic scene is dominated by the physical description. Is it more of an emotional scene than a graphic smutty one? If so, I'll steer towards language that depicts the character's emotional response - like using 'joining' rather than 'fucking' if it's the intimacy I want to prioritise rather than the physical act. Where is the character's focus right now - actions or headspace? Self or partner? Present moment or future consequences and wider relationship? What's the scene about - the sex or something else woven through it that needs picking up as a theme in the wording?

I try not to project myself onto the characters, but I'll hold my hand up to making every effort to avoid the word 'cunt'. I don't find the word erotically persuasive (although watching four seasons of Karl Urban using it as his character's descriptive multi-tool in The Boys has redefined it somewhat in my fanbrain!)

Leaving aside its disparaging usages, 'cunt' isn't a great word for being clear about what's physically going on in a sex scene. It means 'vulva' but is often used in smut to refer to the vagina or the entire female genital area instead.

"Devoutly, steadily, she fingered her lover's perfect, slick cunt." Where exactly is that finger right now? Sliding between her lover's labia or questing inside for her g-spot? Do I leave that distinction up to the reader's imagination and knowledge of the character's likely vocabulary and usage, add more words to clarify the sentence, or just choose a different word? In the end I go with what feels right for that character in that moment, just as I do for the rest of the piece.

[GIFs top to bottom cuz I don't usually post multifandom: Good Omens; Gen V; The Avengers: Age of Ultron; Once Upon a Time; The Great; The Boys; Gentleman Jack.]

[esther-dot]

Fans are stating that Jaime killed the Mad King. So how he could go back to another Mad Queen. Like as if Cersei wasn't his twin sister, lover and mother of his children for years. Also Jaime killing Night King was way different than what he is in books now. Plus he killed Aerys to protect his father Tywin who sacked KL and killed Elia and her children. Also why was there rage when he going to kill another Mad Queen. Do they forget that Dany wanted to kill Jaime for killing her father?

Men killing their lovers is gross and I keep saying no one wants to read /watch that, but it isn't true for this fandom, is it? They were very enthusiastic about it and wanted it, just for some women, not others. They wanted Jaime to strangle his sister/lover/mother of his children, declared it character assassination when he didn’t, but then said it was sexist that Jon killed Dany to stop her from carrying out her stated intention of attacking other cities/castles. 🤦🏻‍♀️

As for Jaime's morality regarding "mad kings" and "mad queens," I do think the books and show made it pretty clear that Jaime wasn’t exactly a picture of virtue. I mean, he was fucking his sister, he was down for a little kid killing (sorry, Bran), even though his big dishonorable act is revealed to have actually been a good thing, it doesn't change his characterization over-all. I don't remember anything specific that made me believe it, other than a general, "born together, die together" idea, but I always thought he would die with Cersei. When that happened on the show and fans had a major meltdown, I argued he was a better man for trying to save his lover than if he hadn’t. And, I appreciated it too, because, as riddled with nonsense as s8 was, what made the show (more so, ASOIAF), compelling was that the characters weren't standins for us. They surprised me because what they did wasn't what I wanted, but what they wanted. Jaime's feelings for Cersei were real, the lust, betrayal, anger, obsession...it made for an immersive experience because I couldn't project or predict. I treasure that. I admire that aspect of Martin's writing so much.

Let's think of it this way, what is the point of a POV story unless we accept that every character has a personal history and limited perspective which will impact the choices they make? It made total sense to me that people in Westeros would reject Dany, she's invading! So, Jaime deciding to try to take her out makes sense not only because he must keep up his tradition of Targ killing, but also, who would welcome someone who shows up with monsters who can just...burn an army alive? Destroy a city in a few minutes? Why would you think that person has good intentions? Why would anyone think, "I don't know, maybe they'll be nice." Add on the fact that her dad was intending to burn women and children, it isn't plausible that Jaime would think well of Dany, not when he just witnessed her burning countless men alive. Attempting to kill her makes an awful lot of sense for him.

And, I should add, I don't take issue with Dany wanting to have him executed either! The fascinating part of having a huge cast, having people with histories that have them on opposing sides is to allow them to interact in that context, not to dismiss it as soon as it will make things interesting. I can't defend how D&D wrote any of this, we've all criticized it endlessly, but tbh, a good portion of the fandom had worse ideas. Worse interpretations of the characters, far more cliché ideas of everyone getting along, far, far more insulting dream endings.

But, I suppose that was largely a result of how D&D were playing games. They didn't understand that emotionally manipulating your audience into siding with (or against) characters by undercutting or rewriting characters at whim would result in absolute confusion about the moral framework of the story.  You can't have a satisfying ending if that ending supports ideals you've deleted from the story and condemns the ones you've been celebrating all along.

[the1975attheirverybest]

I'm the anon that asked you about the hypothetical 75 song about Palestine and all that.

First of all, thanks for answering me, I like to read your takes on this stuff, that is why I asked. I think it's generous of you to answer these asks, cause you have no obrigation of educating anyone here but still, you do, and I am grateful cause I learn a lot from you.

I only said my reasons to disagreing with you are not important because I know and respect yours, so I didn't think my reasoning would contribute to this debate. Also, I didn't want to sound confrontative, so It was the contrary of acting in bad faith.

Since you asked my vision on this matter, I think it's an oportunity to mention that I know it's diferent from yours because I'm not American. Even though you are palestinian-american, you live in the US and you guys tend to have a very self centered point of view on things.

Last year, I asked you something about this same issue, I think It was about the boycott on Starbucks and Gabriette, and you answered something like "must be good to be white", 'cause I didn't know about that.

I didn't answer at the time, it made sad, but I understood where you came from, It is your reality. But I must remember you that not everyone here is from US and people in other places have their specific issues to deal with.

Where I live, for example, more than 50 black people were murdered by the police for no reason last month, during the pandemic our negationist president promoved a genocide against indigenous people and right now we are dealing with major floodings, there are cities underwater and you don't see It on the internacional news. You don't hear about any of this and I don't call you anything derrogatory just because you don't know about this things, I get that, I think it's normal not knowing about every nuance in a conflict that I don't deal with directly.

This is not me trying to compete over the worst catastrofies, or who suffers more, It's just a comentary on the fact that SOMETIMES (and I underline the SOMETIMES) you presume the worst on what people ask you here.

I know that this may come in such a bad timing because of what is going on with another stupid anons but not everyone in here is out to get you! I like you, your takes and your writting and I wrote this with the best of intentions, ok?

Don't let the bad people get so much under your skin, that you miss or mistreat the good ones.

I hope you stay! ❤️

Ohhhh that was YOU? Okay bro I owe you an apology because at the time there was another non-white person tryna ruin my life behind the scenes and when you said you’re not white, I assumed that you were that person. Lmao. Like for all the hate that I do get on here, there’s even more stuff I don’t talk about that happens on my personal accounts etc. but yeah that was my bad sorry oops.

Also, I think you’re right, like, I spoke to someone young, (like 21 or 22) who’s in Europe and their coverage and news is different and gives them a different pov. I think I assumed since, in this instance, both conversations and libs are super Zionist and Islamophobic, that it would be the same across the board. So that’s why I said that at the time.

Ironically, that’s also kind of why I think people with power, or platforms, should say something. Like you’d think 7 months in, we would all agree on the bottom line facts but every time I have a conversation with someone on here it turns out that not even the timeline of events or the facts are established. Which indicates that folks are either not caring enough to look stuff up or are just getting a 1-sided narrative.

I don’t know how to feel about that. Cuz I get that I don’t have nearly as much power or influence. And I know that sometimes people come on here to exclusively get a rise out of me or fuck with me or whatever. But also on the other hand if the conversation helps to move the needle a little bit, then maybe it’s worth it? Idk man. Like I guess I’d thought it would be easy to measure a “general consensus” at this stage, but I think I’m wrong on that.

[blorbocedes]

Please! Director’s Cut for Monza maxiel 🥺

ohoho 😈 okay, so. Monza 21 is the one fic I knew i HAD to write, as an homage to the winner's room trope that we talk about on this blog, and specifically the one sided maxiel dynamic. both of it going hand in hand.

I've actually never done a director's commentary below so uhh spoilers below:

I had a lot of fun, since we're writing from 2022 to add in some references and future gutpunches~ like~

this whole interaction with Zak, and then the "this would not be his final win in Formula One" 💀💀💀

Daniel POV is really fun in this cause he's a proper unreliable narrator 😭 he's so delusional

this whole paragraph is like...... girl he is Not waiting for you 😭😭😭 i hope it's evident in the fic that the reason daniel keeps rmbring 2016 is cause wanting max is a representation of wanting his own redbull slay era back, and he's clinging on this win like his last resort -- and the hint of resentment towards max now, for winning, for finally having the car that was promised to Daniel

I actually debated a lot about a particular scene that could go two ways.

1, they do a shoey in the hotel room, before everything else. Daniel being super into the ritual aspect and harkening back to The Past and max not being super into it but Daniel obv brushing it off

2. daniel wants to do the shoey after but max leaves and DR is like okay whatever we'll do it at Abu Dhabi/when the championship is won and max picks ME

didn't go with 1 because -- I already wrote the cognac scene and daniel pouring more for max, which is an intentional detail that would go remissed in a shoey AND cause champagne doesn't really get you that drunk. plus pathetic + delusional are the character notes I wanted to hit, so 2 really sealed the deal

I wondered what to put on Daniel's sex playlist, just to make it gross. so obviously John Mayer's your body is a wonderland ~~ ye, the weeknd, drake, pitbull but 2010s club fuckboy music. and ofc the CBAT Reddit song but sadly this fic is in 2021:/

I was actually debating how dubcon to make it. In my head I was turning a dial -- too dubcon/not dubcon enough. I knew I wanted Daniel to say, "it's tradition" but in a "hey, don't make me Say the situation we're in dictates the winner gets to fuck who they choose but hey I'm a Good Guy" way but I had to figure out how to get there. if max says No or I don't Want this, we go into full non con territory, if max reciprocates it's not dubcon Enough. truly I was in my Google docs like 🧪👩‍🔬⚗️

there's some Nico mentions, to highlight Daniel is thinking of 2016. but also because I was like 😈 why not

He remembers one time after Nico had blathered on and on how full-body Brazilian waxes gave him that millisecond edge over Lewis; Max and Daniel wanted to try out the body hair hypothesis. Max had been the giggling, willing subject completely hairless in the face so it wouldn't be too suspicious as Daniel went to town on the electric shaver. Arms, back, the soft fuzzy happy trail leading downwards… The coarser, darker curls nestled around the base of his dick, aroused and alert, as Daniel cleanly shaved it off; Max’s choked off little gasp as Daniel got to the balls, careful and hyperfocused. Daniel had eaten him out there, against the sink, Max shivering and sensitive everywhere and Daniel couldn't help but run his fingers over the smooth, hairless skin. Max had a mechanical engine failure the next race, and they chalked their hypothesis off to inconclusive.

this was important cause the baby maxiel WAS reciprocal!!! max used to be super into him!!!! so that the readers can contrast their past dynamic to what's happening now 🫣 also a ref to mondaycore's shaving carlando mafia au

Maybe Kelly prefers him like this, smooth like a baby. And obviously, good for them or whatever, but that age difference was a little suspect – cougar going after someone much younger. Daniel ignored that he was the same age as her, or that his girlfriend was the same age as Max and focused on the task at hand.

out of pocket, honestly. writer doesn't believe in subtext they're gonna spell it out.

“Condom?” Max yelps, a little panicked. And Daniel grins, proud of his little lion for learning about safe sex. Hopefully, that means he's not putting a baby in that girlfriend of his. There was a time when Max would beg him to bareback, cause he saw it in porn and wanted to try it; and as hot as the idea was, finishing inside Max, watching his hole desperately try to hold and spill the come it can't hold, Daniel was a single man back then and getting way too much pussy to even consider it. Although… if Max had been safe with his girlfriend, and he wasn't fucking anyone during his Winner’s Room picks…

this entire section was . i wanted to punch Daniel in the face. this is also incredibly delusional of Daniel to assume just cause Max is playing video games with Lando meant he wasn't fucking anyone (cause ooooobviously he's not picking Daniel so who would he been fucking?)

the part where Daniel's staring at him in the mirror in the bathroom is I think a good breather from everything that just happened, sort of post nut clarity lol. Daniel thinking Max will pull his share of the weight in the shower, since Daniel just did all the work now. It's not like he's keeping score except he totally is

Seeing Daniel, he looks a little guilty, like he got caught scrambling out as fast as he could,

Daniel even identifies it correctly, but refuses to acknowledge it for what it is.

They've crossed the minimum allotted time for the FIA, and he can't actually stop Max from leaving.

this is a throwaway line but it's so fucking telling. skull emoji. 💀 also a bit of world building for the WR rules

“I'm not 19 anymore.” Max says pointedly, and what does that have to do with anything? Max shrugs his polo on and when Daniel doesn't say anything or try to stop him, softens. “Listen, this was…” Max searches for an adjective that does not come. Daniel fills it in his mind, ‘great’, ‘mind-blowing’, ‘simply lovely’, “Yeah. Congrats again on the win, Daniel.”

so many things were happening in this paragraph!!! but mostly Daniel filling in the blanks and Max not saying anything is SOOOO shjdjfjdk

then to soften out daniel, he says he believes in max WDC. And he does! and maybe there was a time when max would've needed to hear this, but now it's just a nice thing to hear. he doesn't need Daniel like that anymore

someone in the comments was like "noo I feel so bad for daniel" and i was like 😭 why...... he's completely absorbed in his own ego and trying to ignore his flop era (that's why the lando mentions!!!), and when he has even a modicum of power (race win), he feels entitled to it. if anything the ending to Me is comeuppance. but I also respect once it's out into the world; everyone has their own interpretation of the fic.

i can go on and on, but it's already embarrassingly long. uhh I listened to Drake's Find Your Love like a million times to get into Daniel POV.

I'm more than just an option, refuse to be forgotten

I'm really happy with the fic, I think it's what I wanted the monza WR to be, and it's still fun to read despite The Horrors

[thedawningofthehour]

Now that you've said how long this story is gonna be, can you say how much of it did you have planned before either writing or uploading it? Could you share your process for plotting everything out and all that?

When I first started writing? I had jack shit planned. I literally had an idea in my head of Donnie being captured by Draxum and being a little fucking shit and wrote that out for funsies. I do this a lot-I have a lot of projects in my Google Docs where I wrote 2-5, maybe 10k words at the absolute most and got bored. I just didn't get bored with this one. I kept having ideas and refining them in my head while in the shower/trying to go to bed. I had written most of Donnie's table content and I'd say the first two-ish chapters of Leo's POV? before I really considered posting it.

By the time I started seriously revising with the intent of posting, yeah I had a general series of events solidified in my head and was vicariously imagining the 'big scenes' before bed like a Netflix show. (For writers following along, every writer has a different approach to plotting and it's really more of a matter of finding what suits you best, but do have a general idea of what's going to happen next and where you're going. Don't go "oh, I'll figure it out as I go along"-ya won't. You can always change the destination if you do think of something better, but don't rely on having a brilliant brain blast moment at 3 AM) I have added more as time went on-Bella was seriously supposed to be a super minor side character where it would never even be stated that she was Draxum's niece, (I was actually going to kill her off-screen) and she just took life and beat me over the head with my keyboard. And I did alter arc 2 a bit to give Mikey a bigger role because I do love him, even if I shaft him a lot, and his philosophy is going to play a major role in everyone else's character development. (that's gonna be my excuse, this is all about character development! And Mikey is perfect the way he is)

As far as my process for plotting...you guys seem to be under some impression that I'm the captain of this ship. Buddy. I am a stowaway watching and listening and frantically writing it all down. I do not steer the ship. I do not even guide the ship. At times I whisper to the characters and suggest they move in a certain direction, and a good portion of the time they tell me to fuck off and do what they like. I know I'm literally the author but I have no control over these things. Certain things just Happen. I don't plan it. It just pops into my head and won't leave me alone.

[farfromstrange]

AHHH I got the notification while I was sitting in the movie theater and I was like ‘Good God I need to get out ASAP’

I knew you’d put out another beautiful piece, and this time I’m not crying, I’m kind of… hopeful? I don’t know if it’s the right word. Now my wounds are mending here.

This was so, so, so beautiful! And I loved to see Reader’s POV again this time. You write so beautifully, it’s like I’m in that character. She is me.

I CAUGHT MORE REFERENCES THIS TIME and idk if some of them were intentional, but I’ve got some thoughts again…

(I always screenshot and then make sure I copy all the passages that I find exceptionally beautiful or that hold Taylor references, but with you it’s ALWAYS the whole fucking poem I feel like I have to recite back to you because it’s SO beautiful, everything from top to bottom, and I can’t point out all of my favorite parts because then it would just be this fic in it’s entirety)

The tear in your chest had only just stopped bleeding, the skin around it still an angry and irritated shade of healing, and eventually time would seal it closed for good.

Ugh, I love how you describe this emotional pain like an actual wound because most people don’t realize that emotional pain is a wound, too. It just doesn’t show from the outside.

Labyrinth is a song that has always reminded me of a thought process. And you wrote this chapter just the same.

It’s like getting over the pain but also finding your back to the person you live through the labyrinth you’ve been stuck in. And I love how you capture the essence of the songs you choose every damn time. Like, I am just amazed by how well it fits with the song but it’s also an entirely different piece. It’s yours. It’s a poem. You paint a world with your words the same way Taylor does. Again, she would be so proud of you for the way you describe feelings and the words you use to do so.

And I’d also like to add that this fear of the pain coming back if you choose to go back to the person who hurt you really, really sucks and you described it perfectly. Like I said, it’s a thought process.

He was trying so hard to balance on that tightrope between self-deprecation and hopeless charm. Performing a one man circus at his own expense, just to conjure an eclipse of your smile.

The last part references to ‘you would break your back to make me break a smile’ right? It reminded me of it, at least. That Matt would do anything to feel or hear your smile (because he can’t see it, obviously).

He reached into the cavern of his chest and produced his own jewel to replace what of yours he had broken.

And this reminded me of ‘I thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it back around?’

It was yours to keep, or yours to lose.

I see what you did there, Court. I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE! It’s So It Goes… isn’t it? Ugh, reputation has always been my favorite album of hers.

But it also fits in this context because ‘all the pieces fall right into place’.

Could he turn this all around?

Once again Labyrinth reference.

He couldn't promise a fairytale, but he would get his knuckles bloody for a happy ending.

Ah yes, the bloody knuckles. Not only is it a Matt thing and how he shows his devotion to the people he cares about and how he fights for what he believes is right and has been from the beginning, it is also a reference. All I’m gonna say is folklore and exile (Exile always breaks my heart, by the way).

Only once you were out of the woods and back in his arms did you feel like you could breathe.

Alexa, Play Out Of The Woods by Taylor Swift. But omg this passage was so fucking beautiful I can’t– it’s like this moment of relief when Reader is finally back in his arms because you say ‘out of the woods’ when someone has survived something, and I think that’s beautiful.

but your broken parts were finally mending.

THAT IS KING OF MY HEART ISNT IT? IT HAS TO BE! I love how much Reputation is in here. I don’t know if I’m on the wrong track, but it can’t be a coincidence I keep hearing the songs in my head…

This love was yours, it was golden like daylight.

Hello Daylight, nice to see you here, too. Golden like daylight. Love isn’t blue or maroon anymore or midnight blue, it’s finally golden like daylight and that makes my heart a little happier than the tears you made me cry last time.

Anyway, I’m sorry for this long ass reblog but I had a lot to unpack here. This was amazing, Court. Just beautiful. Thank you so much for writing this and blessing me with it!

track four: labyrinth

big city, wrong choices ☾ meet me at midnight [coming 6/30]

The pain was only this unbearable because the wound was still so fresh. 

The tear in your chest had only just stopped bleeding, the skin around it still an angry and irritated shade of healing, and eventually time would seal it closed for good. 

Right?

Or would it just continue to rip open all over again every time you thought about how he pulled your body closer into his every night through the crest of his subconscious? Or how in the depths of twilight, he would fend off the interruptions of dawn and the outside world for just five more minutes in the cozy haven underneath the covers with you?

Would it start to bleed again as you felt the phantom burn of his plush lips against your forehead, and the caress of his fingers carding through your hair, dripping vows of affection into your ear?

Would that vacancy in your chest echo forever without him there to fill that gaping void? 

Would you be healing from his catastrophic wound for the rest of your life? 

Uh oh.

Or would you give in to his plea for clemency as he begged at his knees? Could you be brave enough to dismiss your own warnings about history repeating itself, throw caution to the wind, and dance with the Devil again?

He was trying so hard to balance on that tightrope between self-deprecation and hopeless charm. Performing a one man circus at his own expense, just to conjure an eclipse of your smile. 

He reached into the cavern of his chest and produced his own jewel to replace what of yours he had broken. It was cracked and worn from being passed through so many hands over the years, being held together by nothing more than a divine miracle, but the pieces that were missing had been forged with remnants of your own. Your name was permanently etched onto the surface for anyone to see. 

It was yours to keep, or yours to lose. 

Oh no.

Could he turn this all around? Were there more chapters to be written that could transform this story from an endless nightmare to a daydream with crystal skies? 

He stood in front of you, void of pride, an endless flow of apologies streaming from his lips. He couldn’t promise a fairytale, but he would get his knuckles bloody for a happy ending. 

Could you forgive him?

Unbeknownst to him, you had already skipped to the last page. 

You knew you stayed. 

How could you not?

He was the one you had always been waiting for.

Oh.

His velvet voice guided you through the labyrinth of the heartbreak he had handcrafted. He guided you back to him, back home. Only once you were out of the woods and back in his arms did you feel like you could breathe. The passionate bruise of the careless affair had maimed you both, but your broken parts were finally mending. 

This love was yours, it was golden like daylight.

And it was worth the fight.

tags: @farfromstrange @danzer8705 @yarrystyleeza

[fathertaurus]

A Nate Jacobs Blurb part 2

A/N: Here it is! The long awaited part 2 I’ve had so many of you ask for lol. I want to mention before reading that the opening scene takes place after an hour or two into the party scene and kinda just opens up on a random scene. I didn’t feel like there was any real need to make this super long as I only wrote the most definitive moment for these characters to carry the storyline along.

I hope to continue this story as I do have many ideas but anything I post will probably just continue to be written as installments such as this and the one previous to it, as I don’t want it to be my main line of work. I’m always coming up with new ideas and I don’t like simply having one on the forefront as it places to much pressure on writing.

Regardless I hope you enjoy!

a disclaimer: If you have seen the show Euphoria you know what the character Nate Jacobs is like and what he’s done. This is not me condoning the actions of this character--in fact, I urge you to view him as the bad guy he is when reading this. That’s how I wrote it, that’s what I wanted to portray because I’ve yet to write a character as such. Though his actions may not come off as terrible when reading this remember who he is written as and try and read it in that way. 

WARNINGS: alluded sexual assault, foul language 

The crystalize haze taking over her entire perception of reality right now was almost near blinding to what was happening. The alcohol and whatever that asshole had slipped into her drink had truly and officially taken its toll on her physical being, her vision and balance being hit the worst. Her body laid skewed across the pile of blankets and sheets, having little to no strength to even shuffle through them and find her way up. 

She couldn’t determine though if that was solely for the obvious roofie or also from the shock of watching Nate barge into the room—practically snapping the door off it’s hinges, and ripping Chris from atop of her before (with a speed she had never witnessed in her life) wrestling him out the door and down the hallway. 

Through it all though and the now busted open door she was able to make out the figures of everyone still filling the living room from her placement on the guest bed, the energy to move no longer permitted in her body but simply her eyes which watched with as much intent as they could muster up.

There was yelling, screaming, and a series of other loud noises, all echoing back to her a million times louder than they probably actually were. Figures moved in flashes and the lights burned into her skull as they danced across the catastrophe spilling all over Elias’ parents’ living room wood. Her hands were on her temples before she could even feel them, body making the intent of covering her ears to attempt to silence all the overstimulation.

Bleary eyed she breathed a deep sigh and tried to find herself, but that moment being ripped away as another set of yelling broke out, the shrills emitted from Nate himself. 

He was in the dead center of it all, hands (from what she could tell) wrapped around the throat of Chris Daniel’s as he looked to be throwing him to the floor. Followed by more commotion, a body hitting the floor—it looked to give the tall brunette new access to whomever’s torso, as he barreled his foot into it repeatedly. 

If only she wasn’t swimming her own vision, her own thoughts, maybe then she could truly make it all out. But the way that pill made her skin ripple over her bones and her own brain pound its way out of her skull was too much, focus was lost on her. 

Before she even had a choice to say or do otherwise her eyes slipped closed and she sunk into the abyss of her body again.

Though she was nearing unconsciousness her ears pricked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. They were distinctively heavy and almost mismatched—like the person was stumbling over their own two feet. 

Crossing the carpet until they were near her own body she could hear mumbling above her.

“God dammit.” 

Even in her current state she could recognize that voice, the one that belonged to the person who was just moments ago beating the life out of someone. Nate.

“Look at you.” He whispered. 

The feelings of hands along the sides of her hips heightened her senses for a split second, a whine rolling from the back of her lips as to protest. 

“Shh shh shh, it’s okay it’s okay.” The fingertips grasped at the length of her dress and slowly they pulled it back down-- the whole movement now familiar to a piece of her memory somewhere in the back of her mind, “You’re okay I promise.”

There was a brush of her hair out of her face, the touch cascading down her face to her shoulders where she could make little notice of her sleeves being pulled back up. 

Within seconds the same arms were now wrapped around her form and she was being lifted from the bed. The rocking of her motionless figure was the only distinctive thing she was able to recognize before sleep finally took her under in one vast swoop of both of her eyes shutting close. —————————

(POV SWITCH)

Swaying gently back and forth on his feet Nate turned the hall into her bedroom, careful to watch her head as he shuffled through the door. 

The memories of their infamous night flooded back to him instantly, but now as he carried her unconscious body to her bed, he was able to take in the details surrounding them. Her room was a light shade of blue, decorated with huge posters starring various artists and movie stars. 

It triggered a memory from a month or so ago. Sat around a lunch table only one over from her own he could vividly remember overhearing her and April Denavive discussing that Timothée Chalamet kid and how Y/N had such an affinity for him. 

”He was so incredible in Little Women, I swear I’d give anything to just hold his hand or something.” Nate from his seat could see that her rambles caused April to snort into her fruit cup, the red head shaking her head at her friend.

”God Y/N you’re such a virgin.” 

She made sure to swat at April’s arm, poking her finger into her side for sure measure, ”Oh fuck off.” 

April laughed aloud once more as she pushed back before managing to maneuver her arms around her friend, squeezing her in a tight embrace before pressing kisses to her cheeks. 

”No no no, it’s cute!” She gushed, “It’s cute how much you want to fuck that French boy but can’t work up the nerve to say it.”

”April! God--He’s American his dad is just French--oh you know what never mind I hate you.” “N-Nate?”

Returning back to reality Nate was almost startled at the sound of another voice, completely forgetting where he was for a moment. Drawing his eyes downward he found himself back in Y/N’s room, still hovering over her side.

“Shh,” he cooed, fingers tangling in the ends of her hair as he brushed them off of her forehead, admiring the array of glitter from her eyeshadow decorating her skin. It made her shine even brighter than how he always saw her. “You’re safe now..sleep.”

She rustled amongst her blankets, nose curling and eyebrows furrowing as she struggled, a huff following.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, instantly taking notice of her discomfort. She whined innocently, sitting herself up with her eyes still wired shut and began to tug at the sleeves of her dress. 

“Itchy,” She breathed another huff as she tore at the seems, “Need it...off.”

Nate’s entire demeanor shifted. He watched her meticulously as she pulled at the material until it was up and over her chest—but the poor drunk girl seemed to lose all momentum as her arms suddenly dropped, the dress now a mess sagging off of her neck. 

Another shrill moan echoed from Y/N, not having the energy to pull the rest of the dress off and expressing her frustrations. Nate waved her off.

“Shush, I’ve got it.” Reaching forward he pulled the rest of the dress up and off of her figure, careful to not get her earrings or hair caught, before tossing it to the side just shy of her hamper he noticed upon entrance into her room.

A deep, noticeable breath expelled from her lungs before she fell back amongst the pillows, body now severely bare to Nate—the only thing keeping her covered being her bra with a pair of matching panties around her hips. 

It was pink, the bra, lace yet exuded softness with its subtle tone of color and petite bow in the middle to add a touch of innocence. Her underwear resonated in the same way; they were different than Nate had pictured when his fingers grasped at them earlier that night. He was expecting something more revealing as was common with most girls at parties like that, or in high school in general. But they weren’t—they were form fitting, far from raunchy and bore a soft pink hue like her bra, which was different than the deep red he once imagined.

And it all looked so right on her.

Y/N had seemed to finally settle in her sheets, sleep overtaking her whole figure as she noticeably sank deeper into the mattress. Nate took that as his moment to breathe in, truly, the sight before him. 

His eyes nearly followed her every move with adamancy, in an effort to note every singular detail possibly manufactured by her sleeping frame that he could then later remember at his pleasing. 

“You are so,” his fingers traced down the length of her arm, watching as the touch triggered a wave of goosebumps even as she was unconscious; He smiled, “Perfect.” 

Drawing back he grasped at the blanket before tugging it up and over her body, covering her up to her chest. Tucking in the sides of the cover to her skin he rustled them until he deemed her absolutely comfortable and then took his place  at the flank of her bed once more. 

“And you are all mine.” -------------------------

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, send requests for more if you liked!

[sineala]

Captain America: The Great Gold Steal

I wrote this up last week because I did not have access to my usual comics files but I figured I could review something that was just a book. So here is a review of the 1968 Captain America novel Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White, with an introduction by Stan Lee. I really liked it, actually! It was surprisingly good!

This novel features: Cover art of Captain America holding his shield in one hand and a very large gun in the other! A scene where the villains dramatically unmask Captain America and have absolutely no idea who he is! Captain America being extremely, extremely depressed about being in the future! Captain America dropping acid!

(I'm not kidding about the last part. In this novel there is a lot of LSD use. By Captain America. Talk about something the Comics Code wouldn't ever let you put in a comic book. Thank you, 1968.)

Faithful readers may remember that some time ago I posted reviews of Marvel prose novels from the 1970s. There was a line of prose novels featuring everyone's favorite Marvel superheroes, published by Pocket Books in the late 70s; I have reviews of the Iron Man, Captain America, and Avengers entries in the series; I liked the Iron Man one best, and I also have a Doctor Strange one I have not yet read. They're all short and action-packed paperback reads, of varying quality; the only one by anyone you might have heard of is the Avengers one, which was written by David Michelinie, who was actually writing the Avengers run at the time. That one was, um. An experience. 

(Yes, it's "prose novel" because otherwise the assumption is "graphic novel.")

Marvel still publishes prose novels now, of course, also of varying quality; some are new plots and some are straight-up novelizations of comics arcs, which I guess is useful if you want to, say, read Civil War and not look at pictures at the same time. I also have a bunch of those that I could probably review if anyone wants. But, anyway, I personally am particularly intrigued by the older Marvel prose novels, both because the stories are all original and not retellings, and also because I often prefer the characterization found in older comics. And the older prose novels of course use the then-current characterization. So reading a Marvel prose novel from 1979 is like getting to read a brand-new comic from 1979, and that's a whole lot of fun for a nerd like me. Also do you know what's not subject to the Comics Code? Prose novels. So things can happen in these that definitely could not happen in comics of the same era.

This brings me to my current prose novel, which is something else entirely. I mean, okay, not really, it's still a Marvel prose novel. But it's not part of the same line. It's actually a lot older.

Bantam Books actually published Marvel prose novels in the late 60s. Yep, a full decade earlier. They published exactly two, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they were probably not bestsellers. The first one, which I do not own and now sort of want to track down, was an Avengers novel in 1967, The Avengers Battle the Earth-Wrecker. And then in 1968 they published the novel I am currently holding in my hands, Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White.

(I am still not sure why no one involved in titling this book thought of the word "theft.")

Judging by the back copy, it appears to be about Captain America foiling the villains' dastardly plan to steal gold from the Federal Reserve. Oh boy. Fun.

So this book is from 1968. The modern Marvel universe had kicked off just a few short years ago! Captain America was just getting his own solo book after the end of Tales of Suspense! And here's a novel about him, back when certain elements of his characterization were perhaps a little more flexible than they are today, by which I mean that the cover art -- which the internet informs me was painted by Mitchell Hooks -- is a striking full-body portrait of Captain America, head held high, shield in one hand... and a very large gun in the other. Hell, yeah. Not gonna see that in today's Cap comics, are you? It's amazing and I love it.

(Okay, you might see that in Ults. I'm pretty sure I have seen that in Ults, actually. But this is still cool.)

So the cover art is a definite plus, and apparently it's one of the few reasons anyone has ever heard of this novel. The other reason -- and the reason this is more expensive than the later novels, I assume -- is that Stan Lee's name is slapped on the cover, because he wrote an introduction. (I think I paid about $30 for this. The others were definitely under $20.)

All right. Here we go.

The first page is actually a brief summary of Steve's origin story, but not a version I was familiar with. Steve was born July 9, 1917 (yes, I was surprised too), was orphaned at a young age, and was a student at Columbia University (!) before Rebirth, which in this version is a gradual process that is also extremely body-horror. Steel tubing was inserted into the marrows of his bones. He was fed "high-protein compounds." Then they gave him a chemical that "gave him complete control over every nerve, muscle, and cell in his now-magnificent body." Sweet. Where can I get some of that?

The blurb also confirms his control over his own metabolism as well as his healing factor ("wounds would heal in half the normal time"), which is nice, because sometimes I wonder if canon even remembers the healing factor.

(I don't know why Marvel has this kink for filling people's bones with metal, though. It's not actually empty in there, guys! You need your bone marrow! How else do you want people to make new blood cells?)

The book is dedicated to "Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, without whom there would be no Captain America." Hey, Marvel, Joe Simon would like a word with you. I'm just saying.

The Stan Lee introduction is three paragraphs written in Stan Lee's, um, inimitable, distinctive and extremely florid narrative style -- if you've read any of his work, you know what I mean -- and making the point that Captain America is incredible and you will like him. If you are just discovering him for the first time, you will definitely like him. Okay. Thanks. I guess.

Oddly, the writing style here is substantially different than any of the other Marvel prose novels I've read; it doesn't immediately front-load you with exposition and a cast of colorful superheroes. It opens with a sort of James Bond spy-novel feel, running through a series of unnamed villains and bystanders, and a man who wants nothing more than to talk to Captain America but is killed before he can. Steve comes in halfway through the chapter, and he seems to be written for a reader who doesn't necessarily know who he is, and he isn't introduced as Captain America with his shield flying ahead of him to smite evildoers, or anything like that. He's just a tall, handsome blond guy who is reading a bunch of novels and is unsatisfied by all of them because all he can think of is the past. It's definitely an attitude I would expect from Steve in this era -- he is very much a Man Out Of Time here -- but it's also not how I expected the book to introduce him. You wouldn't even know he was Captain America by the end of the opening chapter, which then ends with a digression about the history of NYC subway tunnels. It's like it wants to appeal to someone who has watched a bunch of Man from UNCLE and just wants to read a cool thriller. Which is not at all what I was expecting.

By the beginning of the second chapter, of course, we discover that Steve is Captain America, as he changes into his uniform. The narration refers to him as Rogers when it's in his POV, if anyone is curious. He apparently keeps the cowl off in the mansion, because the cowl annoys him.

It was not so much that he needed to conceal his identity these days, because for all intents and purposes he had no other identity. Steve Rogers was officially dead, and had been for almost twenty years. Captain America *was* his identity. It was only when he donned the tight-fitting blue uniform with its shield chest-emblem, the red snug-fitting leather boots, and the heavy, yet pressure-sensitive red-leather gauntlets, that he began to feel real -- a complete human being.

Steve? Buddy, are you okay there? You're really not okay, are you, huh?

You see what I mean? They're really hitting the early-canon angst. Hard.

(Also it sounds like his uniform is a few sizes too small.)

We then get an expanded version of the backstory from the beginning excerpt. In this version of canon, Steve actually has an older brother, Alan, who is handsome and athletic and basically amazing, and when they are orphaned they are raised by their aunt and uncle. Steve gets TB twice as a kid, nearly dies from it, and when the stock market crashes, ends up separated from his brother and in an orphanage after his uncle loses everything.

(Honestly if I were writing this book, his brother would be the secret villain. Chekhov's Gun!)

Steve has glasses, gets bullied, is a nerd and an honor student, and studies law at Columbia because he wants to help stop fraudulent business practices and also fight organized crime. Legally, I mean. In a manner relating to law. I guess he's sort of like Daredevil. The lawyer part of Daredevil.

And then he joins Rebirth, and this is the part where I had to put the book down for several minutes, because Erskine's secret chemical, the key to making super-soldiers... is LSD.

Oh my God. You should see my face right now. My expression is, I am sure, indescribable. I'm trying not to wake the dog up laughing.

I just. Holy shit. This book is from 1968 in a way I definitely was not expecting. What the fuck, Marvel?

This project was headed by the brilliant biochemist, Dr. Erskine. His work with the endocrine system, and chemical body control, was well beyond that of his contemporaries. Only he, of all his colleagues, had fathomed the secrets of the Swiss Dr. Hoffman's 1938 discovery -- the mind-controlling LSD-25.

Let's just pause here for a few minutes and contemplate this.

I will point out that Albert Hofmann (yes, the book spelled his name wrong) didn't actually discover that LSD was a hallucinogen until 1943 when he accidentally tried it, but I am positive that 1968 here was a time when Some People were convinced LSD was a wonder drug. I'm still laughing. As far as I can tell, legal manufacturing of it stopped in 1965 so I am pretty sure that the author did not just decide to name a drug that had an ostensible legal therapeutic use, because it wouldn't have still had one by '68.

Anyway, in this version of events, Rebirth is a month-long process that involves a lot of vitamins, physical conditioning and training, and, yes, putting metal in his bones like he's the next Wolverine. They're filling his bones with stainless steel rods to make him stronger. That doesn't seem like a great idea to me, but I am also not sure about dropping acid to gain superpowers. Clearly I am not a genius scientist. Also Erskine knows what DNA is, apparently, because he's just that great. Anyway. Other than the metal, those all seem like relatively normal interventions. So far.

Now Steve has become fairly big and strong (and I guess he still has metal in his bones? this concerns me!) but they need to make him superhuman, so, yes, really, it's time to drop acid. Several pages of this book are devoted to describing Steve's acid trip. His acid trip is amazing and he discovers that he has conscious control of his entire body down to the cellular level. He can control the adrenaline in his bloodstream! He can tighten his muscle fibers! And when he's done tripping he still remembers how to do this, if not exactly on a conscious level, but he can still access the abilities. And that is how you make a super-soldier. It's LSD. Remember, kids, drugs are awesome! Do drugs!

Let's maybe take a few more minutes to think about this.

I just. I have no words. How did anyone at Marvel agree to print this?

I think for the most part superhero origin stories tend not to involve real drugs because people are generally aware that drugs they've heard of won't make you into a superhero. I guess this is what it looks like when you invoke the names of real drugs. They probably wanted something that sounded more realistic but somehow I don't think this was the best way to go. (Radiation, of course, will definitely make you into a superhero but I feel like most people have accepted that as one of the conventions of the genre.)

Anyway, after that Erskine gets killed by Nazis, of course, and Steve goes to war, and for some reason this book contains footnotes by Stan Lee himself listing the comics you can read all of this in. Just like the actual comics do!

We are introduced to Bucky, who for some reason is also from the LES in this version, although not anyone Steve knew before the war, and there is of course a description of Bucky's tragic death and Steve's subsequent icing.

They are really, really stressing the Man Out Of Time thing here:

No other man could have survived so fantastic a voyage through time. And no other man could feel so displaced by time.

He was a man twenty years in his own future. By rights, he should be nearly fifty years old -- nearly twice the age of his fellow Avengers. Yet his mind and his body were not yet thirty.

When the Avengers had brought him back to New York with them and insisted that, as an honored hero of the past, he join them, he felt a sort of melancholy homesickness for his own time and world.

We then get a few paragraphs with the usual being sad that he let Bucky down and got him killed, and also that he misses his family, and that Steve Rogers doesn't exist anymore, and that nobody is alive who remembers him, and that war is hell.

Hey, Steve, maybe the drugs you should do are antidepressants. Just a thought.

Also, this book is 118 pages and we're not out of the origin story flashback until page 34. I think there are some pacing issues here.

Actually, I lied, the flashback keeps going, but now we're up to the Avengers finding him, and I have to say that the list of things Steve finds strange about the future is kind of charming when the future is 1968. Men have long hair! Women have shorter skirts! Everyone is kind of blasé about rocket launches because there have been so many space missions now. (Oh, come on, you haven't even landed on the moon yet, 1968! You're not that blasé.) Color TV! And, excitingly, LPs! You can now listen to 36 minutes of consecutive music. (I actually don't know what previous standard he's describing that is a ten-inch record that holds six minutes a side because I don't think 45s are that big. Yeah, no, I just checked and 45s are seven inches in diameter. Hmm. Oh, never mind. He means 78 rpm, doesn't he? In my defense, the record player my family had when I was a kid didn't play those.)

The description of Steve coming into New York for the first time is definitely written by someone who knows New York, which is fun. There is generally a lot of local flavor to the setting of this book. That’s one of the best parts.

There is a brief summary of Steve's feelings about all the Avengers -- he is most impressed by Thor, which, I mean, fair, he's an actual god -- and Hank telling him all about how he can live in Tony's mansion. With Jarvis. Who Hank says is actually from Flatbush. Apparently Steve spent a lot of time at the NYPL branch at 5th and 42nd trying to catch up on history. And then of course the Avengers ditched him and gave him the Kooky Quartet, and for some reason they're not here right now either so it's just Steve being sad and alone and dealing with this mysterious dead guy. I think probably the book is also done explaining fiat currency now. This is definitely the weirdest Marvel novel I've read.

Anyway, we have now returned to what is ostensibly the actual plot. Steve shows up at the New York Federal Reserve Bank (I guess the theft is happening here and not, like, at Fort Knox) with the gold bullion that the dead guy from the beginning of the book had on him -- I think I got distracted by the LSD bit and forgot to mention that part, but the dead guy was carrying some US government gold -- because the actual plot is that villains are trying to tunnel into the bank vault and steal gold. Steve discovers this after he gets the bank manager to give him a tour. The bank manager tries to refuse, citing security concerns -- Captain America could be anyone under that mask, after all! Steve just smiles and says, "If I removed my mask, would you have any better idea of who I am?" and I guess that's a flawless argument because he gets his tour.

(I'm sorry, all I can think of is that one gif from the JLA cartoon where Lex Luthor bodyswaps with the Flash, announces that now that he's in the Flash's body he's going to discover the Flash's secret identity, then pulls off his own mask, stares at himself in the mirror, and says, "I have no idea who this is.")

Given that the theme of Steve's interior life in this novel is "Steve Rogers died twenty years ago" it seems even more sad that Steve is just walking around basically saying, yeah, well, I'm nobody. And apparently that is being reaffirmed for him by the narrative.

So Steve goes down the tunnels, takes out some of the bad guys, and gets himself knocked out and buried in a collapsing tunnel. Don't worry, he's gonna be fine.

A lot of this book, by the way, is from the POV of random people, like this bank guard who went with Steve into the tunnels:

He had wondered, briefly, if a man like Captain America ever knew the pinch of too many bills, had ever felt desperate over the arrival of yet another mouth to feed. But, of course, Captain America had no family, and would hardly concern himself with such matters. It didn't occur to Thompson to wonder if this in itself might not be something for which to pity Captain America.

Rude. I mean, come on, do we really need random characters telling us Steve is a sad sack whom nobody loves? Steve's already got that covered!  (Also, how does this guy know Captain America has no family?)

Anyway, thanks to the power of LSD, Steve is going into a trance, amping up his metabolism (he loses "several pounds" in a few minutes), and making himself super-strong so he can dig himself out. Hooray. This is definitely how human bodies work. Also LSD. This is definitely how LSD works. Yes.

Steve then finds out that a couple of the guards who were with him in the tunnels died down there and he goes home and eats dinner while stewing in miserable guilt because he was responsible for their deaths. He's really not okay. I'm not sure the book actually understands how not okay they have made him. Then someone from SHIELD is on the phone for him and he is briefly cheered up by the thought that it might be Sharon although I think we should also note that the narrative makes it clear that at this point in canon Steve still doesn't know her name. Remember when that was a thing?

Alas, it is not Sharon; it's just a random SHIELD agent who happens to have information about the plot and asks to meet. Then, as Steve leaves to go to the meeting, we get two pages of exhaustive description about the mansion layout and how it's built relative to the surrounding buildings. It feels like this book was written by a frustrated city planner. But anyway, the meeting is a setup and the villains capture Steve.

They knock Steve out, drug him, take him to their hideout, and tie him to a chair. Except, once again thanks to the power of LSD, the tranquilizer they're using wears off way sooner than they expected and so Steve feigns unconsciousness and listens to them discuss their evil plans.

And then the villains unmask him and I swear it's exactly like that JLA gif:

Rogers heard footsteps scuffing across a thick carpet, and then Sparrow's voice again, almost directly over him. His ears still buzzed, but he fought to catch the elusive familiarity of the man's tone. He wished he dared open his eyes.

"This is a moment which I, personally, have long awaited," Sparrow said, his voice rising in triumph. "*The unmasking of Captain America!*"

Then, his nails scraping along Rogers' face, Sparrow dug his fingers under his cowl, and ripped it back. Rogers felt air strike his exposed cheeks and forehead. Then fingers clutched his blond hair and pulled his head back. "Behold!" Sparrow said.

Raven was first to speak. "Well, I dunno about you, Sparrow, but it rings no bells with me. I never seen him before."

Starling agreed. "His face means nothing to me."

"He could be anybody," said Robin. "What good does this do?"

Sparrow let Rogers' head fall back to his chest, and his voice when he spoke was defeated. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I always wondered. I felt, if these guys -- these costumed heroes -- wore masks, it must mean something."

"Captain America was missing for twenty years," Starling said. "That could mean the first one died, and this one took his place. He looks awfully young."

"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter. Let's get going."

(Yes, the villains all have bird-themed codenames. I have no idea why.)

This scene just makes my day. I love dramatic unmaskings. I bet they'd have been a lot happier unmasking Iron Man.

The villains then leave Steve and go to a power plant, where we switch POVs to one of the plant employees and get two entirely unnecessary paragraphs about his racist and anti-Semitic thoughts about his coworkers before the villains murder him. Great. Thanks.

Anyway, the villains cause a blackout, while meanwhile they've left Steve alone with the girl villain, and Steve is busy trying to persuade her that crime doesn't pay. He's moved from the "do you know what they'll do to you in prison?" theme onto "how exactly are you going to spend a billion dollars in gold bullion when it's illegal for civilians to possess? who are you going to do business with?" and then points out that gold is heavy and hard to transport, which is when she gets out a a knife.

The bad guys are off to steal the gold, and Steve has now successfully turned the girl they left him with, because she frees him. Of course, the first thing he does is put the cowl back on.

"Why do you wear that?" she asked.

"The mask?" He smiled. "It gives people something external to concentrate upon."

"But..."

"Without it, I'm just another ordinary-looking man. With it, I become a symbol. For some people it creates awe; for others, fear. Look at me. I'm different now, aren't I? With the mask on."

"Yes," she nodded. "You look -- bigger, somehow. Stronger. Fierce, implacable. You look a little scary."

"Exactly. You no longer see me as a person, but as a thing -- an Avenger. It can be a potent psychological weapon."

"They were so disappointed, when they took your mask off. As though underneath they'd find a famous person."

"Maybe that goes on TV -- handsome playboys, and all that. But I've been anonymous all my life. Even my real name would be meaningless to you, to them. No, the mask is part of the uniform, a psychological device. That's the whole story.

Now: let's get out of here. You have a good deal more to tell me yet, and we can't waste more time."

Bwahaha. In a few years, Steve's going to be pretty surprised about who superheroes are, I think.

STEVE, now: Superheroes definitely aren't secretly handsome playboys! That would be silly! STEVE, after Molecule Man: fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK I'm such an idiot

I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Also, not that the issue of Steve's psyche actually recurs after this, but he's once again having the narrative vindicate his belief that Steve Rogers is dead and whoever he is under the cowl doesn't matter. Steve, I don't think this is very healthy.

Steve then tracks down the villains stealing the gold, has some geopolitical thoughts about where the gold could be going (he thinks either South Africa or Russia for the best laundering potential) and then hides himself in the villains' trunk while they drive to Staten Island, which is where they're taking the gold out of the country from.

During the final confrontation, Steve finally gets to see the villains, and he discovers that the one in charge is in fact the director of the Federal Reserve Bank who Steve met at the beginning of this book. Gasp. But that's not all! He's also... the Red Skull!

Honestly, I was kind of surprised; I didn't think this was the kind of book where we'd get any known comic villains, but I guess it's always gotta be the Red Skull. I think he's the only one of Steve's big villains who likes to disguise himself; Zemo has obvious disguise issues and I imagine it's also hard to cover up Zola's Teletubby-esque television body.

Steve shoots one of the villains, because I guess that's what he does in this era of canon.

So the plot wraps up in, like, two pages, because for some reason all these early Marvel novels wrap up very fast. Red Skull, of course, attempts to escape and then disappears and his body is never found. The end.

Well.

That was definitely a book. That I read. Believe it or not, I actually think it was the best of these early Marvel prose novels that I've read so far, even if it was also the absolute weirdest; I thought the thriller-style plot was entertaining, I liked Steve and his Extremely Sad characterization, I obviously enjoy all the identity themes, I liked how very detailed the New York setting was, and I do like how they tried to treat it all seriously. I mean, sure, this did lead to LSD in the super-soldier serum in presumably the name of realism, but I felt like the book was trying to present superheroes in a way that didn't feel silly and also didn't really take for granted that the reader would automatically accept superheroes.

It felt like a book that was written hoping that people who weren't superhero fans would read it, if that makes any sense. And I thought that was interesting, because most modern superhero work that I can think of assumes they've got complete audience buy-in and everyone is willing to suspend their disbelief and we all know the genre conventions and are expecting people running around in brightly-colored spandex. Whereas this is more like a James Bond novel if for some reason James Bond were called upon to defend his decision to wear brightly-colored spandex instead of bespoke suits. But I assume no one read it, because Bantam never published a Marvel book after this one.

If you can actually find a copy of this one for a price you're willing to pay. I recommend it. It was delightful and way more solid than I thought it was going to be.

Also, come on, you know you want to read about Captain America's acid trip.

[sing-you-fools]

This is funny because I'm in the middle of a reread of that exact series. I didn’t read the entire blog post there (it is very long and I feel like I'll find it more interesting post-reread) but I read a fair bit of it. I do think the narrative ends up treating Corbin well in the end, but since we get each section in third person limited and we don't see in his head until later, so we mostly get how the other characters feel about him, and yeah, Sissix really hates him. (And once you've run into her culture, it's more understandable why those two specifically butt heads so intensely.) I don't think the book as a whole treats him the way her sections do, though it's totally understandable why that would put you off, and I do wish we got more from his pov earlier.

And. Okay. I'm having trouble expressing this thought but I'm going to try.

I find it very frustrating when every fantasy or alien race is immediately treated by any reader/reviewer as "a symbol for [x]." I find it limiting.

As writers, we only have the world around us to inspire us. When we write fantasy or sci-fi, this world bleeds through no matter how much we try to separate from it. You can spend all your time meticulously crafting a bunch of different alien species, building their societies, figuring out how they're structured, and so on, but we still only have real life to inspire us, or give us ideas, and yes, people will pick up on it. But as soon as they say "oh, the aliens are a metaphor for queerness!" then anything else is mixing metaphors and confusing the message and teaching readers the wrong lesson! But if the author were to say, okay, aliens represent queerness, and stick loyally to that, it would be too heavy-handed, too obvious, too boring.

We can't write an alien species that handles gender completely differently from how we do without "sending the wrong message about trans people."

Do the aliens represent queerness, or does Ashby and Pei's relationship make this particular reviewer think of how gay relationships used to be? Did the reviewer consider how mixed race relationships used to be? So why do they jump to this straight couple representing queerness instead of that? Do "the aliens" as a whole have to represent anything at all? Can we not just write some cool aliens for a fun story? Can we not accept that each alien race is a disco ball, each mirror of which may, yes, reflect back a different aspect of our own society?

I've seen the exact same criticism aimed at Pratchett, too, and I just don't know what an author is supposed to do. What I am supposed to do. There aren't many Fauns left and this one has kind of a hippie nature dude sort of vibe and suddenly I'm having visions of a reviewer who decided the fauns are a metaphor for indegeneity and is furious at me over the reveal that this faun's talking out eir ass and doesn't know shit, and now I'm canceled for my convoluted political message when I was just trying to write one fantasy creature who kinda sucks.

And - okay, I'm sorry, but "every species only seems to have one language/culture/etc" - fine, go ahead and write a book with this many distinct species and make up a whole fuckton of different cultures and languages for each of them if you want, but it's certainly not expected within the genre, and fuck. Worldbuilding is hard enough as it is. No one has time for that. That's weak criticism based in completely unrealistic expectations. Not doing a Tolkien level of worldbuilding for a hundred different species.

And the politics. Everything is political, yes. There are political implications to all our choices. Our politics will carry through in our writing, but that doesn’t mean we're sitting down with the intention of teaching a lesson every time we work on a story. I don't think Becky Chambers wrote this series with the intention of making anyone think real hard about politics, and I think we should be allowed to write a fun story where the politics aren't the point because something else is. So reviewing this series as if it's trying to teach a political message seems very strange to me. It's obviously not.

The whole thing in book 4, for example. I don't think suddenly giving us more info about that war is necessarily trying to teach us anything political. I think, yes, the author was informed by current events. I don’t think she was trying to tell us anything new about them, though. I think she was using them to hold up a mirror.

There's probably more I could say, but I only just started rereading book 2 last night (after I DNFed that other one) and I don't want to come back in a few weeks and be like, ah fuck I got all that wrong! so I'm gonna stop here. But Becky Chambers is one of my absolute favorite authors, and the impression I got from the first, I dunno, ten minutes of that review seemed like it was reviewing the series for not doing things it wasn't trying to do. Next time you need a warm hug of a book, I recommend her Monk and Robot series if you're soured on this one.

Started a book last night that I think has beaten my record for fastest DNF - made it through literally one page. One of those "the tone has such contempt for the genre that I'd rather just get hate mail from the author" situations. Like (I don't have it on me right now this is just me attempting to capture how it felt to read it): I'm Sparkle Queen. Yep, that's seriously my actual title. I know it sounds stupid as fuck but it's for real. Queen of Sparkles. And I have to do this thing. Seriously. Yeah, it's stupid and dumb, but I gotta do it, and there will be glitter which is gross and ugly and anyone who likes it sucks.

Anyway, if anyone's read Battle of the Linguist Mages and wants to tell me I'm wrong, please go ahead. It sounded good and I'm disappointed at how immediately it sucked.

(Second-fastest DNF prize goes to Playing the Palace, which mentioned so many brands by name in the first page and a half that it was all I could do not to throw it directly in the trash.)

[buckyownsmylife]

white winter hymnal - tom hardy smut

The one where you’re Tom’s PA and you two get snowed in.

Warnings: smut, boss/employee relationship, dirty talk, kind of sexist remarks?, that wasn’t my intention, but maybe that’s how you’ll see it, so I should warn you about it, reader is very sex positive in this fic, idiot in lust, PA!Reader, jealous!Tom, kinda possessive! or maybe asshole!Tom, again it wasn’t my intention, I just wanted to write some dirty talk, use of the term cockslut and another that I can’t remember, or maybe it was cockslut twice

A/N: I’m not really satisfied with this collage, but this will have to do 🤷‍♀️ Anyway, here’s another anon request I received a while back. Please take everything Tom says as nothing more than dirty talk. Also, I did that thing where I wrote a pre-POV intro, idk if it’s any good but when the inspiration hits, I just roll with it ✌

Y/N wasn’t having a good week at work. It wasn’t that something wrong had happened - actually when you considered the cold facts about what had left her feeling so high strung that a simple touch almost made her moan, anyone would think she was crazy. Those were nice things, good situations that she’d found herself in.

But she’d disagree emphatically. There was nothing nice about the fuck-me eyes with which Tom, her boss, had regarded her when she arrived on set with the pencil skirt that she knew made her ass look great. There was nothing nice about the way he’d commented on how she was out to get him, making his life more difficult because of the way she was dressing. There was nothing nice about how he had kept on complimenting her, telling her how pretty she looked with her hair down, or how he joked about how it must have hurt when she fell from heaven.

And especially, there was absolutely nothing nice about the subtle, fleeting touches he’d decided to shower her with, leaving her burning and more aroused than she cared to admit, considering how innocent they actually were. Tom had been flirting with her ever since her job interview, it was nothing new and she should have gotten used to it by now.

But the truth was that she didn’t, she couldn’t. And who could really blame her, when every day it seemed like Tom stepped up a notch, making it harder and harder for her to ignore his advances and keep things professional between them?

Especially considering just how badly she needed to get off and just how attracted she was to him and his stupidly perfect body and damn hypnotizing smirk. She was only human, after all. A human woman with healthy desires that seemed to revolve exclusively about her boss.

God, she was pathetic. At least, she could always count on Saturday nights. That was the time she managed to escape the acting world and the craziness of the set where they had been filming for the last month to go to the bar and find someone who’d take her home and help her deal with her growing levels of horny.

If it weren’t for random strangers who knew what to do in bed, she wasn’t too sure she wouldn’t have succumbed to Tom’s spell and climbed him like a tree already. And that’s where she was headed, just after she stopped by his rental house and went over their schedule for the week ahead.

She’d get through this, she thought as she made sure her coat was tightly wrapped around her waist before exiting her car and running towards the front door, ignoring the snow that had been lightly falling since that morning. Just two more hours and she would be on her way to drowning her needs in another stranger’s body, just to pretend that she didn’t think about Tom during the entire act.

Yeah. She could totally do this.

Tom was screwed.

He had been since he first laid his eyes on her, some five months ago, just before they moved to this fucking freezing country to start filming for his next movie. He knew even back then, he should have thanked her with a smile, explained that she wasn’t right for the job, and asked her out. The fact that she was the best person for the job shouldn’t even have counted, because he was head over heels for her in that first meeting, how the fuck could he keep himself away when she was supposed to be working by his side every minute of every day?

In the end, the idea of having to wait until the end of filming to actually get to spend some time with her made him take the impulsive decision that led him to this situation. Having her so close, but nowhere near what he wished for.

It was hell on Earth. Especially since he knew she felt the same way, he could see it in her eyes, in the way she squeezed her thighs together every time he so much as looked her way. If only she wasn’t so unbelievably professional.

“Tom?” He heard her sweet voice calling out from downstairs and casted a glance at the window. The snow had been gradually building up since that morning, it was a surprise she had managed to reach his house in the first place. But of course, she would never let something as silly as the weather keep her away from her responsibilities.

With a low chuckle, he made his way to the living room, rubbing his hands together to create some warmth despite the heaters that were working overtime since he arrived at that house. It didn’t matter, it was still too fucking cold.

“Ready to go over your schedule?” He trailed his eyes over her body, taking notice of the dress she was wearing over the warm leggings. What day was it? Oh, right. Her day off started the minute she finished this one last task, and then she’d be off to…

He knew where she’d be off to. Thinking about it made him see red, especially since he didn’t have the opportunity to do the same where they were. He envied her, but he envied the lucky bastard that got to fuck her tonight even more.

“Of course,” was all he said, assuming a spot on the seat next to hers on the couch. She visibly tensed, but then threw him a small smile that seemed to try to ease her own nerves, to which he returned with a grin of his own.

“What are you all smiley about?” It was nice to see her more laidback, it was clear that the prospect of letting off some steam tonight was relaxing her. Tom could work with that. In fact, it just made his plans that much easier.

“I can’t imagine how someone could be near a woman as beautiful and not be happy, sweetheart.” Her smile immediately dropped, her eyes growing twice their size as he maintained his grin. “But let’s get on with it, shall we? I have a lot to plan out with you.”

She raised an eyebrow at his lack of interest in continuing to mess with her but shrugged it off before opening her planner. They did have a lot to talk about before she could finally leave to the nearest bar.

Tom chanced a glance out the window as she tried to locate their current week on her faithful notebook. This might just turn out the way he needed it to be.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Aaaand… I guess this finalizes your schedule for the next week,” I commented as I made sure to correct the time for a phone interview Tom would be having on the following Friday, before glancing up at him. He’d been mostly quiet for the last few minutes, a stark difference from how he had behaved during the entire meeting. Through all my time working for him, it had been the first time he was actually really present for the scheduling of his following week, making changes and trying to be sure that it would go as smoothly as he wanted it to be.

It wasn’t an unwelcome change, but it sure was peculiar. And by now, I knew him enough to get that there was definitely a hidden reason for him to be behaving this way. Still, I couldn’t yet grasp what it was that he had planned, so I resigned myself to getting through with what I intended to do for the day, and thankfully, that was now done.

“Well, if you won’t be needing me anymore, I’ll be getting out of your hair now.” I smiled softly down at him when I left the sofa, making quick work of my scattered papers and random pens before straightening out to say goodbye. “What?” I had to ask since he was looking at me like he was trying to contain his laughter.

“Well, first of all, sweetheart, I always need you. Perhaps not in the way you’re supposed to help with, according to your job description, but it’s the truth.” I had difficulty maintaining eye contact after that, opting to stare at the mountain of documents in my hands while I fidgeted from one foot to the other, feeling the arousal inside of me sparkle before starting to burn even more intensely. Why did he have to be so honest about wanting me?

“Second and perhaps most importantly… I think you’re stuck with me for the rest of the evening, love.” That made me look at him again, desperate to find any signs that he was only toying with my emotions, anything to show me that he was only playing. But all I got was a nod of his head, pointing towards the windows, and that’s when it hit me.

We were snowed in.

A lot of different feelings took over me at the realization. First, there was despair. What would I do now that I couldn’t go to the bar? Then, there was anxiety. How the fuck was I supposed to survive spending the night with my boss - to whom I was attracted to - in a house with a single room in it?

Finally, sheer panic set in, making me shake my head in frustration. I’d never be able to find enough control to resist him without the release that my weekly escapades granted me. And by the way he stared up at me, with those darkened eyes filled with lust, I could tell that he knew.

I watched with a trembling body as he slowly rose from the seat and made his way to me until we were chest to chest. His eyes ran up and down my body until they finally settled on mine again, and I had to bite down a whimper. 

That’s how weak I was for him. He could reduce me to a wanton mess with a fucking stare.

“You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question. Both he and I recognized it as a fact. Still, I whispered into the air between us, “Yes.” Immediately, he pressed on. “Of me?” I almost melted at the sight of such a burly, strong man, towering over me and devastated at the prospect of threatening me.

Tom’s P.O.V.

I waited for her answer with a heavy heart, but the hopeful expectation that she did actually feel just the same as I did: scared at the prospect of what could happen between us, but equally excited. 

“No.” I tilted my head at the word, curious as to what was her explanation, then.

“Then what?”

“Of what could happen if I let go of my control. Of what I would become.” Slowly, a smile took over my face, and I finally felt confident enough in her feelings to feel like I could touch her. So I raised my hands to hold her hips, rejoicing in just how small she was in comparison to me. It felt like I could very easily pick her up and take her - in whichever way I wanted. And there were a lot of them.

“Let go,” I whispered in her ear, having leaned down so I could compensate for our difference in height. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you without that precious control of yours.”

Goosebumps had spread all over her skin at the difference in temperature of my breath and her skin. I watched in fascination, following their trail, rubbing my nose across her jaw before finally, her lips were inches from mine. And then they were mine.

I possessed her mouth just like I’d fantasized for so long, desperate to make up for the lost time, for all the nights I spent alone thinking about her while she was off with someone else. And she responded just in kind, her arms barely able to embrace my body, but her palms were spread over my back, pulling me closer, and that was more than enough for me. 

For now, at least. Now that I’d captured her on my web, there was no way I was letting her go before I fulfilled each and every one of the dirty, dirty dreams I had about the two of us. I was going to ravish her. I was going to ruin her.

She let out a tiny whimper when I pried her lips open with my tongue, before melting in my arms as I explored her mouth, basked on her taste. “You know there’s no way I’m letting you go now, right?”

By the way she looked at me with hazy eyes, it was clear that there would be no resistance from her whatsoever. She was pliant and soft in my hands, easily following when I picked her up and climbed up the stairs to my room with her in my arms. And then, when she was on the bed, there was just no way I could control myself anymore, not even long enough to take off our clothes properly. So I just flipped her skirt up, before ripping apart her leggings and finding her underwear absolutely drenched for me.

“Fuck,” I whispered, already reaching out to rub my thumb over her nub, making her gasp and cry out for me. “I can smell you dripping through the fabric, sweetheart.” To my pleasure, she didn’t seem coy about it at all. 

Oh, no. My little assistant, the picture-perfect of professionality was licking her lips, frantically nodding to my indication. “For you, I’m always dripping for you.” A smirk took over my face at her confession, my cock hardening even more at hearing that while I was suffering silently all that time, so was she.

So I ripped her underwear to shreds, spreading my hands over the inside of her thighs to get the perfect view of that pussy that had been haunting my dreams. “Shit, I can’t wait to eat that.”  And with only those words as warning, I dove right in, attracted by the sweet smell that made my mouth water.

She was just as sweet as I thought, but the sounds with which she filled my bedroom were what drove me crazy. I couldn’t close my eyes to fully appreciate her taste, too transfixed by her beauty, unable to believe that I finally had her, that it was her pussy I was currently lapping.

“Damn, look at you,” I hummed against her clit, making her jerk and try to pull away for a split second before I threw an arm over her hips to secure her position. “You fought so hard against your instincts, only to end up right here, spread open for me.”

With each word that left my lips, she seemed to get closer and closer to her release. “And to think you could have had my mouth on you all this time. Tell me, darling, do you think a stranger could make you feel better? Were any of the people you fucked, trying to ignore our connection, this great at making you cum?”

I could feel her muscles quiver under the soft skin of the inside of her thigh, and I doubled my efforts on her pussy, determined to see her cum at least once before I finally got my cock in her. It was throbbing now, begging for any sort of attention, but I was too transfixed by the sight of her reaching her high, the way her chest heaved as I quickly rubbed her clit with my tongue before sucking it into my mouth.

“Gimme your cum, baby. C’mon. Been waiting so long to get you in my bed…” She came as I hummed against her, the sensations obviously flipping her over that edge. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”

I kept on slowly cleaning her up, mindful of not hurting her, as she struggled to get her breathing in check. Despite her sensitivity, I couldn’t get myself to part with her taste just yet, even considering the possibility of eating her out some more, making her cum one or two more times before I fucked her properly.

But that was all before she fractured my control with two simple sentences. “Want some help with that? I’ve really been looking forward to getting your cock in my mouth.” I hadn’t even realized that I had been grinding against the mattress as I pleasured her, just to relieve my needy member at least a little bit.

What I knew was that I most definitely would not be able to hold back enough to feel her mouth around me. At least this first time. So all she got was a growl as I pounced on her, forcing her to taste her cum as I kissed those gorgeous lips and held her knees open to accept my weight between them.

“Right now, I’m gonna fuck this little pussy until you’re sobbing for me, okay, love? If you beg nicely, I might let you taste me later.” She whimpered in response, and a smirk took over my face. “Wow, you really are cockdrunk for me, aren’t you sweetheart?” The whine I got only made me laugh, giving me a little bit more control to tease her some more.

“You think you’re ready for me?” I asked, pressing the head of my cock against her clit, rubbing it with my member. “Are you sure you can handle my dick, darling?” Watching her thrash around the bed in an effort to get me to push into her was something I never thought I’d get to see. It made that moment of victory just that much sweeter.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I was trembling in anticipation to finally have him inside of me. To feel that fat cock stretching me open, filling me up like I’d always wanted it to. It was enough to drive me absolutely crazy with desire.

“Yes, yes, please, I can handle it. Please, stop teasing me,” I begged, my hands not able to choose what to hold as I struggled to keep myself from losing my mind over my boss’ cock. From the depths of my desire, I took notice of the way he smirked, one eyebrow raised up as he stared down at me, still slowly running the head of his cock between my pussy lips.

“Teasing? This isn’t teasing, love. Teasing is what you did to me, every single day since we met, parading everywhere with those fucking skintight skirts.” And with those words as preamble, he finally slid home, only stopping when he was completely inside of me, hitting my cervix and difficulting the now herculean task of remembering how to breathe again.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be this tight. I just fucking knew it.” Those were the last things I heard before he started pounding me against the mattress, barely having given me any time to get used to his thickness. 

If I thought I was losing my mind before, it became clear from the way he was bruising my insides that there was no possibility of me ever leaving this bed as a sane woman. Tom had managed to reduce me to a blubbering, stupid mess. He truly had turned me into his cockslut, I realized. I’d do anything just to keep being filled by him, over and over again.

“See? This is what you could have been having this entire time. Me and my cock. Instead, you just had to leave me for those random men. And while you were out, having your fun, all I had to keep me company was my own hand.” Tom never stopped the torturing pace with which he kept on fucking me as he slowly drove me crazy with his words. It was just unbelievable how great he was at dirty talk, I felt like I could cum already from the rhythmic attack on my sweet spot and the filth he was spilling. 

The mental image he elicited of him touching himself didn’t hurt, either.

“You’re so egoistic, sweetheart. Wasn’t it your job to serve me? Instead, I had to get off all by myself.” Despite the teasing nature of his remarks and the still brutal pace of his thrusts, his touch over my body was gentle, as he gathered my hair away from my face so he could bury his head in the crook of my neck.

“You… You could have had anyone you wanted,” I managed to remind him, starting to mirror his movements, fucking myself up on his cock. “You could have had anyone at all.” Abruptly, he stopped hiding his face against my skin, pushing away just enough to watch my expression - or maybe to show me his, in all of its seriousness.

“The only one I wanted was you. This was everything I wished for, since day one.” Tom raised himself slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts in a way that had me gasping in surprise, while also preventing me from being able to figure out what I could possibly say to that. So he continued, slowing the movements only a bit, but fucking me deeper, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t pinpoint. 

Tom’s P.O.V.

She gasped, finally giving up that last little bit of control and allowing herself to relax against the mattress as I did all of the work. “But now I have you, huh? And this is where you should be spending your days, with my cock deep inside of your pussy, keeping me warm, keeping me happy.” I kissed her before finishing, “Keeping me fulfilled.”

With a moan that electrified every single cell of my body, she came and prompted my own orgasm, and I spilled inside of her with a roar, momentarily losing my strength and falling on top of her body.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, darling. Let me get out of you.” But she stopped me from leaving her arms and her pussy, hugging me to her chest until I had no other choice but to cuddle her.

“It’s okay,” she said, fingers lightly running through my short hair. “I like it.”

I fell asleep that night happy because I understood that was her way of saying that she was satisfied with this development in our once strictly professional relationship. And I couldn’t wait to wake her up with another reason why she shouldn’t regret this.

[munstysmind]

G'day again!

You asked for this! 😈

B, D, E, H, I, M, N, P & R

Just have to chuck this in, cause fuck why not?! Look at that swagger 🥵

OK, ok…

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

Unfortunately… yes. The emotional abuse and manipulation Travis imposed on Maddie is very much based on my personal experience with a family member. I actually started writing MADDISON as a way to vent and process. I had ZERO intentions of posting it until my bestie read some over my should one night and encouraged me to. You have Emma to thank for Maddison being posted.

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

I don’t really have a playlist that comes to mind for Maddison but I do have a few songs. Mostly for Maddie’s recovery, mental health ect.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

I’m toying with the idea of doing a sequel to Trapped that would deal with the major fallout from the fight between Henry and Hannah.

H: How would you describe your style?

Chaotic. I’m all over the place. I can’t actually pinpoint a specific style. I just write what my brain gives me. Although I very much prefer writhing in the third person. It gives a much broader writing range and I don’t have to deal with a bunch of different POV’s because that shit confuses the crap out of me whenever I try to write it

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Dark Fics. The darker the better. I cannot recommend @darkficsyouneveraskedfor enough. Ever single fic they post feeds the sadistic gremlin in my brain.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

Well… I’m roughly drafting out a Sebastian Stan series that takes place during the 2020 lockdown and I’m currently writing a chapter of Maddison where Travis gets back at Maddie in a HUGE way, although we don’t realise it’s him until later on.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Yes. I’m in the middle of writing my submission for the 4k Follower Challenge that @dadplease is doing. If someone could come extract it from my brain for me that would be amazing. I’ve hit a massive wall.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martinwould call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

I’m a bit of both. I very much plan out the general idea of what I want to happen with each chapter and how it will flow with other chapters but when I actually get to writing I usually just take it where my brain goes as I’m writing. Sometimes I’ll have a few lines or a specific event in mind and I’ll actively write to include it. Two very specific ones that come to mind are in He Broke Her “He broke her… in a way I didn’t think was possible. The happy carefree Maddie we love is gone… she may never come back” and You Are Safe “If I have to put him in the ground to protect you I will” that line is a personal favourite

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

@sillyrabbit81, she gets me every single time. If I had to choose specific fics “Syverson & Vixen” is my favourite. I reread it all the time. And her “His Tuition” series 🤤🤤🤤

@theycallmebecca, her Chris Evans fluff makes my heart feel all the feels. I wish I were a fraction as good at writing fluff as she is

I guiltily admit I haven’t had a chance to read any of yours yet. It’s been pretty hectic my end the last few weeks. I’ve barely had time to write. I’ve got a whole week off next week and my plans include not wearing pants and reading through your entire masterlist.

And that GIF…

I love it 😻

[defilerwyrm]

⭐️ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

FIC SPOILERS AHEAD!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön on AO3

He opened his mouth to thank Essek but what came out instead was, “Deine Augen sind wunderschön.”

Essek stared at him, perfectly neutral save for the subtle rise of stark white eyebrows. “I don’t speak Zemnian,” he said, flashing his customary, placid little smile.

This is early Essek, well before c2e097, so this is a fully calculated move. That stare is him running simulations in his head, as it were, weighing his options, and he finally decides that he can learn more about Caleb if the guy thinks he doesn’t understand these little asides.

And boy did he ever just learn something juicy.

The second time, he was feeling petulant. Essek was normally a very patient and talented teacher, but there came a time when they butted heads over the best way to work a spell: Essek’s experience and Caleb’s contradicted each other, and neither was willing to admit that he was wrong because they weren’t. Caleb couldn’t have said why they were getting spirited over it. It was unlike them to lock horns this way, and the condescension chafed fiercely.

To my understanding, Wildemount never—at least post-Calamity—had a continent-spanning culture like the Roman Empire that would standardize learning across regions, and the Empire and Dynasty have utterly lacked in cultural exchange pretty much throughout their histories; so I reason that their approach to magic must be very damn different right down to the fundamentals. But, I also reason, magic is like math, in that there’s more than one way to come to a given conclusion—so the same spell cast by an Imperial mage might use different theory and somatic/verbal components with the same results.

I love fic that plays homage to cultural differences, so I figured that there must surely come a point where Caleb and Essek quibble about how to do a thing, with the crux being that they’re both right.

In a fit of pique, he muttered, “Du hast Glück, dass du abartig schön bist, denn du bist so ein Arsch.”

Essek’s head whipped up so fast that, for a moment, Caleb thought maybe he understood after all—but Essek just squinted at him without recognition and said, “I beg your pardon?”

Essek’s poker face is doing triple duty here because Caleb just said he’s hot af but also a dick, and this isn’t a sentiment Essek hasn’t heard before, but it hasn’t really gotten under his skin like it does this time.

Caleb passed a hand over his face and scratched at the beard he desperately needed to shave off. “Nothing,” he lied, “just annoyed with myself. This should be a moment of discovery, now that we know this can go either way. A door has unlocked and we’re both pulling it shut. Can we start again?”

The slip, and Essek’s reaction to it, made Caleb realize that they were both being dillweeds about the whole thing and it wasn’t going to move them forward at all.

It was—of course, of fucking course the intonation mattered. “A tonal shift,” he breathed. He took Essek by the lapels of his robe and shook him gently, and blurted out, “Ich könnte dein Gehirn küssen und dann deinen Mund.”

“What the hell is going on,” Nott squeaked at the same time as Essek chuckled almost nervously, “Caleb, I don’t—”

Hot boi damn near let the cat out of the bag right here. It’s certainly not that he specifically did not want to be smooched at all, but more that 1) Nott was RIGHT THERE so it would be mortifying, 2) he’s still very D: about physical contact and this point, and 3) he’s still very privately going “fuck fuck fuck WHY a HUMAN” about his own attraction to Caleb. There is very much a part of him that Wants That, but the rest of him is just not coping with it at all just yet.

The following morning, though, all he could think about was Dein Bett wäre besser and Essek’s careful fingers touching his face.

Both of them are fully mortified with themselves. They’re ridiculous. I see Caleb heading back to the Xhorhaus with shoulders bunched up, brow furrowed, and wide eyes glued to his own feet as his brain screams “DEIN BETT WÄRE BESSER” at him, mockingly, over and over. Slipping up and confessing your attraction to your crush is relatably horrifying (gods, I’ve been there, it’s awful) and Caleb is predisposed to beat himself up to begin with. Add in the rest of the party making a big deal over the fact that he spent the night over at Essek’s towers and you’ve got an abject storm in that little ginger head of his.

It did not help matters that no matter how much he insisted that nothing happened, the Mighty Nein were dead set on believing that he’d slept with his mentor, and they spent the next three days teasing him about it, none of them aware that he was simultaneously tormenting himself.

Okay so I try to be good and not talk shit about my own work these days, but that sentence just landed in a belly flop for me. I’m not sure it actually gets across what I’d meant, which was that Caleb was beating himself up for a different reason than what they all thought.

In the midst of a messy ambush by three of the wolf-cat eye-beasts, one of them managed to get the drop on Caleb, and it pinned him, screaming, to the ground. Its claws dug fiery punctures into either side of his chest. He thrashed, trying to get both hands up to cast, but it would be too late—his reflexes weren’t good enough. His body had never been nearly as sharp as his mind, and he was about to pay the price in the form of massive, dagger-like fangs lunging towards his throat. He screamed again, chest nearly frozen with fear, when—

Adventurers are generally made of tough stock, but I really wanted to dig into the POV of someone who’s being attacked by a terrifying cerature intent on ripping them apart. “You take 12 piercing damage and are knocked prone” is mechanical and dry; I wanted to show the full in-character implications of those mechanics.

Another fic that represents game mechanics narratively to absolutely stunning affect is Hard Mouth by road_rhythm, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I wrote Bei Mir before Hard Mouth started posting but had it been the other way around, it 100% would have been an inspiration in that regard.

He could not help but murmur, “Götter, ich bins so verschossen in dich.”

Fun fact: I got myself the book Talking Dirty German specifically for writing Caleb dialogue, and it really came in handy here. This idiom is from that book, as did abartig schön. The literal translation is “Gods, I am so shot into you,” which coming to think of it sounds a wee bit dirty but is figuratively very sappy.

Speaking of sappy….

“Das Gefühl ist Gegenseitig,” came the warm and sleepy reply.

Part of this is Essek being barely-conscious, but the bulk of it is this—and this is basically giving away the whole way the fic progresses: pretending not to know Zemnian began as a manipulation tactic to get intel, then became a game of “Let’s see how long it takes you to figure this out, smart boy” as their bond grew and Essek stopped deliberately trying to throw Caleb off, and finally when they were a couple he figured it would be cruel and pointless to keep up the ruse, especially since he’d been growing to appreciate pet names in their mother tongues.

Caleb took a deep breath, set his tea aside, and launched himself at Essek, who yelped, laughing, and danced out of his grasp. Essek led him on a merry chase around the kitchen and held out as long as he could before crying mercy at Caleb’s vicious tickling.

You know, I probably shouldn’t point this out in case my readers hadn’t cottoned onto it yet either, but it wasn’t until like a week after publishing this that I stopped and thought, “WTF happened to Essek’s teacup? Did he take the time to set it down? Did it get dropped and shatter? Did he show off and levitate it?? Did he bring it with him and get tea all over the place and himself?!” Smh…. Choose your own explanation, I guess, lmao.

The rolls were a little burnt that morning, but Caleb had no regrets.

Part of me feels like this is kind of a weak ending, but I justify it to myself by remembering how hard Caleb regretted his slip-ups over the course of the fic. He spends a good bit of copy beating himself up over them, so ultimately I think it fits, even if it kinda lacks punch.