#wow i read almost no nonfiction this year and the ones i did read i honestly didn't love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

krabjoons · 4 years ago

Text

book it [knj]

⮕ summary: back to school shopping. two people. one book. what could go wrong? a lot of things, actually. but then again, some things could also go right.

⮕ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

⮕ genre: fluff, crack, angst, bookstore!au, college!au, a condensed version of enemies to lovers

⮕ word count: 3.9k

⮕ rating: pg-13

⮕ warnings: mild cursing, the slightest references to what happens at a frat party

⮕ a/n: okay first things first, aAAAHHHH dynamite came out! and it’s an absolute bop (and record breaker)! so i decided to post my very first piece of writing in celebration. and also, because it’s that time of year again, you know, back to school season (yay? idk), i decided to use that as the theme to this drabble. hope you guys enjoy! :-D

p.s. if you wanna talk to bookstore!namjoon or bookstore!y/n, feel free to do so here!

okay so

maybe it wasn’t exactly the best idea you’ve had to go back to school shopping literally ONE week before school starts

you can’t help it! you’ve just naturally been a procrastinator. there’s nothing you can do about it

well, there actually are lots of things you can do about it, but you’ll get to it later (haha, get it?)

anYWAYS

you’ve finished all of your supply shopping and almost all of your book shopping

keyword being almost

you would’ve got everything except barnes and noble didn’t have one of your textbooks

hoW?!?! isn’t barnes and noble a giant bookstore retail chain? how can they have literally every book you can think of exCEPT the very one you need?!?!

and you’ve gone to other bookstores too but they don’t have your book either

today is just not your day

so you’ve decided to take a look at one more place before you have to turn to the online edition of your textbook

which really isn’t ideal because after two minutes you’ll probably “accidentally” end up scrolling endlessly through your instagram feed

so in short, if you want to pass this course, you really, really need this textbook. like, a lot

you pull up to a cute little bookstore, nestled in between a starbucks and a barber shop

Pied Piper Books, it reads. cute.

you push the door open and are immediately welcomed with the smell of warm vanilla. bells on top of the door jingle to alert the (cute) guy at the front desk to your presence

“hi! welcome to pied piper books. i’m jimin, how can i help you today?” he asks with a grin, eyes shifting into happy crescents

“hey, i’m y/n. i was looking for a psychology textbook. um, this one?” you say, holding out your phone to show him the title of the book on your phone

he squints at the screen before nodding eagerly

“oh yeah! there’s a whole rack of psychology textbooks in the back,” jimin exclaims, “you should be able to find it there”

you thank him profusely before strolling to the back of the bookstore, taking in everything around you. there are books of all kinds: nonfiction, historical fiction, fantasy, sci-fi, and more! it’s incredible how this cozy little bookstore has enough variety of books to rival the last barnes and noble you went to

“ah! here it is!” you exclaim when you finally see your textbook in the middle of the shelf

what luck! it’s the last one there, too. you reach your hand out to grab it when, suddenly, another hand bumps into yours

“oh, shoot, sorry!” you hear a smooth, low voice say

you turn to look at who the owner of the voice is and you have to physically concentrate on keeping your jaw from hitting the floor

in front of you is one of the most attractive men you have ever seen in your life

actually, scratch that

in front of you is possibly the most attractive man you have ever seen in your life

he's got honey colored skin and black hair. his burnt umber colored eyes twinkle with the lights of the bookstore. his lips, very plump (and kissable), are forming into a smile

he's smiling at you!

wait- why does that smile look kind of weird?

now that you're getting back to your senses, you realize he's giving you one of those tight-lipped smiles, not a genuine one. and his hand is slowly tightening on the book you have your hands on as well

"um," you're not sure how to phrase this because:

1) there's a vERY handsome guy nearly holding your hand

2) said guy isn't looking very fondly upon you right now

3) he's trying to take the boOK YOU'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR ALL DAY

so as much as you would like this hunk to see you in a positive light, you would like to pass your psych course a lot more

"i, uh, i really need this book. like, a lot. for a course? that i need to pass. yeah. so this book is gonna help me pass. and i need it. a lot. yup," you blabber

what? it's not your fault this (very attractive) guy is making you all flustered

he nods slowly and smirks, making heat rush to your cheeks

"that sounds really fun," he drawls. "but i need this book too. i mean, isn't it fascinating how the human mind works? i'd love to read this book, especially once i get out of class."

is he being serious right now? he's got to be kidding… right? no sane human being just reads a textbook for fun

"oh, yeah. very funny. but out of all the other textbooks here, why choose this one?" you say, rolling your eyes, attempting to yank the book to your chest

unfortunately, you're not as strong as you hoped because Textbook Boy didn't seem to budge at all

that's when you see his arms

long story short, they're very attractive. and his hands, too. are those rings you see? um, is it getting hot in here?

gulping, you add on, "plus, what kind of lame person chooses to read a textbook instead of, i don't know, an actual book?" keeping your eyes trained on his hands holding the book, inches aways from yours

he chuckles. "wow," he remarks as you finally look into his eyes, "do you not know what sarcasm is? of course i'd rather read something carl jung has written over whatever pearson has published here. i need this for my psychology class too, sherlock," he shakes the book that the two of you are holding

did he just insult you? of cOURSE you know what sarcasm is. you're the queen of sarcasm. novices tremble in your wake. who does this guy think he is?

"well, i'm not going to just give up this textbook. i spent all day looking for it! can't you just go somewhere else?" you groan out, running your free hand through your hair in frustration. you miss the way that his face softens for a second before returning back to its original determined appearance

"sorry, but as much as you need this textbook, i do too. i have class next week and-" he begins before you cut him off

"wait, do you go to seoul national university?" you ask, to which he nods uneasily. if he ends up wrenching the textbook out of your hands sometime later today (because it doesn't look like you're going to let go of it anytime soon with the death grip you've got on it right now), you're not going to follow him back to his dorm and kill him just to get a textbook, are you?

he didn't think you were mental upon first glance, but now he's starting to change his mind. maybe going on another long search in other stores for the textbook (that he'll probably have to end up purchasing online anyway) is worth it if he comes out alive at the end of the school year

"oh, cool! i go there too. so do you have professor lee for psych, then? i have him. i'm so glad he didn't give us summer work. like other professors i have assigned so much stuff for us to do. i'm happy that-" you start rambling again, making the guy smile and shake his head

"yeah, i have professor lee. and i also need this book," he lamely tugs at it again. you pout and are about to say something when someone interrupts him

"well, well, well. what do we have here?" jimin saunters over, taking note of Textbook Boy and you. specifically your guys' hands and how close together they are

“i came over because i thought i heard some yelling. but you two look, um, busy right now. glad to see you resolved any issues,” he teases after seeing the two of your flushed faces

“no, jimin, we actually do have a problem-” Textbook Boy begins before getting cut off by jimin

"you know namjoon, when you asked me for a book, i didn't know you were also meeting your lady friend here,” jimin interjects, wiggling his eyebrows at you teasingly, making you even more embarrassed than before

so his name is namjoon

wait, as in kim namjoon?!

like THE kim namjoon?!?!?!

you’ve heard a lot about him before but never seen him in person yet. (what? is it really that bad of a thing that you prefer binge-watching netflix over social interaction?)

he’s one of the most popular guys on SNU’s campus. the guy that everyone swoons over, boys and girls alike. beauty, brains, and brawns, kim namjoon’s got it all. the perfect friend group, the perfect wardrobe, the perfect life. he’s got everything

well, almost everything. just not this textbook, and you’ll be darned if you go down without a fight

“okay, wait. there’s been a misunderstanding. i’m not his lady friend. i need this textbook for my psych class. like right now,” you explain

so let’s think

if you just yank the book out of namjoon’s hands, run through the aisle and dodge jimin (who might side with namjoon because you’ve heard they’re in the same frat), the book could be yours. if you’re lucky, you can run up to the front desk and see if anyone else is there so you can pay and leave before namjoon and jimin catch up to you

taking in a deep breath, you decide to bring your plan into fruition

namjoon's talking right now: "jimin, you know how much i need this book, man. come on, man. i mean, we're bros. who helped you pass midterms last year? me, right?"

great, now's your chance!

you yank the book to your chest and start to run, when all of a sudden-

"hey, wha- oOF!" namjoon exclaims as you try to run away from him, suddenly tightening his grip on the book, but it's too late. the tug you gave on it sends him flying into you

“what the- OW!” the two of you begin to drop to the ground. bracing yourself for the fall, you close your eyes in anticipation and land with a thud, book clutched to your chest, and back on the ground. not the most comfortable fall, but definitely better than face planting

when you open your eyes, you nearly shriek

positioned right above you, staring into your eyes with a dazed look, is namjoon

you’re under him. like, not even in a frat party or anything! in the middle of a bookstore out of all places!

eyes widening, you push him off of you, quickly scrambling away and look at jimin sheepishly, who watched the whole ordeal go down. if you were embarrassed at being caught holding the same book, you’re downright mortified right now and ready to crawl into the nearest hole

“okAY! so uh, i’ll leave you two to whatever it is you guys are doing. uh, but just hold in all your desires till you guys get home. this is a public space, after all.” jimin teases, eyebrows raised and inching slowly to the front desk where he wouldn’t have to see whatever the two of you would do next

it’s strange, jimin thinks to himself. namjoon’s never mentioned a girl to their frat before, but here he is, cozying up to y/n. weird. he shakes his head with a soft smile and continues on his way

oh no

so now you’re back to square one

alone with namjoon

and the textbook

did you forget to mention that you’re alone with namjoon?

it was much easier when you didn’t know who he was and could talk smack in front of him, but now? now you’re a lot more nervous

because you fought with THE kim namjoon over a textbook. SNU’s kim namjoon. and then you essentially pulled him on top of you in front of his friend. and on top of that, you still haven��t got your book yet

who knows? if jimin and namjoon are friends that could mean namjoon gets a preference, and thus, the textbook. they could make fun of you afterwards and you’d be forever known as the lunatic who tried to seduce namjoon to get a textbook. ouch. not a pretty picture.

for the first time, things are starting to look bleak

“uh, so we can totally pretend that didn’t happen. no worries,” namjoon chuckles, scratching the back of his neck in a combination of nervousness, embarrassment, and shyness. you can now see his dimples, which means he’s probably giving you a genuine smile, but you still can’t help but feel bad

tucking your knees into your chest and placing your chin on top of them, you whisper out, “i’m sorry.”

you squeeze your eyes shut and continue, “i really shouldn’t have done that. i didn’t mean to make you fall. like i just- i’ve been looking for this book everywhere, you know? and when i just found it, i guess i got way too excited. by the way, i didn’t mean to offend you with whatever i said. it’s just, you know that i have a tendency to- “

“ramble, i know. really, y/n you’re fine. i get it. i’ve been freaking out over this book too,” namjoon consoles you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

you nod weakly

“hey,” he continues, “how about this? we share the book instead. we anyway both have professor lee, so this method could be easier, you know? plus, we can share notes too.”

regaining your senses, you snort, “no offense joon, but i barely know you. it’s cool if we share things, but let’s start small and just share class. i don’t know how much of you i can tolerate.”

you meant for that to be a joke. can he tell? oh god, that was not good timing. you were literally having a breakdown a couple minutes ago. does namjoon have the same sense of humor as you? does he even have a sense of humor?

“for your information, yes i do have a sense of humor. you were thinking out loud by the way,” namjoon mentions dryly when you look at him in confusion. “and ‘joon’? we’re making nicknames for each other already, baby? i thought we’d wait till at least the second date. are we counting this one as our first?” okay, so now he’s pulling your leg

wait, kind of literally

his hand (the one that was around your shoulders at first) is now resting at his side. and because the two of you are sitting against a bookshelf next to each other, it’s now slightly brushing against your thigh

you stare in shock. THE kim namjoon touching you??!?! not sure if this is a blessing or a curse

“oh shit, sorry. my bad,” he finally notices after following your line of vision after seeing you gape at your legs.

great, now you’re going to think that he’s a creep! just because he’s popular on campus and in a frat doesn’t mean he likes to spend his free time feeling up girls

plus, he wants to make a good impression on you, as crazy as it sounds. he’s heard about you before, and you’re one of the smartest people on campus, staying holed up in your dorm to study rather than go to a party

(he doesn’t know about your crippling netflix addiction that you disguise immaculately. no one does, thankfully)

plus, you’re pretty and, although he would never admit it to your face, funny

anYWAYS

so what if he has a teeny-weensy crush on you? it’s not even that big of one. it’s so tiny. the smallest. not even there

yup

namjoon doesn’t have a crush on you

spoiler alert: he’s wrong about that

and you definitely don’t have a crush on him either

spoiler alert: he’s wrong about that too

so the reason why his heart skips a beat whenever you make eye contact with him is definitely a coincidence and not because he has a crush on you

right?

spoiler alert, again: wrong

he clears his throat, “sorry, you can have the book. i’ll just buy it online, i guess”

you pout and start to argue because you still feel a bit guilty, but he stands up and offers you a hand, which you look at hesitantly but still take

“you’re not gonna like, pull a WWE superstar move on me are you?” you joke

“who says i won’t?” he smirks at you, while pulling you up closer toward him

the sound of footsteps round the corner, probably jimin, and the two of you break apart before anyone can catch the two of you in another compromising position

an excited voice exclaims, “goOD NEW GUYS! i found an extra copy in the back! wow, i mean, that’s SUCH a coincidence! what great news!” jimin waves a textbook in his hands with a big grin on his face. a little too big of a grin, if you’re being honest

“i DEFINITELY didn’t know that we have extra copies in the back at all times! wow! isn’t this awesome?” he continues

is he JOKING?!??! you know you did NOT just spend this much time fighting for a book you could have had the entire time. and you definitely know that you did not spend a solid fraction of it embarrassing yourself in front of kim namjoon

speaking of namjoon

he doesn’t look so happy with jimin either. his jaw is now clenched and arms are crossed intimidatingly. he glowers at his friend and raises an eyebrow.

wait… that’s kind of hot. if you’re being honest, it’s really hot

"jimin, you're shit at lying, you know?” he says, “what was the real reason you didn’t give us the extra copy ahead of time?”

should jimin tell you guys the truth? well, a part of it wouldn’t hurt. he can already tell the two of you like each other based on your body language and thought leaving the two of you alone would help you two get even closer

he laughs, “no i literally forgot for like the entire beginning of your little argument and then i thought it would be fun to see how it pans out.” the smile on his face turns to a slight grimace as he sees the two of your unamused faces

you turn to namjoon, wondering if he’s thinking of getting “revenge” on jimin like you are. still keeping his eyes trained on jimin, he nods imperceptibly as if the two of you had communicated telepathically

“well, jimin, you did get us to agree. unfortunately, it’s not about the thing you want.” you say in what you hope is an intimidating manner. thankfully, namjoon adds more oomph to your words by cracking his knuckles

“okay, great! while you do that, i’m going to be at the front desk, ready to ring you guys up. you know, actually doing my job? have fun, you two! try to come up with something original and scary if you’re getting your so-called ‘revenge’, won’t you?” jimin grins and ambles off

oh my god, why is he so carefree? it’s lowkey frustrating

when the two of you are alone once again, namjoon turns to you, a question at the tip of his tongue

“so are we gonna beat his ass or what?”

you shake your head and furrow your eyebrows (namjoon finds it endearing that you’re serious about teaching jimin a lesson but he’ll never tell you)

“no, we have to think something out and be clever about it. plus, physical violence isn’t exactly my forte.”

“that’s fine,” namjoon replies, checking the time on his watch. “but it’s getting kind of late right now and i have to get some stuff ready for my frat.” seeing your face fall he adds, “let’s meet up sometime soon though, okay? how about we meet up at the starbucks next door later?”

is this his way of asking you out on a date? you’re kind of in shock at the idea

nonono, don’t overthink it y/n, it’s a casual meetup. casual.

namjoon doesn’t like you! you don’t like him… that much

it’s fine!

“oh! can i have your number then? it’ll be easier for us to communicate,” he adds on, feeling slightly nervous. which is kind of weird because pretty much all other girls on campus would flip their shit if he asked that and say yes without hesitating. but then again, they also don’t accidentally pull him on top of them in the back of a bookstore

who knows? you could say no

“sure,” you stammer out, still in surprise. namjoon hands you his phone to fill out your contact information and you save your name as “y/n :-D”

he lets out a little chuckle at that, simply saying, “cute,” and you swear you can hear your heart combust

the two of you head to the checkout counter, where jimin smiles knowingly at you two

“i’ll be expecting something extraordinary from you nerds,” he teases, to which the two of you roll your eyes

“i’ll catch you later, okay?” you tell namjoon while heading out the door, to which he nods with a dimpled smile. “and thanks for nothing jimin!” you call out, waving at him sarcastically

“you got the book in the end so be grateful!” jimin yells back

before the door completely closes, you hear namjoon threaten jimin, “once we get back to the house, i’m going to beat your ass for real,” to which jimin responds lazily with “sure, but you’ll be thanking me when the two of you start dating.”

you bite your lip to stop laughing. when you open your car door and look down when you see that someone has texted you

from unknown number: well today was certainly interesting… does meeting next week at 3 work for u?

from unknown number: shoot, sorry i forgot to say my name lol. this is namjoon btw

smiling down at your phone, you type back a response

to namjoon: sure! sounds great! c u then :)

you jump in surprise when you hear a noise come from inside the bookstore which seems to be jimin’s voice

“DUDE LOOK, SHE SAID YES!!! SHE’S TOTALLY INTO YOU!”

wow, he’s surprisingly loud. and accurate, too? are you that obvious about your crushes?

“NOW’S YOUR CHANCE, ASK HER IF THIS IS AN OFFICIAL DATE!”

well, it could be your chance too

smirking, you quickly type back a response before namjoon can say anything

you hope you said the right thing

to namjoon: it can be an official date if you want it to be one ;) i know i’d like it that way

setting your phone down, you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding and get into your car

slowly pulling out of the parking lot, you sneak a quick glance into the window of the bookstore and see namjoon staring at his phone in shock with an open mouth and jimin standing next to him, eagerly looking at the screen

jimin catches your eye through the window and winks at you with a smile

okay

so did you say the right thing? fingers crossed you did

your phone buzzes again, indicating someone has texted you (hopefully it’s namjoon)

a big smile breaks out on your face once you pick up your phone

from namjoon: i like the way u think ;)

from namjoon: so it’s on then? an ACTUAL date next week at 3? we can decide on how we’re gonna mess with jimin later lmao

yeah

you definitely said the right thing

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qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

Note

hello! it’s youngin anon once more in your inbox, i hope you’re staying safe rn! since quarantine has put a lot of free time in my hands all of a sudden, I’ve been reading more. so I was wondering if you have suggestions for books on medieval history (in general or ones good for beginners) I would also be open to any book recommendations in general. Hope you have a lovely day (or as lovely as they can get during quarantine) :D

My dear, please know that I am delighted to see you back and I hope that you are likewise taking care of yourself. I am... here, at any rate, though my mental health has really taken a beating recently and real life has been kicking my ass more than usual the last two weeks. So that’s that, but never mind. You are sweet to ask.

Anyway, as far as medieval history books go, I am (ironically!) not the best person to ask for recommendations, because I read almost nothing that is popular history, beginner level, or otherwise at all interesting to the average layman and/or woman. All my reading material on this subject is academic in nature, dense, highly footnoted and while you can take a hack at it, I have a feeling that it would quickly defeat the purpose. Chris Wickham’s Medieval Europe, published in 2016, was the core book for first-year undergraduates in my history survey courses a couple years ago; he is a decent writer as far as academics go, and it will give you a broad-picture sweep. I read it differently from how you will, but there’s that.

If you would like things that will actually entertain you during lockdown, here’s a list of the things that I have recently been reading, rereading, or otherwise had stacked on my bedside table for an inordinately long amount of time:

YA:

The Mediator (6-book series) by Meg Cabot, a blast from my teenage past that I was struck with an urge to revisit, don’t judge me, we need coping mechanisms. Teenage girl who can talk to ghosts moves to CA, meets hot boy ghost, tries to survive high school. There is also Remembrance, published in 2016, which is a book in that same universe for adults.

The Wrath and the Dawn by Renee Ahdieh, a retelling of Scheherazade from the Thousand and One Nights that I have not actually read yet. But mean to, since I really enjoy the webcomic based on it.

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, she has many highly regarded YA novels and I very much enjoyed her Ninth House.

The Amulet of Samarkand, The Golem’s Eye, Ptolemy’s Gate, aka the Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud, another blast from my teenage past that I recently reread and was like “wow this explains so much about how I turned out.”

Fiction:

Crazy Rich Asians, China Rich Girlfriend, Rich People Problems by Kevin Kwan, a trilogy of soapy escapist high-society romcom novels set among the ultra-rich of Singapore and Asia (you may have seen the movie based on the first book).

The City of Brass, The Kingdom of Copper by S.A. Chakraborty, a trilogy based in a rich Middle Eastern fantasy world. The third book, The Empire of Gold, comes out I think at the end of June, which I am looking forward to.

Rodham by Curtis Sittenfeld, I have not actually read this as it is not yet released (also June I think) but it is a fictional version of Hillary Rodham Clinton’s life as imagined if she didn’t marry Bill and did become president. I have read American Wife by Sittenfeld, which is based on a fictional Laura Bush’s life, and enjoyed it.

Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston, speaking of fictional presidents, but do yourself a favor and read this if you haven’t already. The First Son of the United States falls in love with the Prince of England. So many shenanigans and Feelings abound. It reads like a fanfic. It’s great. I adore this book with my whole soul.

Reamde by Neal Stephenson. A giant, sprawling, techno-thriller/global crime caper/terrorist manhunt. I just finished rereading this book and I still find it to be one of my longtime favorites. If you attempt it, just settle down and accept that you’re in for a long and madcap ride. One of his other recent books that I very much enjoyed is The Rise and Fall of DODO, with Nicole Galland, which is about the triumphs and travails of a time travel organization secretly working for the US government.

Nonfiction:

Catch and Kill by Ronan Farrow, the true-life story of the investigation that ultimately brought down Harvey Weinstein and other major sexual predators. So you know, a light and fun read. But important.

The Spy and the Traitor by Ben MacIntyre, Cold War intrigue that tells the story of senior KGB agent and double agent for MI6 Oleg Gordievsky.

Thunderstruck by Erik Larson, the story of a famous 19th-century murderer and manhunt intertwined with the invention of wireless technology; Larson is known for his excellent narrative nonfiction so you can’t really go wrong with any of his books.

Due to the plague, I have been furloughed from my part-time job at my local bookstore, which has put a terrible crimp in my habit of acquiring stacks of new books at ill-advised speed. But hopefully some of that looks interesting, and I hope you enjoy!

#book recs #anonymous #ask

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

Text

Survey #287

“keep him tied - it makes him well / he’s getting better, can’t you tell?”

What are you favorite things to watch on YouTube? I like a pretty big variety now. I’d say I’ve been mostly into pet YouTubers lately, especially reptile ones. Oh, and WoW stuff. Can you pick out any constellations in the sky without looking them up online? Besides the Little or Big Dipper (idk which is which), nope. Are you religious? If so, what influenced you to start believing God? If you’re not religious, what convinces you there is no God? I wouldn’t call myself religious, no. I do believe there’s some kind of ultimate power, but hell if I know what it is, and I don’t actually worship it. I don’t believe any “good” god would demand kissing its feet in order for you to end at peace, among a billion other reasons. I believe there is something though because the odds of life and everything is just… too perfect. Plus I believe in the paranormal, so to me, there is obviously something beyond the mortal form. Is there any animal out there that genuinely terrifies you? Is this an animal you’re worried about coming across in daily life? I am terrified of ticks and parasites in general. They’re fucking disgusting. Maggots will also make me scream. Oh, and then there’s whale sharks. In my daily life, I wouldn’t say there’s any that I actively worry about crossing paths with. When was the last time you wore make-up? Around Halloween when Summer, me, and another of her friends did a witch-themed photoshoot. It really fucking sucks that it was so dark by the time we were done that the pictures came out absolutely awful. You can’t see shit, and of course on camera, I look absolutely awful. Have you ever worn colored contacts? No, but I’m totally not opposed for a cool photoshoot. Have you seen any of the Disney re-makes (eg. Aladdin or The Lion King)? What do you think of them? I’ve seen a good number, and I really like them. I think The Jungle Book remake was the best of them. How long did it take you to pass your driving test once you started learning how to drive? Ha, I still haven’t tried. When was the last time you went out for a formal occasion or event? Do you remember what you wore? Uhhhh… I have zero clue. Well, does my last job interview count? I just wore black sweatpants and some kind of formal top. How often do you have the TV on? is it more background noise or are you actually watching things? Y’all know by now that I don’t watch TV. Do you like any songs by Elvis Presley? Well of course. “Devil In Disguise” is my favorite. Do you ever answer the phone to unknown numbers? Nope. Do you eat anything special for breakfast on Christmas Day? Nah. When you go to theme parks, what’s your favorite type of ride? I haven’t been to a theme park in beyond forever, so idk. Are you afraid of falling in love? Ohhhhh yes. Expecting something to change in the next month? No. e_e What is your biggest worry in life right now? That Mom’s cancer will come back. Well, it IS going to eventually flare somewhere else, but no one can estimate when. Could be tomorrow. Could be years. Do you give up easily? It depends. With a lot of things, honestly, yes, because I get upset with my incompetence. What are you listening to? "Going To Hell" by The Pretty Reckless just came on. Is anything bothering you right now? Always. Were you ever made fun of? Yes. Are you currently jealous? I’ve been having episodes of it. Do you find piercings attractive on the opposite sex? I find them attractive on almost all people. Who was the last person you yelled at? I don’t know. Probably Mom. What do you say a lot? “Mood,” “lmao,” “can’t relate,” “same,” “oof,” “yikes,” shit like that, haha. What is your favorite place you have traveled? Chicago. Do you like ice cream? Yeah, that’s my comfort food. Do you like bananas? Yeah, but I don’t dare to eat one if I haven’t had my heartburn medication, because otherwise I get it BADLY. Do you like Paramore? A handful of their songs, yeah. I don’t know a lot though, honestly. Do you plan on getting married? It’d be nice. Ever been given a promise ring? No. Sexual orientation? Bi. Who do you text the most? Definitely Sara. Do you still talk to the person who hurt you most in life? Why or why not? No, because he wants nothing to do with me. I don’t blame him. Have you ever given your number to a complete stranger? Um, no. Well, besides in like, job applications. What color is your keyboard? Black. Your mouse? Mostly black, but it does have this crackled pattern that can glow blue or red. Desktop or laptop? I prefer laptops for mobility’s sake. Do you like sweet tea? I hate tea. How much sugar do you put in your tea? ^ Have you ever called someone useless? Wow, no. Do you have a wood or glass dining room table? Wood. Do you tend to get attached easily? HOLY GOD OF FUCK, YES. Is Joe Jonas really hotter than Nick? I haven’t seen either in god knows how long, but I remember I thought Nick was very cute. Favorite flavor pudding? Chocolate is the only kind I’ve enjoyed. Not that I’ve tried a lot. What are three words used in your area/dialect that many other areas/dialects wouldn't be familiar with? Oh, there are most certainly some, but I can’t think of any right now. How do you feel when your partner is talking to an ex? This would depend on a lot of things. What is the most expensive gift you have ever given? Received? Given, I’m really unsure. I answer enough questions sharing that I don’t have my own source of income, so a lot of times, my mom lets me use her money, but there is obviously a ceiling to how much I can use. Received, definitely my Sager laptop Jason got me one year. Do children like you? I’m always surprised that kids seem to… I don’t know how the hell to interact with kids, but parents tend to tell me that they do like me. If you found your child's diary would you read it? What if you found the diary of one of your parents? Hell no would I read that shit. Both deserve privacy. Have you ever stalked or killed a wild animal? Fuck no. Name something you are now prepared to reveal about yourself that you weren't ready to talk about in the past? The state of my virginity. Name a talent someone has of which you are jealous: I am soooo envious of talented and actually successful photographers. What would you most likely complain about in a hotel? Probably if the bed sheets seemed dirty. Is it possible to be in love with more than one person at the same time? Probably. I’m monogamous though, so I really can’t say because I haven’t experienced this. Do you often feel pressured by others? Society, yes. Should couples live together before marriage? I feel that it’s the better decision, yes. You may not blend well actually sharing the same house. You learn things about your partner. How would you feel attending the wedding of an ex? It would depend on the person. Girt or Sara? I would love to. As a matter of fact, I better be invited lmao. Jason? I couldn’t in ten trillion years. Fiction or nonfiction. I strongly prefer fiction. Can you can lie with a straight face? Yes, if it’s something little. Name three things you have experienced that would shock your parents: Probably just sexual stuff. Do you believe in using the silent treatment? No. I’ve sure done it before, but I’d like to think I’ve grown out of this. Communication is where it’s at. Your most embarrassing thought: *shrug* Your most prejudiced thought: I don’t know. I don’t think I’m very prejudiced. A shameful moment for you: The situation w/ Joel. The biggest gamble of your life: Deciding to drop out of college the last time. Who knows if that was a good choice or not… It’s too early to tell. What is your greatest weakness as a friend? Idk off the top of my head, but I’m sure there’s something. Do you feel better when you have a tan? Nah, I like being pale. I did go through a period in HS of using tanning lotion on my legs though because I was self-conscious of JUST how pale they were. Do you sometimes enjoy being mean? ”I don’t think so. Maybe like... in certain contexts. Like being mean in video games can be really fun sometimes, haha. And being a little mean in a kink setting can be fun too.” <<<< This. Are you high maintenance? Definitely not. Has anybody ever told you that you’re too young to be in love? I think my dad has, just indirectly. Did you learn anything from the last BIG mistake you made? Yes. Do you have a favorite brand of shoes? Yeah, Converse. Do you like rollercoasters with big drops? I’m afraid of rollercoasters so have never been on one. Do you have any inside jokes with your parents? Not really. Have you ever thrown a surprise party for somebody? I don’t think so? Do you know who your mom’s favorite singer is? Oh, she’s totally obsessed with James Hetfield/Metallica. What year were you born in? 1996. What is your favorite card game? Magic: The Gathering, even though I was never great at it or totally understood all the rules. I just adore the artwork, and I like the detailed tactics behind it. Have you ever tried to surf? Nah. Do you want to learn? Nah. Have you ever had a song dedicated to you? What was it? Let’s not with this. What color eyes does your best friend have? Brown. Have you ever been on a blind date? Nah. Which one of your family members do you wish you could see more often? My brother and his son. I got really close to my nephew the last time they visited for a few days. What room in your house is the messiest? Right now, the extra bedroom that I want to make my dayroom. A lot of our “extra” stuff is just shoved into there. Have you ever requested a song on the radio? No. Are you proud of your parents? Yes. Have you ever (accidentally or not) set off a car alarm? I think I accidentally have before. Do you have dimples when you smile? Yes, way more prominently on my left cheek though. Do you find graveyards scary? No. They’re peaceful to me. Have you ever carved anything into a tree? I don’t think so. Do you read those celebrity gossip magazines? Ew, no. Celebs deserve privacy. Do you give or get advice more often? Well considering I’m in therapy, probably get. Did the last type of shoes you wore have laces? No. Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? FUCK no. When was the last time somebody hit on you? Idr. Which one of your friends do you feel most comfortable around? Sara. What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? Just pass me the rolls lmao. Who did you last spoon with? My cat lmao. What was the last video game you played? I don’t recall the last console game I played, so does World of Warcraft count, even tho it’s a computer game? When you’re in trouble, do your parents ever “middle name” you? Ha, my mom will sometimes. Does getting sweaty or dirty bother you at all? If so, has it ever put you off doing exercise? Very much so. I suffer (and I DO mean “suffer”) from insane hyperhidrosis, so I sweat my ass off if I so much as twitch, if even that. I just hate feeling gross. Have you ever thought about how you want to spend your retirement? No, honestly. It’s hard for me to imagine even *getting* to retirement. Would you describe yourself as healthy? Why or why not? No. I’m physically and even more mentally not okay. Do you miss anything about being a teenager? If you are a teenager, what’s your favorite thing about it? Yeah, some things. Though I really don’t even want to think about it. I look back on me being a teen with both wistfulness as well as bitterness. I don’t know which is stronger.

#survey #surveys #quiz #questions #questionnaire #lyrics: ''welcome home (sanitarium)'' by metallica

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gonewiddershins · 4 years ago

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i have time to kill and a brain that needs to be distracted from the looming void of the pointlessness of life so here is an ENTIRE ask meme (part 1)

What book are you currently reading?

A bunch of them, as always. I’ve been dragging myself chapter by chapter through little women for like a couple of months now (i really like the prose, i’m less than convinced by about half of the subject matter and I know Louisa May Alcott likely had the same opinion), There’s a bullet journal guide that I’m forever putting on hold because sigh there are reasons why I need a bullet journal. I’m re-reading The Scum VIllain’s Self Saving System, mostly because the donghua was excellent and gave me cravings. I’m about a third of the way through a halloween anthology and i wasn’t into the latest story so its been like that for a while. I’ve read a couple of chapters and pages each of The Queen of the Tearling and Evensong’s heir respectively and I haven’t gotten back to them but I also don’t want to drop them because they are fine so far. I;m halfway through mexican gothic and I like it but it’s a bit slow-moving so I’m getting twitchy. I’m also about halfway through this segregated magic system urban fantasy thing which would be really good if 90% of the dialogue wasn’t exposition and I have some critique notes for the author about that.

What book did you recently finish?

Another danmei webnovel. And another transmigration novel. This one was both. There was some interesting worldbuilidng and character stuff in the beginning and then it dropped most of the plotlines and devolved into sex scenes I now know how Shen Yuan felt when he was reading proud Immortal Demon Way because SO MANY dropped plot points guys so many.

What’s a book that’s been on your to-read list for a long time?

Rhythm of War? Hopefully I don’t approach this with excitement that fizzles out before I actually start on it like with Oathbringer. I don’t think that’s gonna be the case but I cannot predict the vagaries of my mood reading.

What’s the next book you’re hoping to read?

Eh. Probably RoW again. I do want to read Dawnshard before I read RoW but I’m not entirely sure if that’s going to be possible. RoW takes priority as of now.

Is there a book you own, but aren’t planning on reading?

*gestures vaguely at shelf full of classic novels I am probably never actually going to finish* People keep getting me these things because I “like reading more than anything else” and reading clearly means reading classics.

What was your favourite series as a kid? Would you still read it now?

Animorphs! And yes. I periodically re-read random books from the series for kicks. Not all of it holds up well but enough does to make it a fairly enjoyable experience.

What’s your favourite series now?

I don’t actually do favourites anymore because I’m indecisive and there are way too many metrics to calculate and sometimes I like different books for very different reasons.

Fantasy or sci-fi?

I like both, but I generally prefer fantasy. That said I’m more interested in the applications of weird magic/tech and social consequences than I am in anything else; which means I adore sci-fi like say- The Vorkosigan Saga and Imperial Radch while disliking more standardized/hero-focused fantasy like The Faithful and the Fallen (I STILL DON’T KNOW HOW PEOPLE LIKE IT). It’s a spectrum.

I think someone once mentioned on this very site that they liked fantasy which took a scientific approach to magic and sci-fi which took a magical approach to science and you know what I kinda feel that statement.

What’s a book you want to buy?

Fence: Disarmed. There are disaster gays everywhere.

Have you ever judged a book by its cover?

I've definitely decided to read a book purely because of the cover. Sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t. Same with book titles.

Have you ever bought a book because of who the author was?

I have a small list of auto-buy authors I scream about all the time so Yes. Is Horror not generally my genre but is T. Kingfisher writing some weird horror shit? I’ll take it thank you very much.

If I do find an author I like I generally go through their entire backlist because while quality may vary between earlier and later books (*coughSANDERSONcough*) there are repetitive motifs/tropes I really enjoy which i think the author also enjoys.

Have you ever read a celebrity memoir? If so, whose was it?

Nah. I’ve probably tried to read a couple marketed as funny but I didn’t find them very funny so I gave up. I do have Know My Name by Chanel Miller on my to-do list but I don’t think that qualifies as a celebrity memoir. Oh, and I suppose I’ll get around to reading Trevor Noah’s memoir eventually. Or Bassem Youssef’s.

Are you a fan of autobiographies?

I think that probably depends on the autobiography in question. I remember reading the first part of Gandhi’s autobiography and thinking “wow you are hella judgemental, dude” before I got anywhere hear the Independence movement stuff. I remember starting Booker T Washington’s Up From Slavery with every expectation of giving up halfway through and then powering through it in like a day because it was that good. So. //shrugs

Fiction or non-fiction?

Fiction for long-form stuff and non-fiction for short form stuff. I struggle with short stories, but I can breeze through essays and articles. On the other hand, give me a non fiction book and I’ll brood over it for seven years like I’m trying to hatch a basilisk.

Favourite fiction genre?

I usually say fantasy but a more accurate term would be speculative fiction because I like “how does X change affect society” stories a LOT.

Favourite non-fiction genre?

History (caveat: no biographies, please- just more anthropology-like history) and science. And I do mean science, not technology.

Historical fiction: yea or nay?

generally yea but it really depends on the author and the subject matter. I’m not all that invested in monarchy-based historical fiction (monarchy based fantasy fiction i’ll take), for example. And I really like survivalist fiction so historical survival is a big win in my book.

Do you read the book or watch the movie first?

Ha. Watch a movie? What do you take me for a philistine? (I will however, quite possibly watch a animated series before reading the book it’s a thing.)

Paperback or hardcover?

Paperback. I’m hell on hardcovers. The state of my copy of Goblet of Fire would make anyone with an ounce of sympathy for books weep.

Do you read e-books?

Almost exclusively, at this point.

How many bookshelves do you have?

Physically, not that many. Just two? Everything is crammed in two layers deep though.

How do you organize your books?

Author (Firstname, Lastname) > Series > Series Position. Nonfiction is sorted either by Topic (I HAVE NOT ORGANIZED THIS SUBSECTON WELL ENOUGH IT PREYS ON ME CONSTANTLY), author names I recognize, or books in a series.

Do you prefer borrowing books from friends, borrowing books from a library, or buying them? How willing are you to lend your books to other people?

I guess buying them if I really like the books? I’m a compulsive re-reader. I don’t really like borrowing books from people because I get stressed about forgetting to give them back. I do like lending books to people though. If I have a backup copy in ebook format, anyway.

I don’t really have any libraries I can borrow non-Classics fiction from alas.

In what condition do you keep your books?

“it’s Okay I guess” to Poor. A couple are in “WHAT MANNER OF HIDEOUS BEAST RAVAGED YOU” territory. I need to cover books or I inevitably start wearing down on the corners it’s like i exude an aura of non-lethal but constantly-eroding destruction that affects everything I come into contact with I thank my electronics from the bottom of my heart for their service.

What’s the biggest book you’ve ever read, and how many pages did it have?

I’m reasonably sure it’s this webnovel called Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage because DEAR GOD IT TOOK ME WEEKS even when i was near-constantly reading I think it was even longer than Tian Guan Ci Fu/Heaven’s Official Blessing but idk how long bc webnovel and the pagecount (for the whole novel) is not listed on Goodreads.

#ask meme

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zweiginator · 6 years ago

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My Sweet Lord--Uni!Brian x Reader

Summary: You and Brian meet by chance on a fall afternoon and become close friends. But as the seasons change and the flowers of spring begin to bloom--your relationship with him does the same.

Word Count: 13k+ (oh my god i truly cannot be concise.. anyways stream my sweet lord by george harrison)

Warnings: slooooow burn, friends to lovers, Brian being a shy, smart cutie, unprotected sex, oral, dirty talking

October 1972

If Brian counted every step he had taken to the campus library and converted it into energy, he was sure the force would be strong enough to take him out of this world. This cruel, cruel world that was forcing him to study for a physics test that his professor insisted was the week after a gig he and the band had been preparing for for months--not that his pudgy, almost-elderly instructor would ever know--or suspect--that Brian was in a band. That was one thing he was trying to change about himself; the fact that he was Brian. He wasn’t Freddie. And he surely wasn’t Roger, who had kicked Brian out of their own flat four times that week, his curls soaked through with the same acid-rain that rolled down the streets as he pounded on the door, which Roger held shut with his booted foot as his one night stand whose-name-he’d-never-remember pushed her skirt up her legs and gave her interim lover a kiss, stained red. He’d mastered the awkward wave, one that expressed a sort-of hello-goodbye hybrid, Brian’s eyebrows furrowed in a sorrowful quasi-frown that he hoped would soften the blow when Roger inevitably failed to call her back.

“How do you do that?” Brian asked Roger as he shook his umbrella off, the material crinkling as trembling rain rolled off the sides, onto the wooden floors.

“Hey!” Roger wiped his hands down his bare chest, covered in a perpetual blanket of leftover kisses, healing into purple-pink marks that ran up the expanse of his tanned skin. He took another bite of a biscuit he was eating and shook his head at his best friend. “Don’t get fucking water all over the floor. This?” He pointed at the shitty floor beneath them; there wasn’t a step that didn’t produce an eerie creak that always made Brian’s heartbeat skip against his narrow chest as he attempted to get water in the wee hours of the morning. “This is real wood. When we sell this shithole, I don’t wanna be fined for ruining the floor.”

“Oh shut up.” Brian rolled his eyes and hung the umbrella on the coat rack by the door as Roger lit a cigarette that dangled between his pillowy lips. “How do I do what? Shag random girls?” He asked, puffing at his cigarette, pulling it out of his mouth for a bit to let out a suppressed yawn. “It’s a bit exhausting.”

Brian believed him; his eyes were sunken in so much he would look dead if he weren’t so tan from the blistering sun that beat through his skin--all of their skin--as they packed and unpacked equipment from pub to pub all across London, all summer long. “I just--I wonder if I’m doing something wrong? I mean I don’t look like you, but I’d like to think I have a redeemable personality.” Brian complained, taking a biscuit from the crumpled paper bag on the counter.

“Don’t eat my fuckin’ biscuits.” Roger swatted Brian’s hand away as he took another drag, puffing the heavy, stale cigarette smoke into Brian’s nose, which was a rosy hue from the same nipping wind that mussed Brian’s hair into a coiled nest upon his head. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Brian. You’re just--” He shoved the bag of snacks into Brian’s hands and tapped some peppered ashes from his cigarette. “Shy. A bit awkward, but you do have a nice personality. And--” He paused. “You’re-- physically attractive. I--” He swirled the butt of his cigarette in a foggy glass ashtray, extinguishing the smoldering glow. “That’s all I’ll say. Don’t repeat those words to anybody.”

Brian chuckled and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, which remained soft, a severe contrast with his fingertips that were cracked and calloused from years and years of plucking ridged guitar strings. “Wow, thanks Rog.” He said it facetiously, knowing Roger didn’t appreciate sappy confessions from his best friend. Roger pulled his silk robe over his chest and gave Brian a tight-lipped smile.

“You’ll find a girl someday. Just like I’m sure I’ll settle down eventually.” He shuddered, padding to his room--a place Roger rarely stayed; otherwise it would be scattered with clothes and cigarette butts and the odd token from his girl-of-the-week, begging for his undying attention.

“Don’t be presumptuous.” Brian peeked around the corner in the kitchen, sending a smile to the shorter blond as he shut his bedroom door, swatting his hand at him before promptly flipping him off. “Charming.” He rolled his eyes, biting into a semi-stale cookie, leaning his elbows on the granite of the counter, resting his sullen cheeks in his palms as he listened to the bay of the wind, watching the yellow lights flicker--whether that was a consequence of the wind or the unpaid rent bill shoved under a candle, he didn’t know.

Now, Brian was certain he would fail his physics test--which he reminded himself was in just two days, as he rested his head on the table, his ear pressed against the hollow, airy wood of the table. The tall chair he was sitting on was the same material, and there wasn’t a cushion, so he shuffled around every few seconds in a desperate attempt to find a comfortable position that soon proved impossible. Everything was muffled against his ear; the sounds of his peers punching irresolute numbers into their calculators, sipping lukewarm coffees hidden between their legs, behind sat-up textbooks. Brian was exhausted, and lying his head on the table--although scratchy against his soft skin--made his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones as his eyes fell, closed as his lips parted, shallow breaths fanning over his book so the dog-eared pages skimmed and flitted upon the next.

He wasn’t usually the type to fall asleep in class; in fact, he had become reliant on coffees saturated with grainy sugar to keep himself from doing just that. But something about the hollow, dreamy reverberation of flipped pages and tapping pencils had him softly snoring, his hair fanned over the table, where small dribbles of drool pooled at the corner of Brian’s mouth. The pen he was holding loosely between his fingers soon fell against the tabletop as his head fell to one side, nuzzling into the fleece of his powder blue hoodie which had sleeves that were much too short; his wrists were covered in goosebumps.

You sat at the table next to Brian’s, a small cart stacked with nonfiction books only slightly obscuring your--and your friends’--views of him, this massively tall, eternally sleepy boy you’d seen many, many times that week. It was nearing midterms, so everyone was scrambling to cram for the massive number of exams they were going to have--making pacts with buddies that they would study together, as if the collectivist, group setting would increase productivity instead of annulling it completely. But this boy was always by himself, his hands shoved into the pockets of whatever jacket adorned his willowy frame, his bony wrists jutting out from beneath his deeply tanned skin. He burrowed himself in a nest of crumpled notes and dully sharpened pencils, yawning into his fist as he scribbled so passionately you were convinced he couldn’t be writing anything pertaining to schoolwork.

Brian was a sort of enigma at university; nobody knew much about him, but they were endlessly fascinated by the shrouded nebula of the unknown that seemed to hover above his cloud of frizzy waves. Nobody had seen him speak to anybody but the occasional professor, hushed by their desk after class ended and the majority of the snooping peers had left to attend to their social lives. So everyone perked up in their seats when three men--two of them excessively rowdy for a school library--strode into the building, tall heeled boots clicking against the tiled floors enough to make the librarians scowl, shaking their heads uniformly as wire-rimmed glasses were pushed up their noses.

“Christ.” Freddie did a scowl of his own as he looked around the expansive library, taking in the grandeur of the old architecture. “This place is gorgeous; too bad its a fucking bore to be here.” He added, quite loudly. Deaky shoved his shoulder and shook his head, gesturing to the multitude of students who were now just pretending to study--they were all watching the men intently, aching for something to gossip about, anything substantial enough to act as an excuse to finally rest their weary eyes from reading their stacks of books which all seemed to belie one another.

“Shut up.” Deaky didn’t look at Freddie when he said this; he was looking for Brian, and was becoming frustrated when he couldn’t spot his head of curls amongst the sea of pupils focused their way.

Roger and Freddie loved the attention, and they winked and smirked at the majority of their audience, including you, as you held your pen between your teeth, fishing your keys from your tattered bag. Roger liked what he saw, so he pulled a chair out, sitting down leisurely while you paid no mind to the doe-eyed blond. He was cute, but you weren’t looking for a relationship; it was just too difficult with the amount you were juggling--plus you had silently swore off guys in a drunken rage a few months back and you weren’t ready to go back on your words just yet. You could tell your friends were intrigued by Roger’s beachy waves and sun kissed cheeks, his wide blue eyes that were covered in a thin film of innocence that most girls saw right through.

“You girls seen a tall lad around here? Big curly brown hair? No other redeeming qualities?” Roger scooted his chair closer to the table as you capped your pen, tilting your chin to motion to the probable culprit--although you’d never seen him speak to anyone, and would be surprised that these three very self-assured, very flamboyant guys would be anybody he would associate with.

Roger turned his head and scoffed when he saw his roommate knocked out on the table, his signature curls veiling his sharp, angelic features. His hands were splayed on the table in front of his book, and it was then that you noticed his nails were painted an opaque white, chipped just along the edges.

“That would be him. Good eye--what’s your name?” He acted nonchalant, furrowing his messy eyebrows as he pulled a smoke from the pack in his back pocket, his other hand fumbling, in search of his metal lighter.

“Y/N.” You smiled at him sweetly as you found your key ring, hidden beneath an array of old receipts and hoarded trinkets that had no place being there.

“Roger.” He held his hand out, flashing his teeth, semi-crooked and just a smidge yellow from incessant smoking. Without another word he pushed his chair back so it fit neatly, tucked into the table.

“Sleepy head,” Freddie poked Brian’s head with the pencil that had fallen from his grasp. Brian groaned softly, adjusting his position so his head moved away from the strange sharpness that pierced his scalp. “Wake up Brian. You’re making a fool of yourself.” He whispered into his ear.

“Fuck off, Freddie.” Brian turned his head to the opposite side, so he faced where you were sitting, watching the interaction curiously, like a few other surrounding tables were, halting their procrastinated studies to try and decode the campus mystery that was Brian May. You noticed how effortlessly attractive he was, even with his face mostly obscured by curled tendrils of hair that tickled against his angular nose, fell over his sharp cheekbones. His eyelashes were thick, and they laid across the very tops of his cheeks; his mouth hung open enough for you to notice how plump and peachy his lips looked underneath the yellowed lights that glowed throughout the building.

Roger moved to the other side of the table and pinched Brian’s nose, squatting down as Brian’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilating and constricting like his stomach was, pumping with anxiety as he sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes with a ringed finger.

“I can’t believe you told us we had to postpone a meeting with fucking EMI records so you could study.” Roger used air quotes around the last word, slapping the back of Brian’s head harshly, which emitted a few gasps from the tables around you.

Brian grabbed Roger’s wrist, pushing his hand down onto the table quietly, his hazel eyes a warning to his friend. “Roger!” He whisper-yelled, looking around the library. He shot a few glances to their spectators, one that screamed: I’m sorry for disrupting your studies I wouldn’t usually be like this--

“I’m allowed to be pissed; they probably won’t think we’re fucking serious about the offer since you’re moping around in libraries taking fucking afternoon naps!” He was whispering too now, and Brian sighed in relief when he noticed more and more of their audience returning their attention to their books, the cracking of the glue along the spines like a depressant to Brian’s sympathetic nervous system.

“I was studying; I fell asleep because you’ve decided to shag a new girl every night, so I can’t exactly get anything done at home, now can I?” Brian gathered his physics book, shoving his pencil on the last page he was on before he closed it carefully, pushing it into his bag behind portfolios of various lab reports and unmarked quizzes.

“Whatever, Brian.” Roger knew he had been loud the past couple of nights, and he felt a tinge of pride on his part as Brian fed into his ego unintentionally. Deaky just stacked the rest of Brian’s papers strewn about the table and handed them to him without a word. Freddie was absurdly quiet too, mouthing apologies to a few angered students who had probably developed headaches from Roger’s screeching.

“Just don’t get me banned from this place, okay?” Brian straightened his stack of papers and clasped them together with a metal clip, pushing it into his bag expertly.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go.” Roger kneed Brian in the ass as he got up, and you noticed how he seemed to tower above the rest of the posse, his shoes and hair and incredibly lengthy legs just adding to his stature that would have been quite imposing if not for Brian’s lanky body and eyes that were laden in kindness and warm honey, framed by straight eyebrows that gave him an easygoing, impossibly handsome charm.

“The record company is just a few blocks east. We have plenty of time.” Deaky said, following behind Roger and Brian and next to Freddie, his breath fanning on their shoulders which grazed lightly against one another.

“Deaky, keep your mouth shut. We all know we would have missed the appointment if we hadn’t come here to drag Brian’s skinny ass out of his nap.” Roger shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered as he pushed open the heavy door of the library, it was teetering on the cusp of fall and winter and all four boys snuggled into their thin jackets; they never could dress for the weather.

You had to go too; your psychology class was beginning in twenty minutes and you were already running a bit late since you were admiring the cryptic boy whose name you still hadn’t gleaned. As you stood up and adjusted your necklace that you had flipped over your neck, you saw his own psychology book--more torn and loved than your own--tucked away under the table, sitting on the empty chair next to where he had been sitting.

You took it and weighed your options: you could attempt to find him and end up lost, with the very expensive textbook of a complete stranger--or you could find him, by some odd bout of coincidence or fate, and brush fingertips with him, then never speak to him again, most likely. Neither of those options were favorable, but by the scarlet blush that you had never seen him without, you reckoned he was an anxious person, and was probably already deliberating about where he could have possibly left his book. You tucked it under your arm and sighed, fixing your hair in the glare of a window that sat next to the entrance, the window pane covered in coffee rings and devoid of any paint.

You understood why the group of guys had shivered so severely when they opened the door; a drafty gust of wind made your breath become choked, shoved down your throat. But you saw his messy head of curls being blown about in the wind, the cold air reddening the tip of his nose as the foursome leaned against the side of a pub, a long-haired brunette cupping his hands around Roger’s cigarette to light it despite the wind’s vindictive attempts to keep it unlit. The other two men hugged their arms to their bodies and huddled into each other, chatting annoyedly, pulling open the door when passersby wanted to enter, in an attempt to feel the drafty heat. You quickly crossed the street, holding your coat over your body and his textbook over your chest as your bag thumped against your thighs.

“Hey!” You waved as you reached the edge of the sidewalk, where rain was sloshing in a deep divot in the street, a makeshift bay. Your boots kept your feet from getting wet, but the bottoms of your jeans were soaked and cold against your ankles as you held the book in front of you. “You--you left this on your seat.” You reached forward, watching Brian’s eyes light up as his arm extended towards yours. But your heel caught on the edge of the pavement, making you fall forward as a car weaved past you, soaking your jeans completely with rain that had to be just on the cusp of freezing. Your sweater, chunky and cable knit, did nothing to barricade the water from seeping through, and you stood up quickly, your hair stuck to your shoulders as Brian took the book that had somehow avoided the majority of the splash.

“Shit! Are you okay?” The black-haired one took your hand, helping you stabilize your balance. You attempted to rub some mud off of your knees, but it just worsened the stain, so you gave up, huffing as you checked your watch--which you realized wasn’t on your wrist.

“Fuck! What time is it?” You were already running late, and your professor for your literature class already had an odd vendetta against you.

“Ten ‘til one.” The longer-haired, lighter brunette said, giving you tight-lipped smile and offered to hold your wet coat.

“Shit.” You would be late even if you weren’t completely and utterly unpresentable.

Brian was monumentally guilty; it was, technically, his fault that you were in this predicament. If he hadn’t been so stupid and remembered to pick his book back up, you wouldn’t be in front of him, soaked to the bone and distraught, one side of your hair frizzed from humidity, the other side slicked down by a curtain of water.

“Do you have class soon?” Brian touched your shoulder apprehensively, but his grip was still strong as he tucked you under his arm and helped you walk under the awning outside of the pub.

“Yeah.” Your face was burning at the close proximity; his face was a few inches away from your own, squished near the wall so the door wouldn’t hit you two. You felt sweaty; cold yet burning to the touch. He braced a hand against the exposed brick of the building pushing closer to you as a couple brushed past, trying to get into the bar.

“Oh--I’m sorry.” He turned around so his back was against the wall and he was standing next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I didn’t mean to get so--close.” He scratched the back of his neck. “What class do you have? Maybe we can still make it?”

“Renaissance Lit. It’s in about twenty minutes, so I doubt we can make it.” You lowered your eyes to meet his, noticing how they were sparkling, honey specks alternated with the faintest greens that made it impossible to look away. His hair blew over his face as he faced you; his hands large and delicate, gesturing down the block but you couldn’t focus on his words.

“Professor Thompson?” He inquired, wiping his nose discreetly with his rolled-up sleeve. “We better get moving then, he’s quite the stickler.” Brian turned away from you and then quickly pivoted back, holding his hand out towards yours. “I’m Brian, by the way.” He smiled easily, his lips a bitten peach color as his teeth tugged at the skin.

“Y/N.” You clasped your hand in his, which was much bigger, and much warmer than yours--which might have been why your touch lingered, your pinky rubbing against his own, adorned with a silver ring. “We?” You inquired, letting go of Brian’s hand, which was heavy but comfortable to hold.

“You have to get changed--I mean--I was going to offer you some of my clothes from my flat--” He spat out quickly, averting his gaze to his feet as Roger stomped his cigarette out with the toe of his boot. “If that’s not too much. Or too soon. Forget I asked?” It was charming how shy he was; you liked how his eyebrows made him look so tentative and innocent; and you liked even more how his personality mirrored the same thing--pure intentions.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “That would be great, I mean my flat is a ways away. If you’re not too busy or anything.” You stumbled over your words, your hands finding his wrists and running a thumb over the protruding knob of the bone there.

Brian stiffened, then grinned lazily. “Oh, don’t worry about it--I kinda owe you one since--”

Roger cut him off, his hands gesturing wildly, his pack of cigarettes clasped tightly in a calloused hand. “Brian. EMI records. Two o’clock.” He shoved the pack into his jacket pocket and shivered dramatically, his fingertips pressing white prints over the darkened skin of his shoulders.

“I promise I’ll meet you there. I’ll run and everything, Roger. Don’t even worry about it.” Brian stepped forward and clasped his hands down onto Roger’s shoulders, pushing his hair back, away from his forehead.

“Brian, if you’re late I’ll fucking kill you!” Roger yelled after him, his middle finger held up prominently and uncaringly as a group of miserable schoolchildren passed, their fur-lined hoods pulled snug over their heads.

“EMI records?” You began to walk faster, trying to keep up with Brian’s massive strides. His jaw was tensed as he looked at the checkerboard of taxis that were lined, parked along the streets.

“Yeah--” He looked down at you, slowing down a bit as he guiltily realized you were struggling to keep up. “Those guys and I are in a band. Just record deal drama. Trying to get signed before the end of the year is proving to be very difficult--and time-consuming.” He chuckled and looked at his feet, covered in white clogs, the heels only adding to his already massive height. “I’m just not sure if I’m ready to give up university, you know?” Brian didn’t know why he was dumping his inner drama to you--a beautiful girl who he had met mere minutes before--but it felt as natural as the blush that was seeping over him whenever he looked at your face.

“I mean, tell me about your band; is it something you’d want to pursue?” You didn’t want to pry, but he seemed comfortable with talking to you. Plus, you were on your way to his flat, so it felt necessary to break the ice a bit. Brian and you turned the corner, and he pulled you close to him as he saw a teenage couple walking towards you, a dazed look in their eyes which were focused anywhere but the sidewalk ahead of them.

“Sorry if that was too close--didn’t want you to run into them.” He ducked his head under an oddly low balcony, his hand ghosting over the small of your back. You noticed him pulling his arm away, his fist hovering over your body as if he were forcing it away but a magnet was stabilizing it there, confused.

“You’re fine, Brian. No need to apologize. Tell me about your band; I’m curious.” You stepped over a puddle and looked up at him.

“Oh--I--I guess I don’t know where to start.” He reached the glass door of his apartment building, ushering you inside. He pulled his hood down and shook some water from his hair, smiling at you as he strode towards the elevator, which looked crooked and unsafe. He must have sensed your fear, as he huffed and leaned against the wall as he pressed the button for his floor. “It looks a lot more intimidating than it is. Trust me, I know it looks sketchy; it took months for Roger and Freddie to convince me to use it.” A dull ding sounded, and the doors opened, two young boys stepping out, giving you a questioning look. “She’s a new friend.” He explained, gesturing to you as you stepped inside the lift. Brian was severely blushing now; his neck was painted scarlet.

“Brian, it was about time you got a friend.” One of the boys commented, chewing loudly on a stale piece of peppermint gum.

“For real! I thought guitarists were supposed to get all the p--” The other began, but Brian stopped him nervously.

“Okay! Watch the language! Go play your rugby or something.” He shooed them away playfully as the doors closed. You smiled to yourself, assessing the mud caked into your jeans, your soaked boots and your shirt which was seemingly more water than fabric. Your hair was matted and tangled but Brian still couldn’t meet your eye for more than a few seconds before his nerves fizzled and bubbled to the point that he couldn’t possibly look anymore.

“So you’re the guitarist?” You continued. Of course, it made sense; he just had that feeling about him. His calloused fingers, long and agile and bony, painted white were a sort of symbol.

“Yes, I am. The blond, Roger, is our drummer. Freddie is the singer, he’s the quite flamboyant one; and Deaky--John--is the bassist. His last name is Deacon if you wondered where the name came from.” He spoke quickly, and it seemed like he wanted the attention off of himself as much as possible.

But you wanted more. “How long have you been playing?” You watched Brian’s fingers fumble with his keys; he had a keychain of a guitar and a globe on the keyring, and the faint sound of the plastic and metal clinking together permeated the empty corridor.

He entered the key and turned, letting you in first. The floor was scattered with velvet shirts and satin pants and vice versa; socks piled around a laundry basket that remained empty despite the mess of dirty clothes. “Jesus Christ,” He bent down, frantically pushing the clothes into his arms and throwing them into the broken basket. “Roger is the messiest person I swear--”

“Oh, it’s fine.” You traced your finger along the marble of his counter before sitting down on a red leather stool sat nearby. “Can’t say mine is much better with so much going on.”

He nodded, looking up from the stained button-up he was inspecting. “And I’ve been playing for--” He paused. “Over fifteen years I’d say. Not sure quite exactly when I started, but music has always been an escape.” He held the laundry basket to his hip, leading you to his bedroom in the corner of the flat. “It’s just so hard to choose music when it’s so scary. Who knows if we’ll ever be anything but a group of English boys trying to be rockstars?” He set the basket in the doorway of what you assumed to be Roger’s room, before he opened the door to his own room. His was neat and tidy, save for some trousers scattered about the wooden floor. An orderly stack of school books sat at the edge of his desk, and he added his forgotten psychology book to the collection, slumping his shoulders so his school bag slid from his body.

You slumped down on his bed, sighing. “Can I take off my shoes?” You pointed to your soaked boots and he nodded, pushing open the doors of his closet. You noticed a cherry-wooden guitar leaning against his desk, the leather strap swinging from the air escaping from the vents. “I don’t know you much, but I’d say go for it.”

He sat down on the bed next to you, his knee touching your own. He extended a ringed pinky towards you and rose a dark eyebrow. “I promise I will, then.”

December 1972

“This is my friend, Brian.” You gestured to the lanky boy to your left, who waved awkwardly to your two friends, his hand gripping the neck of his guitar. Beads of sweat poured down the front of his face and over his nose. His lips were bitten from bouts of severe concentration onstage, and his pupils were dilated, his breaths labored and heavy in his throbbing chest.

Queen had scored a major gig at the Marquee Club in London--a nightclub that would allow them to perform to more than a group of sleazy drunks and their bartenders. It had taken some convincing, but you had gotten permission from Brian to invite some of your friends--his peers--to the venue. His lip was truly bitten purple and bloody from the anxiety simmering throughout his body; his hands trembled uncontrollably over the fretboard for the entirety of the concert. But to you--and the rest of the crowd--Brian looked at ease, in his element; it felt right for these few dozen strangers to label the mysterious Brian May as a guitarist--a shy, tall, incredibly handsome guitarist who was stumbling over his carefully chosen words. His eyes were able to follow your own much longer now; within the couple of months you two had known each other, quiet study sessions with amateur conversations had mutated into quasi-cuddling on his couch, resting your head in Brian’s lap as he dropped salted popcorn into your awaiting mouth.

It was you who he felt most comfortable with, which was why Brian pulled you into him by your waist as he mingled with little-known peers; nameless friends-of-friends who held lagers in their hands as they complimented Brian’s band. That was the girls mostly; the guys gifted Brian with backhanded compliments while they glared at his painted fingernails and the glittery makeup you had swiped over his puffy eyelids hours before.

“You taught yourself the guitar?” A random girl asked flirtatiously as she twirled an artificial blond curl around her finger.

Brian scratched the back of his neck as he lifted his half-drunk beer to his lips. His arm tightened around your waist; you were like a security blanket to him in unwanted social situations. “Yeah--more or less. My dad helped me get started but I guess--I just got really into it.”

She nodded enthusiastically, leaning into Brian as he set his drink down carefully on a cardboard coaster. “I can tell you’re into it--” She batted her eyes and looked at her hands coyly, stirring her mixed drink. “You’re so focused when you’re playing.”

You felt your face growing hot as Brian’s fingers played with the loops on your jeans, his thumbs fingering the denim fabric nervously. You felt jealous, even though you and Brian were nothing more than friends--close friends. You pushed Brian’s hair back from his forehead and plucked a fallen eyelash from his upper cheek as the girl continued to talk. Before leaning back to your original position, you whispered into Brian’s ear: “Christ, she can’t take a hint.”

He swatted your knee playfully and grinned at you widely, his teeth a brighter white than usual. “God, I know.” He mouthed, taking another swig of his beer.

A shorter guy, who was a bit chubby with side swept dirty blond hair came up to the girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, whispering a secret of his own into her reddened ears. You and Brian assumed he was her boyfriend by the guilty look that adorned her features as she met eyes with him. “What’s up with the painted nails?” He gestured to Brian’s hand, which grasped his drink loosely.

“Wha’ do you mean?” Brian slurred; he had a few drinks in him and you could tell he was getting tipsy by the way his eyes were hooded over, his mouth tangled into a relaxed smile.

“It’s a bit--nevermind.” He pushed his girlfriend’s hair behind her shoulders, his arms hugged over her chest.

“A bit?” Brian urged, his thumbs digging into your hips. It was weird--seeing him angry. You’d known him for only a few months, but were surprised you’d never really seen him lose his temper--not when a taxi cut him off while he was driving, or when Roger had ruined a good amount of his clothes in the wash. He always heaved out a heavy sigh and crossed his arms--then let it go. But by the harsh grip he had on you, the tensing of his jaw as he rolled his darkened chocolate eyes--you could tell he was pissed. “A bit what?”

The guy smirked, realizing he had drawn a reaction from Brian. “Gay? Girly? Weird? Want me to continue?” His girlfriend tilted her head back and looked at him, disapprovingly.

“I don’t see anything wrong with being any of those things.” He tilted his head back and swigged the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down onto the mahogany bar. “Have a nice night.” He smiled tightly, pulling you flush into his side. “What a fucking dick.” He sneered, grabbing his guitar from backstage. He gave Deaky a small wave and gestured to you; John nodded, setting his drink down to give you both a double thumbs-up.

“Are you okay, Brian?” You brushed some hair over his collarbones and he nodded, biting his lip as he slipped your coat over your shoulders.

“Yeah--just pissed.” He opened the heavy door and braced himself for the cold, zipping his coat up entirely to cover his numbed nose and cheeks. “Hold on! Stop, missy.” He held his hand out and pushed a hand down on your shoulder, making you stop in your tracks. “Let me zip you up.” He bent his knees a smidge to reach you and pulled your zipper up quickly. You saw his eyes crinkle, fine patches of skin folding like thin paper as he smiled genuinely, drunkenness evident in his eyes and his sunken stature.

“I’m starving.” You commented, watching his eyebrows furrow; it was impossible to understand you with your mouth firmly covered by layers of thick wools and fleeces.

“Hmm?” He turned the corner with you, his guitar thumping against his leg as he strolled down the streets with you, his head turned perpetually to watch your eyes, fleeting over his face. You watched each other reciprocally like mirror images of one another; consistent, never missing a beat.

Yanking the covering over your mouth, you repeated yourself. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you? I swear I’ve never seen you eat that much you’re like a little birdy. Or maybe a robot. Is that why you’re so good at the guitar--and everything?” You teased him, holding onto his free arm tightly.

“You caught me, Y/N. Damn; how will I ever keep this secret?” He widened his eyes and tightened his grip on his guitar as his fingers began to slip, somehow sheathed in sweat despite the rest of his body shielded with goosebumps, his teeth softly chattering. “You’re hungry?” He asked in a robotic voice, poking your sides almost mechanically. “I can whip up something for you. I’d take you out but--” He gestured to himself. “I’m positively broke. Oh shit.”

You laughed at the random turns in his talking, the way his body leaned to one side, weighed down dramatically by his guitar, hung over his willowy arm. “What’s the problem, Bri?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and stopped at a fork in the sidewalk; the left would take you to his flat, the right to yours. “Gig night.”

“Oh, right. Shit, I still can’t believe it’s every damn time.” You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets. “You’d think he’d get tired of meaningless sex at some point.”

“Right?” Brian tilted his head back dramatically. “I’ve been convincing him for awhile that what he’s doing is not normal. And he’s so--loud.” He shuddered as you approached your apartment building; it was in a nicer part of London, but it was a little smaller and more remote, which Brian favored astronomically. There were many days that he forgot your flat wasn’t really his home, but just a temporary abode where he’d rather be than there. He slept at your flat more often than not; you had offered to make him a bed on the couch after seeing his bloodshot, sleepy eyes and wide yawns many mornings as he strolled into the library to study with you. But he would never admit to you how he’d over exaggerated Roger’s shagging statistics; he had once stayed an entire week and then some at your flat, telling you Roger had met a girl he had “real chemistry” with. But of course that wasn’t true. And Brian felt bad about it, but not that bad; he enjoyed making you toast in the mornings and brushing your teeth together over your porcelain sink, your hair messy from deep, comfortable sleep.

“Maybe you’re both robots--but he’s just programmed to be ultra-flirty and fuck random girls and annoy the shit out of you.” You joked, pulling your keys from your pocket. Your landlord gave Brian a familiar nod as you both walked in, stomping packed snow off the bottom of your shoes.

“Wouldn’t even be surprised if he were a robot. Sometimes that boy has no emotions. He’s ruthless with some of those girls!” Brian held the door open for an older couple as you ran to the stairwell. “I bet I’ll beat you on the lift.” He hovered his thumb over the button, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“I bet you wouldn’t. That thing has no business being called a lift.” You opened the door to the stairs, counting down from three before you both frantically tried to outrun the other--although all Brian could do was cross his fingers and shake his leg and pray. You won of course, panting heavily as you stood in front of the opening elevator doors, which Brian stumbled out of, almost tripping over his feet as he held a finger up at you.

“Two seconds.” He said. “I basically won.”

“Two? That was at least four. Maybe five.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic.” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as you opened your door. “We’ll call it a tie.”

“I can leave you out here to sleep on my rug, you know that right?” You pointed to the shaggy rug at your door, small and covered in scuffs from your shoes.

“Who would make you world-famous toast in the morning?” He walked in behind you, shrugging his coat off lazily. “Couldn’t be you.”

“What’s special about putting pre-sliced bread into a toaster?” You mirrored his actions.

“It’s all in the techniques!” He gave you jazz hands, kicking his shoes off, watching them tumble on their sides as yours did too.

The next morning, Brian awoke twenty minutes before you did. His legs hung over the end of your tattered leather couch, his back sticky from sweat as he shook his arms to gain his sacred circulation back. He wiggled his fingers and pulled his favorite blanket of yours from his body; it was an ivory fleece blanket that was impossibly soft against his skin and smelled like you, and only you. Stretching his arms, he stood up and padded to the kitchen, cursing silently as he almost dropped your toaster, stored in a lower cabinet near the floor. He toasted some bread for you and added strawberry jam carefully, spreading it as evenly as possible with a concentration only akin to the type he had while playing guitar.

“G’morning.” You rubbed your eyes in attempts to adjust to the harsh overhead lights in the kitchen.

“For your troubles.” He slid you the plate with the toast on it, leaning on his elbows as he awaited your feedback.

You smiled almost timidly, taking a bite of the toast as Brian leaned forward, watching your reaction intently. Nodding, you pointed to the carefully made breakfast, one that Brian was embarrassed to admit took him almost twenty minutes to get just right. “How do you do that? It’s so good!”

“What did I say, Y/N?” He stole the piece from you, taking a bite large enough to transfer globs of jam onto his cheeks, peppered with fallen crumbs. His hair fell over his face, his eyes sleepy and crinkled as his cheeks lifted in the biggest smile you’d ever seen.

January 1973

Brian stumbled into the library just three and a half minutes after he had promised he would meet you, but he felt guilty enough to shrug his shoulders at you, mouthing a pouty “sorry” to you from across the room, shaking the freshly fallen snow from his shoes. He rubbed his hands together hastily as he walked towards where you were sitting, in a corner table, guarded by bookshelves on either side. It was early enough that the usual crowd of overworked, overstressed students was still asleep, or using the early hour as an excuse to put off their studying, for now.

“Sorry I’m late--” Brian set his bag on the table pulling the zippers down. He shoved his nimble fingers through his messy, unwashed locks. “Shit. I forgot my psychology book.”

“You mean the book for the one test we got together to study for?” You held a finger up, pulling the book in question from your bag, his favorite pen shoved in the middle as a makeshift bookmark. He began to talk, but you answered his impending question. “You left it at my place last night. And what did I tell you?” You scolded, withholding the book from him, eyebrows raised.

“I know! I should have put it back in my bag. Truly a mistake. I would say it won’t happen again but we know how forgetful I am.” He scooted his chair closer to your own and opened his book, licking the tip of his finger swiftly before turning to the page you were on.

“Oh, I know. I still don’t know how you forgot your underwear there last week.” You shoved his shoulder and he choked on his coffee, clasping a hand tightly upon his throat, the deep burning of the hot syrupy concoction making his eyes close tightly.

“Fuck.” He coughed loudly, embarrassed. “I did?”

“Somehow.” You looked at him through your eyelashes, admiring the smallest dimple, creviced in his cheeks, a cradle for his most beautiful, most genuine smiles.

Brian watched your lips move, your tone assured as you traced your pencil over the words you read aloud to him. He watched you bite the skin of your bottom lip as your expression grew more questioning, your eyes searching into his for an answer. He realized he spaced out for a minute. “Come again? I’m sorry. I’m—I can’t believe I forgot my underwear at your flat.”

“I washed them for you.” You turned the page, relishing in the way he reddened at your words, his eyes averting to concentrate falsely on the material in front of him. In all honesty, both of you were more than prepared for the exam coming up; you and Brian studied excessively just to spend the time together—your pinkies touching apprehensively as you turned pages and shared banter with each other.

“That makes it worse.” Brian answered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled his lip between his teeth, running a thumb over his protruding collarbones.

“You don’t want me touching your underwear?” You kicked his foot from under the table and he reciprocated, stepping on your boot slightly as his shoulder bumped into yours.

“Not in that—not really. Not when it’s like that.” Shaking his head, he offered you some of his coffee, which you drank gingerly, savoring the bitter taste of an unsweetened latte and something so specifically Brian.

You slammed your book shut, sighing as you made eye contact with an influx of students rushing into the ambient warmth of the library. “Wanna get out of here? I can’t study this for another second.” You traced the raised orange letters on the cover, glossy and smooth against your fingers.

“Thank God.” Brian nodded and closed his own book too. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more confident about a test in my life.”

“Okay, we get it. You’re smart. Don’t have to rub it in.” You grabbed his latte from his hands and took a swig as Brian shoved miscellaneous papers into his leather bag.

“Oh shut up.” He slung it over his shoulder, checking his watch quickly. Still watching the tiny metal extensions ticking away against his wrist, he sighed. “My classes are all pretty easy this semester. Since I’ll probably drop out.”

“What?” You grabbed his wrist as he stood up, his chair harshly screeching against the floor. “What do you mean you’re dropping out?”

“I mean—“

“You got it? Brian, you got it?!” You ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek; it was the first time you had ever given him a kiss of any sort but it felt natural in the situation, and Brian’s beaming glow of a smile told you he didn’t mind the gesture, no matter how affectionate it was for two close friends.

“We got it. We’re gonna have our first record out in the summer.” He fiddled with the rings on his hands, rolling them with his thumb as his arm slung around your shoulder.

“Brian—I’m so proud of you!” You felt an overwhelming pride that flushed over your face and lifted your cheeks as you watched a smile choked in his throat bubble, overflow upon his face in a sweet grin, his as eyes easygoing as the boy himself.

“I just—my parents are gonna be livid.” Brian linked his pinky with yours; both of your hands held onto his, his arm still draped over your shoulder. And it didn’t seem odd to look so longingly into each other’s eyes, lost in the sea of honey that had hypnotized you and induced you in a permanent state of hope that maybe, maybe he felt how you two were inching closer and closer to a plateau—one that teetered over friendship and into something so much more.

February 1973

“Brian, it seems like we haven’t seen you in ages; what’s new with you?” Freddie hoisted himself onto the counter in Brian and Roger’s shared apartment, his legs swinging against the hollow column that supported the sturdy tabletop.

Deaky swung the refrigerator open, squinting to focus his sleepy eyes on the food inside that was definitely there past expiration. His hair was strewn about his head in every direction— except for down. “Ever since you got your little lady you’ve ditched us completely.”

“Yeah.” Roger agreed, shoving open a drawer as Brian reached into a taller cupboard in search of a clean plate. The knobby handle of the drawer pushed into Brian’s stomach and he winced, pushing Roger out of the way some. “You’re whipped by that little girlfriend of yours.”

“Y/N?” Brian set the last clean plate down, cringing at the hollow scraping of porcelain against the raw table. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He watched as Deaky cranked the heat of the stove up in utter concentration. “Don’t turn the heat up all the way—“

“Who cares, Brian? Very funny, “she’s not my girlfriend” “ Roger mocked Brian’s bashful tone, batting his eyelashes as he pouted bodaciously. “Is she a good shag? I can’t believe you’re finally getting laid!”

Brian took a bite of his toast, jutting his chin forward so his plate caught the shower of crumbs that fell. “Well the thing is, Roger—is that she is not my girlfriend. So I wouldn’t know.”

“So—let me get this straightened out.” Freddie held a finger up, his voice squeaky from a rather rambunctious concert a few nights before. “You’ve stayed at her flat for weeks on end, basically, and haven’t—done anything? Nothing?”

“Not a kiss? Maybe a cheeky touch?” Deaky added, setting a questionable carton of eggs next to Freddie.

“What do you do?” Roger looked a convincing fusion of disgusted and disappointed.

“Hang out. Talk. Study.. I don’t understand the big deal.” Brian rubbed his eyes and finished off his toast, focusing his attention on washing the sticky jam from the side of his plate. He felt belittled and stupid, his hands engulfed in scalding water, the metal rings only conducting the heat so it seeped and manifested over his skin, prickling like the tears stinging his eyes. There was something about that raspberry residue caked onto his plate that reminded him of you—your lipstick, your shared breakfasts and coffees snuck into the corner of the library on Saturday mornings, your books almost like a shield to barricade how obvious it was you two were in love—an excuse to stay in each other’s presence, so close together for so many hours.

“You’re in deep.” Roger commented, his tone almost worried. “You love her, don’t you?”

Freddie gasped dramatically, jumping down from the counter. Brian remained silent, scrubbing his plate with perfect deliberation, in attempts to ignore something he had known since fall. Freddie squeezed Brian’s shoulder, pulling a pronounced curl among a mass of loose waves. “Earth to Brian.” He waved a hand in front of his sullen face. “Blink once for yes, twice for no. Are you in love with Y/N?”

“I’ve never been in love. I don’t know what it feels like.” Brian thought that was a good principle for avoidance, and he finally gave up cleaning his plate; his hands were rubbed raw, a fleshy red from the steaming water.

“You know, Brian.” Deaky comforted, much gentler than the other two men. “You know when you are.”

“I guess I am. I don’t know--maybe.” He slumped against the counter, opting to sit on the ground to assess this seemingly otherworldly situation. He’d never been in love, never had the hopes of being in a relationship. He’d spent his high school and adolescent years convincing himself he was bound to bigger things than girls and love and marriage and children; he told himself he didn’t want it. But the hopeless romantic in him feathered into everything he did; he daydreamed about meeting his love in aisles of the run-down grocery store he went to in west London. He dreamt about writing ballads for her and humming tunes in her ear while the two of them slow danced, hand-in-hand, beneath a sliver of the silver moon.

“Why are you sad about it? Is she with someone--I don’t get it.” Roger glanced over at Freddie, who shrugged unknowingly.

“I don’t think she feels the same way--I don’t know. I just know my luck with love; I doubt it will be different this time around.”

Roger shook his head and dug his pointer finger into Brian’s bony sternum where a layered necklace sat, cold against the skin. “No. We’re not doing this self-pity shit, Brian. What did I say a while back? You’re attractive, Brian. You’re a lot sweeter to girls than I am. You’re smart. Girls dig that shit. That’s the thing--you’re the long-term type. I’m the short-term type. And I’m fine with that. You need to be fine with yourself because you’ll never get a girl if you’re sulking around believing you can’t do it.”

“Wow!” Freddie clasped a hand over his chest. “I’ve never heard you be so..sweet, Roger.”

Deaky agreed silently, and Brian tilted his head back against the counter, listening to the pipes of the sink rattle and cry and squeak and he wished he were somewhere else entirely, a molecule of water spilling into trillions of others that looked exactly the same so he could just disappear, and conform.

March 1973

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Brian deliberated over his physics book, reading the same poorly-worded, contradictory sentence over and over. “None of this really makes any sense. When did I become stupid?” He hung his head and pushed his book away, crossing his arms over his chest which was only barely covered by an ivory button-up. Ever since Queen was signed to EMI, you--among many other girls--had noticed Brian’s confidence blooming and growing almost exponentially. The reserved boy in the back of the lecture hall who hid himself in oversized jumpers now wore his shirt only halfway on, and tight pants that only emphasized the lank of his slim legs. His hair was messier, but it only added to his charm, like the three golden necklaces layered upon his collarbones. His timidness and isolation from the university life had once deemed him weird and awkward--but now he was just mysterious, sexy even. You had caught many girls ogling at him from across the library, biting their cherry lips and blushing when Brian met their yearning gaze.

“Why are you even studying? You’re dropping out after this semester.” You asked, genuinely unable to see the point. You watched the muscles in Brian’s forearm ripple as he scribbled notes into a lab notebook.

“Exactly.” He added. “After this semester. I still have a ways to go. Fuck, this makes no sense though; maybe I’ll save myself the trouble and drop out now.”

You scoffed. “And leave me alone to fend for myself for the rest of the semester? Disgusting and shameful.” You said, facetiously.

“Leave you?” He scrunched his eyebrows together. “I’d never. I’m too far gone now.”

His tone was quieter: anxious and apprehensive; his hands played with the charms laid upon his collarbones. There was an obvious shift as soon as you noticed Brian’s adams apple bobbing, his hand hovering over your own as he leaned forward, his breath warm and minty, ghosting over your lips, taunting you. You admired the faint freckling of his aquiline nose, pointed and angular and beautifully masculine. His plump bottom lip, protruding and so fucking kissable.

“Too far gone? What is that supposed to mean?” You scooted forward, running your thumb over his necklace. Brian stiffened, savoring the rarity that was having your hands on his body, no matter how indirectly, no matter that it meant nothing--seemingly.

“You’re always going to be a part of my life--I hope.” His eyes flitted upwards, watching your reaction. Your lips parted as you rested an arm over his shoulder, running your fingers down the expanse of the nape of his neck. He sighed contentedly, his hand finding your knee, tracing arbitrary shapes upon the bump, covered by your jeans.

“I could say the same.” You wanted to say more--so much more--but you didn’t know what this was, where this was going. You didn’t know what was too much, what he wanted to hear, what would hurt him or lead him on. It didn’t take long for you to label what you felt for Brian--your supposed “friend”--as love. Because it was truly impossible to be around him--his stupid grins and corny jokes and wild intelligence and everything about him--without wanting to see and hear and talk to him forever and ever. You had spent weeks on end together, sleeping with a paper-thin wall between you, but one that felt thick and impervious and massively giant--a barrier between you that was physical and tangible. But you’d both felt an emotional barrier separating the both of you for months. How Brian had begun to stay over less frequently although you knew Brian was playing more gigs. But you didn’t attend all of them like you used to, because seeing Brian onstage and in his element and completely himself--you couldn’t help but become more enamored by him with each passing lick of his guitar. And seeing the gaggle of groupies try and take him home was making you unyieldingly jealous.

“I lo--” Brian began to speak, but you barely heard him over the desperate pounding of your heart, and a younger peer batting her eyes at Brian, asking him if he was using the chair next to him.

The tension was arresting, a rubber band hooked over your finger and his own, stretched to the brink of snapping--and it would surely hurt one of you--but then, maybe it wouldn’t. You hoped it wouldn’t.

April 1973

Brian sat, hunched over a rather thick packet of papers full of graphics, pictures and equations for velocity and all sorts of things he knew he should have memorized by now--but his mind had no hierarchy now. He used to put school at the forefront of everything; he spent weeks revising for physics tests, convincing himself through something akin to self-torture that if he spent enough time studying and mastering he would soon learn to find passion in it. And he did have a passion for science--but it wasn’t as raw, as all-defining as his love for music. He had gradually lost interest in his studies as Queen picked up venues and fans and groupies--and now he had spent the past few weeks of the semester daydreaming. About performing, recording, growing famous. But mostly, they involved you. Performing with you in the front row, recording songs about you, coming home to you after a long and strenuous tour. It was all he thought about--dreams. Mere possibilities that you and him could be together--but just maybe. Just possibly.

He was wearing a pinstripe suit, one that elongated his body, his legs specifically. Silver necklaces hung loosely from his deeply tanned neck as he leaned forward, the eraser of his dull pencil salty against his lips. His hair was messy from hours of touching and playing with the tendrils of curls falling over his face. He had a photoshoot--the first real Queen photoshoot--right after his physics exam, and Roger convinced him to wear the suit to class. And while he admitted to becoming more daring with his attire as you grew his once minimal confidence, wearing a full on striped suit to an exam felt excessive.

“Well first of all,” Roger spooned some cereal into his mouth, cringing at its staleness he had hoped the milk would have subdued. “You’re gonna be late if you’re not dressed for it during the exam. So you have to wear it anyway. Might as well have fun with it!”

“I don’t--” Brian began.

“But! Also,” Freddie widened his eyes, sipping some chamomile tea, supposedly to calm his nerves. “We three were talking… and it’s time.” He paused dramatically, and then continued, sensing Brian’s uneasiness. “--To tell Y/N how you feel.”

“You still haven’t told her about the tour, have you?” Roger almost scolded him, and brian shook his head timidly.

“No. But I haven’t seen her much lately. We’re both so busy--with exams.” Brian explained.

“You always study for exams together though.” Deaky said. Of course, Brian had dwelled over the fact that he and you hadn’t really hung out or studied or had a sleepover in weeks on end. Your calls had gotten briefer, confessions simmering at the tip of your tongues. Opening your mouths would only release everything you both were thinking, and it just never felt like the right time.

“I know.”

So sitting, squished uncomfortably into his tiny desk in the back corner of the lecture hall, Brian gave only half an attempt for the last few questions, bubbling in the first answers that seemed plausible--not that he had the slightest clue. He had decided--in the minute elapsed between finishing the test and finally turning it in--that today was the day he was going to tell you the feelings he had been suppressing since the leaves were crisp and shades of browned ochres were all that Brian’s sweet eyes could see.

Brian didn’t pay much attention during the photoshoot; he just tilted his head when the photographers said so, lifting his chin and trying his hardest not to blink. All he could imagine while he posed and tilted for the allotted two hours was your reaction; would you laugh or cry? Would you feel the same way? Or would you say you hadn’t talked to him because you were endlessly tired of boring old Brian May? Had you fallen in love with another guy? Was that why you had invited him over less and less as winter morphed into spring?

He thought and dwelled ceaselessly as he buzzed up to your flat, holding two blood red roses behind his back, careful to not prick his fingertips with the hidden thorns. It felt like a metaphor for your and his relationship--walking on eggshells around each other until you both were at the edge, just trying to avoid the pain of rejection. But Brian needed to know; the lust for love had, for once, surpassed the worry of you not loving him back.

“Who is it?” You raced to your intercom, confused.

“Me.” Brian replied. “Brian. I need to talk to you.” He ran his fingers over the glossy stems of the roses as you buzzed him up.

You heart felt choked in your throat, your nervous system overly-aroused as your fingers trembled, opening the door quicker than you ever had before. Brian stood abashedly at the door, his long fingers choked around two lone roses. You had never seen him look so handsome before; his hair was frizzy and his curls uneven; he was wearing a pinstriped suit you had only seen buried in the depths of his closet once before. His adams apple bobbed anxiously as he extended his arms, offering you the wilting flowers. His lips parted, a warm peach tone, as you took them.

“I’ve missed you.” He admitted, stepping into your flat. He loosened his tie, wiggling the uneven knot he had spent twenty minutes tying that morning. “Where have you been?”

“Here.” You answered. “Always here.”

You were wearing an oversized t-shirt and some fleece pajama bottoms, your hair unwashed and even more untamed. You yawned into your hand and led Brian to the couch, almost feeling grand relief at finally having him back there, where you thought he belonged, with you. Brian couldn’t believe how blind he was to ever believe he wasn’t in love with you; seeing you like this--natural--was all the confirmation he needed to know he was doing the right thing.

“Come here.” You sat up on your knees, and then knelt behind him, where he sat on the couch. “What’s bothering you?” You pressed your thumbs into the aching muscles of his shoulders, loving how soft and hot his skin was. His head rolled back and he groaned, just loud enough that you could perceive it and he could be embarrassed by it.

But, he didn’t mention it. “I--” His leg started to bounce up and down and he didn’t feel control over his mind--and definitely not over his body. This was the time. This was right. “I love you.”

You stopped kneading his shoulders between your fingers, slinging your arms over his shoulders as you sat on your feet. “You--what?” You heard him--how could you not--but you wanted to hear it again, wanted to know he felt it enough to admit it twice.

“I’m in love with you. I want you.” He whispered it this time, less confident. But you tilted his head to the side, your fingertips resting against the jaw you had so often wanted to pepper with sweet kisses until he drowned in them.

“God, I feel the same way.” You stroked the thumb of your other hand over his cheekbone, admiring the structure of his face, so angelic, so perfect. “You’re so perfect.” You said it aloud this time, touching the curve of his lip. “Perfect for me. I love you too.” You pulled his face forward, molding your lips with his, sighing into the kiss, which was searing and fueled by months of restless pining and lust. His lips parted and he moaned; it was the sweetest sound you had ever heard--innocent and purely Brian. You slipped your tongue into his mouth easily, massaging his as your hands tangled into his hair, yanking at the roots softly. His arms snaked around your waist carefully, pulling you into his lap fluidly.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” He whimpered against your lips as you ran your fingers over his scalp, reveling in his desperate cries. “I need you.” He rocked his hips slowly as you grabbed his face a second time, running your tongue over his bottom lip as his hands fell over the curve of your ass, squeezing just enough for you to slip a moan into his heavy, escaped breath.

“I want to make you feel good, Brian.” You tilted his head back, looking at him through your lashes as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat, suckling on his pulse point as you realized how he writhed beneath you when you did. You were deliberate, dragging your teeth smoothly along his protruding collarbones where his necklaces laid, sucking marks into the tanned skin and moving inwards with softer kisses, until you reached where his collarbones met.

“God, it feels so good--” He whined, his hips rocking forward, enough for you to feel his hardening cock against your core. “I want more.” He pushed down on your shoulders so you were flush against his cock, rocking back and forth as you kissed down his sternum, pulling at his tie to loosen it.

“You want more?” You teased, pulling him forward by the silk around his neck. You captured his lips in another kiss, one that was more loving but impossibly desperate and longing.

He nodded as you pulled the buttons to the shirt beneath his suit jacket, unfastening them teasingly to reveal his chest, splotched with a crimson blush. You ran your hands over the ridged, prominent bones in his chest, over his ribs and his toned stomach, down to the dark patch of hair that led you straight to the button of his trousers. His cock was incredibly prominent--long and hard--against the taut fabric, and you ran your palm over it, watching his mouth fall open in disbelief at having you finally, finally touching him.

“Lie down.” You commanded, watching him hurry to oblige. He was too tall to fit his legs onto the couch, so his feet hung off, his legs spread as wide as possible on the narrow width as you knelt between them, falling forward to kiss his sternum, licking down the valleys and crevices of his chest and pressing hot kisses along the skin, before you finally reached the waistband of his pants, your breath fanning over his begging cock.

“Oh god--I’ve never--You don’t have to.” He gasped as you palmed him more; he felt pulses of precum oozing from him, wet over his pants.

“You’ve never been sucked off?” You questioned, popping open the button. Your fingers pulled his zipper down quickly. “Can I be your first? I want to. I want your cock in my mouth.” You assured him.

“Fuck--yes--only if you want.” He nodded, letting out a heavy sigh as you released his aching cock from his briefs.

Your eyes widened as you held him in your hand; he was very well endowed--thick and long and throbbing with veins along the shaft. “Jesus, Brian.” You licked your palm--both of them--and started to stroke him with both of your hands, running your fingers along the veins of his underside until you reached the tip, his hips bucking forward as you touched his most sensitive area. “You’re so big.” You scooted back on your knees, resting between his legs as your mouth ghosted over him.

“Wh--what?” He was too high on the sensation--on the anticipation-- to understand what you were saying.

“Your cock is big, Brian. Fuck.” You watched him intently as you spit over the tip, watching it pool at his slit and then dribble down the sides. Brian had never felt like this--so loved and wanted--in his entire life. And feeling your spit that was mixed with his own spilling down his shaft was making him keen for more.

“God--Fuck.” He rested on his wobbly elbows, his stomach tensing as you pressed a kiss to his tip, your hands jerking him off lazily as you watched his eyes flutter shut.

“No, Brian. I wanna see you. Watch me make you feel good.” You directed, finally sucking on his tip, hollowing your cheeks to give him suction.

“Fuuuck.” He moaned loudly, his eyes hooded and lips bitten as he watched you suck on his cock, your tongue massaging a sensitive patch of skin on the underside of his head. His fists were clasped at his sides, his nails digging into sweaty palms.

“Baby, guide my head. Let me show you how much I love you.” You licked a thick stripe up his shaft and smirked as you watched him shudder in pleasure, before your lips began to wrap around his thick cock once again, bobbing your head up and down. His fingers threaded in your hair and pushed some tendrils away from your face, intent on watching you leftover mascara stream down your face. He whimpered and writhed beneath you, his hips thrusting into your mouth lazily as spit and precum spilled from your mouth.

“Holy shit--Fuck.” He gasped, watching the mess you were making on his cock. You were humming around him as you swirled and flicked your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty precum oozing from him. You took him as much as you possibly could down your throat, your eyes averted upwards to watch him as you gagged on his dick just slightly. His head fell back as his tip hit the back of your throat and he let out the deepest, most pornographic moan you never thought you’d hear from him. You pulled off of him, your mouth tight around him, watching strings of your spit break as you let his cock out of your mouth with a satisfying pop. Brian’s breaths were labored and heavy as you stroked his cock slowly, lubing it up with your spit.

“You dirty boy.” You spit more into your hand and massaged it into the velvety skin of his dick. “You like it sloppy, don’t you? Who would’ve thought?” You teased, moving down to suck on his tip more, your hands still jerking him off, your grip tight.

He nodded, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck--I love your mouth on my cock.”

You’d never heard him say anything suggestive, so hearing him say something so vulgar--so hot--made more wetness pool in your panties. You clasped a hand on his thigh as he began to fuck into your mouth slowly, one of his hands falling from your hair and over your hand on his leg. You dragged your tongue up his cock and rubbed his tip against your lips, watching his lips part and breathy moans escape as you did so. “So, so handsome.” You praised. “God, you’re perfect.”

He whined, so desperate that he pushed your head down just slightly--not that he didn’t feel bad about it. “Fuck, I’m so-sorry.” He gasped as your tongue swirled around him, warm and wet. “I didn’t mean to push--”

“I love you Brian--but shut up.” You continued your ministrations on his eager cock, moaning and humming around him, watching his pupils dilate and his eyes roll back as you licked and sucked his most sensitive areas, pulling him into a haze of pure euphoria.

“Oh--God. I love you so much. Fuck-I’m gonna cum..” He grabbed your hair desperately and tensed his stomach, trying to fend off his orgasm. “No--no. I wanna--I wanna be inside you. Can I please--”

You took him from your mouth and pulled him into a kiss, hot and unrelenting. This time, Brian took control, sitting up and pulling you into him so you straddled him, his lips tracing down your neck and over your collarbones--just like you did to him. He pushed your hair behind your shoulders and pressed passion-fueled kisses to your throat and upon your shoulders, thumbing the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please, do whatever you want to me--” You interrupted him before he could even answer, pulling his face into yours as he lifted your shirt over your body, wrapping his arm around your waist to flip you over so he hovered on top of you.

“Oh my--God.” He admired your breasts, groping and massaging them in his hands before he kissed the sensitive skin, running his tongue over the marks he made before it swirled around your nipple, making your back arch.

“Fuck--” You tangled your hands in his hair and pushed his mouth closer to your body, gasping as his fingers pulled the drawstring of your pants downwards, before he yanked them down, pushing your underwear aside.

His fingers rubbed gently around your entrance, his thumb stroking your aching clit as he felt your wetness with the pads of his fingertips. “So pretty. I’m gonna stretch you out with my fingers, okay?” He waited for your approval and you gave it to him, in the form of a soft nod. He sucked his middle finger into his mouth, despite how incredibly wet you were for him already. His tongue swirled around the digit and you whimpered, writhing on the couch as he delved it into your pussy, hooking it to rub against your sensitive walls.

You gripped onto his wrist as he pumped his finger and and out of your hole, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “More, Brian. Fuck I want another one.” You urged, and he rubbed your clit in soft circles, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours as he pushed his ring finger into you as well, moving them in unison, moderately fast, but slow enough so you felt yourself on the cusp of an orgasm.

“So tight, fuck you think you can take my cock?” He nibbled at your earlobe and groaned into your ear as your walls clenched at his words, so straightforward, so unlike the sweet Brian you had known before, the one who was shy about leaving his underwear at your flat, the one who made you breakfast and blushed when his hand brushed against yours. You ran your hands down his back which was still covered by his button-up, which was halfway hung off his shoulders. Hickies covered the soft skin of his collarbones and extended over his neck; his hair tickled your own neck as he kissed you deeply and forcefully. His fingers pushed deeper inside of you and you pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, dragging your nails down his back as he curled his fingers again and again.

“Give it to me, Brian. Fuck--I need you inside me.” You had never felt more needy in your life; you had been starved of a touch this passionate and lustful in your life. You’d never felt a love this profound--one that was all-consuming, the licking tendrils of a fire engulfing your body into a flaming abyss you couldn’t seem to get out of, even if you tried. But you didn’t want out; you wanted more. He quickly lined himself up with your entrance, running his tip along your pussy, from your throbbing clit to your entrance and back up again, until you were hanging onto his neck, your nails scratching down as your legs shook.

“Brian--” You arched into his touch, how his fingers danced over your stomach and over your breasts, his lips attached to your jaw so his moans tickled against the shell of your ear. He rocked himself against your bare pussy, wanton moans escaping his bruised lips as he felt himself throbbing, every ridge of him being caressed by your sensitive core. He hitched your legs over his waist, one of his arms extended, straight next to your head as he pushed his tip into you, the veins in his arm pulsing in tune with his racing heartbeat. You pulled at the curls at the base of his neck and groaned at the dull burning inside of you; he was so thick.

“Are you okay, baby? God, you’re a fucking angel.” He rested on his elbows, still inside of you.

“It--hurts.” You whined, gripping onto his shoulders desperately.

“Want me to pull out? I don’t--” He began.

“No--more. Just go slow.” You sighed and dug your nails deeper into his skin as he pushed in further. “Ohh fuck. You’re already so deep.”

Brian tilted your head so the tips of your noses were touching, colder than the rest of your bodies. He kissed the corner of your mouth and whimpered, his hips stuttering as he pushed in even further. “Fuuuck-God you’re so tight. Taking me so well, my love.” He stroked your hair and wiped a tear from your eye with his thumb.

“Fuck, Brian. Go deeper--I want you all the way.” You urged him with a small nod, his forehead sweaty against yours.

He gasped and moaned as he became sheathed inside of you completely, your walls fluttering around him tightly, without him even moving. He moaned and whined into your mouth as he began to rock his hips back, pulling out of you slightly before fucking back into you, more easily than the first time. He grunted against your neck as he left soft kisses at your sweet spot, his thumbs rubbing against your scalp as he fucked you slow and deep. “You feel so good--fuck you’re so good, taking me all the way.” He cooed into your neck, one of his hands trailing down, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in assured circles, bringing his head up to watch your eyes flutter shut as you moaned almost innocently at the sensation.

“You’re fucking me so good, Brian--God--I want your cum.” You pulled his lips to yours and bit softly at his bottom lip, stroking your tongue over his as he picked up speed, his fingers still rubbing at your clit as his other one stroked your cheek.

“You want me--to cum inside of you?” He asked, making sure. “Fuck--wanna cum so deep inside.” He whined and went even faster, angling his hips to fuck into you at a new angle.

“Oh--fuck. Come on, baby. I know you’re so close.” You pulled at his necklaces, rolling your head back as his thumb pressed harder against your clit. “Give me your cum--please.” Your eyebrows knitted together as the couch squeaked beneath you, your wanton moans echoing off the tiled floors.

“Angel--so fucking pretty. I’m so close-” He trailed kisses down your chest and sucked on your nipple, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the bud as he began to lose his rhythm, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“My perfect boy--God, I love you. Love seeing you so desperate to cum.” You egged him on, and he wrapped the hand that was caressing your cheek around your throat, pressing gently against it, causing you to clench harshly around his cock.

“Oh my God--I’m,” His cock slipped out of you and he shoved it back into you, snapping his hips forward, his hand around your throat as his thumb rubbed over your bottom lip. He came in spurts, hot and deep inside you, groaning in a way that was much more primal than before. You arched into him as you came too, coating his cock with your wetness and his own cum. “Fuck--that feels so good.” He cried as your hand grasped over the one still around your throat, gripping his fingers as you came down from your high.

He pulled out easily, catching the excess cum with his hand in a manner that was anything but graceful. You rested on your elbows as he got up to wash his hands and grab a towel, which he rubbed you down with, pressing firm kisses over your hip bones as he did.

“I love you--I don’t know what to say now, other than that.” Brian giggled, a wide grin adorning his face; his hair messier than you had ever seen it, his lips red and thoroughly kissed like his neck and collarbones.

“I love you too Brian--I can’t believe we went this long without each other.” You laughed. “God, we’re clueless.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I guess--good things come to those who wait?” Brian paused. “That seemed a lot more poetic in my head.”

“No need to be poetic after you just fucked me, Brian. Always the intellectual you are.” You booped his nose and pecked his lips softly, pulling your shirt off the floor as he slipped his briefs back on silently.

“I think we should be together.” Brian held a pinky out, scooping up yours with the long digit. “I don’t quite know how it’ll end up, but a pretty girl once told me to go for it.” He linked your fingers together and sealed the promise with a drowsy smile.

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#Brian May #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #gwilym lee #Queen #bohemian rhapsody #BoRhap #smut

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crashdevlin · 6 years ago

Text

Keeper of the Stars-2: Fated

Author’s Note: A multi-part sequel to Some of This Isn’t Bad

Summary: Y/n was a fan of the Supernatural book series who wrote fanfics and attended the conventions. After meeting the boys through Becky, she stopped being a fan and became a hunter. When she shows up at a hunter wake, she doesn’t expect the Winchesters to remember her, and doesn’t expect the argument that breaks out between her and Dean.

Pairing(s): Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4255

Story Warnings: 18+ HERE BE SEX, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!, fingering, oral (male and fem rec), protected sex

Chapter Warnings: none

You gasped as you stepped through the heavy iron door into the bunker. "Wow."

"Welcome to the Batcave." Dean said, smirking as he pulled the door closed.

"It's weird, but... this is exactly what I imagined when you told me about it."

"Really?" Dean leaned against the railing next to you.

"Yeah. Down to the ancient computer banks lining the wall, there." You pointed down to a set of old beige-colored computers. "Imagined 'em bigger, though."

"That's just part of it. The main computer's in a separate room with a special cooling system."

You smiled. "Well, that sounds about right."

"Come on. I'll give you the penny tour." Dean said, heading down the spiral staircase. You followed him. "This is the big nerd's favorite room." He said, gesturing around the library. You looked around the room, eyes flitting over the spines.

"Oh, my god. Is that an actual Malleus Maleficarum?"

"Yeah. We got some real cool shit in the fiction section, too." He gestured to another shelf of books. "First editions, all of 'em. Dickens, Pope, Jane Austen, Emerson, Thoreau."

"Why's The Wizard of Oz on the Nonfiction shelf?" You asked.

"'Cause Oz is real." You turned to him with a completely disbelieving look and he laughed. "Got a lot to fill you in on."

"Oz... munchkins, Wicked Witches... Wonderful Wizard of-"

"Yeah. The, uh, Wizard was evil, by the way. Well, bad. The Wizard was all the bad shit out of this sweet old Men of Letters legacy. Dorothy and her dad were Men of Letters, too."

"Dorothy was- This is weird. Like, I've had my share of weird over the last few years, but come on. Oz is real? How do you guys stumble into shit like that?"

"Wish we hadn't. Come on, let me show you my second favorite room in this place." He said, nodding toward a hallway.

You smirked as you followed him. "Let me guess... the kitchen? This place must have a huge kitchen."

"Well, it's not huge, but it's bigger than any kitchen that I've ever had. The kitchen I had with Lisa was nice, but it was pretty small and, honestly, Lisa thought I was gonna poison her and Ben so she never let me cook." He chuckled, pushing his hands in his pockets. "There was this one weekend she went on this yoga retreat. She left money for us to order pizza, but I made stuffed sliders one night and meatloaf the second. Ben loved them." He turned right into a doorway and stepped down into an industrial kitchen. He looked around, proudly. "My second favorite room. What do you think?"

"I think it's pretty great. I... haven't had a kitchen in years. I do most of my cooking on hotplates." You moved toward the fridge. "A real refrigerator. I forgot they came in sizes bigger than 3.4 cubic feet."

"Uh, don't open that. It hasn't been cleaned out in, like, a month, so..."

"It can't be that bad." You said, pulling the door open. You immediately gagged at a foul smell and pushed the door closed. "Oh, God, I stand corrected."

He chuckled and grabbed a can of soda from the counter. "It's warm, but do you want one?"

"No. I'm good, thanks." You said, sitting at the little wooden table and looking up at him. "You gonna sit down and talk to me, or what?"

"What, you don't wanna finish the tour?"

You laughed. "I have a feeling that the tour ends in your favorite room, Dean: your bedroom. I'm not here for that."

"Your loss. My bedroom is badass." He sat across from you and popped the tab on the soda can. "So, where should I start? I've given it a bit of thought, you know, but you're in control here, sweetheart."

"Amazon. Go."

"Had a nice time with a... fairly attractive woman, who immediately got pregnant and had a small girl who... Amazons come out quick, grow up fast, and kill their fathers." He bit his bottom lip and sipped the soda. "My daughter was a pretty little blond monster named Emma. Sam killed her... 'cause I couldn't."

You looked down. "That sucks. That'd definitely make me wary of random encounters."

"Yeah. Haven't had many of those... well, when I was a demon, I was... kinda insatiable, honestly. Refractory period on a demon is something I miss. Anyway. Uh, so filling in stuff you missed out on, Sam was doing those Trials to shut the Gates of Hell and it almost killed him. He was gonna let it kill him. He was ready to die and-"

"You refused to let him." You finished for him.

"Exactly. Anyway, the angel that I let in him, he got turned by Metatron. Metatron made him kill- wait, do you know about Metatron and the angels falling?"

You chuckled. "The angels were kicked out of Heaven by Metatron. Metatron: the voice of God. He transcribed the word of God into the tablets that the prophets can read. He decided to try to be God. You tried to stop him. He killed you. I don't know what happened to him after that, but someone must've neutralized him."

"Yeah. Heaven did. He was in jail for a while. Jail in Heaven, doesn't that just make so much sense? Anyway, he tricked Cas and escaped." He tapped his fingernail against the tab of his can. "There was this... this girl named Charlie. She helped us with the Leviathans and this thing at a ren fair and... we told her to forget about us, forget about the monsters. She was a lot like you, though. She couldn't go back to reading her sci-fi/fantasy books when she knew that there was a real world full of monsters and magic. Against our protests, she became a hunter. One of the most... amazing hunters I..." His voice broke, so he cleared his throat. "Sam roped her into a plot to get the Mark of Cain off of me and she... cracked the code to the spell and, uh, it was in this book and..."

Tears popped up in his eyes so you reached across the table and took his free hand in yours. He gave you a tight smile, then nodded. "She died. Killed by the Frankensteins... for the book... She was a good woman, great hunter." He cleared his throat again. "Anyway, she's the one who went to Oz." He adjusted your hands so that his thumb was running along the back of your hand. "There's a witch named Rowena, she used Charlie's code-breaker to figure out the spell to get the Mark off of me. Turns out, the Mark of Cain was... pretty much the lock on the Darkness' cage. As soon as it was off, out she came."

"Wait, how did you guys convince the Queen-Mother of Hell to do a spell for you?"

"Oh, you know that Rowena's Crowley's mom?" Dean asked, smiling slightly.

"I figured it out. When I was possessed, I had access to some of Yala's knowledge. Crowley does not have a good relationship with that woman."

"Crowley doesn't have a good relationship with anybody. Uh, anyway... Sam got Rowena to do the spell by promising to kill Crowley... which he failed at, so then he chained her up in an abandoned distillery and forced her to do it. He was kinda desperate to save me from the Mark. Neither of us could really stand me that way. He went for magic and the Book of the Damned... I went for a meeting with Death."

"Death? The Horseman?" You asked, pulling your hand back in surprise. He nodded, before looking down at his hand. He clenched it, then moved it off of the table. "Really? You were calling me out on my reckless choices?"

"Death wasn't that bad. He was actually really easy to talk to. He helped us with Cas when he went crazy with Leviathan power a few years ago and he helped me get Sammy's soul back. I knew he could help with the Mark. Except... his solution, because he knew that relieving me of the Mark would let out the Darkness, was to send me away. To freakin' Jupiter or something, you know? Somewhere where I couldn't kill anybody, or hurt the people I care about. But he wouldn't do it for free. I was supposed to kill Sammy because Sammy had been willing to die after the Trials and I had prevented that. I couldn't do it. I killed Death."

"You what?"

"Yeah. Apparently, that's totally a thing we could do the whole time. Kinda sucked, 'cause like I said, Death was cool, but it was him or Sammy... so I stuck his scythe in his chest and he died."

"You... so what Crowley tried to get you to do in 'Two Minutes to Midnight'-" You rolled your eyes at yourself. "When Crowley gave you the scythe and sent you into the pizzeria in Chicago, that could have worked?"

"Yeah. I guess. Shit, I forgot all about that." He laughed. "Wow, there's still some fan in you, after all. Uh, so I killed Death, Sam got Rowena to pull the Mark off of me and that let Amara out. Amara took it as me letting her out, because I was the last to bear the Mark, and we had this... connection. A scary connection. I couldn't hurt her. I tried. Somethin' about the Mark..." He took a drink then ran his hand through his hair. "She was pissed at God because he locked her away and abandoned her. I get it, you know, but she was eating peoples' souls and destroying shit, so we had to put an end to her. I couldn't. Like I said, we had a connection that was overwhelming. So, it was up to Sam and Sam started having visions and he was convinced that they were from God, but it turns out they were coming from Lucifer's Cage. He figured that if he got Sam to meet with him that he could convince him to say 'yes' again."

Dean flashed a proud smile. "Sammy stuck to his guns, told Lucifer 'no'." His face fell as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. "But Lucifer broke Cas with promises to put down Amara. Cas said 'yes' and Lucifer was let out. Lucifer didn't let on, not for a couple months, but he quietly took back Hell from Crowley and started plotting to take Heaven. Then, we... we track down Metatron to get info on Amara and it turns out that The Darkness is the sister of the Light." He gave you a look, and your eyes widened.

"Wait. God has a sister?"

"Yeah." He smirked. "And, uh, we met God."

You felt your jaw go slack and your eyes widened more. "You..."

"Oh, it gets better." He stood, walking to a metal rack near the fridge to grab a bottle of whiskey. "You've met God, too." He said, grabbing two glasses.

"What?"

He set the glasses on the table and pulled the cork out of the bottle. "The day we met, I noticed you had a signed copy of 'Home' in your purse. It seemed... well-loved. You get that signed in person?"

Your eyes lit up at the mention of the book. "Oh! Yeah. There's actually a neat story with that book. I was at the bookstore with-"

"Then, you've met God." Dean poured whiskey into a cup and pushed it toward you before pouring the second glass.

"What?"

"Chuck. Chuck was God."

"No. What? No, you said Chuck was a prophet." You said, picking up the glass and gulping down two swallows.

"That's what he told us... or rather, Cas told us. Chuck went undercover or something. He wanted to be close to the action instead of just writing it." Dean dropped into the seat across from you again and slid the bottle toward you so that you could refresh your drink. "Guess you and God got something in common."

You picked up the bottle and put it to your lips, forgoing the glass. You set the bottle on the table and looked over at Dean. "I can't believe..."

"Yeah. We, uh, didn't believe it, at first, either. But it's true. Chuck was God and he and Amara jumped ship to go rekindle their sibling relationship. So... Earth is Godless."

"Okay." You said, shaking your head. Your hand shook as you poured the whiskey into your glass, a little past half-full. "Okay. Chuck was God. Did he bring back your mom?"

"No. That was Amara, actually. I went in, ready to suicide bomb her with soul-power, got talking and made her realize that she wanted to fix her relationship with Chuck. As reward, I guess, she gave me my mom back. Kinda. Mom's not quite... she's, uh, out of her element. We're working on it. Baby steps."

"What happened to Lucifer?"

"Oh. He's still out and about, somewhere. Rowena sent him to the bottom of the ocean, but it's Lucifer so he's definitely still around. Cas and Crowley are running him down."

You stood, quickly. "There a bathroom around here?"

Dean looked up at you, a bit confused at your sudden movement. "Yeah. Down the hall, second door on the right."

You gave a tight smile and rushed for the bathroom. You splashed water on your face and took a deep breath. This was big. All of this was big. Lucifer is out and about, Death is dead, Chuck was God. Chuck is God. God handed you the book that started you on the path to meet Dean and told you, flat-out, that it was going to change your life. What an understatement. Why would God have- Why did He want you to be a hunter? A memory hit you and you gasped. You wiped at your face, then opened the bathroom door. Dean was leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall. "You okay? Was it too much at once?"

"Chuck wanted me to be a hunter."

"What?"

You cleared your throat. "That book. The copy of 'Home' that I used to keep in my... in my purse, Chuck gave me that. I was at the bookstore in my hometown. I used to spend all of my free time there. I was lonely and depressed and I used books and-and fanfiction as an escape. I was looking for a new series. I'd just finished reading The Dark Tower series and I needed something else. Chuck walked up and handed me that copy of 'Home' and said... 'This book will change your life', and then he walked away. It was fairly cheap, had an interesting summary, so I bought it. And then I went back and bought the rest. I found the online community, the Supernatural Family, and it did change my life. The friends I made on the internet chatrooms, they saved me from myself, an-and then the conventions... There was this big thing when they put together the first convention and I... I didn't have time to stay the whole night, just long enough to get my book signed. When I saw that... Carver Edlund was the one who gave me the book... I made a joke about him hanging out in bookstores to get his sales up. He said that I was the only one who he'd ever done that for." You took a deep breath. "We talked about you. He signed my book and didn't give it back, immediately. He asked what I thought your character needed in a woman. If you were going to settle down, what would you look for in a wife?"

"Chuck wanted you to... what, help set me up with someone?"

"I said 'Lisa'. You had such a good rapport with Ben and she could handle you if you weren't actively being a hunter." You shook your head. "That wasn't the answer he wanted. He pushed for characteristics, not an already-formed character. I said the woman would need to be funny, a bit damaged but not completely fucked up, that she'd need to be sexual but not a whore... she'd need to recognize your value because you don't recognize it, yourself. She would have to be smart to keep up with you and Sam, strong and capable of taking care of herself but not too strong to accept help when it's required. She'd need to be a hunter, because you'll never not be a hunter." You ran your hand through your hair and looked at the floor in the hallway. "He wrote down everything I said on a pad of paper, then handed the book back. I didn't think anything of it. But... soon after that, I... wrote my first erotic fanfiction. I'd been writing for years, but never... thought of doing anything overtly sexual."

"What are you saying?" Dean pushed off from the wall.

You sighed. "I think I gave... God the blueprint for the woman I am now."

"You think Chuck... wanted us together?"

"It sounds stupid, but..."

"No, it doesn't." Dean smiled down at you. "The day we met, I was drawn to you. It was like you were tailor-made for me. I... shit, I told you the truth about the world for no reason. If that wasn't Chuck interfering, I don't know why I did it." He chuckled. "I'll tell ya, Chuck does know how to play the long game, doesn't he? Gave you that book, set you up to... be what I need, what '06?" You nodded. "Got your input on who you thought my perfect woman would be (spot-on, by the way) in 2010, and three years later has Becky force us to meet at the con."

"And then... you didn't answer the phone for... years."

"So, you became a hunter." He leaned forward, pushing your hair off of your shoulder. "A badass hunter who knows how to ask for help."

"Dean..." You bit your lip and looked up at him. "I didn't come here to-"

"Who are you to deny what God had in mind for you?" He asked, amused.

"A badass hunter who's been burned by you before."

"Okay. Fine. We'll ignore the fact that we were set up on our first date by God. Why don't we set ourselves up a second date? A hunting date. I know you've done Wendigos, but have you ever done a skinwalker?" You shook your head. "Great. Sam's on a skinwalker in Minnesota. Either that or a really angry dog that disappears after it kills. I was planning to go meet with him after you left, but... you could come with."

You bit the inside of your lip and thought it through. If you were right, if God chose you and set your life on the path to be with Dean, maybe you should let it happen. You were not, however, going to fall in bed with him again. "Fine. But I'm getting my own motel room when we get where we're going."

"All right. Sammy's got the Impala so we'll take your Chevelle. And you can tell me some more of your hunting stories."

"None of mine are really note-worthy, Dean. I've never started or stopped the end of the world. I'm just... a hunter, you know?" You pulled your keys out and headed toward the bunker entrance.

"Lemme grab my bag, and you can tell me about your very first hunt when we get in the car."

You sighed and headed for your car, starting it and turning in the stereo. You switched from the radio to the CD changer and moved from your Zeppelin disk to your Taylor Swift 1989 disc. You were certain Dean was going to hate it, but you kinda wanted him to. He dropped his bag in the trunk and pulled open the passenger side door. His nose crinkled as he slid into the passenger seat. "What the hell is this?"

You put your car in reverse and headed for the interstate. "Don't bitch about the music, Dean. House rules. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

His eyebrows came together. "Wait. Did you just quote me... to me?"

"Damn near verbatim from the first book."

"Sammy was bitchin' about my cassettes on the way to Jericho. Man, that seems like forever ago." He made a noise of disbelief, then shook his head. "Turn down the T-swift and tell me about your first hunt."

You snickered at 'T-swift' and turned down the volume. "Well, the first time I decided to check out a case was the last one I called you about. The pretzel guy in Enid, Oklahoma. That's how I knew you showed up. I saw you there, hanging out the window of the Impala like a dog. I bounced after that, but I knew you were ignoring me then so I thought... I figured I already knew the basics of hunting and the rest, well I could figure that out as I went along. First case that I did start to finish was a haunting. A little girl in an old TB hospital in New York. The Ghostfacers went there, but they couldn't find the remains, 'cause most of the bodies were burned when they died because tuberculosis is way contagious. There was a doll, buried on the grounds because they didn't have a body to bury. I found a diary that gave me a roundabout idea of where to start looking. What I found was..."

You shook your head. "It was a mass grave of personal belongings. Dolls and books and eyeglasses and pocket watches and... all of these people's last important things. I burned it all. Several of them... thanked me." You shrugged. "I expected a fight. You and Sam are always getting beat up when you try to burn remains, but they didn't try to stop me. They wanted it to be over."

"That must've struck a cord. I mean, you stuck with hauntings for a while after that."

"Yeah. First non-haunt I did was a demon possession Asa took me on. I was scared out of my mind, thought I was going to be possessed, even though I had my tattoo." You bit your lip. "We tracked it, trapped it and sent it home without a single issue. The vessel even survived. I've never had a hunt go so well, before or since."

"Then Asa took you to bed to celebrate." Dean guessed, twirling the air freshener tree that was hanging from the rearview mirror.

"Don't. Don't do this."

"I'm just curious, okay, because I was under the impression that you didn't do a lot of the one-night stand thing."

"It wasn't like that, Dean. It's not like I go trolling the bars, looking for guys like you who won't care that I won't even be in town next week. It was... With Asa, it was two people who understood each other taking comfort in each other a couple times a year. That's all."

"I wasn't trying to say you were like me. I'm a slut. You aren't." He smiled. "So, you and Asa were a couple times a year. Any other... non-boyfriends?"

"Nah. No boyfriends, no benefits. I had Asa and the gig and that was it."

"I'm sorry, then, that I chased you out of the wake early."

"Eh, it's okay. I got to go get some lonely drinking done and totally didn't have to deal with Jael. It's a plus, in my book."

"Yeah. He was a dick. Took Jody and tried to get us to kill Mom."

"Yeah, and he taunted you all about Asa, right? See, Jody and I, we have a very specific dynamic. We both knew we were both fuckin' him, but as long as neither of us said anything, we were both fine."

"Yeah, how'd you meet Jody, by the way?"

"She caught me trespassing." You laughed. "I was poking around the blown-to-shit remains of Singer Salvage and she caught me. Noticed immediately that my Marshall's badge was fake, took me down for questioning. Which was just a trip to the diner for a cup of coffee and some stories about Bobby. She could tell I was green, suggested I find other hunters to hunt with, but I told her that I was fine. So, she gave me her card, wrote her cell number on the back and said to call if I ever needed anything... Even just to talk."

"Ah, that's why she was the only one at the wake who knew that you met us before."

"I didn't exactly advertise how I got into the business, Dean. Everybody else has dead family members or mutilated friends, I've got a stack of books in a storage locker and a one-night stand. Jody only found out because I got drunk and slipped up."

"A stack of books written by God."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know that 3 years ago, did I? And frankly, it still sounds like a joke to hear it out loud."

"Yeah, that never goes away." He smirked as he looked over at you from the passenger side.

"Stop looking at me like that." You demanded, softly.

"Like what?"

"Like you're imagining me naked."

"I don't need to imagine. I've got a great memory. 'Course, you got a bunch of new hunter muscles I'd like to see up close. I mean, your right hook is..." You rolled your eyes and reached forward, turning up the music.

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme

SUPERNATURAL TAGS @letsby

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@adoptdontshoppets @spnskinnyballs

#cassie writes stuff #spn #spn fanfic #dean/reader #reader-insert

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frederator-studios · 6 years ago

Text

Grace Ellis: The Frederator Interview

Grace Ellis is among the most exciting comic and TV writers working today, and all from coffee shops ‘round Columbus, Ohio. The first comic she created, Lumberjanes, is a NY Times bestselling series, in development as a movie, and brought her home Eisner and GLAAD awards for her cat to try to knock over. Grace is currently writing one of the most magical comics of the year, Moonstruck, but still found time to pen some awesome episodes of Bravest Warriors season 4 (after she determined that the gig was not, indeed, a prank). Grace and I sat down to talk log-doodling, queer representation in comics, and the commonalities between Beth Tezuka and Captain America.

Having written Lumberjanes: were you a Girl Scout yourself?

For a little, until my troop disbanded! Lumberjanes re-connected me with my Girl Scout roots. The inspiration for a lot of the woodsy stuff comes from an outdoor camp I was part of. After college I worked for Autostraddle, the biggest online network for queer women. They host a weeklong sleepaway camp every year called A-Camp. It has a bunch of panels, talent shows, activities - really cool stuff. When I was a camp counselor one year in Big Bear, I made friends with an attendee, Shannon Watters, who’s a writer and editor at Boom! Comics. Later, she approached me about making a comic together.

Wow! So Lumberjanes was your very first comic... ever?!

Yup! The first issue of Lumberjanes was the first comic I ever wrote.

That’s amazing! Wait, backin’ up - what were you doing before?

My big kid job was journalism. I studied a mix of journalism, theater and women’s studies at Ohio State. After school ended I started pitching around and got a gig writing ads for Playbill. Then I got some work with Bustle too. I was doing sort of garbage writing: mostly TV recaps and some vaguely personal stuff here and there. Very little actual journalism. Then I got the job with Autostraddle when the site was still fairly new.

So you taught yourself both comic writing and screenwriting?

Pretty much! I was already familiar with story structure, so it was really about learning to adapt those elements to different formats, and take advantage of each medium. That comes with practice more than teaching. Every format is different. Like with comics, I go panel by panel, one at a time. I have to keep framing in mind while focusing on what’s happening in the scene, and what the characters are saying, because comics are super dialogue-driven. Writing comics is like trying to write the minimum in order to say the most.

How did Lumberjanes develop from the first ‘let’s make a comic!’ moment?

We drew a lot of inspiration from Ms. Kitty Fantastic and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I developed the concept with Shannon and we started from just rough outlines of the characters. Then Brooklyn A. Allen came on and designed them. And after that we brought on Noelle Stevenson as a second writer. Working all together was really smooth, a cut-and-dry process. We only needed one Skype call per issue!

Which girl in Lumberjanes are you the most like?

Molly - well, I’m always told to answer Molly! She’s the timid and unsure one. But hopefully Jo as well! I like to think that I can be a leader.

How did you come to write for Bravest Warriors?

Shannon submitted me! Benjamin (Townsend, Story Editor) reached out. I actually forwarded the email to my lawyer right away. I was sure that I was getting scammed. I was so excited when it turned out legit!

(“Catbug! You don’t just bust in on someone when they're dukin’. Buddy... we talked about this.”)

Do you have a favorite character in Bravest?

Catbug is the most fun to write. Before pitching the Detective Catbug episode I wrote this season, I prepared by hanging out with a 5 year old. It actually helped! Catbug has the funniest voice, I just love writing him. But Beth is my favorite Bravest Warrior. Once I’d nailed down who she is, I really liked writing her. She kind of reminds me of Captain America: she’s unbeatable and refuses to stay down. And she’s unapologetically herself.

She truly is That Beth. How did you first start working on Moonstruck?

It actually started as a school exercise, with no plan to extend it! 2 years ago I was doing a program with Columbus College of Art & Design, where they partner their artists with pro comic writers. I was lucky enough to be accidentally (I later found out, secretly-totally-on-purpose) partnered with Shae Beagle. The assignment was to write a 5 page scene, with 2 twists; the first building off the second. That became the opening of Issue 1: the first twist is that we’re not in a normal human coffee shop - it’s full of mythological creatures. The second is that the girl we're following who seems totally normal… well, she doesn’t view herself as normal at all.

I’ve wondered why Julie is so insecure, when she’s surrounded by such a diversity of mythological people?

For Julie, it’s really this fear of losing control. She’s has a deep sense that in her werewolf form, she’s not normal. She’s not right. So she’s internalized some really negative stuff about what that means for and about her.

Are there levels of privilege and marginalization in this world around being human or mythological?

Yes - I’ve been working on how to represent societal privilege surrounding mythological and non-mythological people. A big inciting factor in Julie’s story is her falling in love with a girl, who - spoiler alert! - is also a werewolf like she is. But Selena has a totally different perspective on who she is. She’s comfortable with herself.

Your characters are so distinct - what is your process for nailing a character’s voice?

It’s a lot of time thinking about who the character is; how they’d react to things, based on their personalities and what they’ve lived. Living close to a college is a big help because I’m surrounded by people around the age of the characters I write. Overhearing conversations is often inspirational! I also pull a lot from real life and my own friends. I have the best time writing over-enthusiastic characters: the ones that are high energy, always on, and oblivious. Julie, on the other hand - it was tougher to find her voice. She’s so timid, yet she also has this sardonic edge. It helped when I realized that she would say “Sorry” all the time. It’s her instinct to apologize for herself, even when she has no reason to! After figuring out something like that, that’s core to her character, I was able to grow her voice from there.

What do you find most challenging about writing? And most rewarding?

Being done is very rewarding! And feeling like you nailed it. The worst thing is when you don’t want to write. It’s easier now that it’s my job, because I have to do it. When I was an AV tech at a movie theater, I always wanted to write, but I wouldn’t do it. What’s tough is that I would rather think than write. Thinking is underrated. But the problem is, I know that I should write something - anything! - every single day.

Do you ever do any of your own art?

Nah, I’m not an artist. I draw sometimes. I’m a prolific log-drawer.

Logs?!

Yeah (laughs) I sometimes fixate on one thing and it becomes the only thing I doodle. Logs are that.

That is… oddly fitting! What is your creative process like?

It’s not very strict. My rule is that I leave my house every day before noon and go to a coffee shop. Then I just plug into it.

What do you like to do outside of writing?

Is there such a thing? Video games, especially during winter. Reading a lot of comics, plays and nonfiction. Biographies are great character studies. Currently, I’m reading a novel, The Blunderer by Patricia Highsmith. For writing pretty light and happy comics, I really do like books about heavy guilt and punishment...

Speaking of Patricia Highsmith - with her Price of Salt such a cornerstone in queer writing - what are your thoughts on representation and writing queer characters?

Oh yeah - we’re all familiar with the tropes. The sad stories, the coming out stories. They’re important in their way. But they aren’t what I need to write! I’m not a sad person, so I can’t just put that on. I write upbeat stories about characters who are already out and accepted. I’m a happy, out lesbian. So to represent those characters isn’t just what’s truthful to me - it also says to readers that hey, you can be a happy, out lesbian too!

Do you think there is a market for young adult media with queer characters and themes that didn’t exist a decade ago?

Absolutely. It used to be that anytime a writer put a gay or lesbian character in anything - let alone a main character - they were pigeon-holed as a ‘queer writer’. And a decade ago, that could severely limit, or even ruin, a writer’s career. Now, ‘queer media’ isn’t just a subgenre - gay and lesbian representation is coming into the mainstream. It’s a changing world. Lumberjanes did so well, it uncovered a whole market of tween, teenage girls and queer women. And there hasn’t been enough made for them! Backstagers, Zodiac: Star Force - a lot of the new comics coming out are riding on a wave of realization for the comic companies. They figured out that they were leaving money on the table when it came to queer female audiences.

What’s your advice to people who want to write comics or TV shows?

Write a lot. Write every day, if you can. It’ll make you a better writer. And put stuff on the Internet. It sounds scary, but it’s the best way to get your work seen. At this point, people are getting jobs off of Twitter. Networking is BS!

What is your Dream, or dream gig?

My dream is to write things that I’m proud of in many different mediums. A musical. A video game. A movie. I’m a really big fan of form. It’s an almost intellectual interest: the different things each format brings to the table, and how you work with each to find the best possible way to tell a story.

What are some of your favorite Things?

I loved Saturday Morning Cartoons. Recess, The Weekenders. I like weird slice of life children’s stories. Calvin and Hobbes is a huge favorite. LA Noir is my favorite video game. And one of my favorite comic artists is Alison Bechdel. She does a strip called Dykes to Watch Out For that is absolutely hilarious. ❀

Follow Grace on Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks for the interview Grace! We’ll no doubt be keeping up with you. Can’t wait for the great stories you’ll tell, across all the formats that strike your fancy!

- Cooper ❀

#The Frederator Interview #frederator studios #grace ellis #lumberjanes #boom! comics #bravest warriors #comics #moonstruck #noelle stevenson #brooklyn allen #alison bechdel #cartoons #animation #writer #patricia highsmith #interview #shae beagle #columbus

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riikkamhaynes-blog · 6 years ago

Text

👏Book review👏 or analysis... whatever

Koston enkeli (the angel of revenge) by Juha Ruusuvuori (published 2014)

The table of content

Introduction (synopsis)

No spoiler review (the writing, dialogue, the pacing + ending, the characters)

Spoilery overview of the plot

The bullshit

Things I liked

What can the writers learn from this?

My rating

Recommendations

Introduction

I found this book in my local bookstore. It was on sale for five euros. It would’ve been around 30 on normal occasions. The cover was cool, the name was intriguing and the price was fair. This book promised to be a psychological thriller about gender roles and the downfall of relationships. Keep that in mind...

My thoughts on it?

Synopsis

The book has two main protagonists; Mia and Harry. They are an old married couple. Mia hears a rumor that Harry could have cheated on her with another younger woman. The prologue shows a murder taking place. Neither the victim nor the culprit is named and their identities are completely ambiguous.

It’s essentially a psychological whodunnit story.

The book is written in Finnish and, as far as I know, hasn’t been translated into English. It’s not a big loss if you ask me.

Non-spoiler review

The chapters were written in a bizarre style. There were no spelled out chapter breaks. There was nothing where you would see “chapter 1, chapter 2, etc”. It may not sound like a lot but it does make a difference when you’re reading. Did I like it?

Look, this format is actually quite common in some nonfiction books but this is the first fiction I’ve read that utilizes it.

Since it is a mystery, I don’t mind an ambiguous narrative and a different format, in fact, if done right, it would enhance the story. I just didn’t like it in this book.

Now, I’m not saying that this failed entirely. The format did help the ambiguity of the story, even if the way it did that was by confusing the f*ck out of me. It almost merged the two POV characters into one. It might have worked.

I do question the need for this formatting choice. I personally didn’t care for it. My main problem is that I don’t feel like this book really benefited from it. I do not think it would’ve made a difference if the book was formatted normally. It was just a big meh for me.

The writing

I have no problems with the actual writing. I found it to be quite wonderful and vivid (even though the book didn’t really describe the setting). The sentence structure was okay (in a way that the length varied). The lack of adverbs was delightful.

What I’m trying to say is that the writing was simply

The Dialogue

It was written in a way that turned it into blocks of unintelligible garbage.

For some unknown reason to man, this author decided not to include ANY dialogue tags. It was just as confusing as it sounds. I found this to be incredibly hard to follow. I don’t that style added anything to the narrative.

More than that, I feel like this style took away from the entertainment value. I love dialogue. It brings the characters alive... but not when it’s written just as another paragraph.

The dialogue was written as the characters telling the reader what was said.

Example:

I told Harry that I was down to fuck if he did the dishes. He told me that he would see to it as soon as we left the funeral.

(That never happened in the story, don’t worry.)

I think that type of dialogue is okay when used when it needs to be used (like in small talk and greetings). It, however, does take away from the showing aspect of the story. We all know that you should show, not tell and this type of dialogue tells. It breaks the immersion when used with conversations that would be better when shown.

There is another problem with this writing choice.

Dialogue helps to break up the normally bland look of the page. Let me show you what I mean by examining these two pages (u don’t gotta read them):

Isn’t that just beautiful? Doesn’t it make you ooze with anticipation to read it?

Then check this out:

The latter one looks way more appetizing. The chances are that you even tried to read specific parts in it. This is because most humans don’t digest big chunks of information easily. I’m not saying that you NEED to have dialogue on every page, in fact, you shouldn’t have it in just to fill space.

That being said, an entire book made out of bricks of plain text with nothing to break it up is going to drive not just the characters to homicide, but the reader as well.

(Both of the examples I gave were of fictional texts so the argument that one is meant to be factual will not hold. Even with textbooks that are meant to convey information, the text shouldn’t be a brick wall because it hinders the amount of information the reader is going to actually pick up. The page is often broken up in textbooks with diagrams and pictures.)

You can also break up the text by doing certain parts in different styles, eg bold and italic. I use this a lot to highlight certain words and sentences so that the reading experience is more interesting.

Conclusion:

Avoid big blocks of bland text because the human subconscious doesn’t find them visually interesting and can often be put away by it.

On a side note; if you plan to have a no-dialogue book, at least break it up in the writing formatting. I would be careful with a no-dialogue book since it’s hard to pull it off. It would put a lot more focus on your writing ability and all of your weak points in writing would pop up like a line of motherfucking erections.

(Not everyone is affected by the bricks as much as others are. I would be wary of it but you definitely shouldn’t freak out if you have it in certain parts of your manuscript. Just make sure that the whole book is not made out of it.)

The pacing

The book was an easy read partly due to the fast pacing. The start was fast and the snippets to the murder helped to keep the reader interested. I didn’t notice any inconsistencies until the very end of the book.

Ah, the ending. The most important and meaningful part of a book... I am disappointed.

We all know what the three-act structure is. It is universally the most popular guideline for the pacing, tension-building and story structure. In essence, tension should rise as the story nears the end. There is a big climax and then everything is tied together, the reader left satisfied.

That’s how it went here, riiigghhhht?

It felt flat.

The author clearly tried to set the tension up, but it failed because we were given too much information and the events leading up to it were unrealistic.

The ending felt flat party because we knew what to expect. And although we didn’t know for sure whodunnit, we knew pretty much what else would have to happen before the end. To me, it felt like the author didn’t put that much effort into making the ending surprising.

He made it clear who was going to die and the only “surprise” was the killer (but it feels like I’m picking at straws when I call that a surprise). It was quite clear that he thought he was being smart by writing it the way he did, but I��m not buying it.

For me, it felt like the pacing was the highest at the start and the middle and that the ending was like a depressing mudslide.

It also felt like there was no structure in the story. I couldn’t pick up when each act was ending. It was confusing.

The characters

One is a cheating whore, the other one is a paranoid cunt.

The paranoia I can understand but it became unhealthy real quick and the cheater turned out to be a huge prick out of the blue (this person was portrayed as a reasonable person prior to the reveal so it didn’t make sense).

I did actually like seeing these two people descend into complete madness. I can give that to the book. Their psychological journey was fun to watch even if there were big parts of the book that let me down.

I enjoyed both viewpoints and it was a very entertaining read. I didn’t personally like either of the POV characters but I can forgive that because they kept me interested.

This book only had two side characters. Their personalities were consistent and reasonable. I could easily believe that they were real people.

The only character I didn’t believe could be a real person was the cheater as their personality kept on swinging and changing depending on the situation. They suddenly changed their morals without explanation. It was super inconsistent and could’ve been fixed by establishing their motives more clearly.

One of this book’s strong suits is the way the author wrote the characters. There was one big inconsistency, but everyone was written in a way that kept the reader interested.

Spoilers from here on out

Spoiler overlook of the plot

An unnamed person gets shot in an unknown location (a bible quote is cited by the killer)

Mia and Harry are having a family vacation. Mia finds out that Harry was seen speaking to another woman in a smoke break.

Mia goes on a big manhunt to expose Harry and basically starts stalking him.

They do a bunch of anniversary shit, have sex a couple of times, Mia is a possessive cunt, the story plays around with the whodunnit question (and whether Harry actually cheated or not).

Mia gets more and more paranoid because Harry smelled like perfume after he left a huge party (and other small things)... because that makes sense.

Harry is a cheating cunt, wow, who woulda thought...

Mia hires a private detective to catch Harry

Mia has a hissy fit and punches a mirror because she is salty of her fading looks and that her husband is going after a younger hot black chick

She is frustrated because nothing turns up from the detective instead of being happy

She fucks with the detective

Harry breaks up with Melissa (we find out that they were together for over a year...)

Mia and Harry come clean about their misadventures

Harry throws a hissy fit because Mia slept with another guy... once... when he slept with another bitch for over a year... classy.

They somehow live in peace for six weeks bc there is a time skip (because their life totally would be uneventful after a situation like that... and we as the reader don’t need to see that shit)

They try to live their life and everyone is jealous and angry

A person is seen going to a hotel and shooting Melissa

There is this weird time skip where we see Harry in a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane and Mia goes out the see him...

The end...

The bullshit

1. At first, I thought the author did the mystery well in a sense that we never knew for sure who it was, but then he kept on giving. He never stopped. He set up everything so clearly against Mia that we knew it was not going be her. We could tell that the killer would be the only character not presented as a suspect (Harry).

That is a classic strategy in mystery but it was overdone in this one.

It got to the point where everything was spelled out as a possible solution and I stopped caring. There was no tension because we knew too much. Please take notes because this happens all too often.

Give enough information so that the reader has questions. Don’t tell the answers to all possible outcomes and only leave the reader with “which one is it gonna be” because it will be boring. If we know what will happen with each option, we will not care about which one it’s going to be (since we basically know the ending in that instance).

Am I making sense? I hope so.

To be fair, the reader never knew for sure who the killer was and that did keep some “tension” in the story. I remember being like “ok, I know basically everything but I wanna keep going bc I wanna see which option the author picked.” It’s not a grand reaction to a mystery, but it’s something. It could’ve been worse.

2. The setting of the story is barely described. I get the point. It’s a psychological mystery. The story is about the journey of this couple. I do however think it’s necessary to at least let us know if it takes place in 2010 or 1960... To know the general time period would help us to relate to the characters more. Mia’s position and social standing would be way worse if it was the 60s whereas, in the modern day, she would be doing just fine.

Timelines are important in psychological stories because they tell a significant amount about how the character would interact with the world they live in.

3. Their relationship fell apart super fast. They have been together for over 20 years and a simple rumor from a shaky source was enough to break it up.

I call bullshit.

4. The book promised to talk about gender equality stuff but it never did. There were no scenes where Mia was treated badly or Harry being treated better. The story takes place in the modern day (I assume) Finland. If you’re gonna say that you will speak about sexism, at least pick a setting where it’s more common and a bigger problem.

A note from my reading diary:

Now that I think about it, maybe the gender role thing isn’t a troll. Mia is shown cooking and it’s made clear it’s unusual and that she is a bad cook. She is possessive, which is usually portrayed as a masculine trait. Then Harry is quite calm and collected, interested in reading and such, which is normally seen as feminine.

That was the only gender role thing I found from the book. I don’t need a book to speak about feminism but when it claims to touch the subject, I damn well expect it to do so.

I also feel like having a female character have masculine traits and vice versa isn’t enough material to claim that your book talks about gender roles. It’s not a big deal. If I have one gay character in my book, it doesn’t make it an LGBT themed book since it’s barely talked about in the context of the story.

My point is that I don’t feel this book has enough substance in it to claim it’s talking about gender equality. To me, it seems to talk about the psychology of murder more.

(I feel like I need to mention that this book was published in late 2014. If I remember correctly that was around the time when the whole feminazi thing started becoming increasingly mainstream and talking about it would give you a shit ton of exposure. Maybe to mention gender roles as being a big part of the story was just a good marketing strategy. I don’t mean to offend the author, this is just a theory based on my experience of the book.)

5. We as a reader never got to really know the characters past. It might not be such a big deal to some people who are there for just the ride, but for me it really was disappointing. I feel like knowing their pasts would help to add some mystery because then the reader has to come up with how the past could affect their psyche today and thus add more to the psychological mystery of the story.

For a psychological story not to speak about the childhood of its characters is extremely weird and disappointing.

I feel like the book would’ve benefitted from letting the reader know.

6. This book introduced this big question of “did they do the cheating” and it was presented as the big thing only for it to be explained within like the first 60 pages. Umm. I feel cheated. pun intended.

I don’t think you should give the reader this huge mystery only to reveal it even before the middle. I totally took me off guard and I almost stopped reading because that was the thing I felt the book was presented as the most meaningful thing (ie, all the characters went on an on about the possibility and the wrongness of it).

The book is on thin ice. It needs to give me another big question that will make me want to read because right now I have the plot all figured out. Don’t pretend to be a mystery novel just to answer all the questions BEFORE YOU GET TO THE FUCKING MIDDLE PART.

~My reading diary

7. Mia is insanely paranoid and obsessive it has never before surfaced in their +20 year relationship? Bullshit. My reading diary really did summarize it the best.

Another thing I don’t really get is Mia’s obsessive and possessive behavior, more so how it hasn’t come up before. It’s made clear that they are older and have been together for a long time. How is this the first time she has gotten this suspicious? How have they not fallen out before? You need to keep in mind that so far, she has no actual evidence of him cheating? She only knows that Harry once spoke to a pretty girl on a smoke break. SO WHAT. Then he has come home and smelled like a woman's perfume, AFTER A PARTY. I don’t think that’s enough to accuse someone of cheating. You can only imagine how freaked out Mia would be when Harry is over at a woman friends house. If she gets obsessed with so little evidence, how have they stayed together for over 20 years??? I call that a plot hole. No rational man would let that slide.

8. I didn’t like how this book made Mia the stereotypical older woman who is insecure about her fading beauty. WE NEED CONFIDENT OLDER WOMEN IN FICTION. PLEASE.

9. The fucking mirror smashing scene. I will let my diary speak for itself.

Mia undresses in front of a mirror. Her mind warps and she sees her body transforming into that of Melissa’s. She calls Mel a bitch and a whore. Classy. She seems to feel insecure about aging. Why can’t there be a story about older people feeling confident?? She’s not even old. She said that she’s 37. NOT OLD. She also described Melissa as having a “cruel smirk”. Please don’t make Melissa a cold-hearted bitch. PLEASE.

Oh, and Mia also punched the mirror. As you do. In fiction. WHY DOES EVERY ANGSTY BOOK HAVE MIRROR SMASHING IN IT?????? why. She didn’t even clean it up. She just went in and took a bath. And now she has a fever. Nice.

Harry is confused about how it happened. He thinks that Mia slipped but it’s obvious she hit the mirror. If her knuckles are bleeding and a mirror has been smashed, it would be obvious that she hit it. Am I slow or something?

omg. Mia is possessed by a demon. Harry was sulking about how “he is supposed to love Mia, why is everything like this all of a sudden” when he hears screaming from Mia’s room. She sits up, apparently still sleeping and says: “leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord”. OMG. She is insane. Citing the bible whenever she can is really creepy. How is Harry not scared for his life??? I WOULD BE HORRIFIED. Then Mia just falls asleep again.

10. A private detective was hired to catch a cheater. I have no words. It’s ridiculous.

11. Mia constantly slut shames this Melissa. I do not appreciate it. I can forgive it because Mia obviously is insane but it’s still annoying.

12. Mia sees cheating as an act of revenge. I can see where it’s coming from but I don’t believe a 40-year-old woman would think that. It’s something I can see angsty highschoolers doing...

13. Harry brought Melissa into a student cafe to break up with her. Where is the logic behind that? Then he has the audacity to freak out when people find out about his inappropriate relationship with a student...

14. The 180 Harry made. He started off as this rational dude. Then it just fell apart. We found out that he had been cheating on Mia for over a year. The Harry at the start of the story wouldn’t do that, then he gets pissed when Mia cheated once, SHE CHEATED ONCE AND HE IS HAVING A HISSY FIT. Bullshit.

His character didn’t regain any of his original traits. I think it’s bad writing. You want the characters to keep at least some of their original personality.

Check out this video which explains it further:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9SK0Jhk7Pw

15. The six week time skip near the end makes no sense, serves no purpose and completely deflates the last bit of tension.

There is no way they could’ve been at peace for that long with nothing notable happening. Bullshit.

17. The tension deflated like a fucking limp cock around the middle and it never got up. I feel like the author tried too hard to lure me in within the first 60 pages, and from there on the tension and my interest in the story plummeted.

18. Conclusion. Harry was the killer.

I hate it. There are so many things wrong with this...

The killer at the start cited a specific bible quote. Harry was in no way religious and NEVER cited the quote whereas it was almost like Mia’s motto. INCONSISTENT.

The killer at the start was highly religious (we could tell by their thought process bc it’s a 1st person). The only scene I remember Harry being religious is a throwaway sentence of him skimming the bible.

Harry was sane and his thought process wasn’t plagued by murderous thoughts, whereas Mia was going on and on about how she would murder for her loved ones and on some occasions, she even fantasized about murdering Melissa.

Mia had a bigger motivation to murder. She was cheated on for over a year, she has a grudge on Melissa (because she is more beautiful, younger and because Harry wants her more than he wants Mia), she is incredibly insecure, constantly feels like people are out to break her seemingly perfect marriage. Speaking of which, she holds her long-lasting marriage as a badge of honor and would do anything (kill) to keep it going. She is a control freak (as shown with her interactions with Harry) and she is extremely deranged near the time of the murder.

Why would Harry kill Melissa? He wanted to make things okay with Mia, he is mad because Mia cheated on him once, that’s it...

Harry was extremely anti killing before the murder whereas Mia was all for it. It would take a lot to persuade him to do it and we know that his motivations are minimal.

Harry being the killer (and it being written like this) breaks Mia’s character. Because he was the killer, Mia is simply a paranoid bitch who has wet dreams of murder.

I’ve already mentioned that we got like no hints and clues that Harry would do it, whereas everything was set up against Mia. The conclusion was obvious.

Things I liked

the start was good. I really liked the small snippets to the murder. It did keep me invested. This book started off strong. I was immediately invested in the story. I wanted to see who will kill who and if Harry actually cheated. Then the story went downhill.

The psychological journey of MIA, fuck Harry. He was a mess

Mia descending into madness

Mia being crazy for murder

Mia growing a backbone as the story went on

I want Mia to top me

What can writers learn from this?

when writing a mystery, don't make the characters do things that don't match their personality just because you need to confuse the reader. it’s bad storytelling and will break the reader's immersion.

Make sure that the characters arcs are finished and they have a proper conclusion.

you need to make sure that all of the clues you drop tie together. if they don't, the reader will feel like they were cheated on.

My rating

2/5 on Goodreads.

Recomendation

I would only really recomend this if you wanted to study storytelling and what works and what doesn’t. I don’t think it’s a lifechanging book that you have to read.

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