#when i cowrite a book what then!!!

[pearlessance]

A Dance In The Dark

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel has always taken care of you. Always been your kind, attentive protector. And that doesn’t change, even when you read a scene from a dark romance novel and discover your tastes may be a bit more sordid than you once thought. But even in this he wants to grant you your every wish—and when he offers to put on a mask and chase you through the woods, the opportunity is just too wicked to pass up.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, feelings of embarrassment and shame, established relationship, Joel ties readers hands with his belt, knife play, BDSM undertones (primal play specifically), sexual aggression, degradation, fingering, p in v, hair pulling, shameless smut this is basically just pure filth

NOTE: this is a cowrite i did with joelmillersgirlfriend! we busted this out in less than two days because i was bound and determined to get this published on the best holiday of the year! please check out her stuff over on AO3 where we have several other cowrites because i love her 🩷

happy halloween my loves 🩷

Read on AO3!

MASTERLIST

You don’t tell him right away. Don’t tell him at all, really. 

Joel discovers your peculiar fascination all on his own.

He’s late coming home from work. His dinner sits on a plate in the microwave, leftovers packaged and put in the fridge for his lunch tomorrow. His lack of punctuality is nothing new, but you’ve always been good at filling the time and finding a distraction while you wait for him. 

On this particular night, you’ve changed out of your clothes and into one of his T-shirts, nestled into a soft cocoon on his side of the bed, book in hand. The tea in your mug on your nightstand has gone tepid, too lost between the pages to consume anything but the content in a timely manner. 

You’d found it in the horror section, a book written by a name you’d never heard of, a story of a young woman’s abduction with overarching themes of perseverance and self-discovery. You find it a bit graphic from time to time, the details of her torment vivid and lifelike. But that’s to be expected in a horror novel and doesn’t surprise you.

The part that does surprise you, however, is the romantic undercurrent between the woman and her captor. He makes declarations of love, fully admitting his obsession with the young woman, claiming to want nothing from her but her own empowerment.

It’s an even bigger surprise when you reach the halfway point and discover that your horror novel is also an erotica. And the text is well-written, pulling you into its depths, and you think it might be the craziest yet best book you’ve ever read if for nothing else than the way it makes your heart race behind your ribcage.

“Is it that good?”

His voice startles you so badly the book falls from your hands and into your lap. “What?”

Joel laughs, a soft sound of amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He leans over the edge of the bed to press his lips to your forehead, and you find yourself swimming in the subtle affection.

And you know it’s because you’ve been reading smut for the last three hours straight, but the feel of his lips against your skin is heavenly. You abandon the book, tucking the edge of the dust jacket inside the pages to mark your place and discarding it onto the nightstand. It’s second nature as you twist your hands into the soft fabric of his flannel and pull him close.

He smells like pine and sawdust and sweat. His hands are rough and calloused as he cradles your face, lips turning upwards against yours. When you deepen the kiss, sliding your soft tongue against his, Joel laughs again, a little darker this time. He pulls away and the loss makes you whimper because you need him. And the bastard knows it. Because when his gaze roams over your face, lingering on your lips, there’s a heavy undertone of lust behind the playfulness. “S’alright, sweet girl,” he says gently. “None of that whinin’. M’gonna take care of you like I always do. Just wanna know what’s brought this on is all.”

You’re not sure you can admit the truth to him. And even more than that, you don’t have the words to explain that what’s got you so worked up is a scene in your book where the main character is being chased through the woods, her captor wearing a Halloween mask, under the pretense that if he catches her, he’s going to fuck her. Your cheeks warm at just the idea of such an admission, so instead you say, “I just missed you is all.”

Joel doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows you like the back of his hand and sees easily through the lie. And when he glances at your book on the nightstand twice, you know you’ve been caught before he even says a word. “Thought that was one of those scary books you like.”

“It is,” you tell him. Because, technically, it’s the truth.

He narrows his eyes at you, that all-knowing smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah? Bein’ scared’s what’s got you all squirmy like this?”

As much as you’d like to deny it, to argue his assessment, Joel leans over a little further and his weight on top of you, heavy and sure and safe, makes your breath catch in your lungs. Warmth pools low in your belly and that low, husky tone in his voice only makes matters worse. 

“Think whatever’s in that book’s got you all worked up. What’s it about, baby? Hm?” Joel shoves the blanket out of the way and slides his hand between your body and his. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his hands on you, the contrast of his roughness against all your softest parts. It’s like the first time every time, and you can feel the steady thump of your heart as it hammers behind your sternum.

Heat rises up your chest when his hand touches your favorite spot, already knowing what he’s going to say. You’re drenched, the insides of your thighs slick with excitement. Joel breathes out a tell-tale hiss at the feeling, pulling back to glance down at you. Humor is suddenly nowhere to be found on his face, no smirks or teasing words. Just dark, hot lust, turning Joel’s eyes black.

“Christ,” Joel groans, continuing to explore between your legs. 

You don’t want to tell him what the book’s about, and thankfully he seems to forget he’d asked the question as his long fingers find their place, curling inside of you. 

Joel keeps his promise. He takes care of the ache for you like he always does. He makes you finish on his fingers and his tongue and when he finally sinks deep inside you it feels like relief. You warm up leftovers for him afterward, and he doesn’t pressure you about talking about your book. Instead, he tells you about his day while the two of you sit at the kitchen table and the light of his love fills you from the inside out.

You finish the book in less than two days, but its content lives in your head for far longer. 

Showering, cooking, running errands - you find yourself thinking about that scene in the woods so often you begin to wonder if it’s altered your brain chemistry.

That weekend you go out for drinks with a couple of girlfriends, letting Joel know you’ll likely be late coming home. He makes you promise to call him if you need a ride and says he’s going to invite Tommy over to watch the game.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Joel’s little brother practically lived with the two of you until Maria stepped into the picture, and you pinky swear to call if you need him.

You don’t, though. You spend more time gossiping and laughing and catching up than you do drinking. But it’s dark when you pull into the driveway, and though you don’t see Tommy’s truck you assume Joel might have picked him up and you fully expect to see him standing in your kitchen with a hand in the fridge grabbing another beer. 

Tommy’s nowhere to be found, though. And there’s no referee calling shots on the flat screen. There’s no sound at all, in fact. At first, it alarms you. But then you see Joel sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt with a book in his hand.

He glances up from the pages only long enough to smile up at you and say, “Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time?”

You hesitate, watching him from where you stand at the doorway. Joel read occasionally, but only if he needed to. If he wanted to learn a new song on guitar, if he had taken on a new car project and had to teach himself how to repair it. He didn’t read for luxury.

“Yeah, it was nice. What about you? Where’s Tommy?” you questioned, tiptoeing over to where Joel was spread out. The book was positioned in a way that didn’t allow you to see its cover, but it most definitely wasn’t one of Joel’s manuals. 

Joel turned to grin at you, his eyes scanning your body, stopping to look at the frown on your lips. 

“He canceled, ditched me to hang out with Maria,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Your frown deepened as you moved closer to Joel, still eyeing the book in his hand that was conveniently covered by his large palms. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, reaching down to run your palm through his gray-streaked hair. You had convinced him to stop touching up his roots, some sick part of you loving how mature he looked. 

“I didn’t wanna interrupt. ‘Sides, I wanted to see what got you all worked up the other night,” Joel explained casually, finally exposing the book he was holding. All of the colors left your face as you processed what was happening, that he was more than halfway done with the story. Joel was well into reading the disturbing erotica, but somehow still hadn’t put it down. 

“This is some dark stuff. You’re telling me that this is what had you drippin’? Had you clenched around me, legs shaking?” Joel asked, breaking heavy eye contact with you to go back to reading.

“Come on, Joel. Give it back,” you whined, reaching down to pull it out of his hands. The word embarrassed didn’t cover how you truly felt. Mortified was a better fit.

He wrestled around in your hold, turning his back to you and shielding the book with his body. “Not yet, I’m just about to reach the good part. I wanna know what happens when he catches her.”

Maybe not mortified. You were fucking humiliated. Tears threatened to spill as you reached down, pawing at Joel’s arms to grab the book. “Stop it. It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know it’s dumb.”

Joel glanced back to see the wetness filling your eyes, instantly releasing his grip so you could take the book back. His large palm reached up to cradle your face, to comfort you.

“Hey now, I never said it was dumb. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I never really knew you were into that kind of stuff. Nothing’s wrong with it.”

His words are sincere and make you feel a little bit better, but you still feel ashamed that Joel had read the book. You know he’d never judge you, but it feels like your closest kept secret has been thrust into the light without your permission. Warmth spreads over your face, down your neck, twisting your stomach into knots. “I know but I…I just didn’t expect you to read it.”

“Then I won’t,” he says quickly, pushing himself up off the couch. He places a warm hand on the side of your neck and says again, “I won’t. I promise. No tears baby, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, trusting him, knowing that his words hold sincerity. Exhaling a long breath, you try to shove the mortification away and focus instead on this man before you who loves you enough to learn everything about you, even the things best kept hidden. 

Joel gives you the book and you shove it in the back of your side of the closet, hidden beneath a shoe box. He helps you out of your dress and showers with you, washing your hair while you tell him all about girls’ night and the newest gossip.

After, when you’re both cozy in bed, wrapped up tight in his strong arms, stealing his warmth with your cold feet against his legs, you think maybe you might’ve overreacted about the book. You know Joel would never judge you, not even about this. You think maybe the embarrassment comes from somewhere within, that maybe it’s more like insecurity than shame. And so you say, “I’m sorry about earlier. You can finish the story if you want.”

Joel presses a kiss into your hair. “Not really my type of book, anyhow.”

Even though he says it mostly to comfort you, the words make you laugh. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and can feel the vibration of his amusement as he shares the moment with you.

And when you both settle enough to speak again, his voice is a little quieter as he asks, “You want me to do that to you?”

This time you fight your shame. Wrap it up tight and store it away for something else, something more worthy than a peculiar taste. You think about yourself in place of the main character, running between thick tree trunks with dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. 

You think of Joel in place of the woman’s captor, mask over his face, presence dark and looming as he seeks you out. A shiver runs down your spine, so sharp and demanding that your body trembles in his hold. 

“S’okay if you do,” he murmurs. You can feel each word through his chest, a delicious tremor against your suddenly too-hot skin. Joel lifts his hand and brushes your hair gently away from your face, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Know it did somethin’ to you. Turned you real greedy the other day. Hm?”

Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can hear your heart in your ears. You think he could convince you to do anything when he talks like that, voice low and gravelly. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t know.”

“Read another part,” he whispers. His thumb travels slowly down your chin, over the curve of your jaw, down the column of your throat. “He’s got that switchblade in his hand. Touches her real nice, all sweet and loving. But he keeps that blade right…” Joel drags his index finger slowly across your neck. “ Here .”

The sound that escapes you is more than need, it’s something else entirely; more like desperation. You didn’t think it was possible to want him any more than you already do but this Joel who strikes just the right amount of fear in you? He makes your mouth water, makes you tremble and shake with just the caress of a single touch.

He grips the back of your thigh with his free hand, pulling you close, pressing you tight against the growing erection behind the cotton fabric of his boxers. Joel’s always been insatiable for you, sometimes getting worked up just from staring at you too long. But you begin to wonder if this is something he wants, too. “Should take you out someplace real nice,” he mutters. “Get all dressed up. You can wear that pretty pink sundress I like. Take you out to a nice dinner, treat you so fuckin’ good…an’ when the sun sets, I’d drive you someplace real dark. Let you loose.” 

Even though he’s barely touching you, thumb stroking the skin of your hip gently, your clit pulses between your legs, hips shifting against him of their own accord. Your breath comes fast and labored and you think you’ve never been this fucking wet before—never wanted him so bad . It feels like you can’t think, can’t breathe without it, without Joel . 

“Give you a head start,” he continues. “Long enough for me to put a mask on. Wouldn’t even let you see it ‘til I catch you…An’ I will catch you, sweet girl…but you’d have no way of knowin’ who it was. Could be me. Could be anyone.”

The idea is filthy and disgusting but your body doesn’t seem to mind. Your spine arches, breasts pressing up against his chest. Joel lays there stone still, holding you, letting you rut against him like a woman starved. “ Please ,” is all you manage to choke out. He hardly acknowledges the word, but you can feel the smirk form on his lips against the shell of your ear. 

“I’d fuck the good girl right out of you,” he says. “Fuck you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a dumb little slut.”

“Jesus— Joel .” He's degraded you before, but it’s never been like this, never felt like this. You reach between your bodies and palm his cock in your hand, and a dark laugh leaves him as he helps you. 

In a few quick movements, he pulls himself out of his boxers, shoves your panties to the side, and sinks his cock inside of you, filling you so full it hurts . But you don’t care, because there’s nothing more you need than this, and thankfully he understands. Like he always does . 

Joel fucks you right then and there, whispering filthy things all the while, and you think he’s always understood you. Maybe even more than you’re able to understand yourself. Older and wiser and gracious—always giving you exactly what you need, exactly what you want. 

Before you fall asleep that night, he kisses you softly and asks, “Do you want me to tell you before it happens? To warn you?”

You’re not sure how to answer at first. Because the concept as a whole terrifies you; it’s new and foreign and dangerous. And you think you might need the warning to calm yourself enough to enjoy it. 

But you trust Joel. More than anyone else in the world, you know he’ll always keep you safe. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

And so, you pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and say, “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

That night, you dream about a man chasing you through darkness whose hands feel more familiar than your own. You think about it for the next week. Daydreaming at work, while you’re making dinner, while you’re driving to run errands. It’s all you can think about, the only thing that fills the gaps of silence in your day-to-day life. 

You wait. And wait. And wait . 

Joel tells you Friday night that he’ll have to work overtime this weekend to make up for a lost part shipment. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Saturday morning he encourages you to sleep in, kisses your forehead before he leaves, tells you he loves you. And despite no inclination from him, you have a feeling that today is the day. 

When you wake up a little while later, the sun casts shadows through the blinds, and you notice that Joel’s placed that pink sundress on his side of the bed. Laid it out for you. 

You shower and groom yourself, mentally preparing for the moment it finally happens. It has to be today. And if Joel is lucky and planned it out right, he’d find out that you opted out of wearing panties underneath the sundress. He’d find you slick, shaved, aching in anticipation. 

He notices your nervous excitement when he comes home from work, late and covered in sweat from a long day. You’re practically bouncing on your heels, having spent the entire day filling the time, waiting for his arrival. The sun had already started to set in the distance - you probably only had about an hour left of the day. 

Please, God, let it be today .

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had an electrician cancel last minute, left me scramblin’ to get the project covered. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he muttered into your lips as he greeted you. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm and hot against the thin fabric of your dress.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Everything go to plan other than that?”

“Sure did. Finally finished up that warehouse over on Cherry Street. Figured I’d go out and celebrate.”

You find yourself deflating at the words. Because, usually, Joel celebrating the end of a big project means the involvement of Tommy, too. And if Tommy’s there, then tonight is decidedly not the night.

Joel seems to notice the change in your demeanor. He places his hand on the side of your face and drags his thumb down your jutting bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop . “Wouldn’t be a celebration unless I had a pretty little girl to buy a drink, now would it?”

Either way, even if it’s not tonight, you know you’ll enjoy the time with him like you always do. So you shelve your disappointment and timidly ask, “Will it be…just the two of us? Did you want to invite anyone else?”

He shakes his head, a playful spark glinting in his warm eyes. “Nah. Just wanna take my baby out. Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out. Sound good?”

You know your nod of approval probably looks too hopeful, too excited, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not with this golden excitement fills you to the brim, the anticipation making your hands tingle. 

It only takes Joel ten minutes to change out of his work clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a flannel, but it feels like forever. He asks you about your day while he drives to your favorite restaurant, and listens intently even though you have nothing interesting to say other than the fact that you’ve changed the curtain on the window above the dining room table.

He opens the car door for you and holds your hand as he directs you through the crowd at the restaurant, and orders for you when the waiter comes over. Even though you get the same thing every time, the gesture makes you feel small and safe and cared for.

You drink a glass of wine, and he tries out some sort of hoppy beer. Joel tells you about a song he heard on the radio that he wants to learn on guitar, but while you try to listen all you can think about is what comes after this.

A million thoughts run rampant through your head. He hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t given you any hints besides laying the sundress out for you, but the rush of it all weighs heavy on your chest. Paired with the lowered inhibitions from the wine and you interrupt him to say, “Joel. Can you just…can you tell me? I changed my mind. I want to know so bad.”

That playfulness returns to his eyes. He tilts his head the smallest bit and leans over the table to hear your whispered words. “Tell you what?”

“You know ,” you insist. “Don’t make me say it here.” Despite the embarrassment that climbs your cheeks as you listen to the chatter around you, you can’t wipe the grin from your face. You try to hide it behind your hand instead. 

“Can’t say I know what you’re gettin’ at here, girl,” he says. But that knowing smirk says otherwise. You can see the challenge in his eyes, the push for you to ask the question you’ve been swallowing down all night. 

Folding your arms on the edge of the table, you lean in as close as you can and ask so softly, “Are you taking me to the woods tonight?”

He smiles—a big, toothy show of enjoyment, and leans back in the booth. Joel’s big, you’ve always known it…but seeing him now, shoulders broad and rugged, arms straining beneath the cotton sleeves of his flannel… God , he makes you weak. You can feel yourself flush beneath his scrutinization. Can feel the familiar stickiness of your arousal begin to gather between your legs, too. “An’ why would I do that, sweetheart? Ain’t nothin’ out there for a little thing like you.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue as you take the last sip and shrug casually, pretending as if your hands don’t tremble with anticipation. You try to put on a show of confidence. “Never know,” you say. “Could be a big, bad wolf out there that needs hunting down.”

Joel laughs at that, but he’s waving down the next waiter he sees for the check.

When you leave the restaurant, you realize now the sun has fully set and the darkness has descended. The moon hands high in the sky, the only illumination granted apart from the headlight of Joel’s truck. He helps you into the passenger side and buckles you in, hands gentle and caring, always taking care of you. 

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, he asks a single-word question. One you know is likely equally for his comfort as it is yours. “Okay?”

You are. Despite the fear that begins to rise in your chest, knowing the impending events likely to unfold, despite the shadows and the traversing of the unknown, you know that you’ll always be safe with Joel. “I’m good,” you promise.

He drives for far longer than you expect. Past every stoplight, outside of the city limits, weaving through the backroads until you’re well and truly lost. Every time you pass a wooded area you think he’ll slow to a stop, but he doesn’t. And every moment fuels the adrenaline coursing through you, ratcheting both your panic and excitement to immeasurable heights.

When he does finally stop, pulling off to the side of a road you swear you’ve never been down before, your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. 

He pulls the key from the ignition and the lights cut out, wrapping the both of you in complete darkness. You can make him out just enough, though. Enough to see the predatory look on his face, enough to sense the danger you’ve placed yourself in.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain goes fuzzy as you watch Joel reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a switchblade that glimmers in the moonlight. The small knife makes a snapping noise when it opens, gleaming, taunting you. Excitement buzzed through your body, a nagging voice in the back of your head screaming to run. 

“Better get a move on,” Joel whispers, his face shadowed and lips pressed into a grim line. The energy had shifted so quickly that you were uncertain what to do. Even if you did try to run, you doubted that your shaking body would make it very far. 

A brooding intensity surrounded Joel, and even though he barely moved to reach back and grab something out of the back seat, the air still felt tense with a silent warning. In his free hand was a gas mask, worn and frayed. The round, glass eye lenses were clouded, displaying its years of disuse. He reached up with one hand to slip the mask down his face, leaving only his eyes revealed.

The white-hot heat that was burning through your veins somehow ignited even further when he finally locked eyes with you. Joel’s eyes were narrowed, carrying a different energy behind them; one that was full of mischief and lust. The moment lasted for a couple of beats…

One, two, three…

And then Joel’s hand snapped out, reaching rapidly to lock around your wrist. Thinking, breathing; none of it mattered. The only thing on your mind was running, some animalistic survival instinct that you didn’t know still existed within you taking over. Your wrist easily slipped out of his grip as you flung open the car door, escaping Joel and running into the dark forest.

There was a chill in the air that made your breath fan out in front of you while you ran, your heavy footsteps practically echoing through the woods. Every couple of moments you would stop and glance around, attempting to see through the endless rows of trees. You didn’t see anything and only heard the sound of your own breathing.

Joel could be scary when he wanted to. Like that one time, a couple weeks into knowing him. Some asshole had followed you around the grocery store late one evening, trailing behind aisle after aisle until your hands were shaking in fear. Joel was one of the only people you had befriended in town since you were new to the area. 

He’d showed up five minutes after you’d called him, despite the fact that you knew he lived over ten minutes away. Joel approached the man, and you were grateful that you weren’t the one he was speaking to. Despite not hearing his words from where you were standing, you could see the dark anger on his face, a look that made your blood run cold. 

The guy who was following you left immediately after, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Joel followed you home in his truck even though your apartment was on the other side of town. He’d never been scary to you .

Until now. 

Joel’s body came out of nowhere, grabbing you and yanking you against him. The switchblade pressed onto your throat, your heartbeat pounding against the cold metal. You couldn’t see Joel since his vice-grip had your back pushed on his chest. 

“You call that running?” he asked, letting his fingers skate down the skin of your thigh, just under the low cut of your sundress. His calloused fingertips caught against your soft skin,  raising higher and higher.

“I think you wanted me to catch you. Here you are, lettin’ me rub on you like the little slut I knew you were. I haven’t even properly touched you yet, but you’re already spreading your legs for me.”

Your face warmed at his degrading words. He was right. The excitement of the story wasn’t only the anticipation, but it was the thrill of the hunt. As much as you wanted Joel to touch you, to make your vision blur just from using his fingers, you knew you couldn’t give in so easily. 

With all of your strength, you push away both of his hands, ripping out of his grip. He reached down to grab you but you snatched his shirt instead, pulling at it fiercely in an attempt to dodge under him. You heard the fabric rip, but you were too afraid to really acknowledge it. 

You took it as an opportunity to escape, dodging Joel’s grasp. You wasted no time in steadying yourself before sprinting away, only sparing a quick glance back to see Joel. His shirt was half ripped, the gas mask blocking any form of expression on his face. 

“Damn, baby,” Joel spoke. He stood, shrugging off his flannel before using the switchblade to finish ripping the fabric of his shirt. “If you wanted me to get naked, you should’ve just said so.”

As much as you wanted to watch the way Joel’s chest flexed in the moonlight, you couldn’t handle any distractions. You had to run.

And you did run for what felt like hours. By the time you stopped for a moment, your heartbeat was in your throat and you could feel a slick mess building between your thighs. Your legs were speckled with dirt and pieces of leaves from the way you were kneeling on the ground, searching for Joel. 

You didn’t see anything extraordinary through the branches of the forest, but you heard something. A snap.

It was enough to get you back on your feet in an attempt to flee.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Though your eyes betrayed you, you could sense his closeness, could sense the space between you lessening with each passing moment. Sweat beads at your hairline and your panting echoes between the trees.

The cracking sound of wood beneath his heavy work boots cuts through the deafening silence, and you turn abruptly and throw yourself in the opposite direction. But Joel’s fast, too fast . 

He catches up to you in a second, and you know you won’t get lucky twice, yet still you try. You push your legs as hard as you can, running as fast as you can, trying to navigate the uneven terrain.

Joel’s fingertips grasp your shoulder, and you pull away from him so violently you lose your balance, scraping your knees against the rough forest floor.

You quickly turn onto your back, kicking yourself away from him, trying to see through the thick fog of terror in your mind. His slow breaths sound mechanical through the gas mask’s respirator. He looms over you menacingly, looking every bit the wicked man you know he can be.

His shoulders rise and fall slowly, his breaths even while you struggle to catch yours. He tilts his head, a predator indulging in the chase.

And you know right then that you’ve been caught. Stuck in the spider’s web with no hope of extraction. Your voice shakes when you speak. “Joel?”

There’s no softness in him now. None of that gentle ease he always has with you. He lowers himself to the ground, knees on either side of your hips, and grabs for your hands.

You struggle against his hold, even knowing it’s useless. He wraps a calloused palm around your wrists and squeezes tight, and when you buck your hips up against him, trying to wiggle out from beneath his heavy weight, it serves no purpose but to further diminish the little energy remaining in your weary limbs. 

Joel raises your arms above your head, pushing your too-sensitive skin deep into the earth, trapping you in place. You can hear the clicking of his tongue behind the mask. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Never had a chance. Did you?”

His voice is muffled, deeper. You know it’s Joel. Behind the fear, behind the adrenaline, you know it’s him. But it doesn’t sound like him, not in the way you’re so accustomed to, and it sends a chill down your spine.

He adjusts his position, sliding down your legs just enough to grip the bottom of your dirt-stained sundress and rip it upwards. The air feels like ice against your center, slick with your arousal. You clit pulses with need, despite the way you still fight him, struggling nonsensically in his tight hold. “Look at how fuckin’ wet you are, baby,” he says. “Haven’t even touched you yet an’ that pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ crying for it, ain’t she?”

Your spine bends, arching off the ground. The sounds that leave your mouth are animalistic, a desperate whimpering, a wanton need.

And then suddenly his hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard at the roots, holding your head up just enough to witness your exposure. “I said look ,” Joel grits out. “Want you to watch just how fuckin’ selfish she is. You listenin’ to me?”

“Yes— yes, ” you choke out. The muscles in your neck strain to keep your head held high enough to see the moment he lets go of your hair. But you heard him loud and clear, and you do just as he says.

His hand slips between your legs, and you fight the urge to let squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers slide over your clit. He circles it roughly and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body begging to be filled, begging for Joel . He uses the perfect amount of pressure, deft fingers moving fast, and it takes less than a minute before that familiar warmth begins to trickle in. 

But you want more, you always want more, and so you find yourself lifting your hips upwards, trying to shift his hand lower, trying to let him know right where you need him most. 

Joel laughs. A sick, maniacal sound that sends a cold flood of terror through you. “See? What’d I say? Fuckin’ greedy ,” he says. You know it’s meant to be an insult, but there’s a strange fondness as he says it. An undertone of worship.

You sigh out his name, unable to form another word, forgetting all else that came before this moment, disregarding all things that may come after. All that matters is this, all that matters is him . 

“She wants it so bad,” he murmurs. “An’ I’m gonna give it to her.” His movements are cruel and almost painful as he turns you over, pulling your hips out from under him. Joel shifts your wrists to his other hand and sets them against the small of your back, using his free hand to force your head down. The earthy smell of decaying leaves greets you, and you greedily suck in cold breaths of air, trying to will your heart to slow its racing. 

You can’t see his movements but you can feel him shift behind you, and a second later can hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle and the swish as he rips it from the loops of his jeans. The bite of leather is harsh as he winds it around your wrists, tightening it in a familiar, practiced way.

“Joel,” you breathe out. It sounds like a plea in your ears, and maybe it is. Because everything is too much, too intense . You need all of him, you think. Need the wickedness, that dark thing he’s been hiding all this time. But you need your Joel, too. The one who buckles you in, who kisses your forehead before he leaves for work in the morning. The one you know will always keep you safe, even when he defiles you. “ Joel ,” you say again. 

His hands freeze on your hips, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he leans over and presses his cheek to yours. He waits for you to speak, giving you as long as you need to sort through the heightened emotions. 

Your brain feels like mush and you struggle to form a coherent thought that’s more than one or two words strung together. You know you’re terrified. But you know, too, that you don’t want him to stop. And so all you manage to say is a barely audible, “I love you.”

He cradles your head in his hand, thumb stroking gently over your temple. And then he runs his nose over the curve of your jaw, and though he doesn’t say it, doesn’t break the spell he’s so carefully created in order to indulge your wildest fantasies, you know that no one has ever loved anyone the way that Joel Miller loves you. 

But just as quickly as that gentleness appeared, it vanishes into nothing like the fog of your breath in the cold air.

“Gonna show you what happens when little girls roam into the woods,” he says. You can feel his erection as he presses it against you, heavier and harder than you think it’s ever been before. “Can try an’ hunt down the big bad wolf all you want. But if he catches you …”

You’re a trembling mess in his strong hands. His words are the only beacon keeping you grounded, you’re certain of it. 

The metal teeth of his zipper grate as he pulls it down and undoes the button of his jeans, pulling his cock out. He slides the head through your arousal, coating himself in your slick. “Just know, whatever he decides to do with you is gonna hurt .”

And then he’s pushing his length into you in one smooth movement, leaving you no time to adjust to the size of him. The stretch is painful and foreboding, every muscle in your body tensing up at the impact. “ Fuck— oh my God —”

“Can pray all you want, but there’s no one out here to save you,” he spits. Joel doesn’t give you a single second to breathe before he’s rocking his hips into you, setting a punishing pace. You can feel his cock throb inside you, can feel that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

You grit your teeth against the pain of it, fingers flexing in his grip. “ Joel —I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can, baby,” he says, voice low and echoing. “I know you can. So shut up and fuckin’ take it.” He leans over you, pressing the side of your face into the ground. You can taste moss and earth but with each thrust, the pain is quickly subsiding, replaced instead with a blinding pleasure. 

That warmth builds again, coiling around your spine. Pressure builds quickly and you can feel yourself dripping around him, making a mess of the coarse hair above his cock. “Joel— fuck .”

He reaches on hand around your hip, easily finding your clit and strumming it with swift, practiced movements. You clench around him and he lets out a deep groan in response. When he leans forward and tells you, “Open your mouth,” you do so immediately, brain fuzzy and overstimulated, unwilling to do anything unless he tells you to. 

Joel slides two of his fingers into your mouth and shoves them so far down you nearly choke. It’s instinctual when you close your swollen lips around him and suck. 

You can hear the smile in his words as he speaks. “There you go,” he mutters. “Told you how this would go, didn’t I? Told you what would happen. Nothin’ but a dumb little slut for me now, baby, hm? Yeah?” 

All you can do is nod, unable to form a single coherent thought. Your orgasm hits hard and fast, almost unexpected. It washes through you, electricity dancing beneath your prickling skin. Your moans reverberate through the trees, and you’re suddenly glad he’s driven you so far out so no one can hear you. 

“Oh, she likes that ,” Joel says, talking you through it, circling your clit and fucking into you a little harder. “Likes the way it feels to be all full’a me, hm? Yeah, there you go. Gonna give this pretty pussy just what she needs.” 

His rhythm falters, staggering just the smallest bit. And while he’s just given you the best orgasm of your fucking life, there’s something about this that makes you feel finally satisfied, full in a way you’ve never been before.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you, Joel turns you on your back and pulls the mask off of his face. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, but there’s a sense of completion in his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in your own. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose. 

And all you can say is, “Oh my God.”

Joel laughs. It’s one of those full, good-natured belly laughs. Your favorite kind. “Well? Was I better than your book?”

You cover your face with your hands, muffling your giggles between your fingers. “Much better.”

[deception-united]

Writing Software I Use & Recommend

Brainstorming:

Campfire: Great for organising your thoughts and making detailed character profiles, customised maps, worldbuilding, plot organisation—amongst other features. You can write your manuscript here and post it; and they have many helpful writing tips on their blog. Here's a general overview (customisable):

Notion: Although not conventionally a writing software, I find it immensely helpful for getting my thoughts sorted out. It's organised and easy to navigate, and the interface is manageable and uncluttered. (Keep in mind it's hard to cowrite on Notion—if you're planning to, I suggest making a separate Gmail account and both logging in with that.)

Microsoft Word, with spellcheck off, in Comic Sans (I saw the font thing somewhere and hate that it works). This is what I use when writing excerpts or spontaneous ideas, and it's actually quite effective, though I couldn't tell you why.

Writing/Editing:

Reedsy: The manuscript editor is organised and lets you set writing goals, split chapters, and jot down notes for later. I highly recommend it for authors looking to self-publish—once you're done, you can format and export your book as an eBook or PDF; and you can connect with various editors and find the one that's right for your novel.

Scrivener: Although, unlike the others I've mentioned so far, this software isn't free, the formatting is great for making an outline, collecting any research and notes, and writing your manuscript.

Feel free to add on any more you know of! Hope this was helpful ❤

Previous | Next

[fancyfeathers]

What yan blogs do you like? Did you have any inspirations or something?

There are definitely a few that I REALLY like, like checking for updates daily because god knows I have too much time on my hands lmao. But when I do read I normally read fandom content in bulk so it really just depends on who updated and what my current hyper fixation is, but I do have a few constant favorites.

@yandere-wishes is required to be in this list, like one of my first mutuals and it tends to be that we share a wavelength on our current hyper fixations for fandoms. Like we both started to write a lot of DC content currently and I am so here for it. They were also one of my first tumblr blogs I followed before I even started writing so like when we became mutuals I actually cried, well not really cause I have constant dry eyes but still.

@lavandulawrites I love their genshin content, especially the Capitano content but that’s because I love that man. She actually wrote like my favorite genshin fic, which I highly recommend.

@jymwahuwu they have a bit more of darker content, which they state in their pinned post, so if you like that sort of content then I highly recommend their posts but I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but it is certainly mine when I want that darker vibe. I really like their Honkai Star Rail content (which I really need to start writing for) but I think they write a little Genshin content.

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch another DC author, probably one of the writers that sent me down the DC rabbit hole cause after I read some of their Justice League content I went to go dig up some of the old comic books that my dad gave me when I was a kid. I also really like the way they write Hal Jordan as a yandere and I really like my Green Lanterns so…

@lycheeloving I really love their Justice League/Batfam content as well, some of their content loosely inspired my own. I also love another LGBTQ+ author which is another reason I really like their blog.

@blughxreader their Batfam content is peak and their artwork is peak, I am pretty sure they are on break right now, but still go check out their content.

Then other blogs I recommend are @jessamine-rose @viridwns @yandere-writer-momo @yandere-daydreams @yandere-romanticaa @nikovraskol

I just didn’t have enough energy to write a paragraph for everyone because I am really sick right now and I am most definitely missing a few people but I will definitely update this list at some point 😭

Plus my girlfriend/cowriter, Kitty, who also posts on this blog on occasion may have her own recommendations.

[dragonsdendoodles]

What do you like/dislike about mphfpc content (videos, edits, art, fanfics, theories, headcanons, fanons, gacha reactions, etc.)? Do you have any favorite content makers?

I love love LOVE the art, cosplay, and writing in this fandom, it’s fucking FANTASTIC. The video makers too, I don’t know how edits work but they do not miss, they’re awesome.

As for favorite content makers, y’all know I can’t resist bragging about my friends 🥰

@tomouraline is one of my absolute ride or die buddies and makes some AMAZING edits on TikTok (emwyns) and her art??? Chef’s kiss. Absolutely wonderful. Go look at her Emwyn and Fugh art it’s adorable

If you want hollowgast art, @carmine-golde has the most badass designs and definitely my favorite OC to play with, especially paired with the government-assigned ymbryne she gave me in return 🤣

@trainwrecksys with Bentham is me with Enoch. He single-handedly made me like (at least his) Bentham. That’s an achievement, I am stubborn and hold grudges. Go look at his art he will also make you like Bentham (plus his animation skills??????? Give me your BRAIN how do you have the patience for this)

Since we’re talking wights, check out @cauls-antique-pepperbox-pistol for literally everything about Caul and Murnau. He has the COOLEST art style and also the awesomest headcanons ever??? I literally never think about the wights how do you guys come up with these things for them this is COOL

Speaking of cool art styles. @theducklingart has such a fun one omg. His designs for the kids and his own OCs are to die for, and he’s just as fun to talk to as his art is to look at! (Plus he has commissions open y’all should go support him 👀)

If you want absolutely adorable Enorace fics like I always do, @metaphoricallymagpie has some of the sweetest fanfics on AO3 I’ve ever read. I beta read Fortunes and Formaldehyde and the sheer number of times I have kicked my feet and giggled like a madman over her writing omg

@ollibeuu isn’t active anymore, but please please PLEASE go to his AO3 (ollibeu) and check out his fanfics. He inspired me to start writing myself, and I haven’t seen a single one that hasn’t been phenomenal (and I got the opportunity to cowrite one with him! 🤭) I will literally always recommend his work go look at it if you like Enorace

@nerdypeculiar (peculiarinacostume) on TikTok has a V cosplay???? And so many other cool ones????? V, Miss Peregrine, Enoch, and they also make The Owl House and Hazbin Hotel content too??????? Go follow them. Right now. Before the ban please their account is CRIMINALLY underrated

I don’t think @evil-feather even needs an introduction. If you’ve seen her Miss Peregrine, you know she is the QUEEN of that cosplay. Hands down. She’s absolutely fantastic

@peculiar-shark has moved on to comic books (which you should 100% check out their videos on that on YouTube if you’re interested 👀 sunshine_sharkks) but will forever be known as first one of my oldest friends in this fandom but also second probably the biggest design inspiration for my Horace. Their old cosplays on TikTok (peculiar.sharkks) are UNMATCHED

(Honorable mention to my irl best friend literally ever @pixie2k5 who is not in this fandom but is the bestest Emma for my Enoch when we can cosplay together thank you for putting up with my insanity sis ilysm 💚)

I could honestly list so many more because we truly have just the best people ever but I feel like this is getting long 😅 I love literally everybody here and no matter my occasional complaints I’m so proud to be part of this community I love everyone here so much

[gretavanmoon]

Valor - Troubadour

Pairing: Daniel x OC

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: Cursin', Smokin', Drinkin'. Angst: Mention of Struggle and Poverty, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Weapons, Mentions of Murder and Death, Allusions to Shady Activities, Mention of Police, Concealing a Fugitive. Smut: Flirting, Kissing, Unprotected Sex.

Hey everyone! Thanks for being here! Was really missing the Valor world (what's new) and decided to satiate my needs with a little Danny spin-off. This story picks up just a few months after Chapter 14 ends and before the Epilogue, when Danny has decided to busk around the Midwest in search of fulfilling his musical heart and hitting the open road on his motorcycle. This Danny side-quest story will only be a few parts, but hope you enjoy the ride!

Big thanks to my bestie & cowriter @gretavangroupie for all the edits and wonderful idea inputs <333

Read Valor Ch. 14 here

Read the Epilogue here

TOPEKA, KANSAS

DANNY

“Cheapest bottled you got, please. From the back of the cooler,” I yell over the crowd as I pull off my hat, raking the back of my sleeve across my forehead to clear away the dripping sweat threatening to fall into my eyes. I’m tired and my voice is a barely-there rasp, but these past few weeks have had me flying on auto-pilot, running on fumes and the new high of performing on stage with a live band, just like I’ve always dreamed of doing. The bar we’re in tonight is crowded and full of loud-mouthed drunks, but honestly, I feel frighteningly right at home. 

Glass beer signs line the walls and the pool tables are barely lit and in desperate need of some new bulbs. The faded green felt is tattered and torn, and the cues have seen better days. I can tell that every cent this place makes is not going to the upkeep of the building, that's for damn sure. The walls are dripping with nicotine and and the floors are sticky with spilled beer and god knows what else. Truly, feels just like Canaries, a place I thought I’d never see the likes of again.

The bartender furrows her brow at me as she turns toward the cooler, obviously thrown off by my odd request. As she slowly leans down, I can’t help but let my eyes rake over her backside, hardly covered by the ripped and cutoff Levi shorts hugging her hips and thighs. She pulls her hair to the side as she bends lower at the waist, reaching as far back as she can to get to the furthest beer. She’s bent completely in half, and I have to calm myself with a full breath of air to keep my thoughts from getting the best of me. It’s been a while, sue me.

I snicker to myself as I pop a few peanuts from the bar bowl into my mouth, satisfied that she fell right into my trap. 

Oldest trick in the book. 

Finally she pops up, returning shortly after with a frosty brown bottle in her hand. She unscrews the lid, tossing it against the wall at the end of the bar before it falls into the waiting trash can below it. 

“Just realized why you asked for one from the back of the cooler. You think I’m some kinda sleaze, or somethin’?” she asks, leaning her elbows down on the bar with just enough force to squeeze her tits together. Her hand is still damp from handling the icy bottle, and I watch as she gently rakes her fingertips across her collarbone. Hm… I am no stranger to her type.

I lift the bottle to my waiting lips and take a long pull, never breaking eye contact with her. Finally I swallow, leaning onto my own elbows to meet her challenging gaze. 

“Beer’s coldest back there. You think I want somethin’ warm after sweatin’ like a hog up there on stage all night?” I ask. “It’s goddamned hot in here.”

She scoffs and her eyes roll, standing back up straight as her expression tells me she is already over my shit. Still she looks at me, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, the faded words on her shirt barely legible anymore. “Just cause you play a little guitar don’t mean you can get whatever the hell ya want here,” she bites, her eyes now seething and sexy. 

I growl a little beneath my breath, flashing her a glance of my teeth. “Well it fuckin’ worked, didn’t it? I gave you a show, only fair you give me a little one, too…” I reply audaciously. 

“Fuck off, prick. ‘Fore I bar you,” she says, fighting back a smile. 

I stand and smile too, pulling a few bucks from my back pocket to lay on the sticky bar top. 

Her lips purse, “Band’s got a tab, you ain’t gotta pay now,” she explains, effectively ignoring the other patrons who are now nearly begging for the attention that she won’t stop giving to me. 

I bite my bottom lip as I squint my eyes at her. “I don’t like owin’ people. I’ll pay as I drink,” I insist as I take another swig off the top of my beer. “Unless of course, my money’s no good here?”

I watch her snap back in surprise as the music from the house band begins to swell from the stage behind me. Her tongue pokes through her lips as she blows the bright pink gum in her mouth into a bubble, eyeing me as it inflates and pops, and she pulls it back between her teeth. 

She slams her palm onto the money and swipes it from the bar top, spinning quickly as she heads to the cash register. 

“Danny, my man! Kickin’ ass and takin’ names!” Suddenly I feel the harsh palm of my new band mate Shawn grip across my neck, shaking me from side to side. He’s drunk already, but that’s to be expected of a front man who would rather chug a fifth of warm Jack Daniel’s before a show than warm his vocals up during sound check. “Hell of a fuckin’ set. Who the hell taught you how to pick a guitar, huh? The devil himself?”

I smirk a little, unable and unwilling to tell Shawn that yes, the devil was definitely with me for all the years I sat quietly in my room with my guitar, drowning out all the noise around me with whatever sound I could get to come from the damned thing. My foster parents, Ace… the revving of Valor’s engine all the nights that Jake suffered trying to fix her. 

“Just practice, I guess,” I yell back in his ear as he stumbles into me. “Practice and patience.” I’d never tell him the skill was born of necessity. He didn’t need to know that much. 

“Well, m’glad we found you on the side of the road when we did. You got more talent in your baby toe than Rog had in his entire fuckin’ body, man,” Shawn slurs, his own cocktail splashing onto my shirt as he speaks. “I mean that.”

I give him a curt smile and nod as he disappears back into the crowd, an elongated arm and pointed finger trained on me as he falls away. 

I couldn’t be more thankful for him and the other guys; they’d stumbled across me busking outside a little string of bars outside of Memphis right after we burned Ace’s down and I’d decided to hit the road on Ruby. I needed some space, I needed some freedom. And I needed the open fuckin’ road so badly I could hardly stand it. So that’s just what I did.

It was strange at first, being away from Jake and away from Joslyn after they were all I’d known for the majority of my life, but I knew deep down that if I didn’t go, if I didn’t leave, I’d get stuck right back where I’d started from in that goddamned town, running from the law and all the demons I’d decided to collect on the way. 

I knew Jake needed Y/N, and they needed to start a life together in privacy. I didn’t fuckin’ like it, bouncing from cheap motel to cheap motel, but after some time, I got over myself and my needs and began to rely on the road, and the sound of my tires spinning across it. I grew to love the feeling of a guitar in my hand more than the feeling of a socket wrench. And I began to like the sound of a loud, cheering audience more than the sound of a tuned-up Mustang engine. I reckon part of that is due to Y/N’s encouragement, getting me over my own fear of performing.

But that ain’t to say that I didn’t miss mechanicin’ a little. 

This band was full of miscreants just like myself, who had gathered together after realizing their talents and how much better they’d be if they meshed together. Their old guitarist, Rog was good, but he just didn’t have it in him, from what I understand. I didn’t want to settle down with a band, and honestly I’m still tossing around if it’s a good idea or not, but the money is alright. And sleeping in a shitty van beats sleeping under a tarp on a sidewalk or roach infested motel. Not that I am above that now.  

“Cowboy, your change?” I hear the bartender’s voice interrupt my thoughts, pulling me back into the headspace of the crowd and the chaos. 

“Nah, s’yours,” I reply to her, giving her a wink as she fights off another sweet smile, chomping on her gum again as she makes a point to give me a full up-down. 

Cowboy. I don’t like that. 

I’m far from a fuckin’ cowboy. Don’t think I’ve ever even mounted a horse in my life. I guess if I’m gonna continue to wear this cowboy hat, I’d better get used to the nickname. 

And if she’s gonna keep lookin’ at me like that all night, I’ll let her call me whatever the hell she wants. 

—

I drape the hat from a hook hanging on the motel room wall, making good on my new knowledge to never lay it down. I’d fallen asleep on a park bench one night a month or so ago with my guitar case open in front of me, and I’d woken up to the dirty old hat laying right in the center of it. Underneath it was the rip off the edge of a piece of receipt paper, some chicken scratch handwriting across the bottom of it: “Looks like you need this more than I do”, was all it read. 

I didn’t bother cleaning it, or trying in earnest to return it to its rightful owner, because they were right. A hat in the heat of the Kansas sun was like a godsend. It’s a pale beige straw with a camel brown leather strip, and I have to admit, it fits me like a glove. I made a mental note that day to take it with me wherever I go, and to always be thankful to the nameless stranger who had left it for me. Though it’s not my style, I still wear it with pride.

“Hat looks good on you, Cowboy. Sure you don’t wanna leave it on?” She smiles from her place on the bed. 

Yeah, I’d brought the bartender home with me, obviously, after we’d shared plenty of back-and-forth banter with one another between the few sets our band played tonight. She’d managed to get me pretty drunk after the last set, sliding me a double shot of whiskey on the house after I insisted on tipping her for every beer I’d ordered. 

I’d splurged on a king-sized bed tonight, forgoing joining the rest of the guys exploring the little Kansas town we’d found ourselves in. And I’m glad I did. The bartender, Sherry, I’d learned, is sprawled out in a red lace getup, making herself comfortable on the scratchy brown felt blankets and over starched sheets. She’s definitely fuckin’ sexy, and she’s easy to talk to, and I knew I’d made the right decision for the night when she didn’t actually get mad at me for my advances on her at the bar. She seems like just my kinda lover. 

I rip my t-shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor behind me before clicking off the lamp on the nightstand beside us. My mind is still swirling from the adrenaline of the crowd and the feeling of the music we make, and from the intoxication I’d put onto myself. Fuckin’ whiskey.

At the last second I change my mind, grabbing the hat from the hook before I crawl toward her on the bed, hand over knee as I place it directly on top of her head. 

“Yeah, I’m sure, think it would look better on you, anyhow,” I say, pressing it down a little to make it fit snugly on her. She giggles, reaching up to tilt the brim of it back to get a better look at me in the dim light reflecting from the cracked bathroom door. 

“You tryin’ to tell me somethin’, Cowboy?” she says, pushing me by the shoulders to lie back into the pillows. “Tryin’ to tell me what you want, tonight?”

She thrusts one of her legs over my waist, straddling me fully as she lets one hand drift across my ink-covered torso while the other readjusts the hat on her head. Fuck, she really is fine as hell. Has a different look to her than most of the women back in Joslyn. A little grittier, a little more confident in herself. My hands immediately grip her thick thighs as I lick my lips, glad she picked up on my insinuation. 

“I’ll take whatever you wanna give me, baby…” I say as my hips buck up into her, her bright red nails digging with a little force into my chest. My eyes blur from my drunkenness, but I can feel my heart racing with anticipation for whatever the night is about to bring me. The TV behind her is blasting late night MTV videos, Peter Gabriel, Dire Straits, ZZ Top… the light casting the silhouette of her perfect figure right in front of my face. Her tits are sitting perfectly in the lace, and I find myself slipping quickly into the feral mindlessness of foreplay. I reach my hand up to free her breast from the confines, gripping her left cup to rip it down. 

I feel my mouth salivating as her perfect nipple perks up, and I feel no shame in taking it all in my hand. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous baby…” I praise her, my filter nearly completely gone. I squeeze at it a few times before sitting up to take her in my mouth, bringing my tongue harshly across her nipple. Her head dips back at the contact as she sits down a little harder on me, grinding her hips a little and looking for friction. 

“Fuck, Cowboy, we’re really gonna get into this?” she asks, her hips already circling on my hardening dick. 

I hum onto her, making her hiss between her teeth. “Mmmhm, unless you want me to take you back home…”

“No no, no…” she urges, shaking her head side to side as it falls back, and I free her other breast, taking it into my mouth as well. “I’m good here.” 

Her nails dig into me a little bit more, showing me that if we want this night to keep going how it is, I need to get myself together. She huffs a loud breath as she sits back, unbuckling my leather belt as her hands start to hastily shake. Her head tilts down and she looks at me again under the brim of the cowboy hat, her bottom lip sucking in and out of her mouth. 

“You need a hand?” I ask, offering my help with the belt and button. She nods a little, and we work together to pull my pants and underwear all the way off. My dick springs free as she drops my pants to the floor and I can hardly decipher the string of words and obscenities that fall from her gorgeous red lips. She leans down, and without any warning at all, takes me all the way into her mouth. 

My head falls back in surprise as my hips act on their own, pressing themselves to get me deeper into her throat. “Oh, shit, Sherry baby…” My hands find hers, and I give them a tight squeeze to let her know that I’m okay with going forward. Not that I really had any say so, anyway. Her tongue glides across the length of my cock, already begging for more as she pays special attention to the tip. Her red lipstick makes for a sinful visual, even in the partial darkness. 

The air in the room is already starting to heat, heavy with the smell of lust mixed with cigarettes and bad decisions. I thought maybe I’d change when I left Joslyn, and I did, in many ways. But goddamnit if I didn’t keep the same fuckin’ love for my vices. Cheap beer, rolled smokes, and women. All shapes and sizes, all makes and models, fuck. I’ll never fuckin’ grow up, and I’m not sorry for it. And now I’ve added a whole new love to my roster- playing the ever-loving fuck out of a guitar. 

“You wanna look at me, or not?” Sherry breaks my train of thoughts after she pops her lips off the tip of my dick. 

I take a deep breath, watching as her hand takes the place of her mouth, slowly and languidly gliding her grip up and down the length of it. “Whatcha mean, baby?”

She crawls up on me, placing one hand on either side of my head. She leans down, placing the tiniest peck on my lips. “Reverse, or…” 

“Oh…” I breathe, my body begging for more of her touch, anything at all, anywhere. “Can I pick both?”

She laughs a true laugh, displaying a dimple in her cheek, crawling back down the bed and stepping off the end of it. Her thumbs hook in the side straps of her thong, and she slowly sways her hips from side to side, pulling it slowly down her legs. She shimmies free of it before turning around, bending at the waist as she gives me quite the show yet again, just like I’d tricked her into doing at the bar. 

“Fuck… bring yourself over here…” I beg of her again, holding my two middle fingers up to beckon her. My entire body is writhing with want, and I can feel myself already teetering on the edge of pleading. She does as I ask, her bottom half completely uncovered now as she crawls up on me once again, before turning herself around backwards. Yes, baby. 

She glances at me over her shoulder before taking me in her hand again, working me up to where she wants me. She uses the utmost care in making sure I’m there again. She’s still flawless in the blue light of the TV as “Every Breath You Take” by the Police pops on behind her.

“Ugh, god I hate this song,” she complains quietly, and I barely hear her over the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. I’m too blissed out with the visual of her ass grinding against me to even register what she’d said. 

“It’s so…whiney…” she complains again, her hand still working me. Her hand feels buttery soft against my cock, and I have to stop my stomach muscles from tightening in on themselves. God, I could already fuckin’ bust. “M’sorry Cowboy, I gotta turn this shit off. I can’t concentrate.” 

“Damn, whatcha got against Sting?” I chuckle, a little miffed that she’s hopping off me to reach for the television knob. She twists it once, and I huff an aggravated breath as the news pops on. 

It’s fuzzy and the picture is blurred, but I guess it appeases her more than the music did. She takes her position again as she grips my dick in her hand, leaning down just a little bit to take me in her mouth again. My hands knead at her ass as we pick right back up where we started from. My teeth are biting hard into my bottom lip, stifling the noise I want to let fly. “Goddamnit, Sher-“

Now, Sherry isn’t the first woman I’ve fallen victim to since leaving Joslyn, and she most definitely won’t be the last. Sometimes I think back on my time with Y/N, and how things had progressed so quickly with her before I got my head on straight and realized that I was moving in a direction my moral compass didn’t need to point. And when I realized my brother was madly in love with her. 

Things had felt good with her during that time, and honestly, I thank her for it. Though we only spent a fraction of time together, she gave me a taste of what it felt like to truly care for someone in that regard, and she let me know that maybe my heart is big enough to love someone other than just Jake and Bubba. Watching her and Jake together taught me more than they ever even knew, showed me that with the right counterpart, even lungs full of cigarette smoke and hearts full of resentment can turn on a dime, and reciprocate a love they’d never even known before. 

Love?

Nah, I never felt love for her. At least I don’t think I did. I did feel serious enough to want to change my life for her, that much was true. But thankfully I caught myself before I started to tumble. She helped me learn that I am capable of doing it, I can be that man for the right woman, if and when the time comes. 

But that time isn’t now, and that woman isn’t Sherry. 

“Fuck me, baby… god yes…” I groan into the thick air as Sherry finally sits all the way down on me, taking me fully inside her with one swift motion. I huff a fast breath through my gritted teeth, sitting up a little to get a better view of her. I grip her hips as she starts to rise up and down, getting a rhythm together as she starts to bounce. 

Her hands move from in front of her on the bed, and one reaches back and grips her left ass  cheek while the other holds on tight to my hat on her head. She feels like fucking heaven, silky sweet and velvety as she switches between backward thrusts. “How’s that, Cowboy? Feel good, baby?” she asks, her voice breathy as I watch her ass bounce against my thighs. She twists her head around to look at me with an eyebrow perked as she awaits my answer.

“Yeah… fuckin’ tight, baby, s’ perfect…” I could say more, but she switches herself up and hops to balance on just her feet, giving herself more space to ride me. She balances perfectly without the help of her hands, and somehow, the sight of her fucking just the tip makes me want to let it all go right there. Her wetness is dripping down on me, and it takes everything in me not to grab her hips and pull her all the way down again. But the show is just too damn good. I’m impressed, I really am, and I wonder if she does this with every victim at the bar that she flirts her way home with.

Ah, who gives a fuck. I’m her choice for the night just as she is mine. 

This view has me throbbing inside her, and for a second I don’t know what to do with my hands. She starts slowly swirling her hips, her hands balanced on her knees as she works me to near perfection. “You’re gorgeous baby, keep it right there…” I groan, my entire body starting to burn with need. I bring my open palm across her ass, eliciting a high pitched squeal from her, followed by a devious laugh. Somehow, I knew she would like that and the visual of my red handprint on her skin pushes me even further.  

I grab her hips and pull her down onto me, and I swear she feels even better than she did before. She falls back down to her knees into the position she was in before, still gyrating back onto me. I move my legs and sit up on my own knees, pressing a hand to her back as she leans down to all fours. I press deeper into her now, nearing myself closer and closer to the edge with this new angle. I feel rabid now, wanting to have all of her that I can in what I know will be this short span of time. 

“Ssss, fuck…” she grits, her voice a near whine now as I begin pounding into her ruthlessly. Her walls are fluttering around me violently, and I realize now that I never even told her my name. 

“Yes… yes…” She arches her back as she bucks her ass onto me, spreading her knees apart on the bed below and pressing her face into the mattress. “Harder, Cowboy, please…”

The hat is still hanging on for dear life as the room around me loses its shape, and all I can think about is the vicious sound of our bodies smacking together. I’m sure the neighbors are enjoying the sound of the headboard rattling against the wall, but I truly couldn’t care less. I’m trying to be careful not to leave bruises on her hip bones, but given the way the night has gone, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, anyway. 

Without warning, I feel her hand reach between her own legs, gripping my balls firmly in her hand, and giving them a few tight squeezes. The sensation has me mindblown and my knees weaken, like she knows exactly where my weakest spot is without me even telling her. 

“Fuck, you’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” I ask, my hips moving at an ungodly pace as she continues to squeeze. I’m not sure if she wants me to cum faster, or if she really just wants to give me a show. For this to be the first night the two of us have met, she’s really uncaring of any of her manners. 

“Mmhm…” her breath is heavy, pitiful and wanting as I continue my relentlessness. “Just want you to feel…good, baby…” she whines through the thick blankets on the bed. Her hands are gripped tightly into them now, as she holds herself in this position. 

I take a fistful of her hair in my hand tightly at the root, and pull her up to me. My sweat-covered chest is pressed against her back, and I grab one of her tits with my free hand. I stay buried deep inside her, and I can feel both our pulses raging through us as we catch our breath. “Sexy, Sherry…” I breathe into her ear. Her hips start looking for friction, and she begins grinding them back onto my cock again, slow and ragged as I know she’s getting near the finish line. 

She falls onto her hands again and I feel us both begin to reach that point, and the muscles in our bodies start to shake and tremble. My eyes blur over as I wait to hear the sweet noises fall from her lips, but instead I’m met with another sound. 

“Cowboy…” she says, her voice stern. But I barely hear her as I concentrate on my own pleasure. “Cowboy!” she repeats even louder, but I continue to drown her out, not letting up on pounding into her. 

“DANIEL?” she yells, quickly pulling herself away from me and hopping across the hotel room.

“What, what? What’s wrong Sherry?” I ask, suddenly surprised and confused. She rips a sheet from the bed and covers herself with it, and I notice that her eyes are blown out with fear. She cowers in the corner as her eyes dart back and forth, searching for her clothes. I’m completely confused, and a little blindsided as my body tries to figure out what it should be doing.

“You– I, it’s you!” She points to the TV as the picture flashes across the screen. All I see is the face of a news anchorman, reading something off the papers in his hands. 

I stand from the bed and walk closer to it, watching as he continues to read. “Sher, it’s just the news, what do you–”

“Get away from me!” she cries, stepping back harshly into the wall. “Don’t touch me!” She suddenly seems as if she is a trapped animal, searching for her escape.

I instinctively walk toward her. “Sherry, what in the world?! I’m sorry if I–”

“Stop! Don’t come any closer! You fucking liar!” Her eyes are wide and terrified as she looks at the television again, and I’m nearly frozen in place as I try to piece together the past few seconds. I look from her to the TV again, and the picture is staticy and fuzzy. I back away from her and adjust the antenna, watching as the picture clears a bit. I turn up the volume and listen to the anchorman speak. I feel my legs hit the back of the bed and I sit down harshly, waiting to see what in the fuck Sherry saw for myself. 

“Authorities are asking for the public’s assistance in locating these men, as they are believed to be armed and likely dangerous. It is positively believed that they are directly responsible for the death of a man in Joslyn, Missouri, by means of murder by arson. Both men fled the town shortly after the incident, and are believed to be living separately, or traveling on the run.” My hand shoots to my mouth as I watch in complete terror as a sketch of mine and Jake’s faces cover the TV screen. “Authorities are just now building a solid case, and need your help in finding these men. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please call the telephone number at the bottom of your screen.”

I feel the blood drain from my body as I take the first breath I have in nearly a minute, and I feel myself going into a state of shock. 

What… the fuck…

I feel Sherry’s body rush toward me as she drops the sheet that was covering her to pick up the clothing she had strewn across the dingy carpeted floor. “I gotta get out of here…” she rushes, her hands shaking. 

“Sherry, listen to me. I can explain-”

“Explain? Explain what?! That you’re a murderer?!” she screams, and I watch as fearful tears begin to well in her eyes. She hastily pulls her shirt over her head and I listen to her breathing pick up as she tries to calm herself. 

“I’m not a murderer, Sherry! Listen to me! I swear you have no reason to be afraid of me…I–I just let me talk, please…” I beg her, my voice rising with the temperature of my skin. 

“Stop. Shut up. I’m getting away from you, and I’m callin’ the police,” she says through a completely shaken voice as she steps back into her shorts. I can tell she is in complete self-protection mode. 

What in the fuck is going on? How did this happen?

My heart rate starts to rise as everything hits me… the sketch of my face on the screen, Jake’s face… armed and dangerous, wanted for murder by arson… My head is spinning with confusion, with worry, with the sudden want to run, myself. I think about Jake, and about Y/N, and how I haven’t spoken to them in a few days. Do they know? Where is Bubba, are he and Geraldine okay?

It’s then that I realize I can’t let Sherry go, I can’t let her call. 

“Sherry, stop. Can you just listen to me for a second?” I ask again, grabbing her by the shoulders with as little force as possible. She tries to pry herself away, so I switch gears, knowing that if she isn’t going to listen, I have to use another tactic. “You do not need to get into this, this goes a lot deeper than it looks on the surface, Sherry. Please. I’m not a monster. I swear to god, I’m not.”

“You expect me to fuckin’ believe you? You never even told me your fuckin’ name! Daniel, is that even it?” she cries, the tears flowing down her face. 

“Yes! Yes, that is my real name. That much is true. And the other man, that’s my brother. His name is Jacob. Jake,” I explain, trying to throw sincerity into my already panicked voice. I adjust her shirt that she had pulled back over her head, straightening the fabric to cover her more. “We are from Joslyn, Missouri. And… And-”

“And you fucking killed a man!” she yells, ripping herself from my hold. “You’re insane! Are you a serial killer? Because if you are, I swear to god that you won’t leave this goddamned town in one fuckin’ piece, do you understand me?” she threatens, catching her breath. “I’ve got friends, Cowboy, friends in low fuckin’ places who would walk to the ends of the earth for me. I wouldn’t test my fuckin’ luck. All it would take is one call, and you’d be a dead man, yourself.”

I watch as she swallows, suddenly feeling a bit brave as the sexual mindset completely leaves us both. 

“I don’t doubt it, Sherry. I don’t doubt that one bit.” I swallow down my panic and sit back down, trying to diffuse the situation as best as I can. In a split second, I bargain whether or not I should tell her the whole story, the whole truth, but I know that would leave her with more questions that I fear she simply won’t care to have answered, as scared as she is. I want to be honest with her, I really do. But I also want to seem as clueless as I can so as not to make things worse. “I’m not a serial killer. I swear to god. I may look rough around the edges, and barely have a penny to my name, but I’m no killer, Sher. Swear on my life.”

She’s clutching her purse in her arms, hugging into herself with her worried facial expression tight as she takes my words into consideration. She’s listening to me…

“Back at home, my brother Jake and I were into some deep shit, some shit we didn’t want to have anything to do with, but we had no choice. Had been years upon years of never ending cycles of threats and manipulation. We had nothing, we were nothing. We weren’t saints, but we were good, honest, working men. Just tryin’ our best to survive, ya know? We uh… we were being threatened, our lives were being threatened… our home. The people we loved…” I rub a hand across my face as all the memories of just a few months ago come rushing back to my mind. Bubba, Josh… and Sam…

“It was going to end badly. It was going to be deadly in ways that we couldn’t even fathom. Along with innocent people who loved us getting caught up in it, too. These men were monsters, liars and cheats. Gave a damn for no one but themselves. So we got some help. We got some help from our own friends in low places, Sher, and they helped us to make moves to end it, get us out of the situation. And it uh… It just so happened that the man who was threatening us, the man who wanted us dead, got caught in the crossfire. He came to kill us, but ended up killing himself, instead.” I know it’s not the entire truth, and there are details that I could go on about for days, but for now, this explanation will have to do. I have to make sure she sees my side of the story. If not, it’s handcuffs. 

I feel bile rising in my throat from even disclosing this much. She shouldn’t even know that much of the story. I could have lied, I should have lied… but for some reason something deep inside me stops me from it. I’ve never been a liar in my life and I won't start now.

Sherry’s body is shaking with adrenaline, or maybe even fear, but she’s calm. “Why you tellin’ me this, Cowboy?” she whispers, pulling out a box of cigarettes from her purse. She plucks one out and lights the end, taking a long drag. Her hand shakes as her thumb and ring finger balance on her cheek, the smoke billowing around her face. 

I swallow. “Because, it’s the truth. Last thing I’m gonna do is lie to you. Don’t have any reason to.”

She takes another long puff, and I find myself envying the nicotine. “Why ain’t you lyin’ to me? You don’t even know me…”

I shake my head, pulling the sheet back over my exposed lower half. “I’ve never been one to lie. Never really got me anywhere but in trouble, anyway. I ain’t got a perfect past, Sherry, that’s the honest truth. But I’m not running from my demons, I’m running from a past that I don’t want followin’ me.”

She brings her lips into her mouth, taking another few puffs of her cigarette. I say a prayer that she’s considering my plea. It feels like hours that I stare at her just standing there, her eyes floating around the room before her cigarette is nothing but a filter. She moves to the nightstand, putting out the butt in the ashtray by the phone. She turns her back to me and blows the last puff of smoke into the air before her hand scratches the back of her head. 

“I ain’t gonna call the cops,” she admits quietly. 

I stand quickly and go to her, stopping myself from taking her in a full embrace. “Fuck, thank you thank you, Sherry. Really, I– Thank you.”

“You’ve got one hour. Get your shit, and get the fuck out of here,” she warns, crossing her arms again. “If I see you here still, it’s straight to the police. And don’t ever come back to this town, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah I get it. I won’t,” I promise as I begin working to collect my few things from the floor. She stands and watches me as I pack, and I know that she’s fighting the urge to go back on her word as her eyes move from me, to the phone, to the door, and back again. This is taking a lot from her. 

I finally have my few items shoved into my bag, and I realize that reality is once again hitting me right across the fucking face. I sit on the edge of the bed and pat the blankets, inviting Sherry to come and sit by me. She does, slowly, and with the utmost caution. 

“Why you helpin’ me?” I ask quietly. 

“Cause,” she chokes, pulling her tongue to the side of her cheek. “Feel like you’d’a done the same for me. I’ve been where you are, Cowboy. Maybe not for arson, maybe not for murder, but I’ve been there.”

I nod in understanding, extremely thankful understanding.

“And I don’t feel like you’re tellin’ me the whole story. Sounds like you and your brother have some skeletons in your closet. And I ain’t no judge, and I ain’t God. Who am I to decide what your reasonin’ was?”

I take a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for her words. I take her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips to kiss over and over. “I need you to understand that it was life or death for us. Was us or him. The cards we were dealt just happened to fall that way. We did nothin’ in cold blood, Sherry. Please believe me.”

She finally looks me in the eyes for the first time in a while. “I believe you, Daniel. I don’t fuckin’ know why, but I do. God, I’m insane for doin’ this…”

“You might be, Sher, but that’s why you and I were drawn to each other, I think,” I try to lighten the mood, and she gives me a half smile.

“Still don’t like you,” she groans, giving me a lethal side eye.

I stand and wipe my hands across my thighs. “You must like me some…” I lean down to her, letting my nose graze across hers. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. I hear her breath hitch as I watch her reason with herself on deciding to let me, or slap me. 

When she doesn’t pull away, I lick my bottom lip, gently brushing it across hers as her eyes flutter closed. My heart rate rises again as my body reacts, suddenly pulled right back into where we had just left off minutes ago. I must be fuckin’ sick in the head. 

“Fuckin’ vagabond,” she whispers, her breath hot across my lips. “Criminal…”

I laugh against her. “I ain’t none of them things, baby. Troubadour, maybe…”

I let my lips crash onto hers again, pissed at myself for being this way. Why am I this way? I need to run…I need to call Jake.

But she kisses me back, her hand immediately flying to the back of my head to pull me in closer. God, she’s just as fucked up as I am.

It’s heated and messy again as I push her back onto the bed, her nails already digging into my back as we writhe together. She moans into my mouth as I press my groin into her, making sure I’m in just the right spot. We lie like this for a few minutes, both of us knowing we’re soaking up the last bits of each other that we’re going to get.

“I ain’t lettin’ you fuck me again, Cowboy. This is just a goodbye kiss…” she breathes, her teeth nipping at my stubbled jawline. 

“You sure?” I ask as my eyes roll back. “I never got to hear you come for me…”

She laughs a guttural cry, shaking her head as she scoffs at me. “And you won’t. Not right now, at least.”

I grind between her legs again. “Thought you told me to never come back to this town?” I ask cheekily.

I pull away, looking her in the eye as she takes a quick breath to speak. “People saw me leave with you. Same people who are watchin’ the news, right now. They will recognize you. They’ll be breathin’ down my neck with interrogation on your whereabouts before the sun rises. I was a drifter once, too. Looks like I’ll just have to go back to my old ways…”

“Run with me, Sherry,” I ask before my mind can even process the thought. 

“Nah, that’s not part of the deal.” She pats my chest with her hands, signaling me to get off of her. So I stand, understanding that our time together has come to a close, and I need to make a fuckin’ break for it. “Shame, though. You’re some of the best dick that’s come through this town in a while.”

I can’t help but laugh at her as she stands from the bed along with me. “Thanks, I think.”

“Get the hell out of here, Cowboy. Go. Don’t talk to nobody, and keep your head down. Head East and don’t fuckin’ look back, ok? There’s a fueling station about twenty-five miles outside of town on Route 40. Red pumps. Stop there, they don’t think twice about drifters. Call your brother from there. Let him know you’re comin’.”

“How’re you so good at this?” I ask her, slinging my bag over my shoulder. 

She sucks her teeth as she fixes her hair and residual lipstick in the motel mirror. “Told you I was a drifter once, too. Some things are just in your blood, ya know?” She turns to me, craning her neck up as we prepare to say an actual goodbye. 

“Can I give you somethin’ to remember me by?” I ask, holding my cowboy hat out to offer to her. 

She shakes her head, taking it from my hand and placing it back on top of my curls. “No, you’re gonna need it. It’s gotten you this far…” She adjusts it on my head, brushing a few stray hairs away from my face, in an act of pure softness. “Actually, wait,” she says, brushing past me to open her purse sitting on the table. A few seconds later, she emerges with a brand new Polaroid camera in her hands. “How about a photo to remember you by?” 

I second guess it, not really wanting a perfect stranger to have her own photograph of me, but Sherry has shown me more mercy than I deserve tonight, and a photo is the least I could do. 

“Sure, why not,” I agree, adjusting the hat on my head once again. 

“Here, put these on,” she suggests, handing me my aviator sunglasses that were by her bag on the table. I oblige, feeling a little out of place, but going along with it all anyway. She pulls the camera up to her eye and positions her finger over the button, making sure I’m in the frame. “Smile for me, baby…”

I know my cheeks blush at her words, but she snaps the photo before I have the chance to make myself look ready for it. 

“Hope I didn’t break your lens,” I joke.

“Nah, it’ll be perfect. Thanks.” Her smile sends butterflies through my stomach for the third time tonight, and if things were different, I might have asked Sherry to come on the road with me for real. But I know that the issues I’m running from are bigger than anything she needs to be involved with, right now. Maybe I’ll see her again some other time, in some other smoky bar.

I grab her chin between my fingers, laying a sweet kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you around, Sherry. Thank you. Be safe out there.”

She gives me a sweet wink as she sniffs a quick tear away. “Back at ya, Cowboy.”

—

“Come on… please pick up… pick up…” I whisper into the payphone as I try to will Jake to answer on the other end. The last we spoke was about six days ago, and he and Y/N had been traveling around scoping out places to live. They’d settled in a little apartment just outside of Memphis, where I had originally planned on busking around to make some cash. I liked it there, but the winds of change kept me rolling down the road to a new nowhere.

I’d ridden into this tiny slice of highway with only my guitar on my back and my bag hooked to Ruby, and I silently thank her for carrying me this far on my journey. The guys in the band had let me put her in the cramped equipment trailer that they had luckily left unlocked when I left the motel. Careless sons of bitches, I could have easily stolen anything I wanted.

I hated leaving them without any word, but they’ll most likely see the news, and be glad that I decided to run away, anyway.

“Hello?” a gravelly voice answers.

“Jake, hey, did I wake you?” I yell anxiously into the payphone at the gas station Sherry had told me about. She had been right, the attendant never even looked at my face as I threw my gas money onto the counter.

“Yeah, it’s fuckin 4AM, what’s wrong?” he replies, his voice thick and full of sleep. “Are you OK?”

Fuck. Of course he hasn’t seen the news. 

“Ah, no not really… are you uh. Are you with Y/N?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair as I peek around the corner to make sure Ruby is still sitting where I parked her. 

I can hear him rustling on the other end of the line, finally getting his bearings. “Yeah, she’s right here, why? What’s goin’ on?”

I clear my throat nervously, “Turn on the news. Local, maybe.”

I hear him rustling around again as he pulls himself out of bed, taking a deep, shaky breath as he wakes Y/N. “Danny, I don’t like that you’re not fuckin’ tellin’ me what’s going on.”

“Just go,” I urge him, my head on a swivel. 

There’s a pause before I hear him move around and switch the television on. “You’re lucky, we just got this fuckin’ TV yesterday… Hardly know how to work the damn thing yet.” he complains.

“Just–” I bite my tongue, waiting for him to see what he will inevitably see flash across the screen very soon. There’s a pause again and I hear the faint sound of Y/N’s voice beside him.

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” he says blankly. “Oh… oh, fuck. What–”

“Just listen to it,” I say quietly, letting him listen to the whole news story. 

“That’s our fucking faces, Daniel.”

“I know. I know it is,” I begin to pace as far as the short payphone cord will let me. “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

I hear Y/N’s worried voice again. “Jake, what… they can’t do this…”

“It’s gonna be okay, baby” he reassures her, but I can hear the doubt in his voice. “Danny, where are you?”

I clear my throat again, getting my head back on straight. “Uh, just outside of Topeka. ‘Bout 25 miles. I’m headed your way.”

“Do you know my new address?” he asks, overtop of more rustling and heavy breathing.

“Yeah,” I reply, “got it memorized.”

“Well forget it. We’re going somewhere else. We can’t be here,” he says angrily. 

“Jake, but, you just–”

“Y/N, do you remember Oz’s address? Lucienda’s?” I hear him ask her, and I immediately agree that going to them might be our best shot, even though Oz is most likely still serving his time for the last circus we got ourselves into.

“Yeah, I think so…” I hear her reply. “But Jake, we can’t just leave…”

I hear subtle aggravation in his tone, but he manages to keep it at bay. “I paid ahead three months’ rent, Y/N. We’re just… gonna leave for a while.”

“Jake what the fuck are we gonna do? Turn ourselves in?” I press. 

“I–I don’t know yet. No, we just play dumb for now. We need to get to Lucienda. Talk to her. She’ll be able to protect us for a while, she’ll know what to do,” he says. 

“I’ve got my fuckin’ bike, Jake. I won’t be able to make it anywhere fast, especially not to fuckin’ Miami,” I say, suddenly a little panicked again. I pull my tin of smokes from my pocket and light the end of one. The rush of nicotine instantly fills my lungs and calms me. Well, enough for now. 

“I know you can’t,” he says, taking a breath. “We need to go back to Joslyn first.”

“Joslyn?” I practically yell into the phone. Quickly looking around. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?! That’s the last place we need to go, Jake!”

But in the back of my mind, I know he’s right. We don’t have to show our faces, just a quick in and out to hide my bike and grab the last bit of cash we ended up hiding back in Ace’s safety deposit box for emergencies. And, we have to make sure Bubba is safe. With this new surge of information, god knows whether or not Teddy’s guys have gone after him yet, looking for some type of vengeance.

“You know I’m right…” he says quietly. “How long has it been since you’ve talked to Bubba?”

I swallow, taking another drag. “Week and a half. Maybe two.” I hadn’t been traveling with the band very long, but I know that I had told Bubba of the good news of them hiring me on, so it was around the same time. The last we talked, he claimed he was safe and sound. 

“Same here,” Jake says, taking a long pause as he thinks. “Get to Joslyn, stay quiet. We’ll meet at the old house by the creek. Nobody even knows that place is there anymore. It’s our best bet.”

“Okay,” I agree, nodding my head. “You gonna call Bub? Or do you want me to?”

“I’ll call the diner. Tell Geraldine everything. She’ll tell the truth, Bubba will sugarcoat if there’s anyone fuckin’ with him.”

“True,” I agree, exhaling again. “We can’t get on a fuckin’ plane, Jake. Someone will recognize us. It’ll take us days to travel to Miami and we need to get there fast.” My mind suddenly starts to spin with all the different plans of action. None of them seem like the right one. Traveling to Miami seems like too much land to cover, but staying in Joslyn doesn’t feel right, either. 

“Then what the fuck do you suggest we do?!” he exclaims. “We ain’t got a fuckin’ home, anymore, Daniel.” I can tell he whispers that last bit into the phone. 

“I’ll meet you at the creek. We’ll make a plan from there.” I stomp my cigarette out onto the cracked pavement, my skin beginning to sweat with nerves as I glance around again. 

“Okay,” he says again through a huff of grievance.

“Bub’s okay, right Jake? He’s alright?” my voice feels hollow as the words fall. 

I can hear Jake exhale on the other end, the same rush of worry flowing through him as it runs through me. “Yeah, he’s alright. And if he’s not… If they’ve touched him again…” He’s quiet for a second, and I can almost hear his teeth gritting together. I know that the exact same thought is running through both of our minds. I haven’t seen Jake mad in a really long time, but I know it wouldn’t take much for him to snap back into his old ways, especially when it comes to Bubba.

“I’ll see you at the creek,” I say with conviction, and I hang up the phone, wholly not ready for this journey. 

—

Well, here I am. Joslyn. Dirty and run down as ever, quiet but loud at the same time. A once bustling town rich with life and aspiring men looking to provide for their families now a mess of cracked sidewalks and sunken rooftops. Failed and closed storefronts, abandoned homes… the list goes on. This place is never gonna fuckin’ change. 

It’s been a long two days’ travel coming back here, and I halfway regret not renting a vehicle to be a little more inconspicuous coming back into town. But, an unknown car rolling through Main Street might set people off all the same. 

My stomach churns with old nerves coming back to the surface again, old habits and muscle memory making me feel like my head is already on a swivel again. It’s nearing 8PM as I roll into town, so I’m careful not to hit the throttle on my bike any more than just a light idle. The last thing I need is someone hearing me and suspecting I may be back.

As the late evening sun begins to disappear from the sky, I pass by Wanda’s motel, still just as shitty and run-down as it was. Teddy’s dry cleaning building, now looking either half-alive or closed completely since he’s not around to make it look like an actual fake business now. The bank, the countless churches… and the grocery store. 

The grocery store. 

I grit my teeth as I realize that Jake, Y/N and I will need supplies and food if we’re going to be hiding out in the old cabin for a few days. I hope to god his ass thought to bring blankets and pillows, and hopefully some food. I wonder if they’ve beat me here. I have no way of knowing, besides going all the way there first to check, but then if I don’t stop, I risk spending a whole night without food or water. Or whiskey.

I quietly pull my bike into the back parking lot of the store, parking it alongside the building behind the ice cooler. My hands are already shaking, I have to admit, and as I pull the kickstand down, my eyes dash quickly to my sides to ensure no one has followed me. Just a few stray bodies here and there coming in to grab a TV dinner before retreating back to the trailer park to finish off a six-pack. The coast is seemingly clear. 

I pull a cigarette from my tin and stretch my legs, hyping myself up to go into this grocery store where nearly everyone knows my face. Or, knew my face. After a minute or two, my boot extinguishes the butt of my smoke and I take a deep breath, the finally-cooling Autumn air filling my lungs and bringing me back down to earth a bit. I grab the cowboy hat from my pack and place it diligently on my head, tucking my hair up underneath it to conceal another one of my identifying factors. I pull out my wallet to make sure I still have enough cash for some food, at least, and I step in through the glass doors. 

It looks and smells exactly the same, musty cardboard mixed with the faint scent of a floor cleaner, with the fluorescent lights overhead barely providing enough light to brighten the poorly stocked aisles. I don’t know why I expected it to be any different, we’ve only been gone a few months, though it feels like an eternity. 

I put my head down and make a mad dash down the first aisle, luckily remembering the place like the back of my hand. I grab a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a box of saltines, tossing them into a shopping basket I’d found abandoned in the aisle. “What else, what else…” I whisper to myself, ignoring the eyes of each and every person I walk by. My heart is thrumming in my chest as I pace up and down the aisles, throwing a few more cheap yet necessary items into the basket. 

When I’ve finally gotten it full, I race to the checkout line, but not before stopping and grabbing a half-pint of Early Times, a box of matches, and a bag of cut tobacco. I place my basket onto the checkout counter, keeping my head down still as I realize the clerk is someone who knows me well. Knows me very well. 

“You 18, kid? Can’t sell you this if not…” he says, his voice still just as crackled and raspy as the day I met him. He stands the whiskey bottle up on its base as I swallow my nerves down, one by one. He cranes his neck to look at me from underneath the bill of my hat. 

“Kid, hey, you got any ID on ya?” he asks again, his wrinkled hands the only thing I can focus on. Fuck. He sees my ID, he recognizes me. Recognizes me as the murderer on the loose, in the very town he ran from. My heart is pounding, how had I not thought of this? He’s never ID’d me before, but then again, he knew me. He snaps his fingers when he realizes I’m not meeting his eyes or answering him. 

I peek up gently, thankful that I’d decided to leave my sunglasses on at the last minute. “Ah, ya know, left it at home, I think. Had a long day. I don’t need the bottle,” I say, trying like hell to conceal my voice, yet keep my local accent. I push it to the side as I pull my wallet out and prepare to pay for the rest. 

“Shit,” he says under his breath. He scans the whiskey and slides it into a paper bag, slipping it in beside the rest of my items before hitting the total button on his register. “Ain’t no thing. Can tell ya hands is dirty, can’t deny a workin’ man his vices,” he grits quietly. “That’ll be $19.70,” he says a little louder now, and I feel a relief lift from my shoulders, all the sound coming back into my ears now that my heart rate isn’t flying. 

I can finally hear the muffled music coming over the speakers in the ceiling, along with the beeps of the checkout lines beside me. I pull a twenty from my wallet and graciously place it in the man’s hand. It’s funny, all the years I’ve been coming to this place, and I never learned this man’s name. He doesn’t even wear a nametag.

“Appreciate that, old timer. Saved me a night of sittin’ with my troubles,” I reply, avoiding his eyes again as he hands me my change. 

“Don’t we all need that,” he grumbles as he hands me my bags. “Ya know, I don’t recognize you. You from ‘round here?”

Goddamnit, goddamnit. Think.

“Uh, yeah. From up on Bolter Street. Been gone awhile, moved back to take care of my folks,” I say, clearing my throat. I used to live on Bolter Street, many many moons ago. That part isn’t a lie.

“Hmph,” he grunts, pulling a toothpick between his lips as he squints at me. “Not a lot of folk live on Bolter much anymore. Street kinda died with the town.” I can tell his tone is interrogatory, and I feel the sweat beginning to pool on my forehead. Get it together, Daniel. 

“S’why they called on me.” I nod and give him a curt smile as I begin to back away. “Have a good evenin’, sir.”

I grab the bags and tip the brim of my hat, making my way back out of the store and into the fresh air. “Fuck,” I breathe as I reach my bike. That was fuckin’ close. If it was that hard to get groceries, how in the hell are we going to do literally anything else?

I cram the bags into my side packs, uncaring if I smash the bread or not. I’m anxious, and desperately in need of a damned drink. I wish like hell I could go to Canaries’ for a beer, but who knows what state that hellhole is even in, anymore. Or if the clientele is even the same. Shit, that place used to be a haven for people like us, until it wasn’t. Until Teddy and his crew turned it into a place where you had to look over your shoulder every other second, or else you risked a cue stick across your back if you said a sly word. 

I need to make my escape, and I need to make it fast. 

I kick the stand on my bike and pull the key from my pocket, sticking it into the ignition and turning it over a few times before she starts. I plan to take as many back streets as I can to avoid going straight through town again, but that’s not as easy as it looks. Passing by the diner is going to be necessary. 

A minute or so later, I’m cruising by Louie’s Diner, the parking lot only holding two or three vehicles as opposed to the normal ten or twenty. Strange, I think to myself, and I slow down and peer in the windows a little more closely. There behind the counter is Geraldine, looking worse for wear than I had seen her in a very long time. Maybe ever, actually. My heart falls as I realize she looks nothing like herself. Her hair isn’t fixed, and her nails aren’t painted their normal bright, red color. 

I quickly glance to the end of the bar where Bubba normally sits, finding the chair to be empty. Again, my stomach falls at the realization that he isn’t there, waiting with Geraldine to finish up her dinner shift like he normally is.

Shaking my head, I concentrate my attention back onto the road in front of me as the abandoned houses begin to turn back into the forest, and the two-lane turns back into one. I snap my headlight on as I rack my brain, trying to think of where Bubba could be, if he is okay, and why Geraldine looks so down. My stomach churns with nerves at the possibilities, but I hold out hope that maybe he had just gone home for the night, and Geraldine is just tired. 

I cruise down the winding road toward the creek, trying like hell to breathe in the fresh air to calm me. I pray I don’t pass any police cars, or anyone who would recognize my bike. But as the asphalt turns to more of a rocky concrete beneath my tires, I begin to feel a little relief. Man, I could really use a fuckin’ smoke. 

I cross over the bridge and turn onto the dirt road, the same one that Jake, Ace, Bubba and I had used so many times to get to our special spot on the creek. Darkness has fallen now, and I find myself feeling a little nostalgic at the scenery. For the first time in months, I see things that I could recognize even in complete darkness, I take curves that I could turn blindfolded, and I begin to smell the scent of the murky water and mossy trees that line the creek. No matter how much I hated it, no matter how badly I wanted to run away, this will always be home. Joslyn will always be a place that lives in my heart, no matter how dusted and horrible the time I spent here was. 

I make another right turn, watching for any other vehicles to be parked and out for one last late-night fishing pole cast before the weather starts to break. When I find our spots to be empty, I gain yet another feeling of relief. The gravel turns into thick bedrock, and I use caution as I navigate Ruby down, all the way to the bridge by the swimming hole. 

I park the bike at the foot of the hillside and stand, remembering that I have a spare flashlight in my pack, equipped with brand new batteries. I dig it out and turn it on, slowly panning around to take in my surroundings again. It still looks just the same as it always did, the large leaf-covered trees leaning over the water to provide almost a storybook-like scene. But this town is anything but a storybook. The frogs and crickets know that their time is almost up, and their songs have begun to slow and their tones have become deep. Again, my nostalgia almost knocks me over. 

I push my bike over to a cluster of trees, lodging it between a few trunks out of sight of the road. I bite the flashlight between my teeth and begin pulling my bags and necessities from my side packs. My guitar suddenly feels like a burden, when for months all it was was an object of comfort. Now, it feels like something that might weigh me down the further along I go on this journey. Either way, I throw the makeshift rope case strap over my shoulder and begin lugging my things across the old bridge, straight toward the cabin. 

As I trudge through the thick mud, thankful for my high boots, the beam of my flashlight catches something reflective down the creek a bit, and I nearly drop all the bags in my hands. “Shit,” I gasp, gripping my hands onto everything more tightly. I glance over, realizing that my light had bounced off a tail light. I walk a little closer and shine the light more directly, seeing that the tail light belongs to Jake’s truck.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumble with relief, suddenly realizing that I’m not alone in the least. My best friends are just on the other side of this treeline. Not just my best friends, but my family. 

I put a little pep in my step, letting the thick pine branches pull at my sleeves as I traipse along the muddy creek bed, straight up the incline and onto the trail to the cabin. I feel excited to see them, but also in the back of my mind I know that our meeting isn’t going to be a joyous one. It’s going to be one of deciding on our next move of survival. 

After a few minutes’ hike, I’m finally to the clearing at the cabin, and what I see in front of me isn’t what I expected in the least. Instead of the old, dilapidated building I had spent many a summer in, the cabin is now more of a house, with a new roof, a repaired front porch, and even a brand new front door. What in the hell?

I see a faint light on inside, and I stop for a second, hesitating on whether or not to proceed. Is someone living here now? No, no one knows about this place except for us. And maybe a few trusted others who have caught word of it over the years. 

If it weren’t for me seeing Jake’s truck, I may have considered turning around, but just as I approach the rickety stairs of the cabin, the front door flies open, and a silhouette that isn’t Jake is standing in the doorway. 

“Daniel, my boy! You made it!”

“Bub?!” I drop my bags and the flashlight in my mouth, rushing up the stairs to greet the old man. He wraps his arms around me as I take him around his shoulders, the both of us pounding our open palms against each other’s backs. “What are you doing here? We were going to surprise you!” I say as we finally break apart. 

“Surprise? You boys ain’t as slick as you think you are…” he chuckles a raspy laugh as he replaces his cap on his head. “Practically raised ya, and ya can’t even tell an old man you’re comin’ home?”

“Ah, Bub, we were going to, but–”

“Hey you just gonna leave me hangin’ over here?!” I hear Jake’s familiar gravelly timbre fill the air as he plummets into me, almost knocking me back as his arms embrace me. The embrace of a brother. “Heyyy, brother…” I laugh, not sure of the last time Jake and I actually hugged. It’s funny, we spent so much time together for so many years, I was positive that when I left him and went my own way, I wouldn’t think twice about it. And I didn’t really, until I’d find myself needing to ask him a question only he would know the answer to, or I’d hear an old Neil Young song in a bar. It was at those times that I realized he’s the other half of me, and he always will be. We do alright being apart, but the world feels more at ease when we’re together.

We pull apart, and I catch sight of Y/N leaned in the doorway, her arms crossed across her chest as she eyes us with a sweet, familiar smile. “Well looky here, the two outlaws, themselves,” she grins, and I immediately pull her into the same embrace that I’d pulled Bubba into. She feels a little different now, not sure why, or how, just different. Her hair is longer and she’s got a suntan from the Tennessee rays. My mind hardly ever reminisces on the time we shared together, and I’m thankful for the fact that we have been able to stay good friends after our whirlwind romance. She’s as much a part of me as Jake is, now. Just in a different way. 

I feel her fingernails scratching at my back as we hug, and her voice is muffled as she tries to speak with her mouth pressed against my chest. “You two really couldn’t even manage to stay out of trouble for six months, could you?” she playfully complains. “The hell am I gonna do with ya…”

“Not even funny, Y/N,” I say, pushing at her shoulder as Jake and Bubba make their way inside the cabin with my bags in hand. We follow them in, and Bubba pulls the door closed behind me. He pulls a deadbolt, and a slide-lock, and a chain lock across the brand new door, and kicks a wooden wedge up underneath it. 

“Damn, what is this, Alcatraz?” I ask, too surprised to take a look around the place. 

“Might as well be,” Bubba says, rushing over to the windows to pull the heavy blue curtains in front of them. 

“What the hell is going on?” I ask, finally taking notice of the state of the cabin. The interior has been completely re-done, though not all brand new, it looks better than it used to. The floor is no longer caved in, and the roof has been repaired. There’s a table and chairs, and a large couch in the living area, along with two recliners. There are dishes on the shelves, and a wood stove has been installed in the corner of the kitchen. “What happened to this place?”

“Come, sit, Daniel,” Bubba beckons me, and I make my way over to the chair he has pulled out for me. Jake and Y/N follow suit, and he takes his seat last. The air in the room is heavy, and I realize that the only light is coming from three oil-burning lanterns placed around the old tables and countertops of the house. The warm flickering glow accentuates Bubba’s wrinkles, reminding me yet again that he isn’t getting any younger and that the world has continued turning. 

“I was just tellin’ these two, Danny, I took the liberty of movin’ up here ‘bout, oh, five, six weeks ago. Been trying my best to fix the place up, make it feel like home. I know you two wouldn’t care, and I know your Pops wouldn’t have cared eith–”

“Wait wait wait,” I cut him off. “Moved? What do you mean you moved?”

“I mean, I moved. All my things are here, in the back bedroom,” he responds matter-of-factly.

“What about your trailer? Your place?” I ask, my hands flattening across the dusty wooden tabletop.

Bubba licks his wrinkled lips, bringing his hand up to rub across his shaven chin. “Sold it, son. Property and all. I just… wanted away from it. Wasn’t doin’ me no good.”

“But you said right before we left that you were happy, when we asked you to come with us, you said you were fine–”

“Hell, ‘course I did, Daniel. You wouldn’ta left and gone out on your own if I’d’a told you my plans.” He pauses, clasping his hands together. “Plus, Geraldine and I separated, knew this would be a better place for me, anyway. Give me somethin’ to keep my hands busy.”

All three sets of our eyes grow ten times in size. “Bub, what?” Jake nearly yells. “You separated? Why?”

Bubba waves us off, almost like it is no big deal. “Aw, shit, boys. You know damn good and well why. After y'all left, shit fell apart even worse than it was already fallin’. After Teddy died, and his posse didn’t have a head honcho no more, they started goin’ out on their own, causin’ more trouble than they had before. Stealin’, botherin’ folk… Teddy was a piece of shit but he kept those vagrants in line, I will say.” He rubs his hand over his chin again as he adjusts his legs under the table. “Anyway, I… I didn’t feel safe… havin’ these ties with you boys, and, and the shop burnin’ down and the history we already had with Teddy. I just didn’t want Geraldine caught up in it, ya know? Didn’t want her worryin’, or worse yet bein’ a new target for them boys. She don’t deserve that. Don’t deserve it at all. Thought it best I just leave her to herself.”

“Bubba, that’s ridiculous!” Jake says, and we nod in agreement. “I–I mean, I know where you’re comin’ from, but. You two are in love, made for each other.”

“Yeah,” Y/N adds, “wouldn’t you feel safer being with her? I mean, keeping a closer eye out for her is easier when you live in town, right?” 

Now I know why Geraldine looked so down. She had just gotten dumped. 

I pull the half-pint of whiskey I had shoved in my pocket, cracking the lid and tilting it back for a few refreshing seconds. I pass it off to Jake, and he happily rips it from my hand and does the same.

Bubba grits his jaw and shakes his head and hands at us. “It was for the best, just trust me. But that’s enough about me. We need to figure out what in the hell to do about this new problem of yours.”

“What happened in town?” I ask. “After we left? Did they come after you?”

“I said enough about me, Daniel. You hard of hearin’?”

“He asked you an honest question, Bubba,” Jake says calmly. “Did they touch you again?”

Y/N’s eyes are trained downward as she doesn’t dare bring them away from staring at the table. She knows good and well that if Bubba says yes, that the two of us are going to come unglued. 

“They didn’t touch me. Tried to, few times but.” Bubba shakes his head furiously from side to side. “They don’t know I’m out here. Geraldine still brings me supplies. I try my best and make myself scarce.”

“What do you mean they tried to?” Jake demands.

“Can’t ya leave it alone, Jacob?”

“Tell me, Bubba!” he raises his voice. “What did they do?” I can see the flame of the candle light flickering in Jake’s eyes, and unfortunately, I know that look all too well. It’s the same one that’s probably in my eyes, right now. 

It’s pindrop silent in the room as we anxiously await an answer from Bubba. He’s breathing hard from his flared nostrils, and wringing his wrinkled hands together. He pulls his red handkerchief from his back pocket and pats it along his brow, and I know that if he doesn’t say something soon, I’m gonna jump out of my skin. Hard to tell what Jake would do.

Finally, Bubba looks up from his hands, swallowing hard as his voice is barely audible. “If I tell you boys, you promise not to leave this cabin?”

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[wrathofrats]

Seeing blind (you’re too good to be all mine)

Chapter 2, read under the cut or on ao3

(Part 1) (special thanks as always to my cowriter, @divine-misfortune)

2.9k, teen audiences, no warnings apply

Rain wants to apologize, Swiss wants to kiss him, the barn has other plans in store.

Rain avoids Swiss like the plague for a couple days. He can barely leave the house because at least then he can be certain he won’t have to see him. His room is stuffy and confining but at least he can read and try and forget the way Swiss held him or how big his hands were or-

This is bad for him. It’s distracting him, he can’t think of anything else even if he desperately wants to. The characters in his stories suddenly turn into him and Swiss, daily chores come with an image of Swiss standing next to him. He feels like he suddenly developed an illness or something with how bad this dumb crush is.

Rain shoves his meatballs around at dinner. The patterns in his spaghetti and his dumb daydreams much more interesting than whatever his father was rambling about.

“I’m thinking about firing a couple of the hands, works getting slower and I need some fresh workers who haven’t learned how to slack off all the time”

Rains ears perk up. He can’t, he can’t just fire them now after he has to pine 24/7 over one of them. Or maybe it’s for the best, maybe it’ll make him think better. Whatever it is has him speaking before he realizes what he’s saying.

“I think they’re doing fine, it’s cold outside cut them a break. That one worker … Sam? He’s been doing well”

His dad gives a confused chuckle, “Swiss? And how would you know how they’re doing”

“Well I’ve been-“

“Have you been hanging around the hands again? You know what i told you rain. I don’t like you being around them, they’re not good for you.”

Rain shrinks a bit in his seat. He stares down at his dinner because he knows he shouldn’t be. He’s a good son, doesn’t often break the rules and even if this one is stupid there’s a part of him that still feels ashamed.

“I’m not, I’ve been reading outside. The weather’s nice and it gets stuffy, I’ve just been watching in between pages, you deserve to know how your employees act when you’re not around” he scrambles. Rain looks up with a hopeful glint in his eyes that his dad will believe him. His dad looks like he barely buys it, but he sighs. It’s been dropped for the time being at least.

The rest of the meal is pretty quiet besides small talk from his parents about the bruising of some of the plants or whatever they liked to discuss. Rain shoved a couple more bites of spaghetti into his mouth before throw his dish in the sink and heading upstairs for bed.

The window of his loft always had the best light as the sun went down. Not too bright to blind him but just enough that he could sit and read comfortably. It has a great view of the barn and field, nice entertainment whenever he wanted to see what everyone else was up to.

Rain watched the sun fall behind the trees. The barn light was still on. The doors swung open as Swiss popped out to grab another bag sitting outside of it, dragging it inside. He didn’t usually stay this late, almost everyone goes home before sundown.

His heart beats in his chest. He could go down there, he could see him again. Last time they talked he left pretty rudely and honestly rain feels bad about the situation. Swiss deserves an explanation if nothing else.

The blood in his head rushes by his eyes as he closes his book and hops up to put his shoes on. His dad is still awake, theres no doubt about that. And after their conversation at dinner if he found rain sneaking out? He would probably never be allowed to leave the house again.

Rain creeps down the stairs quietly as he can. His father is still watching tv, evident from the changing lights in the living room, and he prays the extra noise will drown him out. Rain doesn’t break rules often, he’s a good kid but something about this boy has him acting unwise. Swiss is alluring, as nice as can be but cocky and too flirtatious for rain to be able to act normally.

As he sneaks through the door and the cool air hits him he realizes he has no real excuse to be out there. Does he just unabashed go up to Swiss and make it obvious he was watching? Or does he try his little act that he has something else to do and Swiss being there was purely a coincidence. Swiss never believes him anyways.

Rain keeps looking back at the house as he walks, scared that his dad really did hear him and is going to bust through their front door to scold him and drag him inside. He looks at the windows, the car, any place his dad could go and see him sneaking out.

Swiss appears in front of him before he can stop himself.

He runs straight into him before he can even finish his worrying. Face first and nearly sends him onto his ass before Swiss is instinctively grabbing his waist trying to keep him upright.

“What are you doing out rainy?” Swiss chuckles, making sure he can stand on two feet before letting go.

Swiss didn’t budge when rain ran into him, sturdy and commanding and fucking grabbed rain by the waist so he wouldn’t fall over. Rain flounders, barely registers that Swiss was even talking.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Just asking what you’re doing out, don’t you have a curfew after dinner tadpole?”

Rain just looks at him as his cheeks heat up. He doesn’t have a good excuse ready.

"Oh just...taking a walk, it gets stuffy in the house ykno-" and it's so obvious it's a lie, it's almost endearing. Rain stumbles back, trying to get more breathing room. The nickname flusters him and the way Swiss has his arms crossed in front of him so he can see how big his arms are even through his sweatshirt.

That stupid smirk doesn’t leave his face either. Swiss is sure he knows why rain is out this late, and honestly this little display is cute. He decides to play dumb, just for fun.

“Oh well if that’s all then I’ll just get back to-“

“No- wait-“

Swiss tips his head to the side and rain is looking back over his shoulder again nervously. They’re just standing out in the open and they really shouldn’t be, but nervous looks adorable on him.

"Thought your daddy didn't want you hanging around with all of us rough folk."

"Maybe he doesn't - I'm an adult though, I can do what I like." Rain crosses his arms in front of him. He sneers at the ground. Part of him is embarrassed because he is an adult, he doesn’t need to be coddled and the fact that everyone else knows what kind of stupid rules he follows makes it that much worse. The other part of him is just angry. Rebellious. He wonders if he would be taking this many risks if he has free reign of his life, or if Swiss is truly just that appealing.

"Oh? You can, can you? So what is it you like then?"

The answer is obvious and Rain could just die, one more look over his shoulder and he's grabbing Swiss by the wrist and pulling him into the barn where at least they won't be seen. The guilt starts to come back. Quick thoughts about wanting to kiss Swiss again melt into a shameful pit because he truly hasn’t explained himself yet.

“Fuck- Swiss I’m sorry about the other night. I never apologized for what happened” rain started. He played with his fingers as Swiss opened the doors to let them inside. “What I did was rude and you didn’t deserve for me to freak out and leave you like that”

Fuck, now he’s babbling. He wants to make it look like he only pulled Swiss in there to apologize and for nothing else after shoving him into the shadows.

“I almost thought you didn’t like it” Swiss admits, just a little bit of his own bashfulness showing through. Rain stumbles a bit at the insinuation that he did enjoy it.

“I didn’t- I mean-“ rain stutters over an excuse for himself. Obviously he enjoyed it, but he can’t seem like he’s that easy. But on the other hand it would be cruel to make Swiss think he really actually didn’t.

“Well if that’s the case then what did you pull me in here for”

“I wanted to apologize asshole” there’s a petulance to his voice that Swiss can’t help but encourage. Continue to poke and prod at his strings until he tells the truth.

“I still have stuff to get done rainy, can’t believe you’re trying to be a bad influence and keep me from my work”

“I’m not”

“Oh what would your dad think, tsk”

It's dark aside from that little bit of the orange light of evening filtering through the slats in the door and the light hits just right in Swiss' eyes, they look like amber and honey and rains heart is pounding - trying to keep his cool, Swiss gets him so tongue tied it’s hard to even keep a conversation.

"He's not going to think anything about it, he doesn't need to know I'm here." Rain takes another look at the crack in the barn door, stepping backwards more into the shadows.

"Ohh we're rebelling are we? Next thing I know you'll be asking for a cigarette and sneaking wine coolers-"

"I'm not a child."

And maybe he imagines it

But he swears Swiss gives him a slow once over. His eyes glancing down and coming straight back up with a cocky smile.

“Yeah but you’re a priss, just the farm princess aren’t you”

And the nickname shouldn’t get to him because it doesn’t mean anything but rain visibly blushes and tightens up when he says it

“I am not, I can be just like the rest of you”

“Prove it then”

Rain gets a little too antsy, a little too irritated, just grabs him by the collar and smashes their lips together

He can feel Swiss grinning, knowing full well he won, and Rain is annoyed but he doesn't care, the only thing in his brain is need him need him need him and it's embarrassing how bad it is. He tries to remember how Swiss did it the first time, not entirely sure what he's doing still, and Swiss could leave him to fumble but he can't pass up the opportunity to take over.

Something about guiding sweet and naive rain is honestly too tempting for him. He lets him awkwardly try and figure it out before correcting him, giving a small there you go, between kisses and Swiss swears he hears a high pitched sound in the back of rains throat.

“Princess likes a little praise?” Swiss chuckles when rain stops to breathe. His pupils are blown wide and he’s still clutching his shirt so he can get too far away from him. He’s adorable, and Swiss can’t tell if he wants to eat him up or absolutely tear him apart.

Swiss. An see whatever gears rain has left in his head turning, trying to decide if he wants to protest against the princess thing or not. Rain gives a quick look or irritation before he fully processes the comment, and just stumbles because how exactly is he supposed to respond to that?

“Tell me what you want rainy and I’ll give it to you”

Rain doesn’t know the answer. It’s an instinctual question and rain can’t help but stare at him wide eyed while Swiss just gives a small chuckle. It almost feels wrong, he’s rushing it and he doesn’t want to scare rain off now that he finally has him.

“That’s ok,” Swiss smiles

“No, come here I want to try this again” rain tugs Swiss’ arm and climbs up the ladder. He thinks he’s got it now, that he can actually kiss Swiss without seeming like a complete idiot. They crawl back into the loft and rain makes Swiss sit exactly where he found him the first time, and it’s so horribly endearing.

“Well?” Swiss asks once rain just looks at him, “what are you waiting for?”

Rain hesitates for a second, swallowing thickly before putting his hand on Swiss’ cheek and moving his face closer to his. There’s an initial pause when Swiss is close enough to feel his breath on his lips, like rain has to think about what to do before he tenderly kisses him. It’s slow, soft at first before rain gains any more confidence in his actions.

There’s no more thought in the process. Simply autopilot as rain can’t think of anything besides how good he tastes and how nice he feels against him. Swiss still tastes like apples, fresh from the orchard and honestly he should tell him to stop stealing the produce but god if it makes him taste like this when they kiss rain doesn’t think he could ever tell him no.

Swiss backs them up to the pile of hay that had been matted down from endless people laying on it. A decent space, better than the old wood floor. Rain lays down easily, still connected to Swiss.

He’s dizzy, the kisses are slow and deep and god it feels like they’ve been doing this for hours but rain simply can’t think straight in a situation like this.

Swiss pulls away from him for a minute just to admire him. Even in the dark his lips are kiss swollen and the prettiest shade of red he’s even seen, accompanied by a blush that says he’s still embarrassed and new to this and god Swiss could stay in this position forever.

“Wait- Swiss what time is it?” Rain sits up after a second, realizing that the sun was already all the way down now.

“Um, probably about 10? Why what’s wrong rainy” Swiss moved to stand up, offering a hand to rain to pull him up beside him. He looked worried, like he was about to panic.

“Shit my dads asleep, I can't go back in now” he says. He starts to pace a little, trying to think of options. His dad always goes to bed at 9 because he had to be ready by 6, and this has never been a problem because rains never snuck out before. It’s too quiet, his dad is a light sleeper and that old door creaks like no one’s business.

“Could you sleep here tonight? Sneak back in once he’s already out in the field?” Swiss asked

“I mean, I could. Probably my only option” rain sighs loudly and plops down back into the hay. It’s a lot less comfortable the second time around, every little piece poking his skin and reminding him that he will have to stay here tonight. His light sweater doesn’t do much to keep him warm either, it’s particularly cold even for this part of the season.

“Hold on, there’s a couple extra blankets that the horses use in the winter, just washed them too” Swiss scrambled down the ladder while rain just sat in his corner. Maybe the night would go fast, he would fall asleep quickly and tomorrow he could lay in his bed as much as he wants to.

Swiss threw a heap of blankets back up into the loft, climbing up beside them.

“Got extra for pillows too, hay in your hair isn’t comfortable, ask me how I know”

Rain smiles, grabbing the pile and picking one out to shove under his head, and another to put over himself. It wasn’t the best makeshift bed but it would do for the couple hours at least.

“Thank you Swiss, you’re too nice. I’ll see you tomorrow”

“What? No silly I’m not leaving you all alone” Swiss says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He places himself right next to rain with the other blankets, covering up and laying down.

“Swiss no, you work tomorrow you don’t have to do this”

“I’m a gentleman after all. Besides there’s all sorta things that go bump in the night like coyotes and what have you, It'd be cruel to leave you all on your lonesome” a part of Swiss feels bad. He’s the one that kept rain out so late. Maybe he is a bad influence on him for keeping him so long.

Swiss pulls rain close to him with his hands clasped in his because they feel so cold Swiss wonders if it’s painful. Besides, Swiss runs hot anyways. He warms him up right in his side with rain using Swiss’ arm more as a pillow than the blanket, nuzzled into his neck with soft exhales against his collar bone.

Rain drifts off soon enough, barely even concerned with the predicament anymore. But Swiss? Swiss can’t sleep a wink. It’s his turn to be plagued by a pretty boy and god he’s got it bad. All he can do is watch him and not move a muscle in fear of disturbing his beauty sleep. Though Swiss is positive he would be beautiful even without it.

Swiss doesn’t want to admit to himself the swell of pride that comes with how fast rain falls asleep in his arms. He leans down to give him a small kiss against his forehead carefully, whispering a soft goodnight before getting content with the fact that he’s not sleeping at all, head dancing with only thoughts of rain.

[wreathedwith]

Certified McLennon: a playlist

With receipts.

Side 1 || Side 2 || Bonus Tracks

Side 1

1.  I Want To Hold Your Hand (1963)

We wrote a lot of stuff together, one-on-one, eyeball to eyeball. Like in ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’, I remember when we got the chord that made the song. We were in Jane Asher’s house, downstairs in the cellar playing on the piano at the same time. And we had, ‘Oh you-u-u… got that something…’ And Paul hits this chord and I turn to him and say, ‘That’s it!’ I said, ‘Do that again!’

— John Lennon, 1980 (x)

Eventually I ended up living with the Ashers. I'd already stayed over quite a bit, but Margaret must have said, 'Well, you know, we'll let you have the attic room. So I ended up there, and they got a piano up in that room.

When John came to visit, there was a piano in the basement as well - a little music room where I think Margaret took students. So, we would write there in the basement, both on the piano at the same time, or eyeball to eyeball on our guitars.

'I Want to Hold Your Hand' is not about Jane, but it was certainly written when I was with her. To tell you the truth, I think we were writing more to a general audience. I may have been drawing on my experience with a person I was in love with at the time - and sometimes it was very specific - but mostly we were writing to the world.

— Paul McCartney, 2021 (x)

How else to begin the narrative but with a genuine Lennon-McCartney cowrite that fired the starting gun on global scale Beatlemania? Famously written "eyeball to eyeball" - and sung in unison pretty much throughout - we must also presume, sitting at the piano side-by-side as they were, their hands were in rather close quarters too.

As for Paul's extract: So I moved in with my girlfriend’s family // (new paragraph) John John John and I writing this song // (new paragraph) To be clear, this song is NOTHING to do with my girlfriend at the time whose house I was living in, but it maybe was to do with someone else I was in love with (in a very specific way) but I am not going to say who it that is. Paul, do you ever hear yourself. Any chance it's the boy pressed against your side for hours and hours telling you to do that again?

2.  Cafe On The Left Bank (1978)

When John and I hitchhiked to Paris in 1961, we went to a café on the Left Bank, and the waitress was older than us – easy, since John was turning twenty-one and I was nearly twenty. She poured us two glasses of vin ordinaire, and we noticed she had hair under her arms, which was shocking: ‘Oh my God, look at that; she’s got hair under her arms!’ The French would do that, but no British – or, as we would later learn, American – girl would be seen dead with hair under her arms. You had to be a real beatnik. It’s such a clear memory for me, so it was in my head when I was setting this scene.

— Paul McCartney, 2021 (x)

lol @ Paul erasing a good eight months of age difference here for absolutely no clear reason. ‘nearly twenty’ my left eye

Indisputably a song inspired by John and Paul's 1961 trip to Paris together (and also, I suppose, a woman with Armpits of Note, living in Paul McCartney’s head for seventeen years rent-free). John inherited £100 from a wealthy relative just ahead of turning 21 and promptly 1) cancelled several gigs the band had booked, much to the rest of the band’s irritation 2) took Paul and no-one else to Paris for a fortnight. They stayed in a cheap hotel in Montmartre (just the one single bed) and have pretty much never shut up about it since (x). More information on the trip and some photos Paul took of John are available on tumblr (x) and elsewhere (x).

Here because I could not leave Paris unrepresented, and because if the line touching all the girls with your eyes isn't an observation laced with considerable jealousy, it is at the very least a keen awareness of exactly what John's eyes were up to at any given time.

3.  If I Fell (1964)

It’s semi-autobiographical, but not that conscious, you know. It’s really about – it’s not about Cyn, my first wife…

— John Lennon, 1980 (x)

One of John’s earliest ballads that he has specifically identified as not just being a chart-topping songwriting exercise with no personal meaning behind the curtain. If I Fell 1) doesn’t really match up with any of his known romantic relationships at the time 2) has some fairly ambiguous ‘whose point of view is this from exactly?’ going on. (Boy with girl entering a second/new relationship? Or someone wanting someone who’s already got a girl? Either way, the only pronoun we’ve got for sure in this song is that of the third party.)

More points raised (by another tumblr user) here (x).

(General note: early Beatles-era lyrics - like If I Fell and I Want To Hold Your Hand - ARE difficult to definitively pin down, being as they were often written to order/generic for a general audience/more likely to be any phrase that fitted the tune rather than personally meaningful/overall more commercial and less specifically autobiographical. But it was a time filled with intense and genuine songwriting collaboration. And we are not going to start this playlist in 1969, okay.) 

4.  I Will - Take 29 (1968)

When I’m writing, it’s as if I’m setting words and music to the film I’m watching in my head. It’s a declaration of love, yes, but not always to someone specific. Unless it’s to a person out there who’s listening to the song. And they have to be ready for it. It’s almost definitely not going to be a person who’s said, “There he goes again, writing another of those silly love songs.

— Paul McCartney, 2021 [on ‘I Will’] (x)

He won’t? Yes he will, ready or not.

(John’s the Silly Love Song mocker-in-chief; yet another romantic song from the Jane Asher era that Paul (in The Lyrics) has specified is not about Jane Asher. Jane, you deserved better.)

(Not the only improv fun on record for I Will, either (x).)

5.  In My Life (1965)

I think ‘In My Life’ was the first song that I wrote that was really, consciously about my life… a remembrance of friends and lovers of the past… and it was, I think, my first real major piece of work.

— John Lennon, 1980 (x)

Specifically ‘consciously’ autobiographical, according to John, In My Life’s lyrics include an ambiguous conflation (or at least a lack of differentiation) between lovers and friends, friends and lovers. An earlier draft is more of a straightforward nostalgic longing for physical places in Liverpool left behind (scroll down to ‘about’ to read these lyrics - x), whereas the final version is a clear elevation of the singer’s current love, and the present more widely, over those places and people he remembers, however important they seem within his memory. 

Written in late 1965, John had not yet met Yoko Ono and was still married to Cynthia. Again, nobody (else) for this autobiographical song quite fits timeline-wise. More thoughts (from another tumblr user) here (x).

Intriguingly, the official John Lennon Instagram account has matched up In My Life’s lyrics with John and Paul (x), (x).

6.  Oh! Darling (1969)

When you told me // You didn't need me anymore // Well, you know I nearly broke down and cried

Paul to John, as John’s intense relationship with Yoko begins and The Beatles begin to end. Maybe.

Sonically, this one’s a 50s-retro belter that harks back to the kind of rock 'n' roll John and Paul would have been listening to and learning to play together as teenagers.

I have rejected some other sometime-heard lyrics elsewhere in this playlist, but it really, really sounds like Paul sings Oh, Johnny instead of Oh, darling at 2:47. What more do you want, really.

Sidenote: although this song is written by Paul, John wanted to sing it - because, he says, he could have done a better job of singing it than Paul(!) (x). There is a version where they sing it together (kind of) on Anthology 3 (x).

7.  Fine Line (2005)

Whatever's more important to you // You've got to choose what you wanna do

There is a long way between chaos and creation // If you don't say which one of these you're gonna choose

Come on brother, all is forgiven // We all cried when you were driven away // Come on brother, everything is better // Everything is better when you come home and stay

Come on back, come on back // Come on back to me

Paul has not elucidated on the meaning of this one too much - his 2005 explanation veers quickly away from lyrical content and towards the musical composition (x) - but there are clear themes present of divided friends, close yet conflicting creative approaches and priorities, and a longing for reconciliation. 

This one gets me right in the heart, especially the come on back to me bit. 

8.  Two of Us (1970)

It’s like you and me are lovers.

— John Lennon to Paul McCartney, 1969 (x)

It’s like we’re like a couple of queens.

— John Lennon to Paul McCartney, 1969 (x)

alright John, that’ll do, I think we get it now.

This one’s definitely Paul being inspired by romantic countryside drives with his soon-to-be-wife, Linda Eastman (x). (And/or late-night drives around London with same (x).) However, it’s also about John and Paul, most notably when it being about Paul and Linda doesn’t fit.

For sending postcards, in The Lyrics (2021) Paul mentions both Linda and John. You and me burning matches, lifting latches? This recalls smoking and drinking in Liverpool pubs (‘lifting the latch’ being scouser slang for paying for your first drink so that others will buy your drinks in future rounds (x)). You and I have memories // Longer than the road that stretches out ahead would be very pessimistic for a new romantic relationship. You and me chasing paper, getting nowhere suggests the Beatles’ business troubles and how they lead to arguments/lack of resolution rather than anything to do with Linda.

Besides Paul specifically saying that we’re on our way home is about “trying to get in touch with the people we once were” (!) moreso than literally travelling home, the Everly Brothers-style harmonies and some good old shared microphone singing make this another song from the Get Back sessions that musically recalls the past, nostalgia; where John and Paul started, together.

Version note: I chose the 2021 mix for this one (rather than the Let It Be… Naked version) to include John’s stupid Charles Hawtrey bit at the start (added in later from a 1970 session, when the song itself was recorded in January 1969), but it was a close-run thing tbh. Sub in the Naked version if you prefer it.

9.  Too Many People (1971)

I was looking at my second solo album, Ram, the other day and I remember there was one tiny little reference to John in the whole thing. He’d been doing a lot of preaching, and it got up my nose a little bit. In one song, I wrote, “Too many people preaching practices,” I think is the line. I mean, that was a little dig at John and Yoko. There wasn’t anything else on it that was about them. Oh, there was “You took your lucky break and broke it in two.”

— Paul McCartney, 1984 (x)

Ah, the beef period: the one time when it’s incredibly easy to verify that these were indeed songs written about each other. (Still, check this page (x) to follow Paul becoming slightly more and more honest about this song over time to see how difficult it is to pin him down on any exact meaning in the majority of cases.)

Yoko took your lucky break and broke it in two became You… by the time the song was released. Piece of (cake) at the start is ‘piss off’, directed at John. The final verse is about Linda, but only in the sense of Paul showing off to John that he also has a wife now actually! These absolute losers.

This song is all Paul’s anger towards John (and Yoko); it’s not even ambiguous, no matter what Paul might have said in the past.

10.  I Found Out (1970)

John, post Beatles and post primal scream therapy, with some advice for others (just don’t call it preaching, okay).

Included for its very un-Beatlesy raw production and I seen religion from Jesus to Paul, which is of course very clever of him and all that but, god. If it’s deeply wronged, it’s also deeply devotional.

11.  Riding to Vanity Fair (2005)

[Interviewer: It’s the only song here [in Chaos and Creation in the Backyard] that mentions a trouble not overcome.]

Yeah, an own-up song. Now it’s become more elegant, but it’s still a pissed-off song. When you’re trying to reach out to someone, and it’s rejected, that’s a hurtful thing. That happened to me at a particular point. It wasn’t Heather. It was about some other relationship that I had, and this was my therapeutic way of releasing myself.

— Paul McCartney, 2005 (x)

As a newer McCartney song, that’s the most specific Paul has got on the song’s subject.

The song’s subject is consistent throughout. The singer remembers holding back words from and trying to placate a former friend, says this person no longer needs their help and that they weren’t aware of what they’ve put the singer through, and that friendship was offered but is no longer there. In the past, more optimistic days, they had bonded through music.

Although unique in this little beef period section of the playlist as a song released 35 years after the breakup of The Beatles rather than contemporaneously, it appears to take Paul’s point of view at the time, as this does match up with his frustrated feelings then but not with what he has said and felt about John many years later (particularly after 1980).

A term more famous as a magazine title/novel by Thackeray, ‘vanity fair’ is originally a (fictional) fair described in Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. In any case, its meaning is also likely here to be a scene or place where only frivolous and empty things like fashion and entertainment are discussed; there are no serious thoughts present. The meaning of this phrase in the song has not been elucidated anywhere, to my knowledge: is Paul saying that none of John’s ‘preaching practices’ at this time were concerned with anything important? Is it a reference to Allen Klein or other untrustworthy associates that John had been spending time with?

Some more thoughts (not mine) here (x).

12.  Dear Boy (1971)

So, Paul has said this is not about John - it’s about his relationship with Linda. More recently he has admitted it’s a message to Linda’s ex-husband (which makes logical sense) (x).

I guess it's possible that Paul is lying or bending the truth, as he's sometimes wont to do (seems unlikely here tbh), but this song is primarily included in this playlist because John thought this song was aimed at him. And that compels me. 

Through this John-queer lens (if we can call it that), lines like I guess you never knew, dear boy // What you had found and I guess you never saw, dear boy // That love was there are not only rather taunting (and a bit of Paul being conceited too likely thing for him to be) but also suggest that (John thought) Paul was saying John never attained Paul's level of emotional intelligence and clarity about their relationship, that John made a stupid mistake to walk away from Paul's affection. There's the dear boy / dear friend (as Paul's term of address for John - patronising/affectionate) similarity-comparison to consider too. 

Then there's And even when you fall in love, dear boy // It won't be half as good as this (!) “This”: Paul and Linda, or Paul and John? (i.e. when you fall in love with a woman - suggesting (John thought) Paul thought he hadn't yet, with Yoko or anyone else - it won't be nearly as good as our relationship, what we had). 

I also struggle to see how John could have thought that this song was about him if there was nothing in his head whatsoever that characterised his and Paul's relationship as romantic or intensely comparable to a romantic relationship in some way. Why else would it make sense for Paul to be saying to him no other love will be as good as theirs was/is?

(Okay, there is a heterosexual explanation for this: Paul boasting to John about his amazing perfect relationship with Linda, saying John will never enjoy anything as good. But that’s still. Quite a thing to say to a friend, isn’t it.)

Anyway, John thinking that Dear Boy, and several other songs on Ram, were aimed at him - whether they actually were or not - is probably what goaded him into releasing…

13.  How Do You Sleep (1971)

It’s not about Paul, it’s about me. I’m really attacking myself. But I regret the association, well, what’s to regret? He lived through it. The only thing that matters is how he and I feel about these things and not what the writer or commentator thinks about it. Him and me are okay.

— John Lennon, 1972 (x)

Famously, and very directly and explicitly so, John lashing out at Paul.

Some original lines and studio outtakes were even more harsh (x). For his part, Paul seems to have been genuinely hurt by this song despite John’s various later attempts to shrug it off as a kind of knowing public feud with things okay behind closed doors, especially the charge that the only thing you done was Yesterday. (He knows that’s wrong. He knows and I know it’s not true. - Paul, 1971)

A pretty face may last a year or two is so mean, kind of threatening even, and yet also an example of John never missing an opportunity to say Paul… has a pretty face.

14.  Dear Friend (1971)

“Dear Friend” was written about John, yes. I don’t like grief and arguments, they always bug me. Life is too precious, although we often find ourselves guilty of doing it. So after John had slagged me off in public I had to think of a response, and it was either going to be to slag him off in public — and some instinct stopped me, which I’m really glad about — or do something else.

— Paul McCartney, 1994 (x)

And then with ‘Dear Friend’, that’s sort of me talking to John after we’d had all the sort of disputes about The Beatles break up. I find it very emotional when I listen to it now. I have to sort of choke it back. I’m not going to cry in front of all you lot though!

— Paul McCartney, 2018 (x)

Dear friend, throw the wine // I'm in love with a friend of mine

Paul ends the feud (in that John never releases a song in response to this, and they do in time start talking again).

There’s a mutability to ‘friend’ here: dear friend is John, I’m in love with a friend of mine the very next line is ambiguous. Both John and Paul were young and newly-wed at the time. The second friend could be Linda, but it’s the same word side-by-side, twins; if it’s John, Paul doesn’t just feel love for him, he’s in love. As this analysis by another tumblr user (x) points out, in all the various quotes where Paul has discussed this song and confirmed it’s about John, he doesn’t mention their respective wives once.

Side 2

15.  Best Friend (1972)

Well, I wake up in the morning // I'm still dreaming 'bout you // I'll tell, you pretty baby, I'm blue // I wake up in the evening // I'm still screaming out over you

Tell me why, why // Why do you treat me so bad? // You're the best friend, a man ever had // You're the best friend, a man could ever have

The Paul McCartney Project says this is considered to be a song to John Lennon. There's no citation at that webpage, but I think we can see the vision. (x) 

Addressed to a best friend (with complaints of mistreatment), but with lots of morning/nighttime dreaming (x) and screaming and some pretty babys thrown in for good measure. Girl get up, girl more on, etc (he won't). 

A year or so ago, John was telling Rolling Stone (1971):

It’s just handy to fuck your best friend. That’s what it is. And once I resolved the fact that it was a woman as well, it’s all right.

(The live version of this song remains the only version available.) 

16.  Call Me Back Again - Live (1976)

Come on and call me back again

…Tell me, what can I do, what can I do, I can’t get through

The pining continues? Various critics have suggested (x) that this song is aimed at John Lennon. 

The timeline certainly fits: Paul wrote the song spring of 1974 in LA, concurrent with John’s time living in LA while separated from Yoko/A Toot and a Snore in '74 (x). Come early 1975, Paul and Linda had dinner in New York with John and May Pang (John’s girlfriend during his eighteen month-long ‘Lost Weekend’ period away from Yoko) and encouraged John to come and visit them while they were recording in New Orleans (x). John then planned to surprise Paul during these sessions for the album that Call Me Back Again appears on (Venus and Mars) (x). However, John never made it: just before leaving for New Orleans, John went to see Yoko and they got back together, bringing the ‘Lost Weekend’ period to an abrupt end. (Yoko got pregnant with Sean very soon after.)

As teenagers in post-war Liverpool, Paul and John were unlikely to be on the phone to each other much (even in 1970, only 35% of UK households had their own telephone(x)), but certainly did call on each other’s houses all the time.

Version notes: This version is from the 1976 live album ‘Wings over America’, but the studio version was first released in 1975. I’ve chosen the live version primarily for Paul’s more raw, more desperate, more better vocal. There are some small lyrical differences and, in the live version, plenty of babe, baby-type ad libbing.

In the live version, Paul sings I’ve called your name, child, every night since then. (I’ve seen some claims that he’s singing I’ve called your name, John on this or other live versions (x) but with the best will in the world I simply don’t hear it.) Only in the studio version does Paul sing I’ve heard your name every night since then (rather than I’ve called your house), which in addition to the pretty racy Oh I’ve called your name every night since then brings the song towards something even more sex-and-dreams adjacent (or possibly suggests the subject is a famous person).

17.  Jealous Guy (1971)

He used to say, ‘Everyone is on the McCartney bandwagon.’ He wrote ‘I’m Just a Jealous Guy’, and he said that the song was about me.

— Paul McCartney, 1985 (x)

We do only have Paul’s word to go on here, his comment having been made in 1985. (If John said this, he did not appear to say it publicly.) Of course this song could be (and/or) addressed to Yoko, but there’s not really any reason it couldn’t be addressed to Paul. I was dreaming of the past // And my heart was beating fast would certainly point to an association with someone John had known for long enough for them to be in his past (Yoko very much being his present as of 1971). Oh, and John’s jealousy of Paul, particularly professionally, was legion (x).

18.  Silly Love Songs (1976)

There were accusations in the mid-1970s – including one from John – that I was just writing ‘silly love songs’. 

— Paul McCartney, 2021 (x, x)

I love you…

Paul standing up to the ‘you’re wasting your time on this unserious soppy shit’ allegations. Silly Love Songs stayed at number one for five weeks solid in the US, so, re. what kind of songs people want, McCartney was arguably onto something. (Its chart peak in the UK was only number two - silly love songs are all well and good, but they can’t beat the public’s desire for a novelty parody song about agricultural machinery). 

As well as the quote above, in the 1986 book ‘McCartney, Songwriter’ it is phrased as Paul clarifying that the song was actually directed to John Lennon (rather than music critics, as first assumed). The song - the whole song.

John apparently liked this song very much and interpreted it entirely as a message to him, specifically including the ‘I love you’ parts. (x) (in user gswan steve hoffman music forums we trust, very reliable source okay, don’t take this away from me please).

19.  I Know (I Know) (1973)

Today I love you more than yesterday // Right now I love you more right now…

And I know it's getting better (all the time) // As we share in each other's minds 

An own-up/apology song from John to Paul. Probably. The official John Lennon Instagram account thinks so, anyway (x).

In his 1980 interview with Playboy - the one extensively quoted throughout this post, because John talked about the authorship and meaning of many of his songs in this interview - John only said that this song was just a piece of nothing. Which likely points to this song not being about Yoko, because when a song’s about Yoko he’ll generally shout about it. (I Know (I Know) was recorded in the summer of 1973, just after Yoko kicked him out thereby starting the ‘lost weekend’ period. So Lennon may have (also) been realising some things about that relationship when he wrote the song, because their relationship was clearly not in a good place.)

The song’s Paul references:

The 1971 Wings song ‘Some People Never Know’ is Paul saying some people don’t understand what it means to love (x). I Know (I Know) and its chosen title as a response to this song is a) a song response where John and Paul are in agreement rather than opposition, for a change b) John telling Paul that he does know what it means to be in love.

In a similar vein, I know what I was missing could be in response to I hope you never know how much you missed in (Paul’s 1971 song) Dear Boy.

Today I love you more than yesterday (in light of Paul’s song Yesterday and John’s Yesterday taunt in 1971’s How Do You Sleep)

And I know it's getting better (all the time) (Getting Better, 1967, Beatles-era McCartney-led cowrite)

No more crying (a possible response to Oh! Darling’s When you told me // You didn't need me anymore // Well, you know I nearly broke down and cried). Or The Long and Winding Road (Many times I’ve been alone // And many times I’ve cried)

Considering John and Paul’s (particularly John’s) belief that they shared some kind of dream or mind connection, I’m intrigued by the (contradictory?) lines But I never could read your mind and As we share in each other's minds.

Finally, there’s John and Paul’s first joint LSD experience:

Paul and Mal [Beatles Roadie/PA], this time, were full of tales of this here LSD and what it could do… Paul said he and John had had ‘this fantastic thing’; which really wasn’t very informative, so I pressed him to flesh it out. ’Incredible, really, just locked into each other’s eyes … Like, just staring and then saying, “I know, man” and then laughing … And it was great , you know.’ 

— Derek Taylor [press officer for The Beatles], 1983 (x)

20.  Coming Up (1980)

I heard a story from a guy who recorded with John in New York, and he said that John would sometimes get lazy. But then he’d hear a song of mine where he thought, ‘Oh, shit, Paul’s putting it in, Paul’s working!’ Apparently ‘Coming Up’ was the one song that got John recording again. I think John just thought, ‘Uh oh, I had better get working, too.’ I thought that was a nice story.

— Paul McCartney, 1980 (x)

1980 optimism: Paul edition. Potentially these lyrics could be interpreted as offering John help, consistent friendship, and perhaps even studio time. (This reading is strengthened by lyrical variations in some of the live versions; see below.) 

Oh, and in the music video for the song Paul’s drumkit identified the band (all Paul and Linda, in a 6:1 ratio) as The Plastic Macs (after The Plastic Ono band) (x).

Version notes: It’s the studio version with the vocal distortion that John heard on the radio, liked, and found inspiring (/competitiveness-inducing) enough to want to create songs again - he called it the freak version that [Paul] made in his barn (x) - so that’s the version on the playlist. 

The Glasgow live version was more commercially successful, and was the single A-side in the US. Here’s a breakdown of some of the differences between the studio and live versions of the song:

And if you're searching for an answer - 1980 studio version

I know you're searching for an answer - 1979 Glasgow live version (more definitive) (x)

I want to help you find an answer - 1979 Hammersmith live version (more collaborative) (x)

I know that we can get together // We can make it, stick with me - 1980 studio version

I know if we could get together // We'd hear music endlessly - both live version (less imperative, but with a delightful music reference) (this forum post (x) mentions a version with ‘making music endlessly’, which is even more suggestive of being about a musical collaborator, but I haven’t been able to find a version that definitely has this rather than ‘we’d hear’)

The live versions also include some not-uncommon Paul pretty baby I wanna stay-type adlibs. I think the Hammersmith performance is my personal favourite. It goes fast!

21.  (Just Like) Starting Over (1980)

But when I see you darling // It's like we both are falling in love again // It'll be just like starting over, starting over

1980 optimism: John edition. More generally, this is John’s increased optimism going into the eighties and the desire to put the difficulties of the seventies behind him.

Within the narrative of Double Fantasy - John’s big comeback album after five homemaking years away from the music business, made with Yoko - it seems like this song must be about John and Yoko, whose relationship was central to promotion of the album and was being portrayed in a particularly idealised way at this time. Were they going through a renewed closeness (implying that even after the ‘lost weekend’ was over their relationship had been going through troubles prior to this renewed closeness)? Or were there difficulties in their relationship during the album release, behind the scenes? (x)

Some possible elements that point to this song being (at least in part) about John and Paul:

The demo version (x), which includes the lyrics The time has come, the walrus said, for you and me to stay in bed again. (John and Yoko bed-in (x)? Or the walrus was Paul (x) / “In bed” (x)?)

The 50s/Elvis/rock ‘n’ roll style of this track evokes where John started, together with Paul. John starts the stripped down remix of this song with This one’s for Gene and Eddie and Elvis and Buddy (x).

When I see you, darling doesn’t necessarily suggest someone you see all the time every day (i.e. your wife).

It's time to spread our wings and fly and Don't let another day go by, my love - Paul’s band, Paul’s songs. Although yes, these are all common phrases regardless.

Whether this is about John’s hope to rekindle his relationship with Yoko, Paul, both or neither, he made it clear that he wanted in 1980 to start over - do better - in a wide variety of aspects. According to John, the song was written with a wider circle (rather than one person) in mind:

I’m not aiming… [the song] at 16-year-olds. If they can dig it, please dig it. But when I was singing and writing this and working with [Yoko] I was visualizing all the people of my age group from the sixties. Being in their thirties and forties now, just like me, and having wives and children and having gone through everything together, I am singing to them! I hope the young kids like it as well, but I’m really talking to the people that grew up with me and saying: “Here I am now - how are you? How’s your relationship going? Did you get through it all? Wasn’t the seventies a drag? You know, here we are, let’s try and make the eighties good, you know, because it’s still up to us to make what we can of it. It’s not out of our control.” (x)

Considering both Coming Up and (Just Like) Starting Over, and the possibility of an eighties Lennon-McCartney reunion: there is one account (x) suggesting John and Paul were planning to spend time in a London studio together in December 1980, then January 1981 when studio availability fell through. This hasn’t been verified elsewhere, although Jack Douglas, the producer of Double Fantasy, does mention in a 2016 interview (x) that both John and Paul had signed on to work on Ringo’s next planned album, with them potentially both planning to attend a January 1981 studio session in New York. Who knows what could have happened if the worst hadn’t.

Time passed. Paul locked the door of his home studio and played (Just Like) Starting Over, the first single from Double Fantasy. Top volume. For days. Christmas came, with its inevitable reruns of Beatles films and other tributes. A fan brandishing a knife tried to break into the McCartneys’ estate. Paul put up more barbed wire and floodlights. A month later, in February 1981, he went back to work.

— Christopher Sandford, in ‘McCartney’ (2006) (x)

22.  The Long And Winding Road - Naked Version (1969)

The long and winding road // that leads to your door // Will never disappear, I've seen that road before // It always leads me here, lead me to your door

The only information Paul has really given about writing this song is that he was inspired by a road stretching up into the hills as seen from his newly-purchased farm in the Scottish Highlands (x). Which is certainly a likely inspiration for the road image, but doesn’t give anything away about, like, the deeper meaning of the song.

It’s possible that this verse refers to ‘the night we cried’ in Key West that Paul also mentions in Here Today (1982):

The wild and windy night that the rain washed away // Has left a pool of tears, crying for the day // Why leave me standing here? // Let me know the way

Is this long and winding road a journey of inevitable hardships (written as this was to the background of The Beatles’ late 60s troubles), or a journey home? (We’re on our way home)

Paul really does love a road metaphor in his songs: there’s 2001’s Lonely Road (I hear your music and it's driving me wild // Familiar rhythms in a different style… Don't want to get hurt second time around // Don't want to walk that lonely road again) (x) and then there’s 2013’s Road, which doesn’t appear on this playlist but for me is the key to unlocking The Long And Winding Road (x).

We came from nowhere // Hiding from a storm // We cling together // To keep each other warm

The road to somewhere // Stretches through the night // We follow blindly // Heading for the light

I can't see anymore // The blinding light // It's just a metaphor // I use when things aren't going right

…I′m scared to say I love you // Afraid to let you know // That the simplest of words won't come out of my mouth // Though I'm dying to let them go // Trying to let you know

…I'm still too scared to tell you // Afraid to let you see // That the simplest of words won′t come out of my mouth // Though I'm dying to set them free // Trying to let you see, how much it means to me // How much you mean to me // How much you mean to me now

-

Version notes: this is the version from Let It Be… Naked because this is Paul’s song and he does not want those women’s voices on a Beatles record (x) and because this is an intimate song from one person to another and so I wanted that wall of sound right outta here.

The ‘Naked’ take was recorded several days after the version used in Let It Be (1970), and it has this rather intriguing lyric variation:

Anyway, you’ll never know // The many ways I’ve tried - 1970 Let It Be version

Anyway, you’ve always known // The many ways I’ve tried - 1969 Naked version

John has always known, I think.

23.  Here Today (1982)

A love song to John, written very shortly after he died. 

— Paul McCartney, 2021 (x)

An imagined conversation, and some shared memories; no ambiguity as to the meaning of the lyrics here.

The night we cried is about a specific event: an approaching hurricane cancelled a planned Beatles concert, meaning the band were stuck in Key West with nothing to do. After a day of drinking a lot with the band and their tour support groups (and throwing up), John and Paul sat in a motel room and had in-depth conversations. Paul has described this as the only time he and John cried together. They held each other and they cried about how much they loved each other. (Telling this anecdote in The Lyrics book ultimately leads to Paul saying we had the most intimate relationship. and I think [those moments like Key West are] what you think about when you lose a friend.)

Many, many other (heartbreaking) quotes, and attribution for Key West, from Paul about this song can be read here (x).

24.  On the Way (1980)

Well we've been travelling for a long time // And we finally finished here //  Though I said some things to hurt you // Well it was only out of fear  

Well you know I'll always love you // Everything will be alright // If I know you don't mind // The things I say // On the way

Bluesy as all hell. Paul hasn’t talked about this one very much.

(Here in the playlist For The Narrative; as this is dated 1980, I should specify for clarity’s sake that this song was written and released before John’s death.)

25.  My Brave Face (1989)

Now that I'm alone again // I can't stop breakin' down again // The simplest things set me off again // And take me to that place // Where I can't find my brave face

At least once a tour, that song just gets me.. I’m singing it, and I think I’m OK, and I suddenly realise it’s very emotional, and John was a great mate and a very important man in my life, and I miss him, you know?

— Paul McCartney on performing ‘Here Today’, 2004 (x)

The cover? Circular glasses and a bowler hat (x). (John’s famous glasses; they got “a couple of bowler hats” as their gimmick to attract lifts to hitchhike to Paris in 1961 - you can see them in the bowler hats in some of the Paris photos (x).) The video? A crazed Japanese fan has stolen Paul’s possessions, including Beatles memorabilia and his famous Hofner bass. (Hm.) The collaborator? Hitting the low harmonies alongside Paul’s singing just like John used to, which Paul described as “getting to be too much” (x). Jeez.

(Should be noted that the songwriting for this one is co-credited to Paul and Elvis Costello, Paul’s collaborator for the majority of his 1989 album Flowers in the Dirt. Let’s not take too much of a detour, but one of the reasons Paul gave for wanting to try this collaboration was that both of them shared Liverpool family roots. Their work together was fruitful in terms of output but perhaps it did ‘get a bit much’ after all - they never worked together again. You can find attribution for this and read lots more about Paul and Costello here (x).)

26.  This One (1989)

The song is basically a love song – did I ever say I love you? And if I didn’t it’s because I was waiting for a better moment.

— Paul McCartney, 1989 (x)

The ‘I love you’ part was hard to say. A part of me said, ‘Hold on. Wait a minute. Are you really going to do that?’ I finally said, ‘Yeah, I’ve got to. It’s true.’

— Paul McCartney on ‘Here Today’, 1982 (x)

[Interviewer:] Let me ask you about one of your new songs, ‘This One’. About a marriage?

[McCartney:] A relationship, yeah... You get those moments where you always think: "I’m saving it up. I’ll tell him one day." And you know what happens. A lot of people, John for instance, getting back to that subject...

— Paul McCartney, 1989 (x)

27.  Now and Then (2023)

Now and then // I miss you // Oh, now and then // I want you to be there for me // Always to return to me

How else to finish but with the final Beatles song?

January 1994, John Lennon’s induction ceremony into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame: backstage, Yoko gives Paul cassette tapes of unheard demo material from John. Already working together on Anthology (a TV documentary/album release/book Beatles retrospective) at the time, Paul, George and Ringo built on these demos John had recorded in the late 1970s to create and release ‘Free as a Bird’ and ‘Real Love’ together (x). They worked on a third single, but there were serious quality problems with John’s recording and George wasn’t happy to proceed with it on this basis. (Actually, what he said was is that it sounded “fucking rubbish”. “But it’s John!”, Paul reportedly countered (x).)

But Paul kept mentioning the song in interviews. “One of these days”, he said in 2012, they were going to finish it (x). 

And they did.

It’s the sound separation technology Peter Jackson used to create the 2021 Get Back documentary that made Now and Then technically possible, but it’s Paul’s dogged determination sustained over a thirty year period to release this record as a Beatles song that got it out there. John’s last words to Paul in-person, back in 1976, were Think about me every now and then, old friend (x). All the time. All the time.

Bonus Tracks

(Not on Spotify / not written by Lennon and-or McCartney / not otherwise fitting in.)

28.  The Lovers That Never Were - 1987 Demo / Geoff Emerick Mix (1987)

All of the clocks have run down. // Time's at an end. // If we can't be lovers we'll never be friends.

For the lyrics and the Beatle-esque harmonies and the raw performance. 

(We don’t have much information on who exactly wrote what between McCartney and Costello on any of these shared-credit tracks, but it seems likely from the style of lyrics here that Costello heavily contributed to this one. As I say though, we don’t know for sure.)

29.  Just Because (1975)

John’s cover of Lloyd Price’s 1957 hit. (John spent some of his ‘lost weekend’ period recording an album of rock ‘n’ roll covers, initially with Phil Spector producing. Production was, needless to say, troubled.)

For John’s ad lib during the outro of the song, not in Price’s original: There's two basses in this. I hope you appreciate it. Which bassist might John be addressing here?

Then there’s Just Because - Reprise, where John can be heard saying (25 seconds in): I'd like to say hi to Ringo, Paul and George... how are you? (and) Everybody back home, in England... what's cookin'? 

There’s also its drunk ‘n’ drugged cousin, Just Because - Rough Mix, which really is a hot fucking mess. Check the tags at the linked post for more conjecture, but John’s certainly pining for someone. Most of these lyrics are not in Price’s original, including Darling I would never // I’d never make nothing without you.

(Bonus to the bonus: John’s cover of The Ronettes’ Be My Baby, also intended for this covers album but left off of the 1975 release. Yes, back in the day The Beatles as a matter of course didn’t swap any pronouns around when performing covers, but (5 minutes in) the I need him here is so desperate-sounding. I won’t tell nobody. I won’t say a word…)

30.  I Don’t Know (Johnny, Johnny) (1960)

Two boys, 1960, Forthlin Road.

Aged 17-18 (Paul) and 19 (John), the band (not yet named The Beatles) convened twice at Paul’s place to record rehearsals on a borrowed reel-to-reel tape recorder. Not all of the lyrics are clearly decipherable, but it sure sounds like John and Paul are planning to skip town together and never look back. Let’s hope they make it.

-

A final note (if anyone on Earth has made it this far - hi, and thanks very much for reading): this isn't meant to be a comprehensive list of all McLennon-feasible songs, or unimpeachable ““arguments””! (That's impossible.) This is just a playlist I wanted to make, influenced by what I wanted to write about following a serious research deep-dive, which songs I like listening to, what I personally find most compelling, and what fitted into the playlist order narratively speaking - as its in narrative rather than (purely) chronological order, alternating between Lennon and McCartney whenever viable and beginning and ending on true jointly-written collaborations.

[naquey]

20 Qs for fic writers

(inspired by @icegirl2772's post)

How many works do you have on AO3?

29!

2. What's your total word count?

498,403

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Drake & Josh, Harry Potter, Big Time Rush (TV), Cobra Kai, Scream (Movies), Nanbaka, and Black Butler.

But if we're counting Quotev, the original site I used then there's FNAF, Creepypasta, and Eddsworld.

4. Top five fics by Kudos:

Entrusted To You, Uno's brother, Rumors (Adele sang it best), This Is Not Okay, What Is Wrong With Me?

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I love talking to my readers (unless its a hate comment lol) and talking to my readers can help gain a different perspective.

6. What is the five you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Most of my works are one shots. I believe the angstiest ending is tied between Fame and Haunted. But technically Haunted was a scrapped scene that didn't make it into Fame.

7. What is the five you wrote with the happiest ending?

There's a lot of them... But if I have to choose then Drake Loves Marnie.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Well no, not even when I was on Quotev. I did get my first hate comment which was really funny. I'm not saying I want more of them tbh, but I guess I just want more people to express their opinion lol.

9. Do you write smut?

Very RARELY. It only happens once in a blue moon because I'm either too intimidated to write it, or if I do write it I'm too intimidated to post it. Smut is so awkward to write and half the time I'm worried I'm writing it wrong lmao.

10. Craziest Crossover?

Well... I don't have many crossovers; I only have Drake & Josh with Big Time Rush, only because I wanted my OCs to interact. To be honest, I'm very picky when it comes to crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I can give it a shot if anyone wants any of them translated! Or if anyone would like to translate my fics/one-shots, feel free to do so as long as you credit me!

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Four times in the past. All of which nearly discouraged me from writing lmao. Not that I wouldn't want to cowrite a fic, but I would have to talk about it more with someone instead of just doing it.

13. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

God, I hope not. But I doubt anyone would let me know if I had one stolen tbh...

14. All-time favorite ship?

Uhh... Canon? Oc? Good question... I have far too many circulating in my head like a rotisserie chicken lmao. I can't choose. But currently, I'm thinking a lot about Kenonnie (Kendall Knight/Veronica Clark)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My backroom novel idea. Like, I want to be able to traditionally (or independently) publish it. It's a horror book I'm very passionate about, but... I stopped writing at ch 3 because liminal spaces work best as a visual.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I genuinely have no idea, but if I had to guess it might be dialogue. I talk to myself in my room very frequently which... I guess helps with dialogue???

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh, this one is easy! Spelling and grammar! I am fighting Grammarly on everything I'm writing because it's taking my personality out of my stories. But it keeps me from spelling words wrong.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I'm more scared to do this wrong. I have a couple of characters that speak French, but I avoid using it to a degree because I can't fathom being disrespectful and accidentally getting someone's language wrong.

19. First fandom you ever wrote in?

Eddsworld...

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I love my children equally- kidding! As of right now, I am very biased towards Ghostwriter. It started as a challenge to write more than usual and it succeeded, it is currently my longest running fic.

Usually, I splice my fics up into ten-chapter arcs, but since Ghostwriter doesn't have a concrete ending, it reached over thirty chapters, lol. It's also the one I'm writing the most because my brain cannot process anything else. I'm laser-focused on BTR right now.

[swan-lite]

Dang it, okay, I have thoughts

James Somerton made an apology video in which he says "I'm sorry" several times but

Couches it in a pity party

Does not directly address any of the people whose work he stole by name

Never uses the word "plagiarism," instead referring to his theft almost exclusively as "citation errors"

James discusses how many videos he and his team were releasing and the frequency of releases as if someone was pressuring them to release a high volume of videos, as if to say it isn't his fault that there were quality problems

James offers to make his videos public again and add "citations" in a pinned comment or in the descriptions as a means of crediting the people he stole from

He also insists that some of the videos won't need these citations because some of them were his own "original work"

(In other words: that he has nothing more to hide)

James states that he isn't bigoted against ace folks, bisexual folks, trans folks, or women and that the several disparaging remarks he has made against these communities in his videos were not written by him

Because we have receipts for several of these remarks thanks to Harry's (hbomberguy's) video on James, we know that they didn't come from the articles and books he was stealing from, so if James didn't write them then the only other person who could have was his cowriter Nick

James then immediately says that he's not trying to blame Nick

James does not try to explain the ace/arophobic, biphobic, transphobic, or misogynistic remarks he has made on his Twitter or Patreon accounts

James mentions - and seems genuinely bothered by - the "people online" who are spreading lies and misinformation about him

Finally, James discusses future projects he would like to work on

He then deleted the apology video

Harry states near the top of Plagiarism and You(Tube) that "When someone more competent than Filip uses [his] techniques in a subtler way, we can recognize them for what they are."

This is not competent. It's not even subtle. James's career was so thoroughly eviscerated literally overnight that this is the best he can do, and it's not even good.

James says that he's sorry, but doesn't actually explain what he's sorry for. He doesn't admit to, or take responsibility for, the extent of what he actually did. In this way, he can now say when confronted that he apologized. But with the wording, he still manages to avoid actually taking ownership of his actions. In other words, it's using passive language to imply that what he has done just happened. He definitely didn't sit down and choose to commit extensive plagiarism - of course not! What really happened? *shrug* Anyway, sorry for it.

When iiluminaughtii (henceforth referred to as Blaire) tried to explain the many times in her video essays she has misspoken or misused words, she played it off as a byproduct of the amount of "work" she churned out for her fans. James is trying to do the same thing here, only it is deeply ineffective. It's quite upsetting to me to think that some of his fans - young queer folks who are probably used to having to make themselves small - might on some level fall for this trick. The idea is to make you the viewer feel guilty for the demands you have placed on this creator, when in reality this is a grown adult who knew exactly what he was doing.

I'm not going to spend too long on this next point. If you've read this far, you're probably invested enough to be well aware that James has used the trick of burying a citation under a mound of text no-one will read many times. It's the same trick Blaire used, and the one The Internet Historian used as well after he was caught.

James stops short of making a "Colombo villian speech" in this apology video. He does, however, take the time to say that he has nothing more to hide. Again, if you've watched Harry's video, you know this literally always means that the person who insists they have nothing to hide is absolutely hiding something else. Whether this is more plagiarism or some other skullduggery we haven't yet found out about, I'm sure it will come to light eventually. I'm honestly surprised and a little disappointed that James tried this tack. Obviously he's thought better of it, since the video is gone now. But I would think a grown human who has just been the subject of an hours-long piece of, frankly, journalism would know better than to say something like this.

With the comments about his bigotry, James is trying to simultaneously redirect attention and perform allyship by saying "Look, I have an asexual friend! Who may or may not be public about his sexuality at this time!" This is the kind of thing I think a lot of us in the queer community are used to - supposed allies downplaying microaggressions by pointing to folks in the ally's proximity who happen to have an identity that they are being accused of speaking badly about. "This one person can stand to be around me, so clearly I can't be all bad." Personally, as someone whose racist parent tries consistently to downplay their own racism by pointing to me, their mixed race child, I can tell you that this is always misleading. In this case, I feel comfortable saying it's intentional. James tries to excuse the bigotry that "ended up in the videos" by saying that he didn't have time to edit the scripts properly. He doesn't seem to realize that time constraints often make people much more honest. In reality, this is James trying to make excuses for the bigotry he put in his videos because the time constraints he put onto himself made it much more difficult to disguise how he really feels.

James then directs some indignation at the people who are online discussing what he did. I would interpret his discussion of his income as an oblique reference to Dan Olson's thread about his recording equipment if I had a degree in literary analysis. My degree is not in literary analysis, so I'll leave it there. Ahem.

James makes reference to future projects he hopes to work on, as if this endeavor has in any way preserved or helped to bolster his shattered reputation. Jessie Gender makes a great point in saying this feels like a promise of work we could get out of him if we all just collectively decide to ignore all the harm he has caused. And James has caused harm. Whether he meant to or not, given the sheer magnitude of his plagiarism, there is absolutely no doubt that he has caused significant harm to a community he claimed to defend.

I want to spend a moment on something others have already pointed out. Actually, Harry pointed this out too. If James's theft were in any way defensible, he would have defended it. He would not have gone to such great lengths - up to and including deleting videos - to hide it. He wouldn't have used Nick as a shield, he wouldn't have outright lied in his livestreams, and he wouldn't have deactivated his Patreon (before reactivating--y'know what, this post is long enough, we don't need to get into that). James lied and dodged and beat around the bush for years BECAUSE he knew what he was doing was wrong. I had a justice studies professor once tell my class that nobody wakes up in the morning and decides to be A Criminal. People make choices, and choices have consequences, but most people don't choose consequences. People choose the thing that benefits them and consequences follow. James made a long, long series of choices, and I would like to remind everyone that they always had consequences. Even before Harry's video came out, James was facing consequences. Those didn't come from nowhere, they came from the people he was hurting. He knew about them, he just didn't stop because of them. He stopped because he literally couldn't keep going anymore.

Finally, James deleted his misguided response to the multitude of accusations against him. I don't think I need to explain to anyone what that indicates.

I would like to finish by saying that nobody should be harassed. Nobody should be bullied, or dogpiled, or doxxed. Nobody should wake up in the hospital because their dad realized he needed to call an ambulance. James's life is undoubtedly in a really difficult place right now, and while he absolutely deserved to lose his career, that's all he deserved. I hope he regains his health, I really do.

And I hope Harry and his team don't feel any responsibility over this. It seems easy from the outside to believe they wouldn't, but I also know that if I had just released a 4-hour long video detailing someone's fraud and then found out they had been in the hospital because of an incompleted suicide, I would feel pretty conflicted about a project we know Harry already felt conflicted about.

I hope Harry and his team are doing okay, and I hope James starts doing okay soon, and I hope James realizes this was the wrong damn time to try to release an apology. It was a bad apology.

[bisexualgenderfemme]

ftr don't even get me started on my negative feelings ab the always sunny at abbot elm crossover. but suffice it to say

a) wow! that is VERY ableist towards charlie!! & honestly xenophobic or something. he DOES know how to read & write: just gaelic. speaking & reading english specifically is not the only measure of intelligence or literacy. he also is repeatedly protesting as they're forcing him into literacy intervention & infantalizing him. They say he's 'just illiterate' when he is also CANONICALLY DYSLEXIC IN ENGLISH. this 'just illiterate' is treated as a moral failing and something that must be forcibly fixed despite the grown man's protest. they treat him like a baby. they literally dress him up & parade him in front of all those children as inspiration porn. They also pretend like he could just 'learn to read' in a week & they basically just teach him to sight read from memorization this one book. it's gross. (i suspect if the always sunny gang are doing this right they actually DIDN'T have charlie fully learn to read english, he was just pretending through sight reading to get left alone or something. that's why he reads 'ghost' instead of 'guest' in the last scene.)

b) quinta brunson is literally telling people not to watch always sunny & at that point i really have to ask: why tf did you agree to do this project if you hate the other half of the equation and from what i can tell from your late night interviews didn't even watch it til you'd started producing the cross over. & for the always sunny gang. you guys didn't like. check to make sure she actually liked & wanted to participate in your content before you dedicated a full episode of an 8 ep season to a crossover? it feels like neither group respects the time of their crews or fans if so. as someone who has literally worked on tv production sets if the creator/producer/cowriter from a full one half of a production i worked on told everyone not to watch the production i worked on to literally "not to even turn it on" i'd be soooo pissed. i'd never forgive that person. not even a 'ik the crew put a lot of work into it but always sunny has some pretty dark themes so it might not be for all my viewers.' literally "i tell them not to even turn it on." WHY DID YOU WORK WITH THEM? WHY DID YOU TIE YOUR BABY TO THEM? DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW CROSSOVERS WORK? WHY WOULD YOU CROSSOVER WITH SOMETHING YOU DONT WANT PEOPLE WATCHING FROM WHAT I SUSPECT IS MORAL OUTRAGE AT ALWAYS SUNNY'S CONTENT. (not that i think it would be unfair or incorrect or anything to fucking hate alway sunny & all that it's done considering it's history with black people. but then why would you work with them??)

c) tangiential to the other two: if you don't like always sunny ofc ur not gonna b familiar enuf w/ the characters to know charlie DOES read, just not in english. & if you take these meanspirited basically cartoon characters & put them in your more realistic & grounded world & then have them be 'basically just white people' in your more realistic & grounded world, who don't really get called out or punished for their bad behavior (as is the whole thing on always sunny,) YOUR characters are gonna come across more as meanspirited assholes.

[cornus27florida]

Personal Review GwenDerick/FredDolyn Time-Travelling AU - Canon Divergences

I like to compiling everything to help me going forward...

Basically I make CPC fanfic about time-travelling AU (to the past) and thus making it Canon Divergences AU (means it will changes over plot points in the canon source) - my two favorite troupe AUs as it could explore so many possibilities of "what-ifs" in the original source material of the story...

There's an ongoing project by myself that I am not sure when it'll end but I know how the details it goes.. Thanksfully for the addition of my cowriters @ Queen_Allu (same name as in AO3) and @ Jazzyluvs008 (sunflower8) at the middle early part of the journey to not making me feeltoo lonely. The project is hopefully not that (too) ambitious for myself that could strains my own heart and body (espc the eyes) and my own mental and minds (there's some chapters that even on introduction arc already made my heart's bleeding and head's dizzy) - as I am on 1/7 path of the journey there based on ch

GwenDerick/FredDolyn is make me built such a special place in my heart as hardcore shipper, I really adores their journey of relationship from a complete stranger (which the male scared shirtless over the female with such unorthodox look) to such a trustworthy friend (with the help of the CPC and how the story progress, the male opens up to the female) to likely now as to be a lover (there's definetely romantic note between them, as basically they are already say love to each other - even with such 'tragic' situation as the current story)

So, Troupe "Stranger to Friend to Lover" AU canonically? Hell yeah it is! I feel this another reason why GwenDerick is so special in my book of shipper - because it's so natural and could happen to anyone, so relatable in real life. Gwendolyn is not perfect (I am not talking about her look that basically the main plot turner in the story, I am talking about her lack of skill in communication that make the whole CPC story to be happen) and so does Frederick isn't Prince Charming (I won't talk further about it, as I know there's so many people that still hates him and could utters so many hate speech over him - feel free to do so, it won't change my love over him as I think that Frederick is the best boy in the CPC that has the best character development ever possible).

There's actually several others AU troupes that happened to GwenXFrederick canonically, but I won't talk about those as I like to focus on promoting my own fanfic which featuring them as the main couple while using my top two AU troupes as the gears for the series to moving them to go...

I really wish for more people to read it, I really do.. And could give me feedback over it. That fic is basically the retelling of 'retelling' which is the CPC | Cursed Princess Club [webtoon]

[Hahahah, such an UNO reverse card ain't it? :3 ] WIKI :

The creator, LambCat, describes Cursed Princess Club as a chance given to her to take all the things they loved from fairy tales and stories of their childhood and combine them with all the messages they wished they got to hear back then. -> Here the list of ALL tales and stories that I could recognize in the overall of CPC until now which one thing that I notice? Every stories come from Western with slight non-direct nods of Eastern references. I like to be proud about my own origin as citizen from Eastern country so I'm putting them inside the fanfic story as well.

While thinking of fairy tales and brainstorming, LambCat's thoughts included "What if the spells didn't break and there wasn't a happily ever after? What would that scenario be like?", that got cross-pollinated with with the idea of insecurity and shame in general. -> the spells didn't break means the 'permanent' cursed condition, which all the CPC members are inflicted with it and overall I say - I am truly adore how each of them accepting their condition as being cursed in healhtly way BUT as the CPC story hinting of things that possibly could lifting them from their curse that not come from typical cure it all "True Love's Kiss" such as: Abbi's 24 hours curse reversal potion, the Cure-Curing Crystal (+ the period pauser for Prez' condition by Whitney) and informations from the Omniscient Clam... That make me thinking as generally all the CPC members already accepting their cursed condition (the first important step of grieving one's trauma), WHY not making the chance for them to could get cured from their curse WHAT IF the journey to lifting the curse is so painful BUT really worth it? I really want to explore it, that's why I am making Frederick cursed 'literally' as the driving point of the fanfic story that I am making... He need to deal with his curse, along with resolving the initial metaphorical curse that already in there as Plaid Prince Royalty...

In the beginning, the story was a simpler one about looks not being everything. It has expanded to being about the idea that society has a lot of things they want from us. Cursed Princess Club was about how many of us have two parts of ourselves. One that we want to present to others based on what they want, and one that's just us. What if there were a clash between them? What emotions would come from that? -> there's so many examples about it in various characters, such as : Blaine (his true self that he shown in bare to Maria after the piano duel VS the mask that he keep shows in the public as 'the perfect Plaid Prince Charming'), Frederick (his distant "icy"-shallow-judgmental 'Plaid Prince' persona VS his true self that really just wants to read books as doing nerdy stuffs etc by having true friends that could understand him), Gwendolyn (her 'polite' selfless sweety princess VS her selfish persona that just wants to skip forward to her imagination of 'happily-ever-after' with Frederick which wants to skip the hurtful feeling over confrontation about her shattered perspective) ...and the CPC as entirety, why the logo (insignia) is a rose depict half pink and half black/brown? Because even thou never confirmed it yet the meaning of it, I say it's related about accepting the previous non cursed form-persona (pink) and current cursed form-persona (black/brown).

So my fanfic, Returning Back to Make Amends wants (and really hopes) to could explore the things that the CPC tells but WON'T shy over the mature themes that hinted in the story as it's being put down on some notches, and to doing so I like to use Frederick as the main character of that fiction RaS (Reversus ad Satisfaciendum) by establishing unique personalities that depicted about him - and as I relate to him the most, I feel I could do it imagining the fanfiction story that make him swapped role with Gwen which now he's the Protagonist of the story while Gwen is the deuteragonist

It could really work and without making other characters to changes dramatically (as to not making an OOC/ Out of the character), Prez still the tritagonist of the story and the CPC as the best support system over the 'cursed' royalties. Aside from Frederick being the character that most relatable to me, I love to explore the possible interactions of him (but with more knowledges already, as he already get and learn stuffs until the episode 145 plot points) with everyone. What will he do to his own family? What will he do when meeting the CPC as the much needed support system for him...with so many things to consider first? What will he do when interacting with Gwen as he could get chance to return to the past, to make amends.. but his greatest mistake already done?

I've read so many stories be it from various webtoons, fairy tales, novels, games, fanfictions... My greatest inspiration, and the motivation that making sure that I could reach to that end is a SniLy time travelling fic (A Peace Not Promised)

But let's end the general description of the fanfic, as we jump onto the story itself. Let's begin from the prequel of the story

The Prequel of the Story (MEPHISTO) https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/733053034090921984/cpc-fandom-need-more-love?source=share

From that fic's comment, I am really glad to could make in character's depiction especially to the Plaid Royal Family

As a prequel, one could read it before reading my fic series 'RaS' for better enjoyment but not necessarily need to read it either. In nutshell, the prequel fic really help me to establish the possible scenario that happened to the Plaid Royalties - as overall the punishment scenes gives too much shock to everyone that make the digestion of what really happened is difficult to happen. Also the title inspired by the [Oshi no Ko] ED song - is to giving the hint of time travelling scenario

Mephisto = power to manipulate events throughout time

Does that means the whole cause of the time travelling AU is related to a demon? Eh, huge spoiler for my fanfic - a highly classified content that I won't deny or confirm 'till the end

Now let's go to the RaS! We're start with the summary description!!! (most finds it's so scary, WHY ;-;)

"What-If" at the episode 145 where Frederick canonically supposed to break free from the prison - unfortunately passed away instead?

-> PNP starts with the main character, Severus Snape, passed away as like canon Harry Potter where he bitten by the snake (Nagini, Voldie's Pet).. There's so many time travel AU stories that making the main character(s) to die first too

Follow the difficult, cursed journey of Frederick that becomes the protagonist of his story as given another chance to make amends by the angel of the fortune Gwen by returning to the past - few months ago before his death day as imprisoned by Leland alone in the hole Given knowledge from the memories of what might happen but inability to tell them to the ordinary, non-cursed people as blazing rusted chains of 'non-divulgence' will accompany Frederick to prevents him to telling the truths; about him that come from the future, about his kingdom's vile plan to the Pastel Princesses, about the details of the events that'll lead to the doomed future...

-> I am not a good writer by any means, this project RaS is literally the first time I am making a huge multi chapters series which make me so anxious... But I know I am not the only one that making fanfiction with that 'skeleton' like that, 2 huge fandoms (Harry Potter and NARUTO) in the fanfictions has many examples of that, but I admit that in the CPC fandom my project gonna be the very first to exist. It's gonna be the very last? Hmm I don't know honestly, I've seen some CPC fanfic with time travel element with potentials...

In the 'magical' world of the CPC series, "time travelling" is something unheard off and considered to completely fictional even for the club that consisting of cursed members. It's out of the world, and all those Fairy Tales books have no match for this particular "curse". Could Frederick makes differences for a happy ending, or he'll die again trying?

-> Time travel. Wao. Such a huge interesting plot driver that so strong and powerful, but could become very messy if not handled right espc if disregarding the canon original stories and rationale thinkings of the story (even if the origin material is a fantasy genre). There's a special character trope identity for time traveller that making FIX-IT the story (another troupe of mine that I really like, usually part of the subplot of "Canon Divergence) which is "Peggy Sue". Frederick is Peggy Sue, but I try my possible best to not making him as Gary Sue with the canon Frederick's skill - Administrative Support = he knows that he can't do everything alone, he needs the help from others that as the story progress we see the friends that he finds along the way as becomes "The Alliances" that'll progress along the way BUT before he could do anything, reaching his goal to saves Gwen - he desperately need to help himself first as in canon analogy, he need to climbing the hole first before even thinking to saves anyone yet...

Most people are scared over the honest summary that I did huhuu T^T But, that's simply the truth? I really hate fanfic that not being honest about the summary of their story, so to not making myself as a hypocrite.. I tell things like that as to not scaring anyone but well... Example: [I am really sorry, didn't mean to scare anyone!] my jaw droped after reading just the description

I am cut to the WARNINGS then for well deserved wariness

This fic decided to be rated M (mature) for reasons as following: (domestic) abuse in form of what Leland could do to his own family, character death (Frederick's reason to reviving the past - is death), (graphic depiction of) violences including cursed attacks (acid damage, were-spider transformation), drugs overdose, also mention (as including ideation) and depiction of suicide.

Most CPC fanfic are on teenager category, and honestly I am in dilemma if RaS should in M or T because PNP as main reference is T rated - even with the character death, subtle hints of mental issue including suicide by jumping from the astronomy tower etc.. I even changed for T at some moment, but then I decide to change back to M so I could be more free to put much needed warning plot points, it's not just death to establish the time travelling condition.. it's for taking complete dark turn over the dark truths that hinted all along in the CPC, like for example eating poisoned apple = suicide

Ch 1 My Deepest Regret

The shortest chapter indeed but I am not sure if anyone aware of my deliberately quote from Jamie. Jamie is the first character in the CPC that truly ships gwenderick after all

Jamie of the CPC ofc not the one that giving quote, but his IRL paralel did. It's such a heartwarming enpowering quote

“Don’t give up. Don’t give up on your story. Don’t give up on the people you love. Hope is real. Love is real. It’s all worth fighting for.
”

— Jamie Tworkowski

Ch 2 The Angel of the Fortune at the Afterlife

I know there's so many religions and beliefs, but personally I believe that the afterlife (world) is exist and there's angel(s)

Ch 3 Returning back to make amends

One of the most important moment in the story is when title drop happen, right! So does this fic, with one sentence that I like to pointing out regarding the whole story as following:

Also your death too, why did you forget? Probably with you returning to the past, there's gonna be canon divergences that even make people not as what you know in the past.. Who knows? -> there's so many examples of time-fix fic, but for much needed plot points that involve huge spoilers - some characters aren't like what they're depicted in the canon (espc as reviving the past, the 'introduction' meetings bound to be different) but doesn't make them OOC dw

Ch 4 Breakfast Affair at the Plaid Palace

I am really sorry for the ping but I want to credit you again for helping me making divergence of Frederick's confrontation at the Breakfast of Episode 16 @alexandersimpleton!

Ch 4 is the first huge dread of me to officially making canon divergence but overall I feel I am doing pretty job over it!

Ch 5 How does it feel to be cursed?

Ch 5 basically make full interpretation that Frederick read ALL of Fairy Tales possible including the ones that come from Eastern - whole new side of the world that not really ever mentioned in the CPC that making major kingdoms as whole in continent, while we know the existence of the Braided Island that unknow exactly = other side's world

So far he's handling the curse pretty well in my book- Since he's reading the tales that he knows to know if his curse is in one of them

That's HC scenario that I really love to happen if Frederick is literally cursed, what he'll do for the first time? Read books

Ch 6 Long Road Journey

hmm not so much to say as honestly that chapter is 'ugh, I need to write that no matter what for sake of the future' BUT the scene where Lance dragging Frederick out is like this;

Ch 7 SHATTERED

Ch 8 Midnight Snacks

The perks of Canon Divergences Time Travelling AU is we could explore characters early, even for the characters that in canon not yet introduced (example in that ch, Renée) if see the canon timeline - and in the fanfic you could fleshing out their character as well, Renee being an artist that keen on details IMHO not that far fetched because we've seen how she could draws a frog with stitched mouth well for Aurelia

Ch 9 Blondies’ Wariness

My inspiration of that chapter is from CPC meme of this:

https://www.tumblr.com/the-neighbors-kid/707946794118692864/a-jokey-cpc-blonde-people-alignment-chart-i-have?source=share i

@the-neighbors-kidsorry for ping but really appreciate the meme as it's even give me reference for the story!!

Ch 10 Fairy Tale Ingredients

Based on my own CPC theory analysis as following : https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/712232201376432128/curses-and-cures-magics-and-science?source=share

Ch 11 My Curse and Tales that Related to It

https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/734969016718901248/chapter-11-review-ras-the-cpc-fanfic?source=share

Ch 12 Green Eyed Ezzy

Credit again for Isaac @the-giggling-guava that helps me a lot to fleshing out the Princels as the whole, I really love how it's done but I am surprised myself over that ch is 8k hahaha

Basically that ch is the one that hurting me so far in term of heart, mental and overall self - and I am channeling my own hurts to make that much needed Princels intro as reality

Chokehold inspirations for making that chapter :

IHF's (@cpcposting) fanart of Frederick with black hair dye

IHF's fanfic that making Isolde has a brother, and a band - but instead 'uncle' for Plaid Princes has blue hair and grey eyes, I want to make him a symbol of 'union of Plaid Princes but GOOD (as the evil is OFC Leland)' by making him has great talent over music (Blaine), grey hair (Lance) and green eyes (Frederick, still mystery where he got 'em)

https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ8K6udN3VI/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

"Please, don't ever like me.. If you like me, there's only heartbreak in the future as the true nature of my curse is unknown - never mind how to break it. You should hate me instead, I am the sole reason your perspective is shattered. I am indeed the monster. You shouldn't in near proximity to a dangerous monster, it will rips you apart as already done with your self-worth..." - Frederick, chapter 11th

Personal shout outs to @meritre24601that reinforcing me that speech very in character of Frederick.. and I remember @saemi-the-dreamertheory about the symbolisms !!

https://vxtwitter.com/risdelusions/status/1729762922547540196?s=20 + https://fxtwitter.com/marinaapbch/status/1730323802175779016 Fred's mind : And all alone again - it will fine, as long as the loved ones (Gwen) will be safe, she has CPC now

+ I love Checkov's guns, which the books that the Princels gifting to their guests... might become important later on ;)

Overall I am making up all the titles, EXCEPT Syrah's one

I will do reblogs from this point forward for the incoming chapters, is also to help me get better in organizing ^^

C'mon me from the future self, YOU CAN DO IT I BELIEVE IT

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tag @autumnwoodsdreamer 💜

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

47

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

118,647

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Prospect. I used to write for The Last of Us but alas, the rot has shifted

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Uncle Joel

Safe

Home

Tell Her

Tacos

These are all short little one shots for tlou

5. Do you respond to comments?

I really try to but I think the honest answer is no 😭 every once in a while I go on a bender and respond to like 50 comments but I get so anxious responding because I'm like hiii thank you 🧍‍♀️ the best way to talk to me is on here tbh but please please don't stop leaving me comments I love them with my entire soul

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Joel. It's a death fic, but honestly it's not very good lol I have a death fic for Prospect that is mostly written that's gonna be wayy angstier, I just have to finish it

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

To see myself reflected in your eyes 💜 Cee and Ezra deserve to live a happy life thanks

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't, I've been lucky. People have been super supportive and so so nice on my fics (I love you all).

tbh I don't think my writing is popular enough to get hate lol.

9. Do you write smut?

No

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have written so many crossover fics that will never ever see the light of day lol I do not have any on ao3

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of (again I don't think my writing is popular enough for either of these things to happen haha)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Tumblr user tlouobsessed and I cowrote a fic (sobbed in our dms together). I took all the ideas we had talked about and wrote a little ficlet from them and I consider that cowriting

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh, how to answer that. Willow and Tara (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) were my original OTP, I shipped them before I knew what shipping was. Nomi and Amanita (Sense8), couple of all time. There are more but I think those are my top two.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

No Light 😭 I have ideas but no rot left. Maybe season 2 will reignite it, but I just don't know. Also, Stolen Future, the Prospect death fic I mentioned earlier. Idk why but I'm having so much trouble just finishing it. I do hope to actually finish that one day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I can write some good dialogue and fight scenes sometimes

I think I do a good job with storytelling sometimes? Combining different threads across a story to bring it all together. I'm thinking of how the present and flashbacks interact in By Midnight Time and something from Stolen Future

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I cannot describe things to save my life. All of my fics happen in empty white rooms good luck I hope your imagination fills everything in. It's such a fundamental aspect of writing that I am so so bad at lol I'm trying to learn from my friends and reading published books but it's hard!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Prev also said this but I agree, italicize other languages. Otherwise, go for it, but do your research if you don't speak the language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer back when I was a teenager. Didn't know what fanfic was, but my sister and I had a LOT of feelings about Buffy and we had to express them somewhere so we wrote our stories.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

By Midnight Time. Now I just need to freaking finish it 😉

Although I'm also very very fond of Blood of the Covenant and Water of the Womb, a one-shot told from both Ezra's and Cee's pov

Absolutely no pressure tags: @orangechickenpillow @blooming-gwens @dilf-din @ellies-little-gun @ellies-enrichment @outer-edges @steeb-stn @wicked--loving--lies

[therealvinelle]

Since you hated the angels in SPN (i can't disagree with you about how they butchered them for people who are religious)

What do you think of good omens if you read/watched it?

I've both read and watched it!

I think it's a very good book and a very good adaptation, though I prefer the book and don't plan on seeing the upcoming season of the show.

At the risk of ruffling feathers, I think the best parts of the book came from Pratchett, I really like Gaiman's work (Having read American Gods, Coraline, and one of his short story collections) but... the two authors have different strengths, I think I'll say, and Good Omens played more on Pratchett's strengths than Gaiman's.

Mainly, with Gaiman, my issue is that while he comes up with very good concepts and has the prose to back his ideas up, he can't really carry a plot through to a satisfying end. His short stories are great because it doesn't become a problem, his attempt to write full length stories tend to suffer.

That being said, reading Good Omens you get the idea the authors wrote it to have fun and mess around with nifty characters and "hehe well what if 'his number shall be' was actually referring to a phone number!". Power to them, I'm guilty of the same when I cowrite with @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin, but the thing that strikes me about Good Omens is that there's a lot that... doesn't actually need to be in the book.

Let's say that we take out Shadwell, Madame Tracy, Anathema, and Newt Pulcifer.

How does this change things?

We lose out on a lot of the fun interactions that make Good Omens what it is, but the story wouldn't actually change at all. Perhaps they don't have to, I rather enjoy that Aziraphale and Crowley risked everything to prevent the Apocalypse, the novel is about an angel and a demon preventing the Apocalypse, only for them to not matter at all as Adam makes the decision on his own: but rather than ending the book on a punchline as the entire cast just sort of stands around awkwardly wondering if they can congratulate themselves when they uh haven't done anything, there's instead the soaring music of "They did it!"

"Uh, what did they do?"

"Something, I'm sure!"

Very Good Omens of them, but there's a strange dissonance where it seems we really are meant to think they did something.

Adam too is an odd character, in that he has been the unknowing God of his little world who is strongly implied to have created The Them (quite literally, given how his power seems to work). He is a facsimile of a human, one who seems to very much want a perfect human life and is capable of creating this for himself, but in doing so becomes so artificial that the weather reports give Newt the creeps.

And yet we don't... do anything with him. He's too humanised to come across as what I described above, but not human enough for me to not see him the way I do. He's just sort of there.

So yes, I have complaints about Good Omens, but overall it truly is a delightful book, just one where I would have chosen differently from the authors at many points.

[pop-punklouis]

ok here we go. some of my 5 star books from the last year or two 🫶🏽

A PLACE FOR US; fatima farheen mirza || contemporary literary fiction. exploration of family dynamics and faith. cannot recommend it enough if u enjoy either of those things in media. it’s one of my favorite books of all time but i do feel a responsibility to say only read it when u have time to sit and cope with it for a while. it WILL leave u a husk of a person! (if u read this and dislike it, you Must lie to me)

TRANSCENDENT KINGDOM; yaa gyasi || contemporary literary fiction. mommy AND daddy issues, dead sibling, arduous relationship with faith, a fair dose of the immigrant experience. not as taxing as the previous rec but definitely still an emotionally heavy read. i need to read it again soon actually i think it’s so stunningly written

BURNT SUGAR; avni doshi || contemporary literary fiction. what can i say about this book. what emotion didnt it make me feel. just the epigraph alone was enough to make me want to drown myself in a vat of acid. the cyclical relationship between mothers and daughters is so fucking sickening and the way it's depicted in this book... my god. i was so miserable reading it and i wouldn’t recommend it anyone who has mommy issues and hasn’t learned how to deal with them. if you dont have mommy issues... you might have them after reading this book who knows. but it’s still 10/10 from me

NINTH HOUSE; leigh bardugo || dark academia, fantasy. loser girl of all time who can see the dead is put in charge of keeping secret societies at yale university in check. a random girl gets murdered and all signs point to one of the societies being responsible. book 3 isnt out yet but it’s sooo yummy u will adore alex she’s my best friend (also has a sexy generationally wealthy white boy. i want to eat him)

THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS; micah nemerever || dark academia, thriller. definitely one of the crazier books i’ve ever read. batshit insane. two boys develop a delicious friendship that devolves into the worst kind of codependency and results in them murdering someone to make sure they can’t ever replace each other in their lives. gay people can do anything except be normal.

GIOVANNI’S ROOM; james baldwin || classic literary fiction. i don’t think i need to say anything about this. it’s about realizing you don’t know u have a home until you leave it and once you’ve left you can’t ever go home. it’s about isolation—self-inflicted and otherwise. it’s just… everything. everyone should read it. everyone!

HAPPY PLACE; emily henry || contemporary romance. exes who pretend to still be together at their friend group’s annual vacation. i’m not typically a romance novel girl and not everything i’ve read of henry’s has done it for me but this one… i was giggling and twirling my hair. getting flustered and having to take a moment to collect myself. it’s so so good. i do believe it’s miss henry’s best work

THE ROUGHEST DRAFT; austin siegemund-broka & emily wibberley || contemporary romance. cowritten by a married couple about a cowriting duo that hasn’t written together in years. they haven’t spoken since but they’re contractually obligated to put out one more book together. didn’t make me giggle like happy place but i really enjoyed it

seed i love you so very much HELLO!!!! thank you. I've already written all of these down. i cannot wait to dive into their pages.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Solicit and variant covers for sw6 are out on marvel.com and aipt. Amaranth is suggested to have “auspicious parentage” which makes me think she’s a stealth legacy character (even if it’s just some magician who hasn’t appeared since the 70s). I guess she is kind of a legacy character of Wanda already; could be a reverse of Billy’s situation (initial a sort of Thor legacy before being revealed as Wanda’s son)

Maybe she’s a Maximoff relative, since they are a magical dynasty of sorts now? Or related to them from the other side of the family (unknown dad who killed Natalya)

Just posted the covers and solicit blurb!

Here's the full quote from Orlando:

“Ever since she debuted in Jen Bartel’s gorgeous variant cover, I’ve been intrigued by Amaranth. Who was she? What was her story–no, her mystery? So, when the chance came to bring her into SCARLET WITCH and explore those questions with the rest of the creative team, I leapt. Bringing Amaranth through the Last Door gives us a chance to upend Wanda’s dynamic with a scenario where Wanda’s faced with a powerful, mysterious being she struggles to figure out–an inverse of her own dynamic earlier in her life. Amaranth’s unique gifts hint towards an auspicious parentage and impressive power, but her life has been tinged with tragedy. There might be no one in the Marvel Universe that can help her, but if there was one–it would be the Scarlet Witch.”

I like all of your ideas a lot! Orlando certainly loves to make deep cuts-- maybe she'll turn out to be Mantor's long-lost daughter. Speaking off, do we think Mantor's coming back? So far, Scarlet Witch doesn't seem like the sort of book to permanently kill someone off like that, but then, Mantor isn't exactly a character that editorial needs to keep around. But I also thought of Agatha herself-- she's got a pretty large extended family, going back at least as far as the Salem witch trials, and not all of them made it to the New Salem enclave.

Reading this quote, my mind immediately went to the witch lineage concept that was introduced in Scarlet Witch (2016). Like I said, I think this storyline would be a really good opportunity to expand on some of Robinson's worldbuilding, which Orlando's already been referencing. Introducing a Maximoff cousin would be really exciting, but I have a lot of anxiety about a non-Romani writer exploring their family history, especially as it pertains to witchcraft. It's something I want to see, but I want him bring a consultant or cowriter on board.

But what I'm really interested in is how Orlando compare's Amaranth's situation to, presumably, Wanda's experiences with Chthon. Giving her the opportunity to guide or protect someone who's going through something similar could be a really great character moment.

[illusion-of-death]

🍓 and 🛼 and 🥤!

(Ask game here)

🍓: How did you get into writing fanfiction?

A couple of different ways, I guess? Looking back, I definitely wrote fanfic WAY before I had any idea what that was (like my own sequels to books we read in elementary school, for example). I never started considering actually posting anything until a friend suggested we cowrite something together, which we did, and then I didn’t do much of anything else again until a few years after that when my bestie @ofstormsandfire pitched a SUPER cool fic idea to me and I impulsively asked if I could get involved. And I’m so, so glad I did. And now I cannot be stopped.

🛼: Describe your latest WIP with five emojis.

🤖🤡⚔️👻🏰 <- this looks WAY more unhinged than the fic actually is I swear

🥤: Recommend an author or fanfic you love.

So aforementioned bestie wrote this really neat fic called no one ever mentions fear, which is a very large part of the reason I got as invested in Breath of the Wild as I am. This story’s so much fun.

Thanks for asking!