#...I might have to write a Thing for those two now...

[verstappenverse]

All This Time

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was your first everything, first friend, first heartbreak. Now years later he’s world champion, and you’re standing in front of him like no time has passed at all. (Requested)

3.1k words / Masterlist

You didn’t expect him to remember.

Not after all this time. Not after the years had passed like train cars speeding in the dark, loud, fast, and gone before you could even wave.

You’d stayed in motorsport, of course. Racing had been in your blood too once. You never fully pursued it like Max did, but you’d carved out a place for yourself behind the scenes, making a name for yourself in strategy, development, coaching, anything that kept you close to the world you loved. Anything but Formula 1. You avoided that part like a wound you never let scab, too afraid it might tear open the second you saw his name on a garage wall.

But today when you finally step into the Red Bull garage and your eyes meet his, those same ocean-blue eyes that once squinted against the sun as he begged you to race him down some dusty backroad the world doesn’t just pause. It stops entirely.

Max Verstappen freezes like he’s seen a ghost.

“Hi,” you say, barely above a whisper. Because really, what else can you say after almost ten years, multiple countries, and the ache of being forgotten?

He blinks once. Then again. His jaw tightens.

“You came.”

You nod, nervous under the weight of his gaze. “Yeah. I mean, your mum invited me, and… it felt like time.”

Time. That strange, cruel thing that unraveled the knot you’d once tied so tightly between you, a knot built from scraped knees, shared dreams, and the kind of trust that only comes from growing up side by side.

Time turned summer sleepovers into unanswered texts. Turned secret handshakes into blank stares across a room you no longer shared. It turned “always” into “used to.” You had been inseparable. Velcro. Chaos in a two-person unit. Trouble, always in pairs and never quite as brave alone.

You’d kept up with his career of course. You knew his stats, his wins, the way the crowd chanted his name now. But the Max you remembered the one with grass stains on his knees and ice cream on his chin felt like someone else entirely.

You grew up in karting garages together, your laughter bouncing off concrete walls louder than the engines. You were twin shadows slipping between toolboxes and tyre stacks, dodging mechanics and stealing zip ties like they were gold. Oil-smudged fingers. Greasy fries in one hand, tyre pressure gauges in the other. Max taught you how to kick-start an engine before you’d even mastered telling the time. You taught him how to tie a tie, how to tape a blister, how to calm down after a bad lap.

You used to sneak snacks off each other’s trays and pretend neither of you noticed. You fell asleep shoulder to shoulder in the back of his dad’s van, watching old F1 races on a cracked iPad and whispering commentary until one of you snored. You had a notebook, battered and dog-eared, where you’d both sketch ridiculous helmet designs, all glitter paint and fire decals. He always said he’d wear yours if he ever made it. You still have that page, folded and faded.

After every race, whether he won or crashed out, he’d find you. Every time. He’d pull off his gloves and jog toward the barriers just to hear your opinion. When you raced his face would light up when you crossed the line whether first or last didn’t matter. You were his best friend. That was enough.

But then life did what life does. You moved. He kept racing. You said you’d write. He said he’d call. And you did at first, but life moves fast and somewhere along the way you stopped.

Now here you are standing in the Red Bull garage as if no time passed, as if the world hasn’t changed, as if you’re still those two sunburnt kids who thought karting trophies and fizzy drinks were all that mattered.

Max looks at you like you might disappear if he blinks again.

His gaze flicks over your face with an urgency he’s trying to hide, like he’s checking to see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. Like he’s afraid to find too much of one or the other.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you around here again,” he says finally, voice low and rough-edged, like it’s scraped up from somewhere buried.

You swallow the lump that rises instantly in your throat. “Didn’t know if you’d even remember.”

His mouth tilts not a smile, exactly. More like the ghost of one, soft and haunted around the edges. “You’re kind of hard to forget.”

And just like that, something inside you, something carefully packed away for years, twists, sharp and sudden. An old ache, familiar and stupidly alive. He used to say things like that all the time, back when the only people in your world were each other.

Max shifts like he wants to say something else. Instead his eyes catch on your features again, and he frowns faintly.

“You look…” he starts, then trails off. His lips part like he might keep going, but nothing comes.

You don’t press him. You’re not sure you could handle it if you did.

So you offer a crooked smile. “Older?”

He snorts, a low, almost fond sound that slips past his defences. “Still short.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his arm. “Still rude.”

Then he laughs. Really laughs. It hits you in the ribs like a punch, that sound because it’s the same. Deeper now, with age and wear, but still the same boyish rasp that used to echo through paddocks and across bunk beds and over midnight walks when the world felt too big and all you had was each other.

For a second, it’s like no time passed at all.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been staring, locked into the space between who he was and who he is, until his voice drops lower, softer.

“I missed you.”

Three words, barely breathed.

They land like a stone in your chest.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes at first. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something that might no longer be yours.

“I missed you too,” you whisper finally, and the truth in it feels like something dangerous.

Because now you’re not just remembering him.

You’re feeling him.

The next morning, the paddock is alive with chaos, engineers buzzing, cameras swiveling, drivers darting past like comets. But all you can think about is the message from Max that was left at your hotel for you.

Come by the garage in the morning, before FP?

Your fingers tremble slightly as you enter the paddock. You’ve barely slept, head full of things you almost said and things he nearly did. It’s like a door opened yesterday, and now you can’t stop looking inside.

He’s waiting by the back of the garage, half in uniform, half in thought.

His face softens when he sees you.

“I was hoping you’d come.”

You nod, trying not to stare at the way his fire suit clings to his frame. “I figured if I didn’t you’d just track me down.”

He smirks. “Yeah probably. I know where you’re staying.”

You laugh, but there’s a tightness in your chest.

You watch as he fiddles with the velcro of his gloves, not quite meeting your eyes. “There’s something I want to show you. Maybe it’s stupid.”

He leads you to his driver room, past engineers, down the corridor with controlled chaos humming all around you, and when the door clicks shut, it’s just you and him.

He opens a drawer. Pulls out something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

A photo.

Faded. Bent at the corners. But unmistakable.

You and him. Teenagers, around fifteen. Covered in dirt and grease and beaming like idiots. You’ve got a bottle of water in one hand and Max is mid-squint, arm slung over your shoulders.

“I’ve had it since that last race before you left,” he says, voice low. “I kept it in my wallet for years. Then it started to fall apart, so I moved it here.”

Your fingers graze the edge of the picture.

“We look ridiculous.”

“You look happy,” he corrects quietly.

You don’t ask how often he’s looked at it. You don’t have to.

Because you remember that day too.

The air had smelled like petrol and hot asphalt, and your heart was still pounding from the race. You were grinning, practically vibrating with adrenaline. Because for the first time ever you beat Max.

He pulled off his helmet slowly, curls a sweaty mess, and sulked like someone stole his dog.

You plopped beside him in the pit lane, holding out the fries you’d bought from the food truck near the gate. “Truce?”

He gave you the side-eye. “You cut me off on turn six.”

You shrugged. “You left the inside line open. Rookie mistake.”

“I hate you.”

You popped a fry into your mouth. “No you don’t.”

He didn’t say congrats, but the way he smiled when he thought you weren’t looking that said enough.

You offered him the last fry without looking at him. “For your bruised ego.”

He took it, but didn’t eat it right away. “You’re gonna win a lot of races,” he said quietly.

“So will you.”

“But I’ll always remember this one.”

You turned to him, confused. “Why this one?”

His gaze met yours, and something in his expression shifted, a flicker of hesitation, like a thought stumbled too close to the surface.

He leaned in.

It wasn’t fast or sudden. It was slow, careful, uncertain.

Your breath hitched. The grease-stained paper bag slipped from your fingers onto the ground. You felt the sun on your skin and the heat of his body so close, his mouth a breath away from yours.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Your noses nearly brushed. His eyes flicked to your lips. You could count his freckles.

But then, footsteps. Loud. Sharp.

You both jolted back like the moment hadn’t happened at all.

His father walked past, barely glancing at either of you.

You looked down. Max rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in his shoelaces.

And just like that, it was over.

Not a kiss.

Just an almost.

An almost that would live quietly in the silence between you, never spoken about, never quite forgotten.

You didn’t expect to be invited to the RedBull motorhome for lunch. And you definitely didn’t expect Max to sit across from you the entire time, answering questions from media with one eye always flicking back to you.

After the interviews, he corners you in a quiet hallway.

"Come for a drive with me."

You blink. “Now?”

He nods. “Yeah. I need to clear my head. I think… I think we need to talk.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you follow him out into the sun.

The car is fast, obviously, and expensive, a blur of black and blue. But inside it everything slows.

“I tried calling once… recently, I mean” he says, not looking at you.

You swallow. “I changed my number.”

He nods. “I figured. I just, you were gone. One day you were there, and the next…”

“I didn’t want to leave Max, I was a teenager I didn’t get a say.”

Silence. Then, “I know, but I really didn’t want you to. I wished I could’ve done something.”

“You were just a kid too. It was no ones fault.” You take a deep breath and then add. “I waited for you that last night, you know. I kept thinking… maybe you’d come find me.”

You’d gotten the news on a late afternoon: your family was relocating. New country. New start. It felt like the world cracked open beneath your feet.

You’d ran to him heart pounding with the knowledge that your whole life was about to split in two.

“I need to tell you something,” you’d said, voice shaking.

He looked up instantly. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Then forced the words out.

“I’m leaving.”

Max blinked. “What do you mean, leaving?”

“My dad got a job offer. We’re moving.”

He stared at you. Completely still. “When?”

You bit your lip. “Soon.”

His soda can crumpled slightly in his grip.

You hated the silence that followed. You wanted him to fight it. You wanted him to shout, to say no. Instead, he looked down.

“For how long?” he asked quietly.

You couldn’t lie. “I don’t know.”

He nodded once. Too slowly. Too carefully. Like the movement itself hurt.

You waited. You waited for him to reach for you, to say anything, that he’d miss you, that he was angry, that you meant something. But he just stood there, like his body had shut down and left only a shell behind.

So you swallowed your tears, your pride, and your heartache and whispered, “Guess I’ll see you around.”

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and say you’d fight this, that you didn’t want to leave, but your throat burned and your eyes were wet and you couldn’t force the words out.

Then you turned and walked away.

“I should’ve said something,” Max says quietly. “Anything. I was a coward.”

You look at him.

You don’t say me too.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a decade.

It’s quiet after that. The kind of quiet that lives in the space between memory and regret.

He drives to a lookout over the sea. It reminds you of a place you used to sit together as kids, eating fries from a greasy paper cone and talking about what you’d do if you ever made it.

“You made it,” you say as you climb out of the car.

“So did you,” he replies.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Not in the same way.”

He doesn’t argue. Just leans against the hood of the car and looks at you like he’s trying to memorise you.

“I thought about you,” he says quietly. “All the time.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“I kept waiting for you to come back. For years, I’d look for your face in the stands. I kept thinking maybe today.”

Your throat tightens. You remember all the times you wanted to reach out, to send a letter, an email, anything. But something always stopped you.

Fear. Pride. Guilt.

“I didn’t know if you’d care.”

He turns fully to you then, and his eyes, older, sharper, but still that same ocean blue burn into yours.

“Of course I’d care. You were everything to me. You still are.”

The air between you shifts.

“Max,” you whisper, and this time your voice trembles. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it means anymore. It’s been years.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “But you’re still the only person I’ve ever felt like this about.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He exhales, eyes flicking to your lips before dragging back up. “I don’t expect anything. I just… I needed you to know.”

For the first time in a decade, you let yourself touch him, your fingers brushing against his, slow and tentative.

“I still feel it too,” you whisper.

His hand closes around yours like he’s afraid to let go again.

That night, you sit on the edge of your hotel bed and stare at your phone.

A message from Max.

Come up. Roof bar. Just us.

Your heart is in your throat as you ride the lift.

When the doors open, he’s already there two drinks in hand, back turned to the city view. He turns as you approach, something soft and aching in his smile.

“You came.”

“You asked.”

He hands you a drink. “For old times?”

You take a sip. “Something like that.”

You stare at him. At the man he’s become. Stronger. Sharper. Quieter, somehow. But the boy you knew the one who always gave you the last bite of his sandwich, who held your hand during thunderstorms, who whispered secrets to you in the dark he’s still there.

“Do you think we can go back?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the city noise.

He steps close. Not touching, not yet. But close enough that you feel the pull in your chest like gravity.

“I don’t want to go back,” he says. “I want to start again.”

His next words crack something open.

“You know how often I used to write texts I never sent. Every race, every flight. I’d delete them before takeoff like an idiot.” His voice breaks, just slightly. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you again?”

You nod, because you do. Because every stupid highlight reel of his wins made your heart ache. Because you once screamed into your pillow after seeing him kiss someone else in the paddock and you thought you’d missed your chance for good.

He reaches out. Not touching you yet, just hovering. “I’m never losing you again.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“No. Don’t.” His fingers find yours. Threaded. Familiar. “Please. I’ve won everything I ever wanted. Except this.”

Your forehead presses to his chest before you can stop yourself, and he holds you like he remembers exactly how to. Like he’s angry at the space between you. Like if he squeezes tight enough, you’ll forget the wasted years and remember everything else.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper.

“Don’t ever leave again,” he mutters into your hair.

You don’t answer with words. You don’t even think you just act on instinct.

You kiss him.

Desperate but somehow gentle. A question.

He answers with a hand on your waist, the other on your cheek, anchoring you like he used to when the world spun too fast.

And just like that, you’re fifteen again. And twenty-two. And every version of yourself that ever loved him.

Later, when he walks you back to your room, he doesn’t try to come in.

He just stands there in the hallway, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promise.

His eyes soften. “Stay. In Monaco. Just for a while.”

You bite your lip. “Max…”

“Not just for me,” he says quickly. “For you. For us. Let’s see where this goes.”

You look at him, this man who waited years, who still looks at you like you hung the stars and you know the answer, you’ve always known.

“Okay.”

And when he leans in, forehead resting against yours, everything feels still.

You were always meant to find your way back to him.

It was always Max.

Always you.

Even after all this time

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leo-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds

[mallory524]

Hello! Can I request reader kissing John silly cause she’s missed him (maybe he comes back after a relatively easy mission and it’s reader’s turn to stay with Bob)? She (*cough* me *cough*) just wants to kiss her boyfriend!!

(I actually giggled and kicked my feet when i first saw this request i love it)

waiting

john walker x reader

tags- fem!reader, kissing, fluffyyy

word count- 586

notes- i am sorry i’m terrible about writing requests in the order i got them in.

"You're acting like I've been gone for a month-" he tries to say before being muffled yet again.

Kiss kiss kiss-

"Well, it felt like it."

Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss-

He might tease you a bit, but John's not complaining. He thinks this is how you should greet him every time he comes home from now on.

"I was gone for, like, 12 hours."

"I just missed you, is that so wrong?"

That's a good enough response for him.

John wasn't just estimating when he said 12 hours, he always keeps track of how long he's away from you. He wouldn’t admit to being so casually sentimental, but that's the truth.

This was one of those missions that wasn't dangerous enough to necessitate all six people going along, and you could afford to have one person stay behind to hang out with Bob.

Bob always insists, "Oh, you guys don't have to do that," but no one likes leaving him all alone in the tower for hours or potentially even days at a time.

You were still so tired when they were explaining the objective of this mission, and to be honest, you weren't really listening, so you offered to sit this one out. You had a pretty nice day with Bob, but your mind did start to wander.

You thought of John. You pictured him out on some battlefield fighting God knows who. You pictured him walking through the door at the end of the day. You pictured him in the kitchen with you or on the couch with you or in your room with you…

Then all of a sudden it was 9 o'clock at night, not too late, and they were finally all home. There he was, standing in the doorway with his funny little folded shield and his silly messy hair, looking around the room for you with sleepy eyes.

It really was an adorable sight.

You threw your arms around him and attacked him with kisses. Everyone rolled their eyes as always, but they do find it kind of sweet.

"Hey, give me a second to put my stuff down!" John had argued with a little laugh, trying to lean over and put his shield on the floor.

"Nope. I've been waiting for you all day," you said, before giving him a kiss on his cheek, and then his other cheek and then his forehead and his lips. You can feel that he's freezing all over from the cold night air, and hey, you're just trying to warm him up!

Now you're in his room, and John's trying to grab his clothes and get cleaned up... but he's not really trying that hard. He put up basically no fight when you sat him down on the bed and started playing with his hair and, of course, all you wanted was a few more kisses.

"Maybe I should leave more often."

"No, I think that's the last thing you should do."

John laughs. "I know, I'm kidding."

You take a moment to catch your breath. You cover your mouth and start giggling the second you actually stop to look at him.

"Walker, you've got a little..."

You move your knee so you're not holding him in place anymore, and he walks over to the mirror to see some very messy hair and a bunch of glossy tinted kiss marks all over his face.

"Hey!"

"Sorry!"

You aren't sorry at all, and you two will continue the moment he sits back down.

[ziminy]

Have I been a bad boy, mrs officer?

How to not take care of five praedators.

Tags: smut, ageless blogs do not interact, f! officer reader, porn with plot, praises, pet names (honey, sweetheart etc etc), threesome that somehow ended in a gangbang, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, making out, marking, size difference, scent play, praedators, handjob, possessive, jealousy, manhandle, inappropriate use of evol (my favorite tag frfr), edging, tomorrow's catch-22 (bit late but whatever), if I forgot something I'll add more later

Author's note: I only got Rafayel's card from the event, so dunno how accurate the others might be. I went more after how they usually act and my own interpretation from the event, an idea based on the few things I heard about the other cards. I might re-write it if somehow it ends up too inaccurate but I doubt it, I'm pretty confident that I nailed this one.

Author's note: I am embarrassed of what I wrote here. I know I'm always embarrassed of what I write but I swear this one is the cherry on top. I don't think I can write anything as filthy as this one, like, I put all my head and creativity into this.

Words count: 5k

Masterlist

Despite the world you live in, your days have been awfully quiet. Your work life being filled with paperwork, no field assignments. And it's a bit boring, what can I say.

But maybe you shouldn't have complained about your oh so boring life, because you woke up being assigned to take care of some praedators. Five SSS threat level beasts, who were put in your care out of a blue without any explanation.

And here was your life now, stuck with these men who were a few heads taller than you, fighting for your attention. Pulling strings and pranks just for a bit of affection.

Usually it was fine, they would behave since they knew you'd get into trouble if things escalated. Today, however, was different. The air was filled with something heavy, like a warning that screams right in your face to run away, that you're in danger, making it harder and harder to breathe as you got close to the research facility where the praedators were supposed to test some new "toys" the agency was developing.

It gave you chills, but you paid no mind. Focusing on your task, which was more important than the bad feeling that left a weird taste in your mouth.

So, here you were, in front of the metal door, taking a deep breath and trying to calm yourself down. There's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing will happen, especially inside the agency. After all, who was crazy enough to do such a stunt right here out of all places?

You open the door, being met with a big cage in the middle of the room, no researchers to be seen in sight. Well, you did got here a little later than usual, so it wasn't surprising.

Two praedators locked up inside the metal box, tied up so it would keep them in place. And they were calm. Way too calm, like nothing happened earlier at all. But maybe this was their way of luring you in, to make you get closer, trap you right there in between them and keep you there for fucks know how long.

And you fell for it, walking towards their cage, slowly opening the door and looking at the man in your right, Zayne.

"Oh god, what happened to you?" you rushed towards the dark haired man, trying to take those damn handcuffs off him.

He looks tired, overworked, like he was starved for days with a promise that only he knows about. But if you put aside his physical appearance, you would have noticed the mischief in his eyes, looking at you with a smile only visible to himself, then at the white haired man that was tied up on the other side of the cage, opposite of him.

"I'm alright." he sounded like everything but good. And he was getting off the look you're giving him. You're concerned for him, biting your lip in frustration as you knew you could do absolutely nothing about it, you were no help to him. But he's happy, especially with the fact that you're only paying attention to him.

Like you read his thoughts, you turned around, looking at the white haired man with the same eyes you looked at Zayne, sorry for the fact you had no power to do anything.

"Don't look at him." the dark haired man said, trying to drag you back to him, to stop you from doing anything that might take you away from him.

But you didn't listen, walking towards Sylus and trying to take off any restraints that he might have on him

"She doesn't want you." Tartarus voice made a chill run down your spine, his voice a lot lower than it usually is. "See? She chose me." he barked.

"What are you talking about?" you looked up at him. "I'm here to do my job, not play your stupid games." he looked like he was about to bite you, your words only putting more fuel on the fire.

"Honey." the white haired man lowered his head, his mouth against your ear as he started whispering. "You have no idea how much you're wanted, and it's infuriating." he wanted to laugh at the shocked expression you had on your face, but at the same time he couldn't when you seem to not take his words seriously. "What? You don't believe me?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"Ask that freak over there then. He seems to want what's mine." you rolled your eyes.

"Yours?" the dark haired man laughed. "Last time I checked she wasn't anybody's." not Zayne too. Seriously, what got into everyone today?

"Sweetheart, he's bullying me." Sylus's hands were on your side, dragging you closer to him as you took his handcuffs off. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

"No fighting." you finally got him all free, no chain in sight that would restrain him from moving freely.

"Look at the way he's looking at me. What if he's going to bite me, hm?" he seemed way too happy about this.

"He's nothing but talk." the warden stepped closer. "He won't make you feel like I do."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise." you were now sandwiched between the two men. "Let me show you. I can prove to you that I'm not just talk."

"What are you two talking about?" you were confused with their attitude, why they're acting like this. But then you felt it, something hard against you, them pressing into you, pushing your body into the other and trapping you in their arms. You gasped, finally understanding why the atmosphere seemed so ominous, and that bad feeling that kept creeping over you.

You're fucked, literally and figuratively. And you have no idea what to do. It was late, there were only a few people left in the whole building, but you won't be surprised if there aren't any at all. You were also planning on clocking out after taking the praedators back. But now you doubt you'll be able to leave any time soon.

"Honey, what's with that expression? You're acting like I'll bite." Sylus's voice was playful, talking like he wasn't planning on sinking his teeth into your skin just now.

"You smell so good." even Zayne seemed to have a plan, just to outdo the other praedator.

"What if-" you gulped, trying to maintain your composure. "I mean. There's still people around here. Who knows when someone might come in." you were welcomed with a kiss pressed on your cheek, making you jolt at the impact.

"You're going to jump from that much?" you could feel Galen's breath on the back of your neck.

"Everything will be alright, don't worry." a hand went to the back of your thigh, lifting your left leg up so Sylus could have more access to you. "Relax, I'll take care of everything."

"You?"

"Ah, I forgot you're here." you're surprised their fight is so docile, only spitting words at each other. But this was better than taking things too far.

"You don't want such a brute, do you?" another kiss was placed on your neck, a way of marking his territory.

"You're the last person who should be talking." rather than stopping them, you're paying attention to how they act. They looked normal, even if their touch, behavior and eyes betrayed them.

Their hands a bit too rough than you'd expect from them, barking at each other, acting like they're in a competition. And their eyes, big dilated pupils, looking at you with something lustful and drooling over your sweet scent that got them biting their own tongues in hope of holding back.

You extended your hand, grabbing Sylus's side and waiting for a reaction.

You thought you'll see more violence for someone who lost control over themselves, but these two men are actually very calculated, their actions precise even in moments like these.

"What is it, sweetheart? Getting impatient?" you were just trying to check his vitals, but your actions seemed to be taken in the wrong way.

You woke up being turned around, your back now pressed against Tartarus. A pair of cold hands running around your exposed skin, then dragging you closer to the dark haired man. "Don't forget about me. I also want your attention."

You looked back for a moment, to see the white haired man pinned to the cage's bars, being chained by some ice ropes and keeping him in place. Away from touching you, being punished to watch as you were taken away, all for the warden to have you.

"Don't get too cocky now just because I'm letting you go first." Sylus's smirk never leaves his face, acting like this is going just the way he wanted. But in reality he was a little surprised to see the other man being like this. Who knew Zayne could behave like this?

With a hand under your chin, the dark haired man turned your face towards him, placing a soft kiss on your lips. Waiting for your reaction, for a complaint. Just wanting to see if you were alright with his actions or if he acted too harsh. "I want to kiss you more." he whispered when you didn't say anything. "Can I?" it sounded like a beg rather than a request, pronounced in a quiet voice just for you to hear.

So what if the other man heard? Sylus was focused on you rather than how pathetic the dark haired man was acting. He was interested in what you had to say, waiting for the moment you reject the warden and come to him. Requesting his touch, because he knows you won't beg, but rather make him do that instead.

He'll do it, he'll get on his knees and beg for your attention, for you to give him whatever energy you had left in you. Just look at him and he'll break out this joke of a cage.

But you didn't look back, mostly because you knew exactly what he was thinking, and how he'll react the moment you do that. Instead, you looked at the man in front of you, whose touch softened the moment you gave him permission.

He was a tough guy until it came to you.

Galen, the oh so feared warden was all scary until you appeared. And now look at him, kissing you so softly, not daring to get too lost, or too crazy about it, afraid of hurting you.

"Stop playing and kiss me." you dragged him by his collar closer to you, smacking your lips against his and making him freeze in place for a moment.

"I'll do it if he won't." the crow was talking like he wasn't the same as the snow man. He'd probably be even worse, letting you do everything, too afraid of hurting you, because of how big he was in general.

Those words however stirred something inside the dark haired man, taking over control, like a switch was flipped. You want him more, right? Not that red eyes freak that was waiting for your attention to move on him.

Zayne's hands were on your body, running around while kissing you like there's no tomorrow. Slowly taking your shirt off, not wanting to part his lips away from yours, but at the same time too impatient to get your clothes off.

One at a time, your garments were now laying somewhere on the floor, left there to be forgotten until their services are required once again. But not at the moment. They're totally useless right now.

The two men were jealous even in this situation of each other. The dark haired man was jealous to see all of you from a distance, to get to observe you in all your glory at once. And the crow was dying to get closer, to get to feel, not just look. But neither of them want to switch places.

"You're so wet." you were very much aware of it. "But it's not enough." you don't believe in empty words, only in actions.

And perhaps he was very much aware of the mischief you had in your eyes. How could he not notice it when it was challenging him.

He could humour you, he could accept the fact that you're testing him and give in. But why would he when there's an audience he haves to impress.

Impress?

Who?

Him?

That freak in the corner of the cage wasn't part of the audience, he was his competition, his opponent he had to outdo at any given moment.

Right, he had to step up the game or he will.

Sylus just couldn't wait for an opportunity to slip in, push the warden to the side and steal you all to himself. It gets Zayne mad just thinking about it.

It also rails him up.

He had to try harder, and he was. Just look at how pathetic he looked now. An arm wrapped around your waist, his lips on yours while his other hand was in between your legs, playing with your clit and teasing your entrance. Giving you the hope that he'll finally slip in and make that aching between your legs to go away, but he won't until you start begging him to.

"Zayne." you whined, tugging at his shirt to get closer, to stop playing and give you what you want.

He's not saying anything, only looking at you before placing a kiss on the side of your face.

The sound of ice breaking could be heard, and a second later, like Tartarus moved with the speed of light, was next to you. Cold hands on your skin making you shiver.

"You're asking the wrong person." and how would he know? "Say my name and see what's going to happen." you're tempted.

"Focus on me." the dark haired man grabbed your face in his hand, moving it to face him. "I'm giving you pleasure, not him."

"And he's not doing a good job." the white haired man is right. "Come on, say my name. All you gotta do is say a simple word."

All eyes were on you, and for a moment you thought about it. Until your mind slipped, and you just got the brightest idea you ever got. Why choose when you can make them compete against each other.

Your attitude didn't go unnoticed, both of them noticing the smirk you got on your face instantly. "Oh? Really?" your amused voice echoed in the empty room.

"Nothing good ever comes out your mouth." no one argues with that.

"Don't act like you don't love me, now."

"Aren't you in a good mood, kitten?" was there anything to be sad about?

Still, that didn't answer the question. What exactly did you want? Were you bored of the warden, were you craving for some action, something real to feel, or..

Or both?

Well, you always have been a naughty one. And from how they see it, you won't get satisfied that easily. But how lucky of you because they won't either.

You suddenly got turned around and placed in Zayne's arms. Your back again his chest, arms wrapped around you like he knew you'd run if he doesn't, or change your mind.

Sylus got down on his knees in front of you, one of your legs over his shoulder while his face was getting closer and closer to your pussy. "It sings to me." he's hearing things now.

"He must be going insane." Zayne's mouth was over yours once again, kissing you so he won't have to hear you moan because of someone else. Jealousy was a disease, and it seems that both of the men haves it.

Red piecing eyes went up your body, searching for yours as Sylus tongue worked it's way around your clit, giving it a few licks and studying your reactions. But instead of finding the pair of eyes he keeps craving after, he was met with two green orbs instead, and the warden smirking as he held your face turned towards him.

Is the doctor not aware he's playing dangerously?

No, he knows what he's doing. And he seems to enjoy this.

Sylus's hands dragged your thighs closer to him, suddenly starting to devour your poor pussy like you were his last meal, making you gasp and grab onto Galen, moaning into his mouth.

As much as Tartarus is doing this out of jealousy, and to show that he has it in him, he could only lean in when you touch him. For a moment he almost forgot what he was doing when you ran your fingers through his hair.

There were hands all over your body, warm, making you shiver because of the cold air in the room. But that didn't stop them from working your body.

Wet, filthy sounds filled the whole room, and soon there was met with another foreign sound that you can't quite figure out just what exactly was it. It didn't come from your body, or the two men that didn't want to let you go.

And then you saw it in the corner of your eyes, something way too familiar, a figure, or two.

Then it hit you. It was people, watching you in this promiscuous position.

You gasped, not only because of the two beats that softly (not so) bite and left marks on your skin. But also because you realized just who those people were, the other praedators you were supposed to look after.

"Don't tell me you are embarrassed." that voice, sounding just as beautiful as ever, only adding fuel to the embarrassment you felt in that moment. "You were clearly enjoying yourself." and what it's bad about that. "With them." the disgust in Rafayel's voice. "Without me."

The cage's door suddenly flew open, being kicked down by Xavier who didn't look any happier.

You suddenly felt lighter, like you were lifted in the air by an invisible force. "That doesn't look very comfortable, pips." that means the whole gang was there.

"What do you even see in them." you don't know yourself.

"That's not the important question. What's more important is why are you here with them." it just happened, what would he know. "I was just a room away, you could have come to me at any time." there were so many eyes on you, and you had no idea what to do.

"You?" Hermit barked. "I'm obviously the better choice."

"And yet she came to see me first." Sylus licked his lips, cleaning your juices off his face as he didn't look too pleased to be interpreted.

"Only you?" the doctor said, still having you in his arms as he didn't want to let you go, especially with the uninvited guests here. "Us. She came for us, and then they auto invited themselves." as much as he hated the white haired man, the warden disliked the others even more.

"That's not important." a shiver went down your spine. "What's important is that we're here." you had a feeling that this wasn't going to end up well.

Your hand went to Zayne's arm, wrapping it around him as a way to get back on your feet, like he was your pillar in this dead end situation. But perhaps your actions didn't make any of them happy, and now you ended up floating in the air again.

"Focus on me." you had nowhere to look anyway. It gets on their nerves no matter what you do.

"I should finish what I start then, no? It's only fair." and you're fearing for your life, because that sounds like a threat.

"Didn't you have enough of him? Don't you want me more?" you're not complaining either way.

That long wet tongue from earlier went back between your legs, giving you the satisfaction that was paused for a moment.

Rough hands all over your body, searching, caressing, marking their territory as it only showed these praedators true nature. Greedy.

The same old greed you are familiar with, because that feeling was way too human to be foreign to you, or any of them. And somehow, it reminded you that even in times like these where they're devouring their prey, they're still part human, in a way or another.

Lips over yours, your neck, and other parts of your body, sucking at your skin. Teeth slowly sinking in your flesh, softly, not to turn you into whatever creatures of the night the men were, but leave a mark on you. To show that they were here before anyone else.

Your trembling hands, grabbing at whatever you could, to hold onto something because this feeling inside you was too overwhelming. This type of stimulant was making you scared, because you never experienced this before. Who knows when your soul would be pulled out your body.

These guys would enjoy it, wouldn't they? To get a taste of your soul. You don't even know what they'll devour first, your body or that invisible thing that's deep inside you, the core of your heart, the so called soul. If you even have one.

Your eyes traveled around you, scanning your surroundings, and the praedators. From their expressions that was a mixture of frustration and lust, to their bodies that seemed to pull towards yours. Except Caleb who was a few feet away, looking down at you with something darker than you ever saw from him.

You're scared, and aroused.

And since you're already in far too deep shit to back down, you could confidently say that you wanted everything that was going on in his mind.

"Did you get bored, kitten?" ah, right. You can't get too lost in your thoughts or you'll get someone mad. "No worries, I'll give you something fun to think about." Sylus's hands were on your hips, dragging you closer to him, in a way to get you away from the others. But everyone knew that was stupid because there was no way in hell anyone would leave you alone, especially with him.

You'd be lucky if you could stand on your own by the end of this, so let's not even talk about thinking. You'll probably need assistance for that too.

You took a deep breath, biting your lips as you felt something cold against your inner thighs. Well, here was it. You have no idea what the future will bring but it can't possibly be any more surprising than this.

"Touch me." Xavier took your hand in his, guiding it to the bulge he had in front of his pants. "Like you mean it." you felt a bit offended by his words. When did you ever do something that you didn't mean it?

"You're focusing on the wrong one." Rafayel took your other hand, guiding it up his body, making your eyes move from one praedator to another.

A big thumb over your clit, slowly circling it as something pierced your inside, making you hiss a little. You can't get a break at all. God, you didn't know what was more annoying, the constant nagging or the fact that Sylus's pace was so slow it was eating you inside.

"You're not even doing it right." he was talking like he didn't share the same braincells with everyone else in that room. "Move your hand." Caleb's fingers were now on your sensitive pearl, and he seems to understand your needs more than anyone else. He did proclaimed that he knows you better than anyone else ever will, so perhaps he wasn't lying.

No, he wasn't lying. While Sylus's cock moved slowly in and out, making you feel every single inch and vein, Caleb's hand was on a different level, moving in such a way that got you gasping and moving around from how overwhelming this was.

No one seemed to want to be left out. And as much as everyone had a different idea of what they wanted to do, they had to adapt to your body, rather than their burning need to be inside you.

Like this, you now have your hands busy, moving them around the cocks of the two men that were on each of your sides. It was either you doing the movement or them moving it themselves.

Even the praedator between your legs seemed to pick up the pace, making you whine and throw your head back.

"Open wide, relax." you couldn't even figure out words, or who exactly said that, but you obeyed. Opening your mouth and being welcomed with yet another fat cock. You saw so many tonight that you're starting to question if the only sizes out there were big and large. But to be honest, you don't want to know. You already know more than you should have.

And now, here you were. Being stuffed from all sides. Everyone keeping you busy just in case you got bored, which you doubt you'll do tonight.

But even so, that didn't stop anyone from touching you, and making you touch them.

The head of Sylus's dick touching your cervix, pressing hard against it and making a few tears appear in your eyes, or that might be Zayne who seems that he too is going for the deepest parts of your throat. Like he was trying to suffocate you for a moment, and you would had believed it if you didn't know him better.

Xavier who was only pulling you closer, not being satisfied with just your hand anymore, but it's not like he was happy about just a limb from the start. No, he wasn't happy about any of this, the fact that these fuckers had to appear in his way, and try to fight him for your attention. His death stare didn't go unnoticed, but everyone chose to ignore it.

After all, you surrounded yourself with such freaks. Who are they to complain about it when everyone happened to be part of that group of unsettling individuals.

A hot hand went on your body, making you shiver at the burning sensation. Can you believe Rafayel is really about to burn you?

"You're squeezing me, so tightly." you would have blamed it on his monstrous size if it wasn't for the fact that you're close.

And oh, everyone seemed to have stopped in place the moment you came. Piercing eyes fixed on your trembling body, something sweet filling the air and making them salivate. Now craving for you and your release even more than before.

This was game on.

Fuck, you have no idea what you just started.

You woke up being flipped around, ass in the air and feet way too far away from the ground, making your heart skip a beat for a moment.

Sylus was now to your side as he was replaced by someone else to get you to the edge, not that he wanted to.

"Relax, it's me." even more reasons to not relax that easily.

You took a deep breath as you were being filled again, making your eyes roll into your skull.

They really don't want to make it easier for you. Do they?

A hand went through your hair, slowly bending you over. And now you woke up in the same position as last time, cocks in your hands, and mouth.

Lots of hands over your body, and all kinds of sensations. Cold, hot, something tickling your skin in a way that got you gasping, crying, moaning at the way it just didn't seem to leave. It was there to disturb you, creep over you and be there with you through all this.

"Like that, just like that. Let it all out." you didn't even notice when everyone left you alone again.

Just like last time, eyes looking at you, at whatever you were going through. At the way you were crying, big hot tears running down your face in a hurry as you kept biting your lips, too embarrassed of the scene you were making.

But they stopped you. Hands across your body and a thumb softly parting your lips apart, to make you even lauder. To make you let out even more tears, to cry your frustration out, to become even messier than you already were.

And perhaps everyone was happy with the outcome, how you were shaking and grabbing the closest person to you as you were being filled with big ropes of cum.

For a moment even Caleb getting too overwhelmed, like your emotions were transferred to him. Making his evol black out at the same time as him, and you to fall forward.

But luckily you were caught immediately.

And now you were suspended in the air once again, because the man behind you recovered faster than you would have ever anticipated.

"Cutie, who do you want?"you can't think at the moment, and it honestly didn't matter.

"It's me. You want me. You don't need them."

"Say the word, and I'm all yours." they're fighting again.

"Ah-" you sighed. "All of you." this wasn't surprising. "I want every single one of you." your wish was their command.

After all, you are what you attract. And you came to the conclusion that you're greedy. So it only made sense when you were craving for something just as greedy as you.

[sototallynormaliswear]

Got a vision of some scene I might write one day.

Basically. Werewolf healing requires food. The start of season 3 has derek healing continuously for like. 8 HOURS. Bro's blood sugar is crazy low and also he's having a mental breakdown and eating shit he probably shouldn't (potential trigger warning for raw meat)

After Derek meets Jennifer for the first time he's. He's just tired. His sister that has been dead for 6 years is alive, and already thinks hes a failure. His most lively beta is dead and he's the one that carried her body to the police. Allison Argent thinks that he's the one making teenagers into murderers like she already forgot how his pack begged her to stop. He's tired and he's been ripped apart again and again and again and again by his FAMILY. but he's been healing all night and he needs to eat.

He finds one of those tubes of ground meat and figures that's good enough. It's not. Dissimilar to when he and Laura would eat raw cookie dough on bad days. It's raw too, and the texture is awful and the smell is worse. Derek doesn't want to cook though. He's shaking already, so bad that he's barely able to stand. He will cry if he smells cooking meat. If he starts crying now he might never stop.

His brain is all foggy. He doesn't remember sitting down but suddenly he's on the ground. He apparently is shit at sweeping because his floor has a perfect imprint of his ass in the dirt. He keeps eating the ground beef. He keeps finding all the little things he's done wrong in his kitchen. He keeps his knives loose in the silverware drawer. The sink drip drops. He only has two cups. He keeps eating.

He doesn't even hear stiles come in, because the sink is dripping and the fridge is humming and there are mice loose in the walls and- cold. On his face. Suddenly there's a gallon of ice cream pressed against his forehead, and three more on the ground next to him. And stiles, naturally, looking at him with one part amusement two parts concern. "Dude, are you seriously eating raw- of course you are you're a werewolf what am I saying. As your resident human I gotta tell you, that's NASTY"

and the scene ends with stiles and derek sitting his shitty kitchen absolutely destroying several gallons of ice cream in silence

[writersnook11]

I actually think this post is valid, as opposed to a few of the other reblogs.

I have come across so many works that are not properly tagged. I have all the smuts filtered out yet still get NSFW content on my feed. The ones I see are not tagged accordingly, not content labeled, nothing. It might be in the description within the post, but that's not what I think OP is referring to. The Tumblr tagging and filtering system exists for a reason.

And yes, I keep scrolling every time I see something I don't want to see. It's not like we see one or two untagged smuts and scream and cry and complain about them. It's far more than that, and we speak up when we get tired of seeing them when Tumblr has the tag and filtering system it does for a reason, yet the things people want to filter out are not properly labeled. What's the use of having the system if people who make sensitive content don't utilize it?

It's a two way street. Posting sensitive content without tagging or labeling it NSFW is like writing erotica and publishing it general audiences. Libraries couldn't sort it correctly if they didn't know what was in it. Same goes for Tumblr. We can't filter out the content we don't want to see if the people posting the content don't tell the tag system what it is.

Now please don't get me wrong. We are not complaining about free reading material. That's not it at all. I write and post free content. Write what you want to write and post what you want to post. But please, for the sake of people who don't want to see that, just tag it what it is.

Now could we block the authors who don't tag properly? Yes. And I have in extreme cases. However, I don't know about you, but it feels wrong to block entire accounts because of one or two posts. To me, that defeats the purpose of supporting authors who post free content, who fulfill audience requests, and who engage with their community.

To those that get angry about us speaking up on this, here's my question: Is it that much to ask to type in one tag? One tag. Smut. That's it. That's all we ask.

Why do we have to all but beg authors to tag something NSFW as NSFW?

I SWEAR TO GOD IF I SEE ANOTHER SMUT……………..

[gatheringbones]

[“As I see it, there are three parts to the creative process: first, the extra vision with which the artist perceives a truth and conveys it by suggestion. Second, medium of expression: language for writers, paint for painters, clay or stone for sculptors, sound expressed in musical notes for composers. Third, design or structure. When it comes to language, nothing is more satisfying than to write a good sentence. It is no fun to write lumpishly, dully, in prose the reader must plod through like wet sand. But it is a pleasure to achieve, if one can, a clear running prose that is simple yet full of surprises. This does not just happen. It requires skill, hard work, a good ear, and continued practice, as much as it takes Heifetz to play the violin. The goals, as I have said, are clarity, interest, and aesthetic pleasure.

On the first of these I would like to quote Macaulay, a great historian and great writer, who once wrote to a friend, “How little the all important art of making meaning pellucid is studied now! Hardly any popular writer except myself thinks of it.” As to structure, my own form is narrative, which is not every historian’s, I may say—indeed, it is rather looked down on now by the advanced academics, but I don’t mind because no one could possibly persuade me that telling a story is not the most desirable thing a writer can do. Narrative history is neither as simple nor as straightforward as it might seem. It requires arrangement, composition, planning just like a painting—Rembrandt’s “Night Watch,” for example. He did not fit in all those figures with certain ones in the foreground and others in back and the light falling on them just so, without much trial and error and innumerable preliminary sketches. It is the same with writing history. Although the finished result may look to the reader natural and inevitable, as if the author had only to follow the sequence of events, it is not that easy. Sometimes, to catch attention, the crucial event and the causative circumstance have to be reversed in order—the event first and the cause afterwards, as in The Zimmermann Telegram. One must juggle with time.

In The Proud Tower, for instance, the two English chapters were originally conceived as one. I divided them and placed them well apart in order to give a feeling of progression, of forward chronological movement to the book. The story of the Anarchists with their ideas and deeds set in counterpoint to each other was a problem in arrangement. The middle section of the Hague chapter on the Paris Exposition of 1900 was originally planned as a separate short centerpiece, marking the turn of the century, until I saw it as a bridge linking the two Hague Conferences, where it now seems to belong. Structure is chiefly a problem of selection, an agonizing business because there is always more material than one can use or fit into a story. The problem is how and what to select out of all that happened without, by the very process of selection, giving an over- or under-emphasis which violates truth. One cannot put in everything: The result would be a shapeless mass. The job is to achieve a narrative line without straying from the essential facts or leaving out any essential facts and without twisting the material to suit one’s convenience. To do so is a temptation, but if you do it with history you invariably get tripped up by later events. I have been tempted once or twice and I know. The most difficult task of selection I had was in the Dreyfus chapter. To try to skip over the facts about the bordereau and the handwriting and the forgeries—all the elements of the Case as distinct from the Affair—in order to focus instead on what happened to France and yet at the same time give the reader enough background information to enable him to understand what was going on, nearly drove me to despair. My writing slowed down to a trickle until one dreadful day when I went to my study at nine and stayed there all day in a blank coma until five, when I emerged without having written a single word. Anyone who is a writer will know how frightening that was. You feel you have come to the end of your powers; you will not finish the book; you may never write again.”]

barbara w. tuchman, from practicing history: selected essays, 1996

[shadow-ravin]

Through a (different) looking glass

You can also read or listen to this post on AO3. A couple of weeks ago, I came across a comment on Reddit from a person who refused to listen to podfics that the author wasn’t involved in creating because they aren’t how the author intended the story. That was not the first time I’ve encountered this attitude. There are many out there with the same opinion and many authors who refuse to allow podfics of their works for that same reason.

I want to take a second to acknowledge that if you don’t want people making podfics of your works, that’s your choice, and while I don’t understand it, you are more than welcome to make it. I also want to acknowledge that if podfics aren’t your thing, then you have no obligation to listen to them, even if they are of your own works. That said, this reason, not wanting to consume or allow podfics made because of some desire to preserve the author’s intent, is one that makes absolutely no sense to me.

Now, I could point out how fanfiction in itself is inherently transformative. The fanfic author has already taken someone else’s work and changed it, changed the meaning and purpose of it. Altered it in ways that are beyond the original author’s intent. And thus, disliking podfic on the basis of author’s intent is incredibly hypocritical, but that isn’t what I’d like to talk about today.

I’d like to talk about reading and writing. An author can pour their heart and soul out onto a page and intend many things, but once they put their work out into the world and allow others to read it, the original intent and meaning of it matters very little. To explain why, I’d like to take a second to describe how reading works outside of letters representing sounds and sounds making words.

If you talk to anyone who is involved with teaching kids to read and actually knows what they are doing, you’d find out that there are a number of factors that contribute to a person’s ability to comprehend what they are reading and one of those factors is background knowledge. Children with more varied lived experiences and greater knowledge of the world have a much easier time reading than those who don’t. For example, a child that has never seen a lion or a zebra before would have a hard time understanding what one was. 

In a classroom setting, a teacher would guide the children and help them interpret the text. They might show pictures or videos so that the child understood what a lion was or they might teach them how to use context clues to use the text itself to determine that a zebra is kind of like a horse but wild and with stripes. Now lions and zebras are concrete objects with easy definitions. So what happens when the thing your brain is trying to interpret and comprehend happens to be an abstract idea or complex problem?

It comes back to the same thing. Our background knowledge and lived experiences become the lens through which we interpret the story, but there are no pictures or videos to give us an easy concrete answer to what something is. Add to this that people are unique. No two people have the same life story and no two people are going to interpret the same story in precisely the same way. I had an experience with this in college. 

For a YA fiction class, I was supposed to read a YA novel and create a book trailer for it. The book I chose was Green Angel by Alice Hoffman. For those of you who haven’t read it, it is about a teenage girl who loses her whole family in some kind of tragedy that affects the whole community. The novel never directly states what exactly happened, only that a lot of people died. As an American 90’s baby who’s first real awareness of the greater world came with the terrorist attacks on the twin towers, I interpreted this book as a post-9/11 novel. The unnamed tragedy sounded exactly like a terrorist attack. The mysterious, unnamed, unknown perpetrators sounded like terrorists. The confusion and fear and grief in the aftermath of the event sounded exactly like what the US experienced. This interpretation of the text heavily influenced the way I approached the assignment, and initially, I got a bad grade on it because of that. 

My professor, 30-plus years older than me, didn’t appreciate the way I interpreted the text because it was different from her own interpretation. Instead of a post-9/11 novel, she saw it as a reactionary text about the Cold War. My terrorists were her communist spies. The fear and suspicion of the community, too similar to the red scare. The unnamed tragedy seemed to her to be exactly what the culture of the time convinced her would happen to the US.

In the end, we had a very productive talk about our different interpretations and decided we were both equally right. Neither one of us was the author and neither one of us could possibly know what the author originally intended. Maybe the author intended something else entirely, but we’ll never know and that’s okay.

Every person brings their own self into a story and walks away with something different. What the author intended has very little relevance to the reader when compared to how the reader interprets the story. A man is never going to interpret a story the same way as a woman. A trans person will never see a conflict the same way as a cis person. A LGBTQIA+ person will never look at a relationship the same as a straight person. A child will never grasp the same subtext as an adult. And a reader will never take away the exact message as an author intended.

Restricting or refusing to interact with podfic on the basis of “preserving the author’s original intent” seems not only backwards and pointless, but a way of needlessly restricting fandom and creativity. 

People re-interpret older works and translate them to different mediums all the time. Most often, we see this when books become movies. I’m not going to argue which is better, but instead would like to offer a different point of view: more cake. 

In most fandom circles, it is highly encouraged to write whatever you want even if it has been done before. And if your fandom circle does not encourage this, I suggest you go find a less toxic one. This is because everyone loves more cake. Just because many people have already written a fix-it fic or a everybody-lives-and-nobody-dies fic or a meet the family fic or whatever it is for your fandom, does not mean that you shouldn’t write one too because it will be equally loved and it does not take away from the others just by existing.

Movies are more cake. They don’t take anything away from the book just because they exist. Instead they give fans a new way of interacting with their favorite story or characters. Podfics, like movies, are more cake. They give something new without taking anything away.

In their most basic form, a podfic is just an audio recording of someone reading a fanfic. No different than an audiobook and great for accessibility, but most podficcers don't create podfic for accessibility reasons. Accessibility is an awesome bonus but, as blackglass put it, we create because it is our way of interacting with fandom, our way of putting ourselves into the content we enjoy and sharing our own interpretations of the stories we love.

And podfic is different from the original. In an audiobook, a reader is paid to read a story into a microphone in a way that conveys the original content to the reader in a format as similar to the original as possible. Audiobook narrators not only have less freedom for creativity in what they do, but also they are doing their job not recording the story because they love the story.

Podficcers use tone, inflection, pacing, sound effects, music, and more to share the story the way they read the story. And, just like with reading a fanfic, a podfic is just as open to interpretation. What the podficcer intends is probably not what the author intends and, just like the reader, what the listener takes away from the podfic is probably not what the podficcer intended, but that's the way fandom and creativity and the human mind work. We take an idea and we make it a part of ourselves, we change it, transform it to reflect our own lived experiences and then we share it with others so that they can do the same.

[animeyanderelover]

There's no greater experience than having an hour break in university and trying to write something. I'm sorry for not answering requests but I actually like to put more thought behind them than just simply trying to get something out there. I've wanted to do this for a while now anyways. Those are my two favorite characters from this show so I wanted to write for them.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, stalking, threats, violence, guilt-tripping, manipulation, threats, violence, death

Yandere Hc's

Wednesday Addams

𝓦What a child full of woe she is indeed. Here Wednesday is the one who has always been judging her parents for their nauseating ways of doting and loving on each other in ways that didn't feel good only to wind up the same way. Perhaps it is just a family curse which has found its way to her at last. Wednesday always thought that she would be the one who would swear all love off yet here her black heart is trying to claw its way out of its cage whenever you are around. She almost feels alive when she is around you and that is deeply disturbing in all the wrong ways. Yet she never utters a single word of it to anyone. No one must find out. This is a weakness she is not fond of and Wednesday Addams very much hates having a weak spot. Anyone else might be able to brush it off as a silly, little school crush but Wednesday knows somehow better. She doesn't just let anyone earn her loyalty and trust but those who do are usually the people she would go to great lengths for. This is so much worse though. She didn't let you in. You have wormed your way in like a parasyte. It's almost admirable how you did it without even trying but that is also where the silent torment lies.

𝓦Her stare is pretty much her signature and you find it a lot on you. Unblinking as always. You might think she is plotting murder. You're not entirely wrong. Wednesday is technically plotting. Just not murder. She's analysing. She's inspecting. She is learning. Her obsessive curiosity whenever a mystery presents itself is not exactly unknown and that principle can be very much applied to this. For someone normally so detached romance is a riddle she is now being forced to solve and understand. And Wednesday? She picks up on a lot. Little ticks and habits you do, often even without you being aware of it. She sends Thing to follow you around whenever you are gone, unwilling to take the risk of doing it herself and be spotted by you. It would be humiliating to say the least if she would let herself be reduced to some lovesick fool who clings to their subject of obsession. She cannot stop the process that has already begun unfolding. Wednesday knows that she is doomed to rot now. However, if she does she will do it as coldly and as calculating as she has always done. Control is the word to use here. She will show restraint where her parents never ever did.

𝓦You'd have better luck convincing her to cut off her own tongue and nail it on the wall than to have Wednesday ever admit that she is jealous. Jealousy is the beginning of emotional decay and she will simply not let that happen. However, it would be one big lie to claim that she is even remotely unbothered whenever you spend your time with other people. There is the death stare of hers again whenever that happens. Yes, this time it is a death stare because what she is scheming now is not nice. Others may simply say that some people are just nice to you but Wednesday doesn't believe that. She doesn't believe that niceness is sincerity. People who are nice usually always have ulterior motives. Normally she sends Thing who will then set up an accident to stop this horrible sight that has her itching to stab her own eyeballs out. In only very few situations where no other options are available will she see herself forced to pop up behind your back and stop this herself. Wednesday isn't nice. She never pretends to be. Well, you know how she is so you can expect that her sharp tongue coupled with her glare will soon scare away anyone who she categorises as an unpleasant variable.

𝓦Wednesday is morally ambiguous, to say the least. She tolerates few and she respects even less. If someone is in her way or if someone keeps important information from her she resorts to rather extreme methods to get what she wants. That is precisely what makes her so terrifying. She doesn't see people. She sees threats and if necessary she will resort to elimination. In terrifying and horrible ways as she is desensitised to violence and gore that would have normal people sick to their core. Now, she isn't a savage of course who just runs around with a gun and shoots anyone in sight. Wednesday is very much like a dagger. She is precise and cuts effectively. Fear is often the first step if there is someone who lands on her list. Warnings written in bleeding ink where she describes in vivid detail what exactly will happen if something should happen to you can do a terrific job in frightening someone and motivate them to never get close to you again. If something should happen to you though an unfortunate accident might just befall the culprit. It is best to not make things personal with Wednesday or otherwise terrible things will follow.

𝓦Wednesday requires her own privacy. She is not like her mother and father who couldn't spend even a day away from each other. Yet protective surveillance is always going to be ensured. Thing is always offering a helping hand. Her visions too provide a good way of keeping danger away from you if she should ever have one where you get in danger. Is this concerning? No, not at all. Wednesday rationalises it. She always does this. This is just to prevent anything from happening to you. Prevention is simply more effective than a cure after all. She doesn't enjoy the thought of harm coming to someone that she has silently claimed in her mind as hers and that is very much why she does the things that she does. The loss of control is always a fear of Wednesday. She would hate if something were to happen to you because deep down she would silently label it as her own failure of not having thought ahead enough. You might not understand. Maybe you will never be able to fully understand why Wednesday does the things that she does. But your own feelings will have to be put aside as Wednesday has clear priorities. Yes, she is a close friend of death. But she prefers you alive and breathing.

𝓦She considers her point of no return when the morbid poems of love begin. Initially she doesn't let anyone see them. It is her only way of expressing what she simply won't be able to express in words to anyone else, not even to you. Eventually she dares to send you a few of them. Never all of them. Only a few chosen ones. Written in elegant handwriting and tugged away in a black envelope with only your name written on it. Always tugged away in hidden spaces in your room or places where you like to spend some time alone by yourself. That is her affection. It is quiet, sometimes cold but very invasive at times. Wednesday will only openly tell you that she loves you very few times but when she does speak it, she means it. When she finds herself brooding with thoughts about you, she sometimes starts playing her cello. Her fingers move on their own and she ends up with her own melody for such times. It's in a way a song composed for you and eventually you learn what it means when the eerie melody echoes through the silence. She doesn't coddle. She never does. Wednesday offers truth far too harshly at times but if there is anything that endangers you, she will have it removed.

Tyler Galpin

☕︎Tyler I simply find fascinating to observe through the lenses of a writer for dark romance. On the outside Tyler is pretty much the perfect boyfriend package. He's sweet, he's soft-spoken, he's caring and he always considers your thoughts and opinions first. Yet there is something or someone else on the inside. A lot of suppressed rage, trauma and something monstrous, figuratively and literally speaking. In this context I simply have to label him as emotionally unstable as he and the Hyde don't speak the same language. Not at first at least. Now, Tyler is aware that with the current situation that he has going on love should really be the last thing on his mind. He has enough on his plate already, desperately trying to balance between a normalcy he craves but can never have and the control that Laurel has established over him via torture, violence and drugs which forces him to follow her commands. Perhaps this is a reminder though that despite everything he is still just a teenager who has just been handed the worst cards possible in life. A monster in the forests when Laurel orders him to be but in town a boy struggling to deal with his first love. And dear lord, does he fall fast.

☕︎It starts out as something very genuine. Tyler knows he shouldn't risk it but unfortunately the heart just wants what it wants. Whilst it looks sweet, it turns into an intense attachment over time. Tyler gets hyper-attuned to all of your emotions. If you're happy then he's floating. If you're depressed or even wind up crying he is spiraling and tries everything to fix whatever it is that is causing you to feel this way. Technically speaking there is nothing wrong with putting your partner's needs before your own. Tyler puts your needs as his first priority instead of his own though and there lies an issue that has never been fully explored even by Dr. Kinbott. The sad truth is that he is far too used to people leaving and abandoning him through no real faults of his own. Even Laurel who he genuinely believed wanted to help him for a certain time turned out to have motives that simply involved using him and now he can't even do anything about it anymore. This is the first situation where he actually has the chance to hold the wheel himself but that is what causes him to clutch it far too tightly. Tyler is controlling too. But he does it with soft words, clinginess and gentle manipulation.

☕︎It feels wrong. He wants to trust you. He does trust you. The horrible feeling is still always there in his gut though. An acidic twist in his stomach, his heart suddenly in his throat. It's overwhelming and difficult to navigate through all of the feelings that always burn within his chest. And he cannot even tell anyone about it. He doesn't want to come over as someone who is horribly jealous. What ends up happening is that Tyler attempts to outshine the rival. He buys you your favorite snacks, he brings you coffee, he compliments you a lot. All with that sweet smile on his face only mildly twinged with nervousness. Sometimes he might also let a passive-aggressive comment slip out but that's all he dares to do. Because Hyde? Hyde doesn't understand jealousy. What he does get is rage and he understands that jealousy is the emotional trigger of it. No further context is needed. It's a terrifying feeling when his heart starts pounding not with fear but with a fury Tyler can't even hold back as it isn't even fully his own. It brings forth one horrifying realisation though. And that is that Hyde starts responding to something that isn't Laurel's command.

☕︎Tyler is already a killer. Not by his own choice. But because he has been brainwashed and enslaved by Laurel who has made her own plans to ressurect Crackstone and for that has decided that Hyde is going to kill people for her. He knows what he has done when he wakes up covered in blood and is completely naked but he can't remember. Perhaps that is the last crumbling wall he has as he doesn't recall how he has done it. Until those dark instincts start to seep into his mind when he observes you. When people get too close his hands start twitching. When someone speaks wrong of you Tyler experiences tunnel vision and he swears that he starts smelling blood even though no one is bleeding. His mind gets hazy and his heart starts drumming violently within his chest, each heartbeat screaming "mine, mine, mine". Most terrifying of all is that he doesn't even realise it when he zones out. There's a pulse behind his eyes and an itching beneath his skin as something else is watching. It is eventually only a question of time until Hyde breaks out and protects and defends his territory the only way he knows how. With claws and teeth. And worst of all? That's the first time Tyler remembers.

☕︎Sometimes that thought does cross his mind though it isn't really his own. The idea to simply take you and keep you somewhere for himself where he can protect you is disturbingly tempting in some moments but simply not possible. It's not something Tyler could justify either even with those other thoughts in his head. So he never acts on it. He can't control if he acts on it in his Hyde form though as feelings and instincts heighten then. Hyde though doesn't act on them either as if begrudgingly acknowledging the not so ideal situation either. Marks of ownership are still made from both sides though. Tyler has an odd tick of keeping you for prolonged times in his rooms until his sheets smell like you. He constantly lets you wear his jackets or shirts, the sight oddly calming for him. Hyde might leave claw marks on trees on the paths you take that take you close or even through it at times. You might even notice dead animals placed deliberately on your path like sacred offerings in a language spoken by predators and monsters. One side claims you through clingy touches and the other through violent protection. The best of both worlds, innit?

☕︎The bond is for both sacred though. For Tyler you aren't just a silly crush. You are an anchor and the one person he eventually ends up orbiting around to a dangerous degree that dives into open dependency. He's almost perfect but incredibly fragile. He answers texts within seconds and if you don't respond to his within minutes the messages and calls quickly pile up because he ends up assuming the worst. He doesn't simply falls in love as much as he spirals into you and the most tragic aspect of it all might just be that he doesn't even resist it fully. And then there is Hyde. To Hyde you are neither prey nor threat. You're other. You're mate. A mate must be protected. A mate must never be let go of. A mate is sacred and to be worshipped in the most violent but reverent ways imaginable. This puts you in an incredible possession as you are even out of Laurel's touch. You are the blind spot, the one person he would never harm even if Laurel were to tell him to do so. It transcends the bond forged through pain and torture with one forged through something much more ancient and primal that rattles both boy and monster to the marrow of the bones. But it also unites them, at least in that aspect.

[sharkbitten-sailor]

Maybe two time and noob (seperate) x reader who's similar to Betty grof from adventure time, hcs?

[forsaken] two time & noob x reader who's similar to Betty Grof headcanons .ᐟ

a/n; this writing took way too long thanks to HER LONG ASS WIKI. but h my childhood is calling n i just can't ignore it,,, anyway, sorry for the delay anon </3

warning; potential ooc and mischaracterization, betty grof and her lore made me ragequit, so i only took her og persona & powers, gn for reader.

two time - at first? nothing. not a glance, not a nod. just silence. like you don’t exist. - they watch you juking the killer from afar, observing, considering. but only for a moment. - your sheer strength catches their attention, though they’d never admit it. not yet. - something about you feels familiar, like guest 1337. but that's it. nothing more. - if you start a conversation, you'll crack the surface, but don't expect warmth. paranoia still rides shotgun. - everything seems normal until they start murmuring about their 'oh-so-harmless cult', as if you agreed to listen. - show even mild curiosity about their 'spawn deity' and suddenly, you're their prophet. willing? doesn't matter. - find them in a match and brace yourself. expect nonstop ramblings, an endless hymn of praise for their 'spawn deity'. you asked for it. - avoid them? fine. for now. but they’ll grow curious. you can’t hide your power forever, now can you? - save them just once, and it’s a celestial revelation. you’re chosen. an offering. salvation. - after that, they’re unexpectedly generous. medkits, bloxy cola, quiet devotion, whispers to unseen forces about your "ascension." - they hover too close as you cast, murmuring questions like prayers, analyzing your movements like scripture. - you’re both unstable. a strange pairing, i must say. - they take hits for you without hesitation. hp is just a number. you? you are the mission. - that’s when it dawns on you. this is the beginning of something twisted. it’s not love. not yet. just fascination. a consuming, obsessive fascination. moth-to-flame type. - god please teach them about personal space… or learn to wake up with them silently watching you breathe with those creepy, unblinking eyes. - their praise never falters when you outsmart the killer. - "such precision… such grace… you were chosen", "divine intervention… it has to be" something like those. - no matter where you spawn, even in the dead center of the map, they’ll mark the ground, setting up their ritual. convinced it will shield them for the round. - somehow, that always works. coincidence? they think not.

noob - new survivor? oh. - at first, they treat you like any other. just another face in the crowd, nothing special. - they do notice something, though. the way you adapt, how effortlessly you adjust to everything. they wish they could do the same. - then the round turns brutal and you step in, shielding them, revealing your power in the process. - fear flickers in their eyes, fleeting, before gratitude takes hold. overwhelming, undeniable. - they think you're like dusekkar, just… without a staff. and a pumpkin head. - briefly, they wonder if you need a sentinel too, someone to guard you like other supporters. - keyword: briefly. - because FYM YOU CAN PUNCH THE KILLER IN THE FACE WHILE CASTING SPELLS AT THE SAME TIME. - they freeze, watching you do it right in front of them. shock lingers, but so does admiration. - still thankful. still staring. trying to process what they just witnessed. - offering you bloxy cola as their way of saying 'thank you'. not something they do often, so it actually means a lot. - listen to your rants with real focus. they may not remember it all, but they're trying! - might avoid you a little after seeing you lose your temper. or a lot. or neither. who knows? - absolutely in awe at how many books you have. like, seriously, they never expected you to have this many. - accidentally mixed bloxy cola with your 'magical pot thing' once. never did that again. unless you enjoy sleeping on the floor while your room slowly fills with smoke. - secretly really into your whole wizard aesthetic. turns out, it's actually kind of fashionable. - during rounds, they'll take hits for you if you can't spare time to regenerate your spells. not always, though. their bravery still wavers. - they do it because they have slateskin potions, trusting that, somehow, you'll have their back once they've run out. - seeing you helps ease their fear and worry, like catching a glimpse of light in the dark. - because, in your own ways, you're both doing everything you can to support each other. - 'i got ur back, dw' type. - turns out, you two make a pretty good duo. actually, a great one.

a/n; this took me forever since i forgot to save before closing my tabs. almost gave up on continuing, but i couldn't leave you waiting for nothing. so,,,, hope you get it, anon <3

[sallie-nathalies]

Bachelors and aftercare, from less caring to most

SEBASTIAN He’s not a bad lover, really, he’s not. But aftercare with Sebastian is like… dating a cat. He’ll just kind of sit there next to you, smoke a cigarette, and say absolutely nothing for five minutes straight. You might think he’s lost in his own world, but then, he will suddenly glance your way with those dark eyes and offer a shy little smile. Maybe he’ll mumble something like, “You want tea or something?” He will make it in complete silence, and place it next to you. It tastes extremely good, though.

ALEX Again, is not that he is a bad lover, to the contrary. But he’s a bit clueless. He’ll lie on the bed, grinning like he just won the gridball championship. “That was awesome!” he would say, and he would expect you to feel the same. He’s not cold, the thing is, he’s used to casual hookups with girls who get attracted to him because of his hair and fame. Deep emotional intimacy is still new to him. If you gently guide him, he’ll absolutely try. It would be clumsily, like he saw someone do in a movie once. Progress is slow but adorable.

SAM He will talk. A lot. Like, non-stop. He won't stop talking not even under water. Dumb jokes that keep coming even while you're trying to recover from what have you already did. Expect zero silence. If you try to close your eyes from the exhaution (and believe me, you will) he’ll nudge you like, “Hey, are you sleeping already? I was gonna tell you about this riff I wrote.” He might try to feed you with pizza and soda as a romantic gesture. If you survive the post-coital comedy hour, you’re in for a nap wrapped in a guy who literally buzzes with affection and good vibes. But please. Bring earplugs.

HARVEY. He’s a caretaker by nature. You’ll get water, snacks, a vitamin supplement, and probably a soft blanket covering you. He’s warm, gentle, and very attentive. But also very medical about it. He will say stuff like, “Try to urinate in the next hour, okay? Helps prevent infections.” It’s not exactly sexy, while you are hugging naked. It's a great advice, though. And somehow, sweet, coming from him. He will stroke your hair and call you darling in that low, sleepy voice that makes your heart accelerates. Next morning, you will be fed with a great breakfast next morning.

SHANE

Shane is intense. When he loves you, it’s with his whole body and soul. Sometimes almost rough and brutal. He lets go of all his anger, fear, and desire in the moment, and it can be raw. But once he’s emptied himself, what remains is pure softness. The fire cools into warmth. Just like he cares of his chickens, he will do the same with you. Afterwards, he will hold you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. He will say few words, but his “I love you” are honest. He will make sure you’re comfortable without you having to ask. He will stand up and bring you water, some leftovers, blankets…If you need something specific, he will go for it. Even if it’s 3 AM. Even if it's raining. Even if he has to fight a bear for it. The man delivers.

ELLIOT Aftercare with Elliott is like being the heroine in a historical romance novel. He pulls the blanket over you like he’s draping a royal mantle. He is always goods saying something extremely positive about you, your body and your performance. He will call you "beloved" and "muse" and looks like he’s two seconds away from writing a whole novel based on the curve of your collarbone. You will get grapes, homemade juice, warm towels, soft kisses, and probably a foot rub. If things got intense, he’ll apply bandages with grace and solemnity. Every sigh, every brush of his fingertips, feels like it should be set to classical music. Is it dramatic? Yes. Is it a bit theatrical? Absolutely. But you will love every second of it. You are now Art™, and he will make sure you know it.

[lovejongseob]

Hi, can you maybe do big chested reader x seob pleasee? <3

Jongseob x Reader w/ big chest

Ofcc !! Tysm for requesting, I hope you enjoy !! ^^ I didnt know if you wanted nsfw or sfw so theres a bit of both

Sfw

Jongseob is extremely respectful and polite, especially to his partner. However, underneath what he shows to most people, is possibly a slight perverted side. He can usually hide it quite well, but in certain predicaments, he just can't.

He'd never want to make you uncomfortable, so he can somewhat reserved in the beginning of your relationship. When you both get more comfortable with physical touch later on, you'd soon notice certain patterns, and a possible fixation with Jongseob.

Jongseob is super considerate, always readjusting your shirt or smoothing it out, eyes on your chest the entire time. He loves playing with any necklaces you might wear, dragging his hands down just a little before going back to the jewelry. The most obvious example, you'd notice Jongseob gives you an unnatural amount of hugs. Even when he doesn't 'need to', multiple times while hanging out, while simply talking, it's like he's just trying to find a way to press you against him.

Arguably one of Jongseob's favorite things ever, is laying or sleeping on them. Just give him five minutes, and hes out. Genuinely believes they give him good dreams to an extent, he's never had a bad one when sleeping on them. Has his hands loosely wrapped around your waist, or placed on your hips, and you're worried about whether he can breathe or not.

He genuinely is thoughtful, if you ever get any back pains or aches, hes quick to rub at it. Offers any heating or cooling pads he might have, and lets you lay down while he grabs pain meds for you. If they ever get sore, he would offer to massage them, and while his heart is going crazy, he keeps his head cool and focuses on helping you.

Nsfw

If you're into this type of thing, Jongseob would lose his mind if you sent him a picture of them. He can't stop himself from getting hard, not when you're telling him you took the picture just for him. He'd come on his phone screen with the image still up, imagining it was actually on your chest.

A bit more specific, but he loves how they look with his name written on them. If you send a picture after writing out Jongseob on your chest, he may or may not send an audio of him getting off to said picture. Jongseob also wouldn't mind writing it on you in person.

His favorite position without a doubt is you riding him, and an amazing bonus is being able to hide his face in your chest. It feels so lewd how they bounce around his face, he can't get enough. Sucking and biting at them as much as he can, it's good for keeping him quiet when needed.

Not too surprising after what he did to his phone screen, but he's entranced with the idea of getting a boob job, or just coming on your chest in general. Just the thought already makes him feel so sensitive, and he thinks they'd look so good around his shaft, or covered in his cum. He'd come noticeably quicker when doing this, and it's the perfect opportunity to tease him.

was gonna write a freaky a/n about how i love boobs but then depressing ass music played and now im just in a neutral state between those two. i hope i wrote this good, i have the opposite of a big chest so i was a tad worried. .⁠·⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠(⁠>⁠▂⁠<⁠)⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠·⁠. thinking about boobs again let me add tags before i write the freaky a/n on top of this one.

[white-btterfly]

Not me getting my popcorn to you getting your popcorn 🍿🍿🍿

There is something so addictive about reading alternating perspectives each chapter. I always want to know how the other person is reacting to everything that happened in the last one, and then I get to see their inner thoughts, but with more plot. And the cycle begins again. In Chapter 8, I was so happy to see Jayce finally feeling some negative emotions related to his love for Viktor. Let the fear eat at himmmmm. Kind of a taste of his own medicine after making Viktor pine all this time. Am I evil for wanting Jayce to suffer a little bit? Can I have this?

The alternating POVs were refreshing for me, too, though they sometimes were a pain in the ass. Because it was difficult to write about two oblivious kings and yet try to pass on informations to the reader about the other character. The scene in chapter 8, when Viktor and Jayce talk on the bench, comes to mind. Like, was it obvious to the reader that Jayce thought Viktor was oblivious as much as Viktor thought Jayce was? That they had the exact train of thought about the other while they talked? Maybe not, but the next chapter always sheds some light about the previous one, and that's something I like, too!

We have seen Viktor suffer from Jayce's obliviousness for eight chapters. I think it's time for Jayce to suffer too!

This chapter marks the halfway point and Jayce is admitting to himself that he does want to kiss Viktor and he's not even sorry about it. He's deathly afraid of fucking up their friendship but can't bring himself to stop thinking about how right it feels to touch Viktor and the butterflies he gets whenever they are close. It's fucking adorable. He's come so far!!!! He's not to the point of admitting this to anyone out loud yet, but he's naming these desires even though it's scary. I want to put a ribbon on his lapel. First prize for discovering himself goes to Jayce Talis. It's never too late to join the queer community.

Indeed, Jayce has come so far! To think that, at the beginning of the story, he was so convinced he was straight that the mere idea of having feelings for Viktor was frightening him (even though he was also thinking that it was totally normal for people to want to kiss Viktor... since Viktor is Viktor... irresistibly kissable.) And now he admitted to himself that he might want to kiss Viktor, but the fear of losing Viktor's friendship is so strong that he can't help but try to stifle his feelings.

Also, I love how Jayce and Viktor allowed me to explore two different ways people can relate to their sexuality. On one side, we have Viktor, who knows he's gay, who has known since he was a young boy and knows with certainty that his sexuality is never going to change. And on the other side we have Jayce, who has always felt so confident in his sexuality until his male best friend made him question everything he thought he knew about himself. I am so proud of Jayce. Let's both put a little bi medal on his lapel. 💖💜💙

Viktor rolls up to the lab looking like death warmed over. All of those sweet intimate moments between the two of them are taking their toll on Viktor's short supply of energy. I knew that he was going to be feeling the effects of all that dancing and touching, but I still feel bad seeing it. It hurts to think that Viktor might have to come close to dying before they finally stop hiding their feelings for each other. (Still not as bad as canon when Viktor literally died but I digress)

Viktor had never been worse. In the span of two days, Jayce managed to worsen Viktor's health from "relatively fine" to "dying at an accelerated pace". About the BYSS grand finale, no, things won't be as bad as canon (no one will die) but, um... Viktor won't be in a good state either. Hanahaki is serious shit. The stakes will be high!

Oh and when Jayce teases Viktor about whether working helps or if it's just spending time with him that helps...oh my heart. I want to scream! You're killing him! But you're also the only thing keeping him alive! The tension is too much. I hate this plot, but I love this plot, Hanahaki fuck you!!!!

You see, with this question, Jayce shows that he's still hoping for more from Viktor, even though he knows it's doomed. Hopelessness is truly what stops Jayce from accepting his feelings. Deep down, Jayce wants nothing more than to let his feelings bloom, but he's so scared of losing Viktor that he won't let himself love him.

I don't think that at this point, Viktor really knows how scared Jayce is of losing him. He can't fathom that Jayce needs him like that. Enough for him to panic at the thought, to be awake at night tossing and turning because he feels helpless to stop this terrible outcome. Unable to envision a world where he lives and Viktor doesn't, because they're supposed to be together, always. I love love love the way Jayce's attachment and fear and written in this chapter, because I feel like we didn't see enough of it in Season 1 (even though it was there, hello deleted scene of Jayce CRYING next to Viktor's hospital bed) until after Jinx shoots the council room.

I agree with you, the fact that this scene was deleted is a disgrace. What were they thinking?! And Jayce's fear of losing Viktor becomes so overwhelming in this chapter, Jayce can do nothing to fight it. Viktor thought he could do exactly like before chapter 1: hide his symptoms and keep their friendship. Except Jayce is now aware of Viktor's illness, and aware of how much he can't stand to lose him, and also getting aware of his own romantic feelings. Things will never go back to the way they were (and even though the whole process is painful, in a way, it's good for them. They will never go back to just being friends.)

God, these two sentences sum up the entirety of the scientific research experience. Never promise to get something done by a short deadline if you've never done it before. Jayce, you should know better. The universe always throws unexpected variables at you if you get too confident, or god forbid there's any sense of urgency.

These sentences were supposed to be dramatic, and they made you laugh. 🥲 But I understand what you mean. Things usually never go the way you want them when you want something badly. And science is THE domain where people usually fail 99,9% of the time.

They are so cute, even when they're having a bad time. Jayce and Viktor are working such long hours and Viktor is passing out at this desk. The thought of Jayce waking him up every night so he can go home to his bed is just....AAAAAAA.

Yeah... I think Jayce might have spent a few minutes every day just watching him sleep... The most important person in the whole world... 💔

There's something to be said for the way it feels to be in Jayce's position: caring for someone with a terminal illness, desperately wanting them to take it easy so that their illness isn't exacerbated, but not knowing how to break past the stubborn resolve of their sick partner. People with chronic illnesses are so fucking strong, and part of that comes from the stubborn persistence of existing despite the pain. You can't just tell someone to stop doing that. Even if you think you know better than they do, and you can see the effects of their actions just tearing their body down. You can never know what it feels like to be in their body. All you can do sometimes is watch. And hope they hear what you're not saying. I love you. Please let me ease the pain. Please don't leave. I'm not ready to let you go.

What you said right there touched me. Hanahaki is actually a silly trope, but I took it upon myself to write it as seriously as possible, and it came out way more realistic than expected. I do have lost someone close to me to a terminal illness, and it gave me a good understanding of grief, but never have I been in Jayce's shoes, taking care of someone who, for one reason or another, refuses to take care of themselves. I can only hope I have treated the subject of a chronic/terminal illness and everything it entails with the respect it deserves.

Jayce tries really hard to get Viktor to rest. It does not go well. Viktor says something true...but rude. He insinuates that Jayce's presence and actions are making his Hanahaki worse. We all know this to be true, but Jayce doesn't realize it yet. And then @white-btterfly hits me with some iconic characterization. "Jayce took immediate and great offense." Story of his fucking life. He's so predictable haha. He stumbles so close to the truth and is too offended to even consider it. This is such a tense moment but it's also really funny to me. They sound like a married couple.

Jayce never realized how close to the truth he was. Viktor was trying to keep Jayce away, but instead told him the truth. The reason of his panic is obvious to the reader, but not to Jayce.

Jayce stopping himself from saying "partner" now that he knows he is attracted to Viktor...feels like foreshadowing. Jayce is usually dropping that word left and right with no consideration for the connotation. Now, he's refraining. When will he feel confident to use it again? And what will that mean for how they define their relationship?

I love this part of your comment so much, you have no idea. Jayce will certaintly feel confident to use the word again after they're together, but he might use it before... without meaning to... in a context that might give Viktor some hope.

They get into a real argument, worse than the time Viktor found out he'd been keeping the list the first time. Jayce is so vulnerable in this scene. He reacts openly to every word Viktor says. It's so clear that Jayce treasures Viktor's trust, and when Viktor won't tell him the details of why his disease is progressing faster, and still won't tell him anything about this mystery man he loves so much, Jayce is heartbroken. It's about more than just Viktor loving someone else. It's about his best friend not trusting him enough to share intimate information. Deep friendships like that thrive on mutual vulnerability. It doesn't help that Jayce is falling in love with Viktor, but it would still hurt even if he wasn't. Jayce keeps offering Viktor opportunities to open up, and he gets shut down every time.

Jayce can feel that Viktor is keeping him at arm's length. Right when Jayce fears to lose Viktor in more ways than one. It's driving Jayce insane. It's hurting him. And he's more than happy to think that it's entirely the man Viktor's loves' fault. When really, the fault is all theirs. No one else is involved, and it's not just because Viktor loves Jayce and there is actually no third party involved. Viktor keeps lying to Jayce about who he loves, about his symptoms. Jayce lied to Viktor about the list he kept against Viktor's will, about how he doesn't care about who Viktor loves when it's all he thinks about.

All of the resentment Jayce has for man Viktor loves just simmers under the surface. We all know what happens when Jayce has big feelings. He sort of explodes. The words just pour out of him. I keep thinking of Season 2 when he shouts, "I never asked for this!" As I was reading, I was just waiting for that to happen.

Well, it happened! Hurray!! It had to happen, right? Because you're right, Jayce was a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. He spent nine chapters, three months, and nearly 90k words devored by jealousy. All the resentment and bitterness had to come out eventually. Viktor took everything in the face. They lied to each other for weeks. They stopped talking about anything other than Viktor's cure. The situation between them was not sustainable. It couldn't go on like this for much longer.

Okay, did you put a line from league in there? The "surrender now, inferior construct," part. I feel like it is. I've never played league, so I don't know.

Yes, the robot joke is actually a reference to the old Viktor, the Machine Herald. I suppose you've heard of him? He wants to replace body parts with superior technology to rid humanity of its weakness. Before S2, the joke was "Prepare for the Glorious Evolution." instead of "The time of machines has come." but since the Glorious Evolution is now a thing in the Arcane universe, I opted for another reference to the Machine Herald to not throw readers off.

I didn't know I was going to get a strip tease scene from Viktor in this chapter though DAMN. And Jayce just stares at him. What a man. Get him a glass of water, he's so thirsty jesus christ. Bless every fic writer that gives Jayce a thing for Viktor's moles. We all collectively decided that for him. Beautiful. And he realizes that it's not just romantic attraction to Viktor, but that he's physically attracted as well. Like, a lot. Mapping-constellations-of-moles-on-Viktor's-skin-with-his-lips kind of attraction. There's nothing wrong with you, Jayce. It's a natural reaction to seeing a man as stunning as Viktor.

Jayce had zero self-control during this scene. Also, he was sooo not slick. His eyes were glued to Viktor's chest. Even Viktor picked up on what was happening. I want Jayce to kiss every mole on Viktor's body. I think his little fantasy was exactly that. Exploring Viktor's skin and kissing all his moles one by one. Oh, Jayce, don't worry. Everyone wants that. It's totally normal.

The whole measurement with the arcanometer was so cute. And then things got too real. I mean, we all knew by this point that the experiment to start this whole mess was the first experiment where they succeeded with Hextech. It was the most uncontrolled exposure Viktor had to the arcane. And also he already was falling in love with Jayce when they did the whole floaty blue glow and passing a gear through the portal thing. And Viktor just thinks it's his own fault because he keeps going through the cycle of hope and despair as Jayce get closer and closer to him. You're both to blame, stupid adorable idiots! Just kiss already!

Oh, they are both stupid! Jayce thinks it's his fault Viktor fell sick, and he's kinda right, but not for the reasons he thinks! Jayce, it's not your second experiment that made things worse for Viktor. It was your two (2) almost-kisses! And Viktor thinks Jayce has nothing to do with anything, that it's not his fault, but he can't tell him that, lest Jayce realizes Viktor tried to kiss him twice... So he had no choice but to let Jayce drown in guilt... And Viktor feels guilt over that of course... Silly men! You love each other! Just kiss already!

There's more sad shit after that scene. Viktor and Jayce continue to argue, barely reconcile, and then spend time together in silence. Jayce is convinced that Viktor doesn't love him. This man doesn't even have Hanahaki. His brain just does that on its own. Iconic.

... Have I already told you that I love your comments? Probably.

And oh god. The list of names. Again. This story was meant to torture me.

The List being all "Surprise, bitch! I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me!" 😈

Okay, I can't even summarize the rest of this fucking scene. It's just too good. It's heartbreaking and devastating. My heart has been ground into dust, mixed with water into clay, formed into something vaguely resembling a heart shape, just to be thrown on the ground and shattered into a millions bits again.

Thank you. 🥹

Yes, Jayce! YES. You got it! Let the record show that Jayce is not incapable of self-reflection. He just does it at the absolute worse times.

Jayce does a lot of self-reflection! He just has a lot to self-reflect on! And his timing could be better, I admit.

Viktor almost admits that he loves Jayce. He almost does it. He almost caves right there. And who could blame him? Jayce cradles his face in his hands and says he would do anything to save Viktor's life. What is Viktor supposed to do? Die? No, of course not.

They both got so vulnerable. Jayce realized he wants Viktor to love him at the same time Viktor got scared of losing Jayce forever. Viktor was totally ready to confess and beg him to understand, and perhaps apologize too. Had Sky not walked in, things would have been very different.

Sky ruins everything by walking in on their emotionally charged moment. Damn you, Sky. It's a good thing this story gave her more backstory and involvement in the plot, so I can't really be mad at her. She's just doing her job. She can't help it if her employers are in the middle of a sexuality crisis, terminal illness, and world-shattering romance all at the same time.

Poor Sky. We'll see her again, and this time, not just to serve as an interloper.

The way the whole story was building toward this. YES! There's nowhere to go now. Confrontations are going to happen. Feelings are spilled all over the floor. Viktor is going to have to open up a little bit or risk losing it all. And you know he can't lose Jayce. Impossible. He'd rather actually die.

Yes. Things between them will change... forever.

I love seeing the way Jayce's happy-go-lucky devotion and loyalty have morphed into such deep yearning over the course of the first half of the story. Now, I really want to see Viktor start to develop some new feelings. He's been deep in the trenches of loneliness and despair. I want to see how his relationship with Jayce changes as well. It's that vulnerabilityyyyyyyyy. I need it! I know it will be hard for Viktor, but I believe he can do it. At this point, I think it has to be him that confesses, right? He has to get over his fear of Jayce not loving him back. To just admit his love and take back his life from the clutches of Hanahaki.

Oh, they will get vulnerable around each other. Their relationship will never be the same after they talk things out. Will Viktor confess? Who knows? (I do...) He will have to get over his fears, that's for sure. However, Hanahaki won't let him go that easily.

Anyway, going to go cry now. This story is beautiful in every way.

Thank you so much. ❤️

Before Your Sun Sets - Chapter 9 is available!

Viktor is sick with Hanahaki. Jayce would do anything to save him—whether it be by developing an impossible cure or trying to find out who Viktor is in love with to smack some sense into them. Little does he know, he’s chasing his own shadow.

Read chapter 9 now

Read from the beginning

[cliff-and-the-kid]

(So yesterday I went on a bit of a tear, sketch-wise...)

(Did all of these in the span of, about four hours I think? With pauses, but still. Amazing how artistically productive I can be when I take a day off work...)

[yandere-yearnings]

do u have any writing tips dar??? Ur stories are immaculate

nonnie?? that's so sweet of you to say, thank you😭🩷 in general, a lot comes to mind bc there's so many different components to writing (i.e dialogue, characterisation, structure,, even mindset!!) so if you want to hear abt anything specific pls lmk🥺 for now tho, i've summarised a few across the subject that i think are helpful, and they will be below the cut bc i'm shit at explaining things, so i ended up writing a lot hhh

i also wanna point out that these are just things that i've personally made note of over the years from my own experiences + being friends w/ other writers, but that doesn't mean they will apply to everyone!! more than anything, i always believe that you shouldn't let other ppl dictate how you do and enjoy things, so if smth works for you and you like it, there's nothing wrong w/ that even if it contradicts an opinion you got from some rando on the internet (a.k.a. me😔💔)

Know your game

I'd like to say that in writing, there's a vein of liberty that isn't echoed in very many other creative fields; a lot of the times you can go in blind, and still make something of it because the nature of fiction is liquid — if you can imagine it, it can work. So to say, I find that nine times out of ten, room for improvement doesn't necessarily lie in the content of someone's writing, and more so its execution.

You could play a desultory game of chess without knowing all the rules, but if you wanted it to be your best match, you'd have to be aware of every move you could make, no? What you do from there then becomes a matter of choice, and choice is a landmark divider between doing something and being good at doing something. There's a difference in omissions due to lacking the technical knowledge, and omissions made because you are aware they are optimal.

Knowledge on the fundamentals of literature will always serve you, and that isn't to say you have to study all forms and contexts, but if you want to write a story, for example, it will always help to know the common elements of one. Grammar, punctuation, structure — brushing up on those things will build your toolkit, and once you've got that, you have the self-autonomy to decide what to use from it. My three favourite writers only use commas and full stops, and their works are, on all levels, spectacular. Still, if you asked them how to use a semi-colon, they'd be able to tell you.

Appreciating the basics will also tie into your creative exploration as a writer, which is a cornerstone in developing your distinctive writing style. I doubt a person in any type of craft hasn't heard a variation of know the rules before you break them, so studying until you do, inside out, remains beneficial to both new and old writers alike.

2. Have a starting point

This tip is fairly applicable to a range of different types of writing, and how one would practice it depends strongly on individual preference and styles of working. Some people like to plan things out thoroughly whilst others, including myself, like to dive in headfirst, and there's nothing wrong with either approach. The commonality between both types of writer is that regardless, they will have at least a vague idea of where to start from — a scene that they've bullet-pointed prior, a lyric that resonated with them, a mental image, an emotion or even just a single word that everything branches from. What all these details achieve is writing that has motion, because you have something of substance to piggyback you to an end point (the establishment of which is also important, but I will not be covering in this post).

3. Decide a structure

Again, this can be done both comprehensively or as simply as just having the thought to adhere to a certain method. As you gain more experience as a writer, you'll begin to understand what works best for you and create a system of your own, but starting out, there are a number of templates that have already been established by writers that you can follow, and find by researching. What matters most is that by using one — whichever it may be — you're turning your text into a story.

As an example, I'll detail two that I use regularly, in their simplest forms for the sake of brevity:

A linear narrative moves from point A to point B, and from point B to point C, etc. and all subsequent points build on the previous ones until your goal is reached. It's a system that works well for shorter pieces because it has a definite structure, like a length of spine and its individual vertebrae (and although we're talking about writing here, I think Newton's Third Law of Motion sums it up very well: every action has a reaction.)

A coalescing narrative considers all points as separate elements that may or may not always interact, but all contribute to the end point to different extremes. It's a useful template for creating depth in a piece, but due to its complexity, is better applied to longer projects.

They are visualised respectively below.

4. Iterate

If you think of your first draft as a block of clay, everything you do to it will equate to it being moulded and shaped, and if you think of your first draft as a skeleton, everything you do to it will equate to flesh being put on the bones. If you want your piece to be the best it can be, there's a sort of detachment you must have from it, where you won't have the fear of changing it until it is in the image of what you have intended. Write and rewrite, add things, take them away, make a separate copy for every edit if that makes it easier for you, but keep working it until you are happy.

Iteration doesn't just apply to drafts — chapters, paragraphs, sentences and even singular words can be given the same treatment. When you pick up the habit, the process becomes second-nature and you'll find that the first lines you put down are the ones that make it into the final piece, and that is in light of sorting through the renditions unconsciously. Additionally, you don't have to do things in one sitting; sometimes taking a break and coming back to your writing with a fresh outlook is valuable.

5. Analyse and apply

One piece of advice I always see given when someone asks how to improve their writing is to read more, and though it is — at its core — a tip worth acknowledging, it always comes across as unserviceable to me. There is nothing that reading will change for you if you are not actively practicing the things you learn, or even actively learning to begin with. So to address it as a matter of semantics, I feel it's best put as studying the writing of others, as opposed to reading.

If you have a favourite author, go over their works twice — once as a reader to identify what you like about them, and then again as a writer to identify why you like those things. To put it into context, if I read something and decided that I enjoyed how clear and easy to understand it was, I'd do a second pass to figure out the attributing qualities. Perhaps it's the use of punctuation, chosen sentence forms or even the simplicity of words used. My first tip of knowing different literary fundamentals is complementary here, because it makes the analysis and application of isolated features that much more smooth, and also means you'd be able to adapt them into your own style instead of just copying the other writer, which is what you want to avoid.

(Some writers I personally recommend studying are @ozzgin, @monstersholygrail, @aayakashii and @urprettylildoe for readability and clarity in execution, @moyazaika, @carnivorousyandeere and @purerae for characterisation and dialogue, @suiana and @unhappy-last-resort for engaging plots and concepts, and @sabotsen and @lirational for word choice.)

[dors-ee]

Hmmm. No. I still don't take it as canon. I mean it actually isn't canon or truly official, but even if it was made canon and truly official by Riot, I still would reject it.

(Quickly :I am genuinely happy for those that liked it and love the fact they kissed btw! I'm happy for you you got something you like! Truly!)

I don't think they kissed. Like i reject the MV making them kiss and for me they didn't kiss. I don't think whether it was 1 or 2 days or a few weeks or a month, that they did anything. Not with the situation, not with their past, etc.

I prefer and think it better, where they don't kiss and where they know there's something, the love is definitely there, but don't act on it, in in a very very... idk. Conventionally romantic explicit way I mean. I'd rather have this realism, like in term of psychology, and this... I don't know. It is terribly romantic* too, whilst realistic. (* wide meaning including artistic/literary movement.).

For me, timebomb is romantic (wide meaning. encompasses the artistic/literary movement) and poetic, and not into stereotypical and conventional romantic gestures. Not yet I mean, for the MU. (one can be romantic/poetic and have conventional romantic gestures yes. Those are not exclusive in general. Depends how it's done and the context.) Because that's how it was made in canon and what fits their story and them for now.

Ofc in the future I wouldn't mind kisses and all. Would more than welcome them actually. It depends how it'll be done, but I would really more than welcome them in the future.

But right now, where they were in s2, it didn't fit. Even with notions of poetry and romanticism and conventional romantic gesture and personal preferences and thoughts aside I mean. It didn't fit. (psychology and characters and relationship developments and story and context etc )

We didn't need a kiss. (I can like kisses, and more, in pre war, in purely fanon exploratory stuff. But purely as a "this is imagination and fun to explore". My mind is open to exploration and fun. It's for what wants to pass as canon that I take issues with.)

If I go further and into more personal territory, it actually bothers me that one was made. I get it, for most people kisses are needed as a show of romantic love. Like I get it.

And i do acknowledge this is partially personal, why it bothers me that well. we got a more stereotypical conventional show of romantic love. But it bothers me. It feels like a "you all want a conventional show of love in the form of a kiss so here!" whether it truly works or not... It's what's expected so it's what is given.

and it does feel like fan service a little.

I don't like that there's a kiss and I don't want it and... whatever pple believe for themseleves, like be free of course (and again, genuinely happy for those that liked it), but it isn't canon. Like objectively it isn't, but again even if it was made canon by riot I would still reject it personally.

to summarize : I don't think that they kiss fits -where they were with their relationships, where they were individually in their development, the context of the story, psychology, etc.- and was even needed as a show or romantic feelings, like that is outside of personal taste and preferences and feelings I mean.

And ... well inside of personal taste and preferences I also do not like it. I do have a preference for romantic -wide meaning- poetic and not conventional romantic gestures but the love is still there everywhere type of dynamics. (which the mme mv did do and do so well and it has inspired and pushed me so much.)

Also, for me, where they where in s2, it is tentative. For me there is a knowledge and acknowledgement of feelings but no action. Things are still tentative, there's still an open wound, or several, plus the war looming over. They can't show overt big reciprocated gesture of affection yet. It is there but it can't flow freely yet.

I mean again, everyone is free etc etc. But bc everyone is free, i say nope. Not for me.

I am not saying it is a bad MV. I am saying not for me and I think it doesn't fit timebomb in canon to have kissed pre war. And I also as a personal preference prefer them to not have kissed.

(and yes, as a more general parenthesis and tangent: I will be picky about content. It's not bc we don't get a lot that we have to settle for anything. I saw this opinion recently and like no. No no no. We can be picky, we can expect, and demand quality. Actually we should. We can be grateful for what we got without being doormats. we should ask for quality, or we won't get it, if we just settle for anything.

I'm not saying this specific world collide mv is not quality. I am speaking in general. We can be picky. And we can demand better. We should actually, and not just with timebomb or arcane. Bc this sentiment "be grateful don't ask for more" i've seen it with other medias and outside of it and... no? we can and should ask for more and better.)

also : yes. it's not that serious in the end and it's just fiction. Doesn't mean emotions and opinions about it can't exist. But it's just fictional characters and fiction at the end of the day. I am aware.

And it's just a kiss, i'm aware of that too. Would I be sooo upset if it was made canon? no. Would i still reject it for me? yeah. but I wouldn't be upset.

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

if you title this you could post the first few chapters already!!! (for the wip ask game lol)

WIP Ask Game! tw: abuse implied

But Christian isn’t looking at her face. His gaze is currently fixed on Satine’s wrist where—Satine notices as if in slow motion and with a lurch of her stomach—the sleeve of her coat has ridden up and a nasty purple bruise is on full display. Unable to adjust her sleeve with her hands full of coffee cups, Satine rotates her arm but it’s too late; the damage has been done. “Are you alright?” Christian asks, reaching for her arm. His touch is as warm as Satine remembers but she flinches back from it as if it’s scalding hot. “I’m fine.” “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Christian asks, searching her eyes. “Not at all,” Satine hastens to reassure him, realizing too late that she probably should have taken that excuse when it was offered to her, that flinching away from something that didn't hurt is suspicious while flinching away from something that did is reasonable. “Nothing to worry about,” Satine tries next, “just one of the hazards of live theatre. The show has a lot of lifts and I bruise easily. You’ll see tonight—the dancing is incredible,” Satine says, trying to get him back on topic of opening night.