#seriously you have no idea how hard I had to resist the impulse to reference him when I was writing this

[ellaofoakhill]

My Thoughts on Stakes...

I’m thinking this’ll probably be shorter than my usual posts on writing and storytelling, but we’ll see. Anyway, this is just my personal take on stakes.

Which is that *drum roll* you don’t actually need stakes to tell a story that people will read. Crazy, right? But I mean, the slice-of-life genre exists for a reason. Is it an outrageously popular genre? Maybe not, at least not in the West; Japan has s-o-l and a related genre, iyashikei (I’ve previously reblogged a definition of the latter if you’re interested), and both are more popular over there. Why? I dunno, but I suspect there’s less of a stigma against escapism in Eastern cultures; Miyazaki talks about the concept of ma in an interview, and how he works that space for breath into his movies, and it makes me think that there’s a relation between the two. I could talk about how Western culture, from our schedules to our media, encourage a constant state of doing without stopping to rest and simply be, but that’s a subject in and of itself, and I’m already off-topic.

The purpose of stakes is to introduce tension to your story, or to escalate tension. Your character(s) want x, or want to prevent x from happening; the greater the impact of not getting or preventing x on your characters, the higher your stakes. And the higher your stakes, the more invested your audience will be, so the logic goes.

Popular media of a more adventurous persuasion often takes this very literally, and puts the entire world/galaxy/universe in jeopardy, because what will affect your characters more than the entire world blowing up, amiright?

...

... No, actually, you’re not.

Red from Overly Sarcastic Productions (yes, I know, I reference her a lot, her stuff is just SO GOOD you should watch it) has a video on Youtube talking about the end of the world, and if I may summarize/paraphrase her, stakes don’t work like that; chances are, few things will affect your characters more than the blowing up of their personal, subjective world. In Andy Weir’s Artemis (spoilers ahead), the highest stakes throughout the book are whether or not the protagonist can save the inhabitant’s of humanity’s first lunar colony, comprising at most a few thousand people. According to the above logic, that should be a “Yeah, sure, kinda interesting”, but it was pretty suspenseful because the lives of people we knew and liked were at stake, not the whole world.

Humanity is growing more interconnected than ever before, but most of us have a few hundred people whom we perceive as having impact on our lives; everyone else is mostly treated with indifference. Not because we’re a cold, apathetic species, but our conscious minds aren’t capable of making deep emotional connections beyond that point.

Another part of this is that the audience is taking something of a gamble with every story they pick up. Does it end happily, or sadly? Marriage or death? And while there is certainly some satisfaction derived from a well-written tragedy, that’s really hard to pull off when the story’s entire world is destroyed and stays destroyed, to the point that I can think of precisely one example that did make it work: The Cabin in the Woods (and there are a few asterisks there, like it being a horror movie). So unless you can pull off one of the most difficult tasks any writer has ever attempted, you probably won’t write the end of the world, or even the end of your characters’ world, though that’s a more realistic goal. Remember that gamble the audience is taking? If you put forward the End of the World in a full-length novel (short-stories have more leeway because the audience investment is usually in the low tens of pages, and not in the mid to high hundreds), the odds of you writing it and satisfying your audience are so astronomically tiny that most authors aren’t going to actually write it. So the audience bets that your protagonists will prevail in preventing it. And they’re almost certainly right.

Let’s say you pick up a book, regardless of genre, set in a small town. There are good people, and decent people, and a few creeps. Most of the book takes place in this small town, and the author really writes characters well, to the point that there are a few characters you adore despite deep, nuanced faults, and some you hate with a fiery passion, even if they have redeeming qualities. This small town feels real to you, and while the story alludes to a wider world, grounds itself in this wider world, the meat of the story is here, wherever here is. We grow with our characters along this journey, and love this beautiful tapestry the author’s woven for us.

And then we find out that one character we love is going to die.

The world will keep on turning. This town will keep on living. In that literal, objective sense, the stakes are pretty low. But this light that’s kept us reading for five, six, seven hundred pages, will soon be snuffed out. And if the author has written this story half so well as I’ve described, the ending could be good even if, or perhaps because this character dies. In short, this character’s death is a very realistic outcome.

I’d bet the farm you’re more invested in this one character than in any number of worlds. In fact, a lot of those stories know the audience knows the EotW won’t happen, and so the suspense and shock, and plot twisting, if they’re written well, comes from which of our beloved characters will die.

And they don’t even have to die, really; even a protagonist not getting what they want can devastate your audience.

I once heard (and I wish I could remember the source of this) that in poetry, anyone can write of grand and noble ideas and objects, and sound wise, even profound, but it takes a true master of the art to appreciate and bring forth profundity in the mundane, the small, the innocuous. I think the same can be said of fiction; not that we all need to write literary fiction (good luck prising the dragons from my cold dead hands), but that maybe rather than writing grand sweeping vistas and great armies, we could write all the little happenings in a single tree. Travelling the length and breadth of an entire fantasy world can be a fun time, don’t get me wrong (Paolini was one of my favourite authors growing up), but if writing grand adventures ever gets stale for you... maybe try writing about that tree. Its breadth might not impress, but them roots might grow deeper than you ever imagined.

#my posts #writing #stakes #breadth vs depth #it should be no surprise tolkien spent his entire adult life in middle earth #when lotr has such tremendous breadth AND depth #seriously you have no idea how hard I had to resist the impulse to reference him when I was writing this #my thoughts...

[hotdamnhunnam]

Ride Me Like a Harley

Part 1 | Part 2 of The Prospect & The President

A/N: Here’s Part 2 of this 2-part series with Jax and a gender-neutral reader, based on the below requests! *The idea is that this fic can be enjoyed from the perspective of any reader, with no reference to gender-specific features.* Anyone reading as a woman can just imagine that SAMCRO admits women! (hard to believe, I know, but hey this is fanfiction 🙃)

Pairing: Jax Teller x gender-neutral reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, anal sex, dom!Jax (being bossy as fuck while you ride his cock) Requests: Request 1 (+ follow-up) and Request 2 from @malethirsty

Word Count: ~3k

... Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]

So it’s finally happened. Tonight you were finally patched in. The excitement of joining the club lives up to everything you’d imagined. After all of the hazing and humiliation, the brutal process of initiation... it feels so good to know it was all worth your while. 

And now it’s time for celebration. A couple of other prospects were patched in too, the same time as you, and the Sons are throwing a huge party to welcome you all to the crew. A big bash at the clubhouse with limitless bitches and booze. Bikers gone wild, in true SAMCRO style.

Thankfully, all these festivities help to distract, take your mind off the fact... that you still can’t get over your stupid obsession with Jax. Can’t get over that task, from a few weeks ago, that had put you on the fast track into SAMCRO. Just as Jax had promised. You will never forget how the President savagely teased and taunted, that the patch would be yours nice and quick... if you did just one little thing: sucked his big dick. Standing there like a motherfucking king, Jax knew how eagerly you’d jump on it.

Well, at least he was honest, you think as you throw back another drink. Speeding up your admissions process was exactly what you’d wanted. You’re just glad Jax kept his promise.

You spend most of the night pretending you don’t notice as he silently flirts with you from across the room, in all the ways that make you melt for him. Glancing at you over his shoulder, for no reason, simply for the sake of teasing. Flashing all those dirty little smirks and winks.

Fuck him, you think, knowing you surely never will. The President had ordered you to suck him off for one specific purpose; now that you’ve performed that service, your reward has been fulfilled. When you followed that order, you couldn’t have hoped that a meaningless joke of a blowjob would take things between you and Jax any farther...

Like he’s reading your mind, Jax approaches you now from behind. “Hey, you know why this is such a big night for our charter?”

You turn toward him and end up losing yourself in his blue gaze, admiring every feature on his flawless face. Dumbstruck as always. The universe is clearly conspiring to make your attempts to get over this man even harder.

As your eyes lock on his, Jax flicks his tongue between his smirking lips, ruining you the way he loves to do. “Well, thanks to you... our club just got a hundred times hotter.”

Ugh. Does he have to be corny as fuck? He knows that his praise always gets you all horny and hot and bothered...

And you’ve honestly had enough. Tonight you’re gonna put your foot down: now you’ve finally joined the club, Jax either has to stop fucking around, fucking you up... or just start fucking you, full stop. One or the other.

For fuck’s sake, you hope it’s the latter.

You spent so many months enduring teasing and torture from all of the Sons—no one more so than this dirty bastard—and in some ways, you have to admit it was fun. But tonight you are done. Done with doing whatever it takes, just to move up the ladder. Done playing along with the President’s games. Because damn it, your dignity matters.

Ever since Jax demanded that you suck his cock, then just left you to grovel in shame, feeling shitty as fuck, you’ve been struggling to put back together the pieces that shattered. 

But now you are an actual member. The President has to remember, and has to start treating you better. You’re not just a plaything for Jax Fucking Teller.

Never mind that the thought of being a plaything for the king turns you on to no end... you just have to pretend that it doesn’t. Your willing submission is just what he’d want. And you won’t ever let him humiliate you into such a position again. You just won’t.

“Jax, I think you should stop this,” you snap as you set down your shot glass, attempting eye contact, but quickly averting your eyes because otherwise you’d fucking die from his hotness. “Seriously, just stop with this... all of this nonsense. I’m sick of your shit, to be honest.”

The President pauses and arches his brows up. He clearly has no plans to stop. The cute crow eater standing at the bar just handed him a frothing mug of beer, hoping to catch his attention with tits popping out of her top, but Jax’s focus is on you alone as if nobody else is even here.

“Sick of my shit?” he repeats your words, wickedly snickering at you because he is the worst. You will never get over your thirst, and he knows it. “Nice try, bitch. This whole fucking club is my shit, in case you haven’t noticed. I own it.” 

Oh shit. There he goes acting like the king he is, exuding big dick energy that makes you fall to pieces. You down another shot, to drown out your instinctively submissive thoughts. Struggling to stifle back your inner whore. Yes, sir, you’re desperate to answer. The whole fucking world is yours. Yes of course. Yes, Master. You are a god.

Why does he have to be so mind-blowingly hot...? It really sucks, the way this evil bastard, just existing like he does, has your ass so totally fucked. His presence never fails to blow your mind to bits, rendering you a speechless piece of shit.

The king reaches to run his ring-clad fingers slowly across your new patch, the small strip of fabric that you have so proudly attached. His touch feels like a goddamn attack. Reminding you, just as he’d said, that SAMCRO is the property of Jax. “And now you’re a part of it. Don’t act as if you don’t love it.”

Fuck this shit. You try to pull back; you’re determined to act. Dead set on doing exactly that. “Don’t touch me, Jax.”

“DoN’t ToUcH mE, jAx,” he mocks, with a sadistic little laugh. And he’s so savage that you honestly can’t manage. Might just drop down onto your knees to bow before his crotch, right here and now and let the whole room watch, as you worship his cock.

On impulse, your eyes drop to his jeans and you notice a bigger-than-usual bulge. Jax is hard as a rock. What the fuck? You know he loves to tease you and crack jokes, making you choke, watching you turn to mush, taking advantage of your silly little crush—but since when does it get him off this much...?

He leans in closer, wraps his arm around your shoulder, and you can’t think anymore. Melting into his touch and moaning like a whore. Engulfed in the rich scent of Jax Fucking Teller.

“Bitch, you know nobody ever looked better in leather?” he breathes into your ear, scandalous words for you alone to hear. “Look even hotter now that you’re a member. Fuck, I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night. But you already knew that, right? Think anyone would notice if the two of us snuck out of here? Together?”

At this point Jax’s arms are the only thing holding you up. You’re about to pass out right in front of the whole fucking club.

And the bastard won’t keep his goddamn dirty mouth shut. “Tell me how much you wanna get fucked in this kutte, you filthy little slut.”

Oh my Goddd... You want nothing more than to surrender, but then you remember—the pain you had felt, literal living hell, when the President shot his whole load down your throat and then left you alone and abandoned, like it never happened. The worst sense of emptiness you could have ever imagined.

You swore to yourself that you’d never allow him to do that again. Definitely not the night of patch-in. Your first night as a part of the crew, and already he’s set on destroying you? Seriously, though? Fuck no.

So you pull back. “Look, Jax—before I earned the patch, I let you go ahead and burn me like a sack of trash. But now I’m done with all of that,” you state, shoving him further away. Forcing yourself to resist even though you can feel that his dick is so fucking erect... You try to keep your words plain and direct. “Now that I’m not just a pathetic little prospect, don’t you think maybe you should show my ass some damn respect?”

As soon as you’ve said it, you realize that you probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘ass’ in that sentence. But you had. And Jax makes sure to take advantage of that fact.

“You want me to respect your ass?” he suggestively asks, moving in close to you before you can even attempt to step further back. “Well, with an ass looking like that, what’d you expect?”

Ugh—why does he insist on relentlessly fucking you up? You try to push him off. “Jax, just stop...”

He pulls you close again and interrupts. “Y/N, listen—I know I’ve been treating you bad, and I get that you’re mad. And you have every right to be. It’s just that...” his voice trails softly, quietly, as he pushes you up against the bar, not even caring if the whole room sees how fucking close you are, “...after the shit that happened, I thought I could try to pretend. To deny what I want. Keep up the act of the cold heartless President I’m always trying to be. But I can’t. Understand?”

... Understand? No, you don’t. You blink up in silence at this glorious god of a man. What does he really want...?

And so he goes on. “Ever since then, I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Y/N. Not for one fucking minute,” he boldly continues, his heated confession infused with such passion you almost believe that it’s true. Very nearly convincing you, somehow. “I mean it. I mean—shit, every time I see you now, I can’t stop staring at your mouth. Thinking about my dick in it.”

Well, at least that you can believe. You remember the look on his face, so aroused and amazed, and the stars in his gaze when you’d swallowed him down all the way. The way he’d groaned and heaved, just before you allowed him to fucking explode. Jax had looked so euphoric when blowing his load, like his dick had found heaven deep down in your throat, never wanted to leave...

“Want you, Y/N. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. It scares the shit out of me, honestly—but now I’m finally done trying to hide,” he declares, burning holes through your soul with the heat of his stare, till you’re totally wrecked. And with the words that he says next, you’re pretty sure you’ve died. “Tonight... I think it’s time you take this big dick for a ride.”

***************

Thanks to those words knocking you dead, you can’t remember when and how you ended up in Jax’s bed. 

He threw you over his shoulder, you’re pretty sure. Hauled you up to his dorm, barged through the door, manhandling you like a whore. It’s all a blur, raw hormones raging up a storm. He needs you now, as much as you need him. Or even more, somehow. True to form, the President takes on his role as your complete and utter dom, now that he has you in his room. He owns your whole entire ass, without a doubt.

“This ass is fucking mine,” he rasps, throwing you facedown on the mattress and attacking you with feral hands, forcefully yanking down your pants. Taking your bare cheeks in his grasp. His dominance feels so divine. “God, look at that. So fucking hot. So fucking perfect. Wanted this so bad, ever since the day we met. You said you wanted me to show it some respect?”

His palm comes down against your naked skin, with a delicious little smack that stings like hell, pleasure and pain pairing so well. Heaven-sent sin. His touch upon your cheeks makes you so weak. Can’t even speak. Jax hasn’t even fucked you yet and it’s already the best sex you’ve ever had. You need his big fat dick inside of you so fucking bad...

“Tell me, bitch,” he mutters, bending down over your body, tearing off your kutte and shirt and biting at your shoulder, every move he makes a hundred shades of naughty. Grazing his savage hands over your ass as his touch makes you shudder and twitch. “Still want respect? Or is this perfect ass of yours desperate to get fucking wrecked?”

Though you’re incapable of speech right now, you manage to form words somehow, when you feel him reach down to spread your legs. You moan and groan out loud, breathless. “Fuck yes—fucking destroy me, Jax...!” you beg.

Next thing you know he’s naked too, hot sweaty skin sliding against you, smooth and slick. Good God, he moves so fucking quick. “This tight ass ready for my dick? You ever taken anything so big?”

No point in answering that question—um, of course you haven’t. But the thought of Jax’s massive shaft splitting your ass in half sounds like complete heaven.

“Don’t wanna break you yet...” he says, shifting in one swift motion till he’s on the bottom, holding you firmly in place in top of him. Looking up at you with his trademark cocky grin, hands all over your heated skin. “First time I’ve got you in my bed—if I destroy your ass, it’ll be the last. We can’t have that.”

“I want it, Jax...” you gasp, a total mess as you reach to caress the sculpted muscles of his chest.

“I know,” he laughs, dealing your ass a playful slap. “Of course that’s what you want, you greedy little slut. Just gonna take it nice and slow.”

“But—ohhh....” you moan, realizing what he means all of a sudden, as he starts to dominate you from the bottom. 

“Mmm, there we go,” Jax goads you on. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he guides you into position on top of him—on instinct, you reach down to grab his delicious dick, lining it up with your hole. A cry of bliss leaps from your lips, as your ass finally comes in contact with his cock, wet with the precum leaking from the tip. It feels so fucking beautiful. Won’t even need to be lubed up because he’s wet as fuck.

You take your time easing yourself down onto his enormous length, which takes a lot of self-restraint. You want him all the way; you crave the pain. But like he said, this is your first time in his bed. Jax Fucking Teller knows his size and strength. He doesn’t want tonight to leave your poor ass torn to shreds. Not yet.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like that,” he says, gazing up at your face, knowing his praises always get you good and wet. “Sitting down on this big juicy cock. So damn desperate to get fucked.”

In the state that you’re in, descending on his dick and ascending to heaven, you can’t even say much. “Jax... ughhh...”

Soon enough, you finally have him buried in your ass balls deep, and it feels so painfully good that you might just collapse in a heap.

You do your best to hold yourself up; Jax’s dominant hands and his calming words help you to do your damn job. “That’s a good little bitch. Nice and steady. Stay with me. You ready? I don’t want you missing a second of this.”

Then he starts thrusting upwards, all slowly and gently at first, and you find yourself grinding back down on him, hips moving in an instinctual rhythm. Feels so good that you’re sure all your insides are going to burst. And you love how it hurts. You’ve lost conscious control of your limbs, but your body apparently knows how to do its own thing. Always knows how to follow the lead of your king.

Jax looks so fucking pleased as he lies back admiring the view.

“Now put your kutte back on, why don’t you. Told you nobody wears leather like you do,” he suggests, smiling as you obediently grab the vest that he’d recently stripped off of you and flung onto the mattress. You’ve always wanted him to fuck you in this kutte, make you his dirty little slut. Just like he’d said back at the party. “Yeah, just like that, Y/N. Go on and start my fucking engine. Ride me like a Harley.”

And those words are all you need to fucking hear. You grab hold of his broad muscular shoulders, anchoring you as you steer; Jax wraps his arms around your back to pull you closer, bring you near. So you can listen to the filthy shit he whispers in your ear. Reminding you that you’re his dirty little whore, and that his big cock is all yours. You hear him loud and fucking clear. And you want time to stop right fucking here.

You may have started as a lowly little prospect, crushing on the President... but now you’ve earned a lot more than respect. You’ve earned the right to take his big dick for a ride, to feel him driving all the way inside, splitting your tight hole open wide. Tonight and every night. And it feels fucking perfect. Better than you’d ever dreamed, filling you up until you’re bursting at the seams, more than you could’ve ever asked.

This is the first time Jax is fucking your ass—it’s hands down the best sex, the best ride of your life... but it sure as hell won’t be the last.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! ✨

If you’d like to read another fic that I’ve written with Jax and a gender-neutral reader, I’d recommend Make It Rain! 💦

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[mandrs-writes]

Hello! I just have a suggestion for a fic! But first, thank you for being here and I am sure you will be a treasure in this world and I love you already ❤🥺! Now because as I can see you are new here I would like to give you some challenge! Ok they are in a very intense battle and sort of difficult and Levi somehow confesses in the middle of it, they kiss but Mikasa sees them and now she is mad af! Thanks! Have a great day! ❤❤❤

Thank you for the kind words and request anon! This was definitely a challenge for me to write, so thank you~ I love being able to explore new ideas and seeing how things turn out.

I did end up diverting a little bit from your ask because Levi resisted me in confessing his feelings to Eren. The man has a will of his own and he would’ve much rather show Eren how he felt over telling him. Silly boy. Anyways, I hope you like (:

Levi’s world came to a standstill as he watched his worst nightmare become reality.

A horde of Titans were overpowering Eren, swarming him to the ground as they bit at his Titan’s flesh. Levi looked on from a distance, spotting half-eaten corpses littering the ground, his stomach sinking with dread. The squad that was supposed to be protecting him had been completely wiped out and all that remained was Eren. It would only be a matter of time before those hungry teeth reached his nape, ripping him from his Titan as they swallowed him whole.

That image alone was enough to make Levi’s heart drop into his stomach as hot adrenaline shot throughout his entire body, driving him to spring into action. Fear gripped his chest, his heart soaring faster than the wind he flew through as he tried to get to Eren’s side as quickly as possible. A voice called after him, but he was drowning in his instincts, his body flying through the air as he latched on to anything he could--trees, Titans--whatever would help him propel faster towards Eren.

Everything that happened from there on out happened on instinct alone. His body moved before he could think, his blades slicing through Titan flesh, steaming blood splattering across his face as he carved out their napes. He spun around the swarm of giants that were feasting on Eren, the whirring of wires and slashing of blades drowning out his senses as they crashed to the ground. He sliced through the last remaining Titan, its body falling across Eren’s back, and all that remained was a mound of steaming pale flesh against a green and bloody earth, a dozen limp bodies circling Eren’s half-eaten Titan.

Levi jumped from the Titan’s neck onto Eren’s back, his blades digging carefully into his nape as he tried to cut him out without harming his human body. He desperately pulled back the flesh, tearing through muscle and nerve until he reached Eren’s unconscious body, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sight of him. He was still whole--he was okay.

“Eren,” he breathed, pulling him out of the pile of tendons that clung fervently to his skin.

Green eyes fluttered open as the tendons snapped from his face, leaving behind red scars across his cheeks. Relief flooded through him, and without thinking he engulfed Eren into his arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck as he tried to hold back the tears that burned in his eyes.

“Captain?” Eren whispered, his body limp. He stood there in shock as Levi held him close but after a short moment, his hands came up to wrap around his back, Eren’s hands balling into fists as he clung to his cloak.

“Don’t scare me like that, brat.” Levi pulled back, holding Eren at arm’s length as he narrowed his gaze at him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking down at the deteriorating Titan corpse below them, a deep frown creasing his brow.

“What’s with that shitty apology?”

“I failed them…”

A single tear fell down Eren’s cheek and Levi hesitated, unsure of what to do or say. It pained him to see Eren so upset, to hear the despondency in his tone. And even though Levi’s heart ached for all those that had been lost, he wanted nothing more than to steal away Eren’s sadness. He reached out to wipe away the tears from his cheeks, his fingers lingering on the raised skin of his shifter marks.

Eren’s eyes snapped to him, wide and glistening as a soft gasp left his slightly parted lips. Levi was absolutely transfixed by his beauty, and he was unable to stop himself from staring. Even amongst all the blood and bodies and steam, Eren looked like a dream that he wanted to stay lost in forever.

“You’re okay, Eren,” Levi said, meaning it in more ways than one. He couldn’t take away his failings, couldn’t bring back the lives that had been taken, but he could help Eren move on, help him keep moving forward.

Eren just stood there, staring at him with those wide eyes of his. Even in the aftermath of the battle, even in the silence of their moment, there was the quiet buzz of adrenaline underneath Levi’s skin. The instincts that so often drove him to act took control, and he stepped forward, his hand reaching out for the back of Eren’s neck. Without thinking, Levi pulled him down as he claimed Eren’s parted lips with his own. They felt so soft and warm against his mouth, and his heart swelled with so much affection that he thought it would burst. And when Eren’s hands tightened in his cloak, pulling him closer as he returned Levi’s kiss, he was sure he was dreaming.

Was Eren really kissing him back? It felt so surreal that Levi got lost in the moment, his hand sliding into Eren’s hair and pulling him closer as he deepened their kiss. If he could just stay like that forever, he was sure he would let himself get lost in the sweet taste of Eren’s mouth. But life wasn’t that kind--it was cruel and unforgiving. And it wanted to steal away the moment before it could flourish into something more.

The harsh sound of wires whirring against the quiet air snapped Levi out of his thoughts, and he pulled away from Eren, peering up at him as uncertainty weighed heavy in his chest. And yet, there was so much warmth in his gaze that it made Levi’s skin tingle. Did Eren really feel the same way? God, he hoped so.

But before he could say or do anything more, a blurry ball of black and green came spiraling into him, knocking him away from Eren. He stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell on his ass. Mikasa stood mere inches away from him, her shoulders rigid as she scowled at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, her chest rising and falling in obvious anger.

“Preventing your friend from becoming Titan food,” Levi said, scowling in return. It was clear that she was talking about his spontaneous kiss with Eren, but he didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with Mikasa. Of course, he wasn’t so lucky that she would simply drop it.

“I’m not referring to that. I’m referring to you defiling Eren with your mouth,” she growled, her fists clenching at her side. There was a hard glint in her dark grey eyes, the desire to hit him written all over her face.

“Mikasa--” Eren tried to interject but she pressed forward.

“Keep your creepy hands off of Eren.”

“Stop it, Mikasa,” he tried again.

“If you even think about touching him again, I’ll cut your tiny little hands off.”

“Mikasa, stop! I liked it!” Eren shouted, his booming voice making Mikasa and Levi jump.

He what?

“You what?” Mikasa turned, looking at her brother with wide eyes.

“I liked it and maybe I want him to do it again.”

Levi froze as his heart fluttered wildly in his chest. The kiss had been impulsive, something he’d always wanted to do but was too afraid to ever cross that line. But in the heat of the moment, he had slipped, giving in to his deepest desire. Not in a million years had he anticipated Eren wanting it, let alone liking it.

“Seriously?” Mikasa asked, just as shocked as Levi was. “I can’t believe this.”

Me neither. Levi wanted to say, but couldn’t find the voice to speak. Not that he would ever say that but he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around all of this.

Eren looked at Mikasa and then turned to him, a soft smile curling his lips. Levi couldn’t help but return the gesture, his lip curving into a subtle smirk. Well shit, this changed everything.

Mikasa turned back to Levi, her scowl returning. “If you do anything to hurt him, you’re dead.”

Levi nodded, understanding all too well her desire to keep Eren safe. That’s all he ever wanted for him. “I won’t.” And he meant that with everything he had.

#ereri #ereri fanfic #riren #eren x levi #my writing #im not used to writing young eren #hes such a lil peanut

[ofgeneticperfection]

Scarlet’s chain of sweetness

Courtesy of  @madamdirectcr

5 THINGS YOU LOVE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER.

1. Indomitable - She pretty much does what she wants, how she wants, whenever she wants. If she wants something? She manipulates her way into getting it. She doesn’t stop until she has it and hardly anything will sway her otherwise. She’s extremely hard to control when determined and set on a task in mind. She’s hard to control period. She’s got a streak of wild, impulsive, and loves to toy with others be it malicious or just to tease.  Her will is near impossible to break and she never believes that she can’t do something even if it is the impossible. Atop of that she’s fairly hard to defeat physically, she’ll bring more than a challenge if ever attack or if a loved one is ever hurt. I’m not saying that she can’t be brought down because she can, but it’s going to take more than a couple of hits.

2. Emotional Depth-  There’s not just one tier to Isrieal, there’s a million and it’s a labyrinth. She comes off as cold, arrogant, prideful but that’s the main wall that she hides behind. She’s strong and will exude complete confidence most of the time while being sly, cunning, coy, and whatever else she can throw at you. These are the emotions she shows to the world but the rest she’s buried so deep inside that she forgets they even exist. Inside she’s broken, sad, lonely, tormented but she has her ways of hiding them and biting back the pain that feeling these emotions brings. It’s from the conditions she’s been stuck in for her whole life at Hojo’s mercy and the lies she’s had to tell herself to make it easier to handle. Of course, this naturally makes her volatile with bursts of anger or other strong emotions and if she let’s one slip out they all come spilling out sooner or later. She does have a tendency to use special sedative injections to subdue these emotions whenever she feels any starting to well up. Deep under it all, however, she loves with all of her heart once she is sure that she will not be hurt. She’s always afraid of that in a way, but there is no in between. You have her all or you have her nothing. But once there she is quite passionate and protective and more soft and innocent then she’d originally lead you to think. 

3. Manipulative - Life is a game and she plays to win. At least that’s how one survives in ShinRa. She learned from one of the best manipulators out there and now she’s known to even manipulate the Professor himself. She rose herself from experiment to assistant Director by playing him and she plays everyone around as she sees necessary in order to get what she needs. She often shows what she wants to show and nothing more, near every move and every article of clothing is precisely calculated towards whomever she is meeting with. Of course, only if you don’t know her well. 

4. Deals with the Devil- Oh yes, she loves to make deals but don’t worry they’re mostly fair and she is one to keep to her word and her promises. Despite her demeanor she is quite loyal when she promises something. If you work out a trade or a bargain she’ll do her best to uphold her end of it, getting you what you want in return. There is a lot that can be traded between science and other departments after all and she’s not afraid to go behind the Professor’s back here and there if it means obtaining something she’s personally after in the end. 

5. A.I Alien - Lastly, yes I love the fact she is a hybrid and loves to play with quantum theory and A.I in the future. I always love the sci-fi aesthetics and concepts and the idea of something beautiful having a monster inside. She’s at conflict with this part of herself, often not knowing how to fully accept it but at least she is in control of the cells and not the other way around. She’s also always been focused on uploading consciousness and prolonging and bringing others back to life since she doesn’t age. It’s from there that she gets pulled into quantum theories and eventually breaks through to a system A.I that she makes a deal with to her own advantage, but this is a plot I haven’t touched in a while. Really I love everything about her but these are some fun and dominating concepts. 

5 PEOPLE ON HERE YOU LOVE, AND WHY.

1. @animus-inspire Where do I start? Seriously. This was unexpected but yet one of the best things that has ever happened in my writing history. I love love love this ship and all the AU’s of it so much! And beyond that, it’s so rare to get me to talk a lot but I can’t seem to ever shut up around you xD. But, I LOVE talking to you and the connection we have and the fact that we have so many stinking ideas all the damn time and they all get played off each other so easily and that we can share the same obsessions and YES WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! But you are also one of the sweetest and most full of life people I know on here and I absolutely love writing with you, you’ve made it so great :3. And you are seriously best Reeve and have made me love all the Reeve. <3

2. @thefirstthaumaturge I’ve known you for about like, well.....well over 10 years xD And I love you more as the years go on. We’ve survived drama days together and now we can laugh about all the stupid RP stuff we did in the past. I also enjoy all of our new RPs and how great its been to see both our OCs grow and thrive in these communities. I also super love talking to you and playing video games with you and watching WestWorld and movies with you. Basically, you make everything super fun and I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I also love how we always manage to say/type the same things at the same time all the damn time xD Digital sisters but its as real as it gets. 

3. @shinraweirdscience @xbroken-science @insidious-scientist  I love all of my Hojo’s that deal with Izzy’s crazy ass and put up with me so thank you guys! I’m always down for crazy plots and all the trauma that comes with them so don’t ever feel bad about throwing anything at me or damaging Izzy. It’s what makes her her after all. And I find it all a lot of fun. I’m always ears for ideas so let me know!

4. @sadistic-second I don’t write a whole lot with you here but you’re always good company in the voice chats and you make playing games a lot of fun as well. I like our little group we have going on to do all the stuffs. I love all the gifs and icons you make, and the paracord is very creative as well. It’s always cool to see what you can do. Of course I like all the funny things too.   @apathetic-ruler  I have to say you’re writing is amazing, I love it! I haven’t wrote with your Ru but I love past life Ru xD One of these day’s I’ll figure out what to do with a Rufus I’m sure. 

5. @ivory-paragon We don’t write much but I love playing FFXIV with you and being in all your groups. It’s a very fun and enjoyable atmosphere and you make me laugh all the time. If I hadn’t found you I wouldn’t have found any of this awesome community and my great shippy ships that have come out of it. @rikelusshinra I love all of our RP’s and stuff too. You have a super amazing OC that seems to fit right in and I’ve loved writing with Rike. Even if you are busy now. It’s rare Izzy finds ships that work but you are one of those lucky ones that she fits well with and I love all the ideas we play with as well. So to my FFU peeps! Even if we don’t write on tumblr much I still love you both. 

Honorable mentions:

@cinderella-gurei God, you are the best Chadley and you break my damn heart all the time in our RPs. Izzy will never forgive herself completely but she’s glad to have you around and so am I! She will protecc forever. <3 

@madamdirectcr I love your Scarlet! I want to see what happes :3  @makeupandmateria Another lovely Scarlet I had to mention as well!

5  SONGS EITHER YOU OR YOUR MUSE REGARD AS A ‘GUILTY PLEASURE’ THAT ALWAYS MAKES YOU SMILE.

So okay, I’ve thought about this all day and I’ll do a few categories. Since I revolve around music so heavily and no lie have hundreds of my own music videos in my head for every song I’ve ever heard, yes I’m one of THOSE people. xD

So I’ll start with what I’ve been listening to lately that really fits in with WestWorld Izzy and Logan!Reeve ShinuestiLos xD I can’t seem to get Poker Face out of my head for her and a couple other Lady Gaga songs that fit in  Like this one too. 

Also I really love these songs but they are so random. This one mostly thanks to ARI, but I can never not listen to it when it comes on. Also Mortal Kombat. This song makes me so fired up every time I hear any variation of it xD. Even now! alkdjfsldjfsdljf, but I do really like this mix. 

Then we can’t forget those emo day songs. Mr. Brightside is one I can never resist singing. It’s just so damn good! Then there is Holiday by Greenday and can’t forget Miss Murder by AFI xD 

Now I have an extremely long list of electronic type, synth, darkwave, trance, whatever the heck categories they fall under that I just like to call my Robot music xD  Here’s a couple with AI themes that I’ll just throw out here. We Appreciate Power and quite literally A.I 

And lastly this one reminds me of Midgar so much and Izzy, but I always see her singing this if she ever made a music video. (which apparently she’s made many) But she’d definitely be in front of wall sized windows with Midgar in the background and the labs, and its also why she sometimes refers to it as Electric City, idk who the guy would be singing with her but if you want it to be you just let me know? Lol.  After all she is Indistinct. Ill Defined. Uncontrolled. Unconfined. 

Tagged by: @animus-inspire (this took me forever Reeeeeve x.x) 

Tagging: @thefirstthaumaturge

#THERE I DID IT #Omg #So long #But there we have it xD #Woo!

[jam-knife]

The Greenhouse

// a short story dedicated to @caustic-c. Here’s some context for what you’re about to read, and here is the post that served as inspiration. Very not safe for work below cut. Warnings: dub-con, a bit violent at it. The language’s very crude. (Non-explicit) mention of personality disorders.

Note: you can use this as reference for our thread, C. I’ve actually spent several hours on this already so I won’t be replying to that today, but in the meantime please accept this! Hope you enjoy it.

After that night, B couldn’t have predicted L would demand a reunion with him ever again. But, honest to his vile reputation in spite of B’s surprise, the detective seemed eager to further demonstrate the extent to which he wished to humiliate him. It seemed that robbing him of his virginity under false pretexts of youthful abandonment, and dragging his dignity across the floor while at it, was still not enough. He wanted to infect B’s memory so that the poisonous idea of him would remain when the flesh no longer did.

“Good afternoon, B.” He said, the cold bitch, as he put down the spoon and took a sip of a beverage that was more sugar than tea. Black wide eyes fixed on B, making him sick. “Will you not join me?”

“I’m still overcoming the shock.” He answered while displaying a purposefully forced smile. “I thought you said that, luckily, we would never see each other again. I was counting on it.”

“That’s funny. I made you out to be good at working under unexpected circumstances.”

“And I made you out to be too proud to contradict yourself. I guess my people-judging skills are still a work in progress.”

“Just ‘guess’?” A muscle in B’s jaw twitched, but he made a conscious effort to stay put. He didn’t want to give the man any more proof to label him an impulse-driven animal with anger management issues. “Well, since you won’t be taking a seat anytime soon, let’s go for a walk.” L put the teacup down and stood up.

The walk through the orphanage’s grounds was sluggish and silent. B didn’t feel like addressing L or recognising his existence, and L didn’t seem eager to force him just yet. It was alright, in a way, but also annoying since B couldn’t dillucidate why the detective would waste his time if he didn’t intend to talk.

However, that silence was unlike any other they had shared before. It was not the sweet awkwardness that should follow a steamy night in the sheets and several months of separation. Nor the kind that they had purposefully held during late night meetings, as curious gazes flirtatiously wandered about. This silence was thick with uncovered deception, resentment over harsh words, and the stifling awareness that giving away how much anger lingered would be more dangerous than cathartic.

“It has been a while since I last been here.” L, finally, said. “The gardens look good. Are the greenhouses new?”

“Yes. Some of the kids got interested in botany after that class on natural poisons.” B replied conversationally, as he followed L, who had stepped into one of the structures. “I wouldn’t touch anything if I were you.”

Though, knowing who this particular greenhouse belonged to, the risk of the mighty international-reputation detective being poisoned by a colorful plant was insignificant compared to the pandemonium Roger would unleash if L spotted and informed him of C’s massive cannabis supply.

“I see… I’ll choose to believe none of these are being used by the kids for purposes that are not purely educational.” L replied, definitely having spotted it. “Do you-”

“L, what do you want.”

B cut him, and the detective went carefully silent. Enough of this bullshit, he had no time for it. He had no need nor desire to engage in conversation with his predecessor, and every minute that was ridiculously wasted away was a new test of his patience.

“I thought you made your point clear last time. I’m not fit to inherit the title. I’m too volatile, and selfish. If anything, I’m surprised you didn’t shove whatever that idiot psychiatrist fed you in my face too.”

“Your conversations with Dr. Jeffrey are protected under professional-”

“Yeah, right. And now you’ll tell me my little ‘disorder’ has nothing to do with the Successor’s game being rigged.” L’s expression darkened at that. “Oh? You thought me too stupid to figure that much out?”

“No.”

Beyond looked away, and focused on his breathing. He counted to ten, then backwards, just like the aforementioned psychiatrist had advised. Lashing out now would do nobody no good. The momentary pleasure that would come with smacking the mighty L across his stupid face was not worth the consequences.

This whole situation was ridiculous.

“Why did you call for me?” It was a rhetorical question… he didn’t need or want an answer. What he wanted was to walk away and never see L again, this time for real. Fuck the title. Fuck this whole god-forsaken place. There was never a chance for him here to begin with, so the least self-indulgence he should be allowed was the right to refuse to put up with this bullshit.

But that was not the reason why L’s answer -which came soft, wary, and after a long hesitant pause- shocked him.

“I want to have sex with you.”

B froze. Blinked. Stood still for a while longer, then turned to direct an accusing glare at L… but the detective wasn’t looking back, his eyes cast down instead, his sharp cheekbones dyed a subtle pink. A fake expression. It just- it couldn’t be genuine.

“What the… do you actually think me stupid enough to fall for that bullshit again?”

One, two, three-

“I’m serious.” L retorted, growing redder.

“Why the fuck should I believe you.” In spite of how angry B was, he didn’t raise his voice, and limited his true feelings to a gelid glare. “You spread your legs and begged me to fuck you, then merely hours later you claimed it was a test, and treated me like less than shit. What makes this any different?”

“It’s not…” He was saying, but he shrank when he noticed B’s rejection written all over his face. “I… I know you don’t believe me. You’re wise for not doing so.”

“No kidding.”

“But I can prove it to you.” L moved one step closer, his eyes, full of intent, fixed on him. “I can show you-”

To the detective’s distaste, Beyond laughed. But the sound held no joy, just resentment.

“How desperate are you… seriously.” He leaned back, supporting some of his weight on the edge of the table behind him. “How badly do you plan to degrade yourself just to make a fool out of me…” L’s only answer was a bashful blush. B looked away. He couldn’t handle that sight right now. “What is this, L… what can you possibly gain from manipulating me into having sex with you again? Or what, are you still bitter that I said you’re sad? Whatever you’re trying to prove, either to me or yourself, I’m not letting you use me to do it.”

“But you liked it.” Was all the man said, after a long silence. B didn’t answer, and L, realizing this, pushed further. “I know you did. I… liked it too. I want it.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Because you don’t believe I mean it.”

“Because I’ve moved on, L!” B grit his teeth, mad at himself for revealing how upset he was. One, two, three… “What were you expecting… that you’d tell me how thirsty you were and I’d jump right into it? After you delivered a whole fucking monologue explaining how you manipulated me? You can’t seriously think I let my bed grow cold without you.”

“No… I guess not.”

B blinked. L’s voice sounded lower than usual, his breath uncharacteristically strong. His eyes now mirrored some of the hostility B himself felt. This was pointless. He couldn’t take his anger out on L without fearing getting kicked out of the orphanage, and this whole ludicrous situation wasn’t even half as hilarious as it should have been in theory. Not even L’s evident irritation brought him any pleasure.

He moved, shifting his energy towards the exit -but didn’t even get one step taken before the detective’s hands were on his chest, pushing him back. The edge of the table dug a painful line on his lower back. There was a clatter, and a pot fell. It was smashed on impact spreading dirt all over the floor.

But that barely registered in B’s mind. His whole focus was on L, now on his knees in front of him, pulling B’s shirt up to expose the front of his jeans.

“What the fuck are you-”

“What does it look like?” L didn’t waste another second, and simply unzipped them, revealing B’s underwear. Long pale fingers were steadily finding their way into the elastic waistband-

B grabbed L aggressively by the collar of his oversized white shirt.

“I said I don’t want to. What is wrong with you?” He growled, his cock blatantly soft beneath the clothing. But then the detective raised his eyes, wide and glistening with lust, to his face. He stared at B, flushed and determined, from below. And against his will and common sense, B felt his lower, stupider half twitch in anticipation.

“I’m proving you how serious I am.”

“You’re sick…” B muttered, and L’s eyes gleamed when he, too, detected the decrease in his resistance.

“Push me away then.”

B wanted to. Every part of his mind was screaming, yelling at him to do so. But his hands were frozen, and it was way too easy for L to push them away and pull B’s briefs down. There was no ceremony to it. No games of seduction, no intent for tease. L simply took his semi and guided almost half of it into his hot mouth.

B cursed in his mother tongue, his hands grabbing the table so hard the wood creaked and his knuckles turned white. L’s technique for fellatio wasn’t great, but it was definitely doing something, B thought begrudgingly, when his dick hardened completely against the roof of L’s mouth. It only made him angrier… it was unfair that he couldn’t dismiss L’s ministrations with the same displeased indifference he felt for him personally. But he shut his eyes and forced himself to endure it, not wanting to kick the man off him and finding his dick scraped by teeth.

He hated this. He hated L. Hated that he couldn’t stop it. Hated even more that it felt too fucking good. A shuddering breath escaped his mouth; it was mortifying. The man on his knees was eager, compensating his lukewarm skills with sheer enthusiasm, and B grew closer to the edge as someone being harshly, forcefully dragged by the ankles against his will would.

The only idea of L bringing him to a rough, jarring climax made him taste bile. So when he felt himself pulsing and leaking, he shut his eyes tight and channeled his energy towards imagining A on his knees before him, sucking him dry. If he was going to cum anyway, he wouldn’t do it with L in his mind. He plunged himself so hard into the fantasy he found himself, in those last moments, digging his hands in raven hair -coppery in his imagination- and messily thrusting into that hot tight throat. L choked, but B paid him no mind. He was too busy having what was probably the most violent orgasm in his life so far. B moaned, long and ragged.

And then it was over. He was panting, coated in sweat, and L was coughing. His face was flushed and there was semen dripping down his chin, but he looked strangely satisfied with himself. It was irritating.

“What the hell are you grinning for.” He growled, fighting his dazed lethargy and tucking himself back inside his pants.

“Sorry, I was of the impression you enjoyed that.” The detective replied, still hoarse yet cockier than ever, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don’t take my having functional genitalia as a personal victory.”

“Oh.” L then stood up. B realised he was incredibly close, now that he wasn’t kneeling. He had his eyes narrowed and he smelled of sex. “Would you like it better if I were writhing in pain?”

B glared at him. He had to admit, the appeal of bringing L to that state was growing stronger by the minute.

“You know what’s most pathetic?” He spat, finally, as his eyes dragged down and spotted L’s boner. “If I slammed you face first against this table and fucked your brains out until you bled, you would let me.”

“Try me.”

Their eyes locked. And fuck, B might as well do it. He could feel it itching on every nerve end of his body: the desire to hurt. To raw that fucking bastard until he tore him in half, to choke him, to get off on his screams of agony. The only thing stopping him was knowing that it was exactly what L wanted. Not the pain, but to prove he was right about B.

Beyond reached out, and cupped the bulge in L’s jeans. That caught the man off guard. He gasped, and that noise slowly melted into a pleased whine as B massaged his cock through the jeans. His hands came to rest on B’s chest, his forehead on B’s shoulder, and he rocked his hips against B’s palm. B leaned into his ear then.

“Jerk yourself off, you pathetic excuse of a man.”

And he pushed the detective away. He didn’t wait for L to regain his balance and reply; no, he simply walked away. Found the nearest wall and punched it. When A asked him about his split knuckles he didn’t answer.

#beyond birthday #roleplay #Death Note #another note #caustic-c #The Greenhouse

[lynnearlington]

Supercorp: Kara has to report on the industry of college football and drags Lena along cause she’s never been to something like this

I took some liberties with this one. Shocking to no one, I’m sure. 

Lena doesn’t care much for football - or for sport in general. She’d much prefer to spend her Saturdays getting work done in the library or in the engineering labs in the hopes that she can spend her Sunday not worrying about it.

Even as classes begin and the student body descends into a fixation over the school football team, Lena steadfastly stays out of the entire ordeal.

It works for her first two years of college. She manages to attend none of the games and falls easily into a routine of Saturday work and Sunday relaxing while her classmates are recovering from hangovers.

In the spring of her sophomore year she meets Kara Danvers through a friend of a friend, and they become loose acquaintances. She sees Kara around campus, they grab lunch a few times. Over the summer, Kara randomly texts her and they strike up a conversation that begins to sprawl outward in scope and they become something like real friends.

Kara changes her life, in the end. In thousands of good ways - none of them at all predictable to her in the fall of her junior year.

One of the ways that Kara’s intent on changing Lena’s life becomes apparent nearly as soon as they first see each other that fall, when Kara mentions the first game of the season on the way to lunch, diving into a discussion on their quarterback situation as though Lena knows anything about “QBR” or whoever Elias and Nate are.

“You’re a football fan?” Lena asks as they stroll across campus towards the student center. It’s still warm enough outside that it doesn’t really feel like fall yet, but campus is bustling with new students - freshmen scurrying around looking lost and upper classmen greeting friends they haven’t seen in months. Kara looks like she’s had a good summer, tall, blonde, and still a little bit tan. Lena had always thought she was cute, but knowing her has made a difference in her attraction.

“Duh,” Kara says, kicking a rock under her feet idly before turning quizzical eyes to Lena. “Are you not?”

It’s clear there’s a right and wrong answer there - Lena’s adept enough at reading situations to tell that much. But she’s not going to lie. Not to the honest blue eyes looking her way. “It’s never really been my thing,” she admits. “I’ve always been too busy to go to the games.”

And maybe the last bit is a slight lie, but incredulity is starting to spread over Kara’s features and Lena just reacts to it.

“Lena, it’s football!” Kara exclaims, clearly appalled.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Lena jokes which is the wrong thing to say because Kara’s eyes seem to get even wider.

“You’re coming to a game with me this season,” Kara states as if it’s been decided. The thought of going anywhere with Kara tinges her chest with warmth but the thought of piling into the massive stadium on campus with a bunch of drunk college students screaming all sorts of insane chants and not being able to sit down at all sounds awful.

Lena makes a bit of a scoffing noise, but swallows it at the determined look in Kara’s eyes. They’ve reached the student center and Kara moves forward to open the door for her.

“I have a very busy semester,” Lena tells her softly, warming at the way Kara jumps ahead of her as they walk through the first set of doors to open the second.

“We’ll see,” is all Kara says and it’s ominous sounding enough that Lena has to laugh.

–

The Fighting Bulldogs open up against the Gotham University Nighthawks. Lena finds the naming conventions of sports teams to be nothing short of ridiculous, but she can’t deny it’s a bit cute when Kara shows her a series of selfies she’d taken at the pep rally of the Bulldogs mascot - a fat English Bulldog named Handsome Dan.

“Are you excited for the game this Saturday?” Kara asks, abandoning her phone to pick her fork up and start to stab at the plate of pasta in front of her. Lena tries to ignore how Kara’s got her legs kicked out, feet resting just short of Lena’s ankles.

Lena blinks. It’s definitely Monday and Lena’s barely thought about her classes on Tuesday much less a football game five days from now. “I suppose,” she answers neutrally, turning the page over in the student newspaper she has sitting next to her tray.

“Are you reading my article?” Kara asks, lifting a curious eye toward the paper as she twirls her fork.

“I don’t think I need to read your op-ed about which campus coffee shop serves the best latte when I’ve already heard you tell me about it in detail,” Lena says. Kara makes a humming noise, poking again at her plate. Lena gets through three lines of an article about a malfunctioning fire alarm in the theatre building that someone is certain is a ghost when Kara sighs loudly.

“I hate the Nighthawks,” Kara intones, twisting noodles around her fork.

The tone is surprising. She’s unused to Kara saying anything negative about anyone, but the vitriol is palpable in Kara’s voice as she continues, “They’re seriously the worst and their stupid mascot should be banned from our stadium. It’s this awful tree. I don’t know why it’s tree, even. They’re the Nighthawks.”

Lena makes a sound of agreement, a bit bemused at the frown on her friend’s face and having nothing else to offer other than support. “What time is the game?”

Kara makes a face like Lena should very well know what time the game is, but answers regardless. “Two,” she says. “Are you going? Will you come with me?”

“I have a lot of work I’d like to get done,” she says and Kara’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t seem keen on pushing Lena. She does, however, sigh heavily.

“Sundays are for homework, Lena, not Saturdays.”

“Says the girl that spent all last Sunday watching reruns of The Golden Girls,” Lena points out, laughing at the attractive flush that creeps into Kara’s cheeks.

“Shut up,” Kara tells her around a mouthful of pasta, her foot kicking softly against Lena’s shin under the table.

–

The leaves start to change and a fall chill rolls onto campus. It means classes start to ramp up on the slide into midterms and campus starts to settle into rhythm.

It also means something Lena hadn’t thought to prepare for - Kara Danvers in jeans and sweaters bringing her pumpkin spice lattes every other morning before their shared philosophy elective.

Lena’s crush is something she’s tried to fight as much as she can for the sake of their friendship, but it’s hard when Kara’s smiling at her on the sidewalk outside her dorm and there’s a warm color to her cheeks from the chill and her blonde hair is curling down around a rust colored sweater.

The latte is far more sugary than anything Lena’d normally drink, but Kara hands it over with a happy grin and she had look so delighted when she’d informed Lena PSLs are back! that Lena doesn’t say anything other than a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Big game tomorrow,” Kara says one Friday morning as they walk to class. Lena takes careful sips of her drink and hovers close to Kara’s warmth.

“Oh?” Lena asks, having absolutely zero idea what qualifies for a big game considering it’s what Kara says nearly every Friday before a game weekend with a serious gaze on her face.

Kara makes an affirmative sound, scrolls through something on her phone as they walk down the sidewalk. From what Lena can see, it’s a table of college football teams. Their school is highlighted at around seventh place. “Vandermeer,” she says, referring to a small school somewhere in the middle of the country. Lena couldn’t name their mascot with a gun to her head.

“Well…bully up?” Lena says tentatively, trying out the chant she’d been hearing around campus for the past two years.

Kara laughs, a happy little sound as she pockets her phone and slings an arm over Lena’s shoulders. “There’s hope for you yet.”

The rest of the conversation gets lost to Lena. Kara keeps their bodies tucked against each other and the heat of her seeps through Lena’s light autumn jacket. That’s all she can really focus on the entire rest of the way to class.

–

Six games into the season and the Fighting Bulldogs have yet to be defeated. Apparently it’s a big deal.

Kara gives her the breakdown over lunch one day after the rest of their small friends group has abandoned them for classes and Lena elects to wait while Kara finishes the rest of her massive tray of food.

“I saw one projection that had us finishing top five for sure if we can close out the season,” Kara says, looking wide eyed and infectiously excited at the prospect.

“That’s great,” Lena says, not entirely knowing what that really means other than something positive by context.

“It means playoffs,” Kara tells her and Lena just nods, laughs at the massive grin on Kara’s face. That thrumming urge to kiss her friend buzzes so acutely over her skin that Lena has to spread out the fingers of her hands to resist the impulse.

–

The excitement over the recent success of the teams seems to be campus wide, not just contained to the bubbly enthusiasm of her best friend. It’s almost something tangible everywhere Lena goes.

The majority of the student body can be seen sporting a football jersey in the middle of the week or breaking out into spontaneous chants as the game creeps closer.

Lena doesn’t attend, despite Kara’s efforts to cajole her into it. Per usual, she spends her Saturday in the basement of the engineering building working out the kinks in a project due the following Wednesday.

But, uncharacteristically, her mind starts to wander to what Kara’s doing, how the game is going. It itches at her enough that she finds a livefeed of the game on her laptop and puts it on mute as she works.

The game still means nothing to her - the scoring conventions seem a bit contrived and inconsistent and though she picks up some of it by context, she really has very little idea of what’s actually going on.

At least she knows enough that when the game clock ticks to zero and the score is 39-37 in favor of the Bulldogs, it’s a good thing. From the looks of it, the stadium goes crazy, the student section rushing onto the field and the players jumping up and down, throwing their helmets in the air.

It makes Lena smile a bit and she watches the revelry for a few minutes before clicking out of the stream. Before turning back to her project she sends Kara a quick text - good win!

The reply comes much later in the form of a phone call and Kara sounds out of breath and overjoyed when she answers. “What are you doing?”

“I’m working on a project,” Lena tells her.

“You saw the game?” Kara asks, the happy sound of her voice stretching a smile across Lena’s.

“I caught the end of it,” Lena admits and Kara lets out a whooping sound that has Lena laughing.

“We’re going to a party at Winn and James’s place,” Kara says. “You wanna come?”

Lena eyes the work in front of her, hesitant for a moment. “I’m not -”

“Come on, Lena,” Kara entreats. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Bully up! Bulldogs are undefeated!”

“Well, can’t argue with that,” Lena replies dryly, but she’s already packing up her stuff and Kara’s laugh in her ear makes her chest feel fluttery.

–

The off campus house that Winn and James share is packed when Lena gets there, people spilling out onto the front porch and the loud booming sound of music emanating a block away as Lena walks there.

Tugging her jacket tighter over her shoulders, Lena sidesteps a couple stumbling down the long walk up to the house and carefully avoids a pile of empty beer cans. She pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket and pulls up her thread with Kara to text a simple I’m here.

Not even a minute later, Kara’s throwing the front door open and scanning the front yard to find Lena, beaming when their eyes connect and all but skipping down the steps to wrap Lena into a tight hug.

Kara’s just a few inches taller than her, but considerably stronger and it does nothing to calm the dance of nerves in her stomach when Kara picks up her up a bit off the ground as she hugs her, her face colliding with Kara’s neck.

“We won, we won, we won, we won, we won,” Kara chants in her ear, bouncing Lena around into the hug until Lena has to hold onto the back of Kara’s jersey and laugh.

“Congratulations,” Lena says as Kara sets her back down.

There’s a soft detachment in Kara’s gaze that fairly easily conveys how behind Lena is in the drinking portion of the evening, but her smile is the kind of genuine that always makes Lena have to take a deep breath of air in reaction.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Kara says, reaching out to tangle her fingers with Lena’s and tug her towards the front door. “Let’s get drinks.”

Lena easily follows the tug, sees the virtue in finding a drink as quickly as possible if only to give her mouth something to do that isn’t kiss the life out of Kara Danvers.

–

The excitement of victory is palpable throughout the party. Nearly all of the party goers look as if they’ve come straight from the game - still wearing jerseys and face paint. Kara pulls them both deep into the house towards the kitchen where a smattering of their friends are congregated around a table there.

They all seem surprised but happy to see her as Kara goes about mixing a drink on the counter with the wide range of alcohol there. She thinks to pay attention to whatever Kara is doing - sometimes letting Kara mix the drinks can be dangerous - but she gets distracted by Winn who offers her an overly exuberant high five upon seeing her as well as a recap of the last few minutes of the game.

“It was unreal,” he’s gushing, face red and hair in a disarray. There’s blue and gold streaks of paint across his cheeks and what looks like glitter poking out of the neck of his blue jersey. “Boomer is the only man in the whole world who matters to me now.”

Kara comes back to her side, hands her a red plastic cup that Lena inspects a second before taking a hesitant sip. It’s as fruity as she expects it to be, but not completely offensive and just on the side of strong that’s tolerable.

“Boomer Suthfield, best kicker in the game,” Kara exclaims as she catches Winn’s conversation. Winn reacts to it with a low exclamation of agreement and the two of them bump fists. “We won on a last second field goal. Amazing.”

“That’s exciting,” Lena comments, unsure what to do with the all the unbridled energy she can feel in the room, but feeling herself get swept up in it nonetheless.

“Bully up! Beat Quakers!” Kara yells, wrapping an arm around Lena’s shoulders like she’s been apt to do these days. The whole room yells in appreciation, starting to chant BULLY UP with the distinctive syncopated clapping pattern. It’s absurd that a bunch of drunk people can do it with perfect rhythm and performance. Nearly cultish.

Lena lets out a careful breath, but doesn’t fight the pull of warmth from Kara’s side pressing against her own. Winn starts to go off on what Lena realizes from context is the Bulldogs’s next opponent, and she drowns the conversation out in place of leaning into Kara’s body and sipping at her drink.

“Lena, you’ve got to get to a game, I can’t believe you don’t go,” Winn says eventually, pulling Lena’s attention back more fully to what’s being said.

She shrugs, takes another pointed sip of her drink and flushes at Kara’s loud laugh next to her. “I’m usually pretty busy on Saturdays,” she answers.

“It’s just wrong,” Winn says, shaking his head at her, eyes solemn, but his lips in a teasing smile.

“I’ve tried,” Kara tells him, tugging Lena tighter into her side companionably. “Trust me.”

“Well if you can’t get her to go, she’s hopeless,” Winn says, putting his hands up in resignation.

Kara laughs again, looks down at Lena with a grin that has Lena clearing her throat out. The hat on her head is turned backwards, her cheeks red from alcohol and the warmth of the room. She looks gorgeous. “We’ll see.”

Though Lena rolls her eyes, her cheeks grow warmer and she has to hide her face in the rim of her cup lest Kara catch on.

–

The party seems to only get bigger after Lena gets there. More and more people arrive - from where Lena’s not sure - but the house stays packed late into the night. Random chants of BULLY UP break out every few minutes. There’s even a reenactment of the last play of the game staged in the front yard to the joy of not only their house but those of the surrounding neighbors.

Lena hovers close to Kara, and Kara stays close to her, but engages with the rest of their friends. She and Winn take on James and Lucy in a spectacular game of beer pong - the games close enough that Lena starts to feel a significant buzz by the time she and Winn come out on top.

After that they play a series of drinking games around the kitchen table. Mike pulls out a deck of cards for a round of Kings Cup and later Kara loses a game of Never Have I Ever in dramatic fashion.

It’s a good party. Energy is high off the earlier victory and Lena starts to feel it creeping into her own system, the infectious way Kara keeps leading their friends into a chorus of the fight song doing its part to make Lena laugh.

Eventually, sometime after James talks Mike into doing a keg stand but before Winn takes his shirt off, Lena finds her way out to the back porch of the house. It’s blissfully devoid of anyone else and a chill contrast to the heat of the kitchen. She presses her hands to the warmth of her cheeks and breathes out into the crisp fall air.

The sound of the door swinging open indicates Kara’s arrival, and her friend paces across the back deck to Lena’s side, sitting next to her on the steps there. “Hey, whatcha doing?”

“Hot in the kitchen,” Lena answers, just drunk enough to lean over against Kara’s shoulder and take a deep inhale of Kara’s presence.

“Mmm,” Kara agrees in a low hum, shifting closer to Lena’s body and looking out across the dark backyard.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lena answers, feeling inexplicably sleepy all of a sudden, but unwilling to let go of this quiet moment with Kara. She sits up to avoid falling asleep and smiles at her friend.

Kara smiles back, her eyes holding Lena’s in a short still moment. “I’m really glad you came out tonight,” Kara says in a quiet tumble of words that pull against Lena’s chest in a way that starts to feel inevitable.

Lena blinks, licks out against dry lips and knows her usual resistance to this all consuming crush she has is vulnerable right now. “Me too,” she replies, her eyes unable to stop from straying to Kara’s mouth.

The moment feels like it stills, the muted sound of the party the only sound around them. Kara takes a deep breath and Lena wishes she had a drink in her hands if only to have something to do with them that wasn’t wrapping into the fabric of Kara’s jersey.

“Can I do something?” Kara asks quietly, her cheeks flushed - whether from alcohol or from the cool night air, Lena’s unsure. “It might be crazy.”

“Crazy?” It’s unclear what Kara’s talking about and Lena thinks that might have a lot to do with how they’ve shifted closer and she can’t stop her brain from spiraling down thoughts of what it might be like if she just gave into temptation and pressed her lips against Kara’s.

“Good crazy,” Kara says quickly and Lena laughs noiselessly.

“Well then by all means,” she says, but she barely gets the last word out before Kara pushes forward, their noses bumping softly on the way until suddenly they’re kissing and Lena feels her breath get sucked out of her chest.

It happens quickly, so fast that Lena’s brain barely registers it even though her lips respond, slant against Kara’s and her fingers come up to play at Kara’s chin, pulling her in closer.

And then it’s over.

The back door to the porch bursts open in a loud thud and Mike is stumbling across the deck in loud drunken footsteps until he’s all but falling into the yard and puking his guts up into the grass.

Winn comes jogging behind him, hunched over and patting his back as Mike continues to hurl.

Lena gags at the sight of it as they both jump up from where they’d been sitting and Kara moves down the steps towards the two boys.

“Go back inside,” Kara tells her over her shoulder, laughing a little at the disgusted face Lena’s making.

Lena doesn’t argue, is already turned that direction anyway. It isn’t until she’s back in the kitchen that she fully realizes what’s just occurred. Her lips feeling tingly and her throat dry and her chest expansive and oh god she should go.

Without so much as a goodbye to anyone, she makes her way through the house and out the front door, past a group of people tossing the Bulldogs’s mascot’s head in the air across the yard and back towards campus. 

–

Late Sunday morning, Lena gets a text from Kara. I’m outside your dorm.

And so she is. Standing at the bottom of the front steps in a navy v-neck sweater and light wash jeans, holding two cups of coffee that Lena knows instinctively are pumpkin spice lattes.

“Hi,” Lena greets, feeling shy and uncertain as she takes one of the cups from Kara. She’s dressed in the sweatpants she slept in and a long sweater against the chill morning. Her head feels a bit thick from the drinking the previous night but the look on Kara’s face is wiping her fatigue away.

“Hi,” Kara parrots, pocketing one of her hands and shifting on her feet in an adorably hesitant movement. Her hair is pulled back, but a few wisps have escaped at the sides and Lena wraps her hands around her coffee to avoid reaching out and tucking them back behind her ear.

Everything feels like it’s tilting precariously on the events of the night before, and Lena’s not sure which way they’re going to fall.

That is, until Kara looks away, her lips twisting in what looks like a smile trying to burst across her face. “So, I totally kissed you last night,” she says in a quick sequence of words that makes Lena laugh. “You totally did,” she agrees, the memory of it flushing across her skin.

“And then Mike puked.”

“Yes.

“And then you ran away.”

“It was gross,” Lena says defensively and Kara’s lips thin.

“The kiss?”

Lena steps forward in reaction. “The puking,” she says definitively and Kara’s lips creep into a smug looking smile.

“So the kiss was good?”

“Crazy,” Lena says, echoing Kara’s words from the night before.

“Good crazy though,” Kara says, her smile hiding behind the rim of her white coffee cup.

“Good crazy,” Lena agrees softly, feeling her chest is stretching out and up into her throat. “Why did you do it?”

Kara shrugs, eyes a bright blue against the overcast sky above them. “I’d been wanting to,” she answers quietly. “And I figured if Boomer could make a forty-eight yard field goal against the wind to win the game, I could probably kiss my best friend that I’d been crushing on for months.”

It beats warmly up Lena’s throat as she laughs, her cheeks flushing. “Bully up,” she replies between chuckles and Kara joins her in the sound before stepping forward and cutting it off with a swift kiss.

–

It doesn’t change much other than Kara seems to take their new relationship status as a free pass to talk even more about football. As if now that they’re dating Lena wants to hear about rushing yard averages and ranking systems.

She doesn’t.

But that doesn’t stop Kara who continues to try and get Lena to the games or game watch parties every Saturday and feels it necessarily to fill her in on all football related news over meals or late at night when they’re lazing about Lena’s little dorm room. The only good thing about it is that Kara looks cute when she talks about it all, her hands waving around and her eyes excited.

The Bulldogs go undefeated. Become the undisputed number one team in the nation. A fact that Kara’s been reminding Lena nearly every day since it was announced, as though Lena has no access to the news or doesn’t live on campus with thousands of other people who are also obsessed with the Bulldogs.

They head into a playoff system which puts them in a win-or-go-home game to make it into the National Championship.

“I got press passes to the game,” Kara tells her one night, as they’re sitting on Lena’s couch and Kara’s watching ESPN. “We’d be on the sideline.”

“How did you get press passes?” Lena asks, quirking a brow and pressing her foot into Kara’s thigh to get her to keep massaging it. Kara grabs her foot without looking away from Lena’s face, her eyes intent.

“I write for the school paper,” Kara reminds her and Lena shoots her a pointed look.

“You write an editorial column, not the sports section.”

Kara shrugs, feigns a look of innocence. “So?”

It makes Lena laugh. “I don’t want to know.”

“Just say you’ll come,” Kara entreats. “It’s the playoffs and you’d have one of the best seats in the house. Who knows when you’ll get that kind of opportunity again.”

It’s been months of Kara trying to convince her to come to a game and maybe it’s the way Kara’s lips have that just kissed look about them and her hair is a little tangled from Lena’s fingers, but there’s something about the moment and the way Kara’s thumb is running up the arch of Lena’s foot that makes her finally say, “Okay, fine.”

The way Kara’s eyes light up in excitement makes Lena sink into a feeling of contentment and crawl across the couch until they’re kissing again.

–

The play-in game is on the first Saturday back from winter break.

The atmosphere around game feels combustible.

It’s at a neutral site, but the stadium it’s held at is only a few hours away from their campus, so she and Kara take the drive down way too early under the guise of Kara needing to interview people - when it’s apparent that Kara just wants to soak in as much of the atmosphere as possible.

Kara buys her a blue jersey with the number 10 across the chest in large white letters because she insists Lena can’t show up to the game without proper attire. It’s big enough that it fits over a thick sweater and she steals one of Kara’s many winter hats with the school logo on the front. When Lena comes out of her dorm with it on, Kara gets out of the car to kiss her for five minutes against the car door.

It’s deep enough into fall that it’s practically the beginning of winter and the air is cold by the time the game kicks off, the stadium rocking.

With press badges slung around their neck, they make their way onto the field and take their place among the crowd of people watching the game from the small press area in the corner of the endzone.

The energy in the building is undeniably electric. Loud music is pumping through the speakers and the crowd is engaged in a series of chants between the home and away fans. Lena can see how easy it would be to get swept up into something like this.

It helps that Kara can’t contain her own excitement. She’s practically bouncing in a mix of nerves and enthusiasm. It doesn’t get better as the game goes on. Kara’s body moves with every play the team makes as if her phantom throws and kicks will somehow translate to the game and make the ball or player move the way she wants them to.

Lena stands beside her and takes it all in, her arms crossed over her chest against the cold air. Eventually, Kara seems to notice and wraps Lena up in her arms in an offer of body heat.

Lena’s grateful for the warmth, sinks into Kara’s hold and enjoys the way Kara now whispers her commentary into Lena’s ear. It certainly makes the game far more interesting than before and though Lena’s distracted by the way Kara’s body feels pressed up against her, she actually pays attention enough to feel invested in the result.

When the Bulldogs win with a last minute touchdown right in the endzone they’re standing next to, Lena screams in reaction, a burst of sound she can’t quell the moment she’s realized what’s happened. The crowd goes wild along with her and Kara’s arms tighten abruptly around her waist, lifting her quickly into the air with an exuberant whoop. The player who’s scored jogs right past them, waving up at the fans and doing an absurd dance as his teammates start to swarm him. 

Kara does actually end up doing some reporting, taking Lena into the press conference room and scribbling down notes. She holds Lena’s hand the whole way home and only plays the school fight song three times on the drive.

–

Winn and James host the watch party for the National Championship. Apparently Kara couldn’t quite con her editor into getting press passes for a trip to Texas.

She spends the whole week looking squirrely, taking every moment as some sort of omen for the game on Saturday. On Tuesday, Lena has to talk Kara off the ledge after the poor student union worker tells her they’ve run out of Froot Loops. On Friday, Lena comes over to Kara’s dorm and is treated to a full hour detailing her ideal gameplan, complete with plays she’s drawn up on one of her video games. Saturday morning, she’s woken up at six by someone sprinting down the hall of her dorm screaming BULLY UP and hitting every door along the way. Kara is then incapable of falling back asleep, and therefore Lena is awake too.

By the game comes around, Lena’s grateful if only to get Kara’s ridiculous train of superstitions to come to a halt.

The house is crowded with their friends - there’s a very strict invitation policy: Bulldog fans only. How Kara convinced them to allow Lena there, she’s not sure, but she imagines it has something to do with Kara’s continuing insistence that Lena’s good luck for the Bulldogs. We went undefeated after we became friends.

There are jello shots in the school colors, but only Mike and Lucy seem interested in them. Winn sits about two feet in front of the massive television and nurses the same beer for the entirety of the first quarter. James spends most of the game pacing back and forth behind the couch and murmuring commentary. Kara won’t even touch the massive array of food on the table in front of them - a telling thing if anything. Instead she sits on the couch next to Lena and leans forward, hands pressed to her face. Lena spends most of her time running her fingers up and down Kara’s back in what has to be a futile attempt to calm her.

The Bulldogs do okay, but not great for the first three quarters. The game stays close, the other team staying in one score territory. Right before the start of the fourth, the opposing team scores to tie it and Kara looks like she may fall to her knees and start crying. Her hands scrub so forcefully over her face that Lena grabs one of them to get her to stop.

But then Elias Newsome, the starting quarterback who had been chosen in week four (after great campuswide debate that Lena had heard too much about from her girlfriend), takes over. Watching it happen is like a bomb going off, the energy rippling through the whole team. One minute, the Bulldogs are struggling against a tough defense, the next, Kara is standing on the couch and screaming at the top of her lungs as their star running back sprints down the field for a 98 yard touchdown.

They score 21 unanswered points and Kara cries through the whole trophy presentation, her head in her hands.

–

Lena thinks maybe winning a National Championship might temper some of Kara’s fanaticism about football. Why she ever thought this, she’s not entirely sure, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

At the start of their senior year, Kara spends the majority of the preseason talking at length about Nate Groblan taking the reins of the team now that Elias has graduated and been drafted. It’s in the middle of such a one-sided conversation when she pauses for a second, her head in Lena’s lap. It’s chilly, the first signs of fall starting to appear around campus. PSLs have arrived even earlier this year and Kara’s happiness is of the sort that bleeds across Lena’s chest.

“I love you,” Kara says. It’s not the first time she’s said it, nor will it be the last. But it still warms Lena up, her fingers tracing through the blonde curls stretched across her legs.

“I love you, too,” Lena says.

“More than I love the Bulldogs,” Kara says, very seriously. It’s concerning to Lena that the statement really means a lot.

“I feel so lucky,” Lena says drily. Kara laughs, reaching up to tug at the sweatshirt Lena had liberated from Kara’s collection last winter. BULLY UP is proudly written across it.

“You’re my lucky charm, that’s for sure,” Kara says. Her face turns serious. “You know that you’re never allowed to miss a Bulldogs game for the rest of our lives, right?”

“For the rest of our lives, huh?” Lena says, poking at Kara’s side. But she doesn’t look embarrassed.

“For the rest of our lives. For the Bulldogs,” Kara says, half-sitting up. Lena meets her halfway, pressing their lips together.

“Well, bully up,” Lena murmurs. She ends up forced into a very loud stadium the next Saturday, her girlfriend urging her though complicated chants and shotgunning beers afterwards, when Nate throws five touchdowns in his debut. Mike throws up, Winn takes his shirt off. Kara holds her hand.

It’s not so bad.

FALL PROMPTS | KO-FI

#fall prompts #prompt fill #writing fall prompts #this tag is for fic #supercorp fic #Anonymous #college au

[sunyoonandstars]

In Between (BTS series) || Chapter 5

This one is based on a request made by the lovely @im-cxnfused. I hope it manages to meet your expectations! 💜

I got very inspired by this request, so it actually turned into a series which I’ll try to update as frequently as possible.

This is Chapter 5 of the (currently) ongoing series formerly known as “BTS Imagine 5: Namjoon cheating on you & you getting revenge”

I hope you all manage to find the series and its remaining chapters despite the change of name!🙏🏻

Thank you for reading 💜 and sticking to this series! It’s much appreciated! Also, feedback is always welcome, in case you didn’t know.

Enjoy!

******************************************************

Chapter Index - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.1, 9.2

Synopsis

You and Namjoon are in a committed relationship. Or so you had thought. When you catch him cheating, however, you decide to take revenge in a way equally brutal. But soon the events take an unforeseen turn, leaving you torn …

Pairing: You x Namjoon, You x Jimin

angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, occasional hints of smut

******************************************************

Chapter 5 || Back To Life

Three weeks ago …

You didn’t think much of it, not having the faintest idea of the kind of effect it would have on you as you leaned over to Jimin, abandoning yourself to a spontaneous impulse, putting yours to his full, soft lips for the first time since your paths had crossed over three years ago. However, the moment they meet in a tender kiss, you can feel a strange sensation shoot through every fiber of your being, its intensity, almost painful, sending shivers down your spine. An indescribable mixture of pleasant shock, desperate longing and pure joy, going through your body like electric shocks, reviving your dormant spirits. You feel. You feel again. Him. Jimin. Like you’ve never felt him before. And you want more. You can feel Jimin freeze under your touch. As you open your eyes to look at him, his are wide with astonishment and question. Only now becoming entirely aware of what your body is doing, you pause in your movements, your lips still resting on his. „What the hell, Y/N!?“ Gasping, Jimin pushes you back, off of him, a little too hard in his surprise, causing you to almost fall off the sofa, in the very nick of time, though, reaching out to catch you by your arm, immediate guilt overshadowing his smooth features. You simply stare at him, unable to move, startled by his unexpected, violent and, as you can’t help but admit to yourself, hurtful reaction. „I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to — But — Seriously, what the hell!?“ A sudden noise brings the two of you back to your senses, making you once again aware of the fact that you are not alone in the living room. Contritely, Jimin takes a quick glance over his shoulder at Namjoon who is still sitting in his armchair, only a few feet away, pretending to read something on his phone while repeatedly, ostentatiously clearing his throat. „What was that, Y/N? What exactly were you trying to do there?“, Jimin continues to inquire, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. „Wasn’t it obvious?“, you snap at him, shaking off Jimin’s hand that is still clutched around your shoulder to jump to your feet, turn around and head for the door, feeling tears well up in your eyes. Yeah, Y/N, what were you trying to do? You don’t even know anymore. All you know is that your concerns about Namjoon and your lust for revenge have gone up in smoke, suddenly appearing minuscule in comparison to what you felt and did just now. Guilt, shame and confusion surge in hot, dizzying waves against your consciousness, shaking it to its very foundations, threatening to overwhelm you, drown you, pulling you under deeper and deeper. You neither know nor care were your feet are carrying you as you simply keep walking, your step unsteady, your vision blurred by unshed tears and your lungs contracting painfully, your breaths short and sharp. You can hear your own heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears and a familiar voice calling out your name, the latter sound faint as if originating from another world far, far away. You just kissed Jimin. You just kissed Jimin and ruined everything. Now you lost him, too. Now you’re alone. You kissedJimin. You hurt Jimin. You hurt him! You’re a monster. A monster. So your thoughts keep spinning, pinwheeling, on and on, faster and faster, their pace quickening with the rhythm of your erratic breathing.   Until the frigid night breeze finally pulls you back to reality. Confused, you stop cold in your step, frantically looking around, trying to identify familiar buildings or landmarks or really any point of reference. To no avail. Where are you? How did you get here? How did you even get outside? Turning on the spot, clutching your aching chest, lost in the dark, you can feel a strong dizzy spell overpower you, leading your tired legs to ultimately give out under the weight of your body, the pavement closing in by the second. A choked sob escaping your throat, you plummet to the ground, the coarse texture of the flagstone painfully digging into your bare knees. But the pain is a relief, really, finally enabling your tears to fall freely, your stifled sobs echoing throughout the silent night. So you stay, kneeling on the ground, hugging yourself to protect your body against the cold, shivering, crying uncontrollably. Until you feel two soft, warm hands cupping your face. You know who they belong to without even looking. „Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I reacted in the way I did. I never meant to hurt you. I’m just —  I thought — I was surprised, that’s all.“ Slowly, reluctantly, your lids flutter open. Blinking away tears, you look up at Jimin, his soft features shimmering unreally in the cold glow of the streetlights.   His eyes overflowing with genuine affection, he fondly smiles at you, nodding reassuringly. „Are you alright now, Y/N? Can you breathe again?“ You shrug your shoulders, unable to pay attention to your own body at the moment, all of it being taken up by Jimin and your newly awoken feelings for him which still send your head spinning. „Alright, let’s see“, he simply says, his tone calm, patient, while he slowly extends a hand in order to plant it on your chest. Involuntarily, you flinch, Jimin’s touch suddenly new and strange to you, his effect on your nervous system an entirely different one than it had been before your shared kiss. Questioningly, insecure, Jimin raises an eyebrow at you, his expression, however, growing softer again as soon as he realizes that you neither pull back nor push his hand away. „It seems your heart is beating and your lungs are working just fine young Miss“, he then states, disguising his voice to sound deeper, an impish grin playing on his plump lips. „What, are you a doctor now!?“, you scoff, your voice hoarse from crying, half laughing, while Jimin helps you back to your feet.   He just smiles sheepishly, his face, however, dropping as soon as his gaze brushes past your injured knees. „Y/N!? What happened? Did you fall? You fell, right!? You’re bleeding! Does it hurt?“ „Jimin, calm down! It’s nothing! They’re barely even scratched!“ Still shaking from the cold, you look down on your sore knees, streams of blood staining your bare skin. „It’s really not that bad, Jimin …“ But he already kneels down in front of you, indicating you to get on his back. „Come on, Y/N, hop on, I’ll give you a piggyback ride“. Eagerly smiling back at you, Jimin pats his shoulder, waiting. You can feel your cheeks flush hotly in the cold night air.   „No, Jimin-ah“, you whine, covering your face with your hands and taking a step backward. „That’s really not necessary. I can walk just fine. See?“ „I won’t take ‚no’ for an answer and you know me well enough to take me literally. Come on, Y/N. You must be tired and I’m sure your knees hurt.“ Actually, they do, now that he mentions it, and you feel like falling back to the ground any second, the fatigue resulting from your panic attack and nightly walk finally catching up with you. Still, the mere thought of being so physically close to Jimin right now is more than enough to make your heart race and your stomach twist. „Don’t be silly, Y/N. We’ve done this a hundred times already. Right now I don’t care about what just happened. I only want you to be safe and warm again. You look like you’re freezing.“ A concerned frown forming between his strong brows, Jimin now gets back up, eying you intently. „Yah, Y/N! Just look at you, shaking like a leaf!“, he raises his voice, his fair features all of a sudden distorted by rage. „What the hell got into you, leaving the house like that, only dressed in this excuse of a shirt and pajama shorts!? Do you have a death wish I should know of!?“ Ruefully, you shake your head, eyes fixed on your bare feet. The next thing you feel is a warm, heavy fabric being draped around your shoulders. „Here, that should be better“, Jimin whispers, more to himself, a pleased smile taking the place of his angered frown. After zipping the soft hoodie jacket around your slender figure, he looks you deep in the eye, still smiling, for what feels like an eternity without saying a single word, cupping your face with his hands again, his expression showing so much affection it almost hurts. „And now, get on my back, Y/N. Resistance is futile.“ Your cheeks burning, you nod your head and reluctantly do as he says, wrapping your legs around Jimin’s strong waist and your arms around his neck, nestling into the shape of his body, your chin resting on his shoulder. He lifts you up like it’s nothing and starts walking, headed for the dorm. „Are you comfortable back there, Y/N?“, he inquires after a while, obviously making an effort not to let show how heavily he’s breathing. „Perfectly comfortable“, you admit, to him and yourself. „This brings back memories. You haven’t carried me on your back in … years.“ You feel your throat tighten and Jimin’s shoulders tense under your weight. You shouldn’t have said that. „But I can walk by myself from here, really, Jimin. If I am too heavy, just put me back down already. It’s late and you have practice in a few hours, I don’t want to drain you of your precious energy. Besides, I’m getting blood all over your pretty shirt. Isn’t that the one Hobi got you just last week? It’s ruined now.“ „I don’t care about that, Y/N! It’s just a shirt!“, he simply replies, his tone unexpectedly gruff. „Alright, alright. Do as you please. But don’t complain tomorrow“, you try to joke and lighten the mood. Unsuccessfully as it seems. You can see Jimin clench his jaw. The same way he does whenever he sees you and Namjoon fight, whenever he sees you cry, whenever he is mad. Keeping it all in. Seconds pass in silence until you can’t take it any longer. „What did I say now? What did I do, Jimin!?“ „Nothing“, he scoffs. „That’s obviously a lie. If you have something to tell me, do it. Say it. I can handle whatever you throw my way. But don’t give me this passive-aggressive shit. I hate that and you know it. If you don’t really wanna carry me, put me down, don’t feel obligated. I never asked for it anyway.“ Shaking his head, he only chuckles dryly. This is getting too much. Struggling to free yourself from Jimin’s tight clutch around your thighs, to get off his back, you start wiggling around. In vain. He simply tightens his grip on you. „Jimin, put me down, for fuck’s sake! This is ridiculous!“ Finally, he sets you down at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the dorm’s entrance. You didn’t even notice you’d arrived already. Furious, you turn around to face Jimin, prepared to call him out on his behavior, freezing, however, at the sight of his expressionless features which are suddenly bare of any of the warmth and affection you are so used to. „I agree, Y/N. This isn’t right. What you did wasn’t right. You know full well what I’m talking about and I can’t keep on pretending that it doesn’t hurt. Because it hurts like crazy. And I don’t know if I can take it much longer. I never told you how hard it was, how hard it still is for me to be around you, to be there for you. To —“ „Then don’t!“, you cut him off, practically screaming now, paying no mind to who might hear you, Jimins honest words having stricken a nerve. „I never expected anything of you from that day on! I never asked for your help or protection! If it’s such a drag just leave me be!“ Your voice sounds shrill, strange to your own ears, seething with the same helpless rage and long-suppressed pain you can find in Jimin’s expression. „I can move out right now, if you’d feel more comfortable that way“, you continue. „I don’t have that much stuff at your place. I’ll just take a night bus home, if that’s what you want.“ You’re already about to head inside when he holds you back, his hand firmly grasping at your wrist. His mere touch lets you shiver. „Are you serious right now!? You don’t get it, Y/N, do you? I said it was hard. I never said I didn’t want to be there for you, to take care of you, to be around you, see you, even just hear your voice over the phone. I needed you, even, and I knew you needed me, too, so I put up with the way things had turned out to be. But it was still hard. And painful. To see you with Namjoon, so happy, so in love. I was glad you were doing great, of course. But it hurt nonetheless. And it took all my determination and self-control to not once act on those feelings I still had for you. They never changed and they never will. I firmly believe that. And I know you knew were aware of it all this time. You must have been. Everybody was. It must’ve been obvious, really. Still, you acted as if everything was fine, as if we were ‚just friends‘. And I went along with it, since the last thing I wanted was for you to be unhappy or hurt because of me. Also, I didn’t want to add to your pain in your current situation and make you uncomfortable, having offered you a safe place for now and intending to keep my promise. But lately it has just gotten too much. Seriously. I noticed, Y/N. I’m not stupid, you know. I noticed you were trying to make Namjoon jealous. You used me, and it felt like dying.“ Swallowing hard, you solely manage to stare at him, eyes burning, unable to move even an inch, lips apart, incapable of forming words in reply even though there is so much you want to say to him right now, so much your heart feels but you aren’t able to express. „Alright, I see ..“, Jimin finally whispers into the drowning silence occupying the space between you, pushing you further apart by the minute. Never before have you seen such hurt in his eyes. „I’m gonna go in first. When you’re done with it, just put the jacket on my bed. And of course you can stay tonight. You’re hurt and cold. I’m not a complete asshole. And I don’t hate you all of a sudden. Just — Ah, never mind.“ Slowly shaking his head, Jimin lets go of your wrist and proceeds to climb the stairs, his step the heavy step of resignation, while you remain frozen in place, helpless, your own body failing you in this defining moment. No. No!, you internally scream. You can’t let him leave like this. This can’t be it! Mustering all the strength still remaining in your tired body, you finally succeed in breaking free from your paralysis, your hand moving almost automatically as it reaches for Jimin’s. Instantly he stops his movements, only slowly turning around, eyes wide in shock and pain as if your touch had burned him. „Jimin —“, is all you manage to get out before your voice abandons you. Suddenly, inexplicably, and to your genuine surprise, Jimin’s gaze softens and he steps closer, his free hand reaching up to brush away the tears streaming down your face. You had no idea you were even crying. „I — I never — You —“ „Please, Y/N. Don’t say anything.“ He pauses, avoiding your glance. „Don’t say anything you don’t really mean. It will only make things worse.“ You can feel his words rip through your heart, leaving it aching, broken, the pain of it making it unbearable for you to breathe. Gasping for air, you clutch your chest, panic immediately showing on Jimin’s face, all his resentment towards you instantly forgotten. „What is it, Y/N? Can’t you breathe?“ Soundlessly, you shake your head, your lungs burning. „Okay. Come on, we’ll go inside. Just try and breathe, alright. In and out. In and out. Deep breaths.“ Unconscious of your actions you let him guide you inside. Only the hot water streaming down your still clothed body brings you back to your senses. When you open your eyes, you discover that you’re in the dorm’s bathroom, standing in the shower, not having the faintest notion how you got here. Jimin’s face is so close to yours you can feel his breath stroke your cheek, fear, and worry written all over it. „Can you hear me now, Y/N? Can you breathe again?“ Slowly you nod in agreement, taking a deep breath to prove it. „Good, good …“, Jimin sighs in relief, running a wet hand over his face, brushing back his hair, the other one still holding you upright by your shoulder. „I’m sorry, Jimin“, you start speaking as soon as you can trust your vocal cords again. He merely stares at you, his expression blank. „I know, my words are probably worth nothing, but I mean it when I say I am so, so very, deeply sorry for any pain I have ever inflicted on you“, you continue, your voice shaking, grateful the running water obscures your tears. „I never meant to do so. Honestly. You are one of the people most precious to me. Hell, maybe you are the person most precious to me! And what I did earlier — The kiss“, you almost choke on the word. „I didn’t do that just for fun, Jimin, and not to make Namjoon jealous. I did it because I felt like I had to. And it opened my eyes. It really did. Jimin, you brought me back to life! I spent the past few weeks as a breathing corpse. I killed myself, killed off all my emotions so I’d be able to keep going, to survive. I was empty, dead inside and I truly believed I’d never be able to feel again, to feel something good again. Until I kissed you.“ Uncertain, awaiting his reaction, you pause. But Jimin remains motionless, his glassy eyes quickly filling with tears, their expression a mystery to you, a puzzling mixture of hurt, affection, incredulity, and relief. „Jimin, will you be able to forgive me? I’m sorry if I went too far. I didn’t mean to reopen old wounds. We never talked about it but you were right. I actually could tell how hard you tried to put this, us behind you, and I believed you probably got over me long ago. I mean, it’s been years since you told me how you felt and I recklessly rejected you. I wasn’t ready for you back then. I was blind and clueless. I couldn’t grasp the full meaning of your words or my feelings for you back then. But I finally understood. I’m sorry it took me so long and I know it was wrong, in my selfishness keeping you by my side as a friend for the past three years and now acting on this idiotic impulse without realizing or considering the consequences, without realizing how deeply it would hurt you. I can’t stand the fact I caused you pain and I hate myself for it, I mean it. I am truly sorry,  Jimin, and even though I know my apology won’t redeem my actions, I really, really hope and wish you could somehow, someday forgive me. Because I can’t imagine my life without you. And I love you, in so, so many ways, more than just as a friend. I’m sorry I only realized that now. I’m sorry I’m too late.“ Your voice slowly trails off and you can do nothing but look at him, hopeful. Without a word, Jimin simply returns your gaze, his fierce yet overflowing with warmness, not once breaking eye contact while he takes a step towards you, into the shower, the hot water now encompassing both your bodies as he pulls you to his chest and into a tight, lingering embrace. „You’re not too late, Y/N“, he then whispers into the crook of your neck, one hand buried in your soaking wet hair, the other one still pressing your body against his as if he’d never want to let you go again. „I know it sounds cheesy, but I would’ve waited for you to the bitter end. I really would’ve had no choice.“ These words of his release something deep inside of you. Something that had been locked up there for years. It feels as if a weight is being lifted from your chest. Now you can’t hold back the sobs any longer. Sobs of relief and utter felicity rendering you a shivering, shaking mess, only held upright by Jimin’s strong arms. „It’s alright. I’m never gonna leave you, Y/N. Never. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.“ Now he breaks your embrace to bring just enough distance between the two of you to get a good look at your tear-streaked face. „You were right all these times you told me to get back out there, to try and date“, he says, his voice low and soft, the mere sound of it setting your chest on fire. „There are so many beautiful women out there who would gladly spend there lives with me. But their devotion would be meaningless to me. Because it’s you and only you who was capable of capturing my soul. It’s bound to yours now if I like it or not, and I’m afraid you’ll never let it go.“ You want to say something, do something, anything, to soothe the bittersweet agony seeping from the deep, dark wells of Jimin’s beautiful eyes as he voices this, his painful truth. However, you are powerless, petrified under his gaze. Minutes pass like this, the both of you lost in each other's eyes, unmoving, only the steady murmur of the water, still running, filling the quiet that had descended on the bathroom. Until you finally break the silence, your voice barely audible. „May I kiss you?“ Jimin’s expression merely changes, remaining unusually serious despite the softness in his gaze. „Only under one condition“, he finally relieves the fearful tension having increasingly built up in your chest with every other second of his silence. „Under the condition that it’s real this time, that you’re sure you really want this, me. I love you, Y/N, without question and you know that. But I’m not willing to be your toy anymore. This can only happen if you promise me one thing.“ He pauses, his body tensing slightly but unmistakably against yours. „You have to promise me, Y/N that, whatever was going on between you and Namjoon until now, is definitely over. That your heart is free for me. Because I will no longer be satisfied by only having one piece of you to cling onto. I want the whole of you or nothing at all. The alternative and the uncertainty it entails would be too painful. I can’t take any more of that.“ Both surprised and deeply touched by the maturity of his words, you nod your head without hesitation, over and over again, even though your burning heart calls you a liar. „Yes, yes, Jimin! I can promise you that! Namjoon has lost me. What he did is unforgivable and whatever we had was probably over long before he hurt me the way he did. He has no place in my heart anymore. I promise. I promise.“ His glassy eyes smiling, Jimin lets out a sigh of relief, bowing down to rest his forehead against yours. „And you mean it? You really mean it, Y/N?“, he asks, his tone still resonating with painful insecurity. „Yes, I mean it, Park Jimin. I really, truly mean it.“ You can feel your heart twitch as you say these words, breaking into two fragile halves beating out of sync. One for him, Jimin, one for the other man still inhabiting it. But, no. No. There is no room for Namjoon anymore. This is real. You desperately want it to be real. No more. No more games. No more uncertainties. „I’m all in“, you whisper, your lips finding Jimin’s all by themselves, joining them gently in a slow, soft kiss, which is unhesitatingly reciprocated by him and quickly grows deeper, heated, more passionate. Its intensity indulges your senses, leaving you breathless, longing, your body pressed close to his, following deep-rooted instincts. But this kiss is so much more than just an act of lust or a consequence of mere physical attraction. It stirs something inside of you. Your innermost feelings, dreams, and desires. It stirs your soul. And you long or nothing more at this moment than to feel his, too. Jimin’s soul, his body, his everything. Your and Jimin’s lips only ever parting shortly to gasp for air, your hands start working naturally, almost automatically, relieving Jimin of his wet shirt, sticking to his toned torso like a second skin, while his carefully strip you of his jacket, your pajama top and finally your lacy bra until you stand opposite each other almost entirely undressed. Slowly, ardently, yet overflowing with obvious affection and admiration, his hungry eyes trace down your bare chest, even his sole gaze upon your exposed skin sending hot and cold shivers down your spine. „Y/N, you’re so beautiful“, Jimin then whispers, incredulously shaking his head, his hands slowly, hesitantly reaching out to touch you, his questioning gaze awaiting your approval. Smiling, biting your lip, you nod, almost coming undone under his hands, hardly stifling a moan as his fingers softly cup your breasts. „So, so very beautiful …“, Jimin absentmindedly mutters under his breath before he leans down to kiss you again while his hands keep exploring your curves, leaving you a quivering mess, your body responding to his on its own, beyond your control. This time his tongue naturally finds its way through your eagerly parting lips to meet yours, the kiss continuously deepening, getting more urgent and sloppy by the second, teeth repeatedly colliding. As you bite his full lower lip following an impulse, you can feel him immediately react, his pleasure intensifying yours. Having lost all awareness of your surroundings or actions, you entangle your hands in his soft, wet hair, your fingers slowly wandering downwards tracing the muscles on his back, caressing his bare skin. Soon, you are pressed up against the wall, your legs around Jimin’s waist, the cold tiles scraping your exposed back. Instinctively, your hands start pulling at the rim of his sweatpants. You want more. You want him inside you. You have never wanted anyone the way you do Jimin at this very moment. And you want him now. Breathless, he disrupts your kiss to look at you, his dark eyes wide with expectation and wonder. „Are you sure, Y/N? Are you sure you want to go that far tonight?“ Silently, incapable of any clear thought let alone forming a full sentence, you simply nod your head with determination, impatiently biting your lower lip while your eyes are still fixed on his reddened, swollen lips, longing for their kiss. „I’m glad you feel that way“, Jimin replies his soft tone accompanied by a warm smile even reaching his dark brown eyes. „But we have to try and keep it down, alright? We don’t want the others to know yet, do we?“, he then asks, his gaze suddenly darkening, his voice rougher this time, an enticing huskiness to it that is foreign to you and leaves your wet core aching for him to fill you. „I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time“, he whispers as his gentle hands painfully slowly wander up your thighs, a satisfied grin curving his plump lips. „Me, too“, you breathe against his neck, your voice so low it’s almost inaudible over the noise of the hot water still running.

„This is real, Jimin. It truly is. I want it to be“, you whisper against his chest in the darkness of the silent living room, his arms around yours, your body nestled to his, your two forms fitting so perfectly as if they’d been created solely for each other. „I know, Y/N. Don’t worry and rest easy now. I believe you. I trust you.“ Finally closing your eyes, well and truly content for the first time in a long time, your tired, aching body still remembering the past pleasures, you huddle against Jimin’s warm, comfortable body even more closely, his embrace around you naturally tightening. „Sleep now, my angel“, he then whispers, brushing his soft lips against your forehead. And you sleep. As deeply and peacefully as never before. When you wake up the following morning, the sun is long up, its warm light filling the dorm’s common area, casting dancing shadows on your blanket. Well rested and smiling you sit up, stretching your limbs, still slightly sore. Jimin must’ve left before the others woke up, you figure since you decided to hide your intimate relationship for now. You know his sneaking away in the early morning hours without a word was surely reasonable and meant as a thoughtful gesture, Jimin probably not wanting to disturb your sound sleep. But still his sudden absence leaves you with a bittersweet aftertaste to last night, feeling lonely, sad even. You would’ve loved waking up next to him after your first shared night, to see his beautiful smile and loving eyes first thing in the morning. But we can’t have that. Not yet, you remind yourself. As you sit up, though, your gaze falls on your phone still sitting on the coffee table. Seven unread messages by Jimin. Your heart racing, you quickly open them. To find his smiling eyes fondly looking at you from the screen. He must’ve taken a selfie, right after waking up next to you, his hair ruffled and his eyes still puffy. 

You can’t stop staring at your phone, still not daring to believe this is actually true, this is actually happening. Smiling, you finally, reluctantly, detach your gaze from the image of Jimin’s beautiful face and get up to face the day, a single tear of incredulous happiness running down your cheek.

To be continued …

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[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers three options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger or an interview on their most recent book, or a combination of these.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Stephen Claughton

grew up in Manchester, read English at Oxford and worked for many years as a civil servant in London. His poems have appeared widely in magazines, both in print and online, and he has recently published two pamphlets: The War with Hannibal (Poetry Salzburg, 2019) and The 3-D Clock (Dempsey and Windle, 2020). He reviews regularly for London Grip and blogs occasionally at www.stephenclaughton.com, where links to his reviews, poems and pamphlets can also be found.

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

I can’t remember what originally inspired me. I began writing poems in my early teens, but didn’t really get going until I retired from the Civil Service ten years ago. I like to think that I was held back by lack of time, but really it was a lack of confidence. Poetry was too important to me to risk failing. Then, once I’d reached a certain age, I realised I’d got nothing left to lose. You can’t write without taking risks; you have to accept every time the possibility of failure.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

As an English teacher, my mother was very keen that I should like literature. I remember one wet holiday, when she insisted on reciting part of The Song of Hiawatha to me, but I wasn’t a bookish child and — much to her dismay — resisted her attempt to interest me in it. The 3-D Clock, my pamphlet about her dementia, reflects what always remained a difficult relationship. Poetry — and literature more generally — was something I had to discover for myself, encouraged by some excellent teachers at my school. It was, of course, a great help then to have books in the house. (I read Hiawatha again recently and for the most part I concur with my youthful judgement.)

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

English was my main interest at school and the subject I went on to study at university, so I was aware of the poetic tradition. But it was 20th century poets who first sparked my interest — Eliot, Auden and Dylan Thomas from school anthologies — and then the usual influences on my generation — poets such as Ted Hughes, Thom Gunn, R S Thomas, Philip Larkin, Seamus Heaney and Robert Lowell (all but one of them Faber poets). Robert Graves was also an influence, although I think The White Goddess made more of an impression at that time than the poems themselves.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I’m ashamed to say that I don’t really have one. In the past, I tended to write when I felt like it, provided nothing more pressing needed doing. It probably explains why I got so little done! These days, although I’m retired, I have a number of other calls on my time — as a town and borough councillor and (before the pandemic lockdown) helping to look after our young grandson. It’s meant that in order to remain seriously committed to writing, I have to be more careful about managing my time. I’ve been surprised by how productive it can be just to sit down and apply yourself, although it can also be very frustrating. I work best in the late morning, late afternoon, or early evening.

5. What motivates you to write?

I can’t really explain the need to write poetry, other than that it’s been a compulsion I’ve had for most of my life. Even when I wasn’t publishing any poems, I was still planning them in my head and producing various, unsatisfactory drafts. There has to be something that sparks a poem off — an idea, a line, an image; I couldn’t write one to order. I’ve recently started reviewing, which is something I do for enjoyment. It helps that I have some say in the books I review and don’t have to work to deadlines. I like to take my time, so that I’m not influenced by any particular mood I’m in — I worry about being fair. Fortunately, I haven’t had to write any unfavourable reviews so far, although I do say what I think works and doesn’t work.

6. What is your work ethic?

Professionally, I used to have a strong work ethic, but when you retire people don’t expect it of you and you don’t expect it of yourself. (Thom Gunn stopped writing poetry after he gave up his academic job — he no longer had the motivation.) I get twitchy, if I haven’t been working on a poem for a bit. I wouldn’t want to write out of a sense of duty, but having started late, there’s always the sense of having to make up for lost time.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I think it’s more in terms of subject matter than style. The War with Hannibal has two poems about Larkin, one occasioned by The Guardian reprinting an old article, “Poet on the 8.15”, and another about Larkin’s famous last words (‘I am going to the inevitable’), which I’d hoped to write as a cento, consisting entirely of lines by Larkin. That didn’t work out, but the poem includes references to several of his poems. Some of my early influences were unhelpful — Eliot in particular. I read him when I was too young to understand what he was doing and just thought that good poetry had to be obscure. It took me a long time to find my way out of that blind alley. I wrote one poem, when I was fourteen, that seemed to come out of nowhere and was highly praised, but after that my teenage career went rapidly downhill. I recently came across one of the poems I was trying to write then, still in the plastic writing case I used to use. It was so awful that I binned the lot without a second thought. ‘Inspissated’ is the only word to describe my style then.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

There’s a long list of poets I admire and I’m always finding people I should have read years ago. Ciaran Carson, who died last year, is an example. Perhaps because of my early tangle with Eliot, I’m most attracted to poets who write accessible poems in a conversational style (though Eliot himself could, of course, adopt a conversational mode). Hugo Williams, in particular, helped me get back on track. Reading about the way he rewrote poems as a whole rather than line by line was an eye-opener. Before that, I’d put poems together in the painstaking, bit-by-bit way of the fictional poets, Gordon Comstock (in Orwell’s Keep the Aspidistra Flying) and Anthony Burgess’s Enderby. Some of my more recent poems have come easily, but a lot have been through multiple drafts — usually to try and make them sound more spontaneous! There’s something of the obsessive-compulsive about me.

Another, less well-known, poet who inspired me was Gareth Reeves. I particularly liked the moving series of poems about his father, the poet and critic James Reeves, gradually losing his sight. It intrigued me that you could convey so much in such a simple-seeming way. Of course, it’s only when you try to do it yourself that you realise how difficult it is. I also like the poems of Reeves’ Oxford contemporary, Grevel Lindop. Both are or were academics and Lindop has written biographies of De Quincey and Charles Williams, as well as producing an edition of The White Goddess.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

I can’t really explain why I’m compelled to write poetry, except to say that my life would be very empty without it. Poetry is a way of capturing something alive. What you do with it when you’ve caught it is another matter and one that’s always open for debate. For me, it’s principally a way of finding meaning and structure in an increasingly crazy world. Also, I like the concentration that’s required by any kind of writing. The same is true of reading, of course, but writing gives you the prospect of having produced something at the end of it. It’s mostly an unconscious process. The only real control I have is when I’m acting as my own editor. Writing and reviewing have given me a sense, for the first time, of doing something that feels ‘right’.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

I’d say the usual things — practise your craft and read as widely as possible. Like most things, the more you do the better you become at it. As for reading, I’m lucky to be within striking distance of the National Poetry Library, which is an excellent resource, but other libraries are available. Most of all, don’t be afraid of failure. You can’t get anywhere without being prepared to take risks. And lastly, don’t give up: as long as the impulse is there, keep on writing.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

There are a few poems I’ve been working on about my mother’s dementia that didn’t make it in time for The 3-D Clock, although I hope that, when they’re finished, that will be it: I don’t want to keep writing about the same subject. I’m interested in ekphrastic poems. The War with Hannibal has two: one about a watercolour sketch by van Dyck and another about Munch’s “The Night Wanderer”. I’ve written others since and perhaps I’ll have enough for a small collection one day. I’m also toying with the idea of doing a ‘version’ of some incidents from The Aeneid, which I studied at school. And it’s hard these days not to write about the current pandemic, although it may not produce anything useable in my case. I don’t know if anything will come of any of these projects. I depend on poems approaching me rather than me them.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Stephen Claughton Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[wellpurorganics-blog]

Difference In Between Organic and also Natural - Easy Overview | Wellpur Organics

Organic is the brand-new buzzword.

  Yet there are distinctions in between Certified Organic, Organic as well as Natural that you may be wondering about as well as need to certainly understand.

  Everyone seems to be discussing it, the mommies at the institution canteen, your boss on her "only eco-friendly vegetables will certainly enter my air" diet plan, and maybe even your teenage child in an effort to get rid of the pimples she really did not welcome along on her puberty journey.

  Yet like all buzzwords, there is a great deal of misconstruing around the word and some nasty problems also. Believe it or not, the idea of organic is actually quite simple, much like everything Nature associated. Generally, anything complex as well as incorrect with it is possibly triggered by mortals, and possibly some vampires ... however that's one more story.

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If staying on top of all the natural subtleties is doing your head in, don't stress. This overview should establish you straight.

  1. There actually is a difference ...

  In Between Licensed Organic, Organic and also Organic/Natural based items, that is. I do not condemn you for being a little iffy regarding this set because as a person submersed in this area of proficiency, you would certainly assume I 'd have this one down pat by now.

  Seriously, I believed I did.

  Yet as I talked with a potential representative in Thailand recently, I became aware that maybe I just understood the difference in Australia. In all my naivety, I actually (rather unreasonably, it appears) believed that maybe there would be a worldwide definition for Organics. Foolish me because that would certainly make it, oh I do not understand, easy!

  It turns out that in Australia a minimum of, Licensed Organic describes items that are Organic and have actually been declared thus by an ideal government/independent body. Companies that are producing Certified Organic Products most likely have Chief executive officers that have actually lost all their hair now. I'm not kidding; I 'd in fact be prepared to put a wager on it which is stating something considering my disappointing wagering document. Obtaining Organic Accreditation is not a tiny task, it takes loads of time, great deals of documents, going back and also forth a billions times and also lots of financing.

  Organic is most likely (do not shoot me, I did say most likely and even italicised it) specifically the very same in terms of quality as well as handling as Certified Organic without the main badge of honour. What stops some individuals from purchasing organic however is that there's no official evidence. It's like swearing that you saw a spaceship without the picture to verify it. You might be questioning why I've italicised official two times previously. It's because the suppliers of Organic Products should have some kind of documentation specifying that the products have actually had no chemical and also unnatural processing taking place before it got to your fingertips. Must does not constantly mean they do, which is wrong. Really wrong. A minimum of in my publication anyhow however we all have different yardsticks ... you understand.

  Essentially natural products are based on relying on the manufacture reasonably. Though there's no main qualification, the document specifying the above still implies the supplier better be telling the truth or they're most likely to be in hot water if somebody figures out otherwise.

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Organic/Natural Based is typically described as Organic by Default.

  What this implies is that an organic based item is most likely to be exactly the means Mother Nature intended. It's like expanding your own tomatoes in your backyard and then offering them at your youngsters' lemonade stand. They were grown specifically the method the environment desired them grown, the naturally ideal method and also you do not need to have any kind of paperwork stating so because well, Nature really did not pass one along, did she? Since if she did why are you right here reading this blog post? Go as well as tell somebody now and also get abundant as well as famous.

  2. Should you also trouble or is Organics nothing greater than a buzzword for my much richer neighbour?

  Honestly, I'm going to place my foot in it since it is one of my leading 3 abilities on my return to.

  Though I am virtually accountable (when my daddy isn't enjoying) of a Certified Organic/Organic/Organic based lasting organisation situated in a little picturesque town that makes it hard not to be encouraged to live as closely to nature, the reality is that there is no extensive proof that natural is really better for you.

  But ... due to the fact that you know there's constantly a however, many individuals who advocate Organic Products will never tire of informing you that you can't put a price on sound judgment, or as my mum claim's, sound judgment is not an asset cost the local veggie market. You have no idea how much making use of that claiming pained me because it was the eccentric reaction I would certainly usually get when I returned residence as well as informed her concerning something silly I did (which till today, remains to be often).

  It makes sense to use what Earth has produced so bountifully for us viewing as we're simply one of the numerous productions of Mother earth. It's fascinating just how every continent has actually managed ahead up with something beneficial naturally for its residents. India has Neem (The Tree of the 21st Century as stated by the United Nations), Australia has Tea Tree Oil, the United States has Echinacea while Europe has Geranium ... you obtain it. Nature's made it so there's something for every person.

  What this signals to Organic fanatics is that the atmosphere understands ideal. There's a reason why certain plants and also natural herbs are native to the locations that they are, they're made up of things that your body requires due to where you live. Ineloquent, I understand, but you've got it down-pat.

  What does this mean for All-natural Product fans? They want to put their buck where their mouth is and also pay for what they believe is going to maintain them and their families healthy and balanced because it's only mosting likely to save them a great deal of moolah and distress on healthcare facility expenses later on in life. Simply saying.

  3. Okay, whatever. But why are Organic Products so much extra costly?

  I obtain it. They really are.

  As well as while it doesn't truly cost you an arm as well as a leg to live organically (no a few of our clients, it actually does not), they do cost greater than their non-organic, chemical loaded alternatives.

  Individuals can't typically wrap their head around why this is specifically so I believed I would certainly offer you my two cents, naturally!

  I can not inform you how difficult it is to get Qualified Organic Products status due to the fact that this is a PG write-up as well as my key-board is most likely to break after I make it through all the vow words ... from every language on earth as well as Uranus. Primarily, it's as difficult as um, nails.

  As you can visualize, it is difficult to make sure that your field of fruit and vegetables is entirely, 100% all-natural. This is because mainly, fields are frequently clumped together as well as not all areas in a location are declaring to be organic. Which means that chemicals utilized on one field can extremely naturally (because of weather conditions such as wind changes and also rainfall) land up on a "Qualified Organic" area.

  Certified Organic farmers are usually incredibly stressed out undoubtedly. Imagine needing to make sure that the climate listened to your impulses as well as fantasizes. Don't think me, have a look at this (what some would certainly refer to as ridiculous) newspaper article. It is becoming increasingly expensive for cultivators of natural produce (as well as difficult) to fulfil the needs of natural qualification which is verifying to be a substantial burden on farmers who (generally) are attempting in earnest to do the ideal point.

  Sure, organic fruit and vegetables is quick obtaining appeal however the headaches surrounding the promo and growth around it makes qualified chemical-free farming more of a labour of love than anything else. Organic farmers truly do count on the principle of collaborating with Mother earth instead of versus it. They count on permitting the Planet to care for its create the way it was constantly planned, with all-natural resistances to parasites and permitting foods to grow when they're meant to.

  Organic farmers need to pass a little bit of the expenditure of expanding their produce onto the customer to make certain that every person is getting the best, most all-natural product possible.

  4. Do I actually need Organics?

  Well, do you actually require those brand-new set of Louis Vuitton shoes or that Versace match you have actually had your eye on for the past six months. Possibilities are no. However that does not transform you desiring them, right?

  It's practically the same for Health food, other than as opposed to advancing from our somewhat (attempt I say) vain area, the need for health foods is possibly coming from our gut and taste buds.

  Your body wants natural and also normally made and expanded produce and though there is no main proof that you need it, I would personally rather count on my internal organs understanding what's good for them than what some scientist (perhaps financed or lined up to some huge international) is teaching to me.

  Though I am sceptical of my taste the majority of the time (particularly when they crave hot french fries as well as some sour lotion as well as chives dip so they do not get lonesome), when they inform me a particular organically expanded tomato needs to get on the food selection tonight, I pay attention a bit much more diligently (primarily due to the fact that they appear to be acting themselves - which is rare).

  So, to cut a lengthy story (or in this situation short article) short, though I may not require organics, I absolutely want them. Similar to my next pair of Louis Vuitton's so hands off!

  5. Seasonal Foods are much better for you?

  Genuinely Organic Foods are seasonal by their very meaning. Due to the fact that they're grown the way nature intends, they grow when they're supposed to which commonly suggests that your body is obtaining the nutrients it's meant to when it requires them one of the most.

  They also have less of an influence on the atmosphere which has reached be an advantage, right? Not only do consuming seasonal fruits make certain that regional farmers have even more of a possibility when battling versus big multinationals and less expensive rates from overseas, it also ensures that the produce you take in is most likely to be fresher and also therefore healthier.

  Organic generate that is likewise locally generated is the very best alternative as it implies that you're assisting to send your tough made money back right into your priceless community which will just offer to make everybody around you happier as well as much more solvent, which has got to be a benefit, right? You enjoy, you're neighbour's satisfied, the canine's delighted ... you understand. I bet you're currently really feeling better, am I right?

  However however, frequently regional farmers can not manage to end up being certified natural, nonetheless numerous regional farmers may already be using organic techniques (without the certification to prove it). See your neighborhood farmers market and also talk to the farmers marketing their produce, you might simply locate that what they're doing is already natural anyway. Want some even more information on why every person should be bonkers regarding in your area expanded food? We hear you.

  6. There is a recurring promote Organic Foods to be much more Fairtrade

  Organic generate is not assured to be Fairtrade, allow me simply placed that available prior to you spam me with hate mail. I'm more of an enthusiast, you see.

  There is a basic consensus that Organic as well as Fairtrade need to be joined together to far better offer the atmosphere and community. Nevertheless, as severe as it might seem, people have a tendency to be much less worried about their setting when the more pressing issues of getting food on the table for their family members is at the center of their mind which is why there is such a push for natural fruit and vegetables to additionally be Fairtrade, especially in developing countries.

  Let's be completely truthful right here, it's not rocket science, is it? Every person's (no matter society or territories) primary priority is attending to their family members. Fairtrade techniques make sure that farmers have the ability to maintain a suitable way of life which makes it much easier and also profitable for them to guarantee that the produce reaching your dining tables are as natural and also all-natural as possible. It's a win-win solution for everyone as well as considering just how far and also couple of in between they remain in general life, I claim get it with both hands when we can.

  7. Organic Foods last much longer

  In 2015 I was so stunned to see how fresh my organically grown plums (from my yard) looked almost four weeks after being chosen. I think I have my stunning plum tree (I have actually nicknamed her Plumpilicious) to say thanks to for piquing my rate of interest in the wonder of generate grown the way Mother earth meant (and also the scrumptious fruit my neighbors, officemateses and also I obtained as well from Plumpilicious's stunning bounty).

  As it turns out, organic fruit and vegetables truly does last longer than their more traditionally grown peers.

  Which makes you ask yourself, doesn't it? What do un-organic items have in them, that also after all the preservatives and also chemicals in them, they rot quicker? I have absolutely no idea yet short articles similar to this one certainly dropped a lot more light on the subject.

  So, in the end, I would certainly suggest that it depends upon the kind of fruit and vegetables with regards to whether organic or their non-organic counterparts last much longer. Or it could just be that Plumpilicious is one of a kind, I always had a hint.

  To cover this all up ... Are you sold on Organics or otherwise?

  I hope that this rather comprehensive overview has actually aided get rid of some of the mistaken beliefs and also confusion around the whole Organic idea for you. If nothing much more, I wish it exists you with some great write-ups for you to sink your teeth into around the rapid ending up being popular Organic space.

  Many of our consumers are uncertain as well as unsure of what the purposes of Organic products are as well as whether they're deserving of all the hype they're accessing the minute. After operating in an Organically geared organisation, I can't tell you to go out and also swap all your non-organic items with natural since that would look suspicious. Yet, I would highly advise you to try the idea out after educating yourself on the whole ball of wax.

  I can present you with numerous truths as well as numbers (as well as study and also testimonials) on why you need to go the Organic path but in the end, human beings like to try before they buy. It's this remarkable curious mind we have actually all been talented (or cursed - whatever you favor) with.

#CBD cream #CBD supplements

[goarticletec-blog]

Best Cookbooks (Fall 2018): José Andrés, Anissa Helou, Simone Klabin

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Best Cookbooks (Fall 2018): José Andrés, Anissa Helou, Simone Klabin

In this zinger of a year, food’s role in our lives felt like it shifted every day. Cooking at home became more of an oasis than ever, a meal with friends somehow more important. Some nights, though, punting and ordering takeout was not a copout but a necessity. This year’s best books reflect this whipsawing, whether it’s about saving the world (or just a part of it), understanding it a little better, encouraging us to take a load off and pour a nice drink, or just tell us what to do because one more decision was one too many. We’re still hungry, though—more than ever!—and these are the books that reflect our appetites.

We Fed An Island: The True Story of Rebuilding Puerto Rico, One Meal at A Time

By José Andrés with Richard Wolffe (Anthony Bourdain Books/Ecco)

The most important food book of 2018 doesn’t contain a single recipe or talk about technique. Instead, it talks about saving lives and keeping people fed in the wake of a disaster. Chef José Andrés is well known for his high-end restaurants in and around Washington, DC, but when Hurricane Maria barreled through Puerto Rico in September 2017, killing an estimated 2,975 people, Andrés made his way to the island just a few days later, fighting through the rubble to hand out sandwiches and bowls of sancocho.

Feeding a localized group of people is noble, but Andrés and his assembled team of local chefs had greater ambitions, eventually going on to serve three million meals, a monster feat on a flattened, demoralized island. We Fed an Island is a first-hand look at what it took to do it.

While Washington politicians struggled to help and shifted their focus to Hurricane Harvey, which devastated Houston, Andrés created a de facto emergency agency in Puerto Rico, forever changing what it means to be a chef. People are still into awards like the World’s 50 Best Restaurants, but for many reasons, those are starting to feel incredibly out of touch with reality. In Puerto Rico and several other disaster zones since, Andrés showed that there’s more important work to do, and in my book at least, he became the indisputable chef of the decade. $28, Buy now.

Prosecco Made Me Do It: 60 Seriously Sparkling Cocktails

By Amy Zavatto (Andrews McMeel Publishing)

It is holiday feast time, and all that reveling requires bubbly and cocktails. For those, food and drink writer extraordinaire Amy Zavatto has us covered. Zavatto’s new book focuses on Italy’s famous fizz, giving some history on the country’s many different proseccos and focusing on its most important grape: the glera. Zavatto gives 60 sparkling cocktail recipes and tells the backstory for each, like the classic Bellini (white peach purée and brut-style Prosecco), the Venetian Spritz she first had at NYC’s Fort Defiance (Aperol, brut-style Prosecco, club soda, and an olive), and the Dance Party (does it matter?), each with Ruby Taylor’s poster-worthy illustrations setting the vibe.

You’ll learn and make some fine cocktails as you go, but Zavatto’s true gift is her take-you-along-for-the-ride charm. Are we learning? Yes! Are we laughing! Hell yes! Do we have a lovely drink in our hand, to boot? Yep! That too. Cheers! $17, Buy now.

Feast: Food of The Islamic World

By Anissa Helou (Ecco)

Art dealer, chef, and author of several cookbooks, Anissa Helou employs most of the skill sets involved in these jobs, and adds a healthy glug of anthropology in this beautiful and important work. For dumpukht/dumpokht biryani, she describes watching a noblewoman in Hyderabad cover goat marinated in papaya, cardamom, cumin, cloves and saffron with long-grain rice and cook it in a tight-lidded pot. When it came off the heat, the noblewoman heated a lump of charcoal over a flame, and dropped it right on the rice for a few minutes, giving the whole dish a smoky flavor.

When Helou finds room for improvement in an established recipe, or finds a way to make something more easily, she trusts herself enough to suggest a change. For complex multilayer breads like Pakistani paratha or Turkish tahinli katmer, where the classic technique can be difficult to master, she suggests a different dough-folding pattern that saves time and still yields excellent results. $60, Buy now.

Food & Drink Infographics: A Visual Guide to Culinary Pleasures

By Simone Klabin and edited by Julius Wiedemann (Taschen)

I may be biased, but while this whopper of a book might be difficult to pick up, it’s surprisingly hard to put down. Infographics are a great way to take a new look at food, and your first impulse with this beautiful tome might be to get out a razor and turn each page into a poster. Resist! At least hold off for a little while and learn visually.

Flip through the pages and certain aspects of food will begin to crystallize in ways they hadn’t before. Meat cut charts reveal the differences between regional and national styles of butchery, maps of cheese production detail mastery, diversity and depth. Conversion charts illustrate volume conversions like the ten tablespoons and two teaspoons in two-thirds of a cup, and if you ponder that for a moment, you might discover the vast superiority of going metric in the kitchen like the rest of the world.

There’s also hidden humor in Heather Jones’ “Correct Plating: And How to Get Through That (Sometimes Awkward) Holiday Dinner,” where she positions three tabs of Xanax just to the right of the soup spoon and not far from the Cognac. There’s also a bit of cross-cultural learning with Pop Chart Labs’ cocktail diagrams labeled “The Poison” across the page from “The Remedy—Hangover Cures From Around The World,” where your interest may be piqued by the Germanic take: mustard berries, juniper berries, and pickled herring. $70, Buy now.

36 Bottles: Less Is More with 3 Recommended Wines Per Month

By Paul Zitarelli (Sasquatch Books)

A confession: I lived in Paris for a decade, where I wrote about food and drank a lot of wine. While I can speak knowledgeably about the latter, my knowledge of individual styles of wine probably isn’t what it should be. In France alone, never mind the rest of the world, there are hundreds of options.

Paul Zitarelli offers a simple, global solution. Focus on just three wines a month: a red, a white and a wildcard like rosé or a sparkler. In November, just drink French Chablis, or Italian Langhe Rosso, and say “oui” to a Thanksgiving-friendly Tavel rosé from the Rhône Valley. Next May, limit your purchases to Austrian grüner veltliners, Oregon pinot noirs, and try a sweet, divine Tokaji or two from Hungary. Each month’s suggestions are accompanied by a couple recipes that quietly affirm that Zitarelli’s good taste extends beyond the bottle.

As someone who’s been overwhelmed by choice, this monthly trifecta strikes me as a great idea. Where 36 Bottles really clinches it is in the writing—both funny and smart—with lines like this: “Ultimately [using sherry in cocktails] reminds me too much of mixing liquid Tylenol into applesauce to get my daughter to take her medicine. If it tastes good in the first place, why do we need to hide it?” $20, Buy now.

Cooking With Scraps: Turn Your Peels, Cores, Rinds, Stems, and Other Odds & Ends into Delicious Meals

By Lindsay-Jean Hard (Workman)

We all do it. After a big trip to the produce stand and a nice dinner or two, we end up with a few pounds of wilty bedfellows in the icebox, and a stale bread heel on the counter, all destined for the compost heap, or worse, the trash.

A whopping 40 percent of food in the United States suffers a similar fate, says the Natural Resources Defense Council, a staggering $165 billion worth, but Lindsay-Jean Hard’s new book is an effort to chip away at that number. Hard breaks it all down by key ingredient, giving recipes for each thing you might have too much of: pestos made from asparagus ends or carrot top greens, or an ingenionus mushroom-stem compound butter. I was immediately attracted to the catch-all dishes throughout the book like frittatas, stratas, and stocks. Got extra cauliflower or okra or half a shallot? You can (quick) pickle that! Have some leftover pickle brine? Use it to turbocharge your potato salad.

Hand’s book isn’t the kind of thing you buy just for the recipes, but if you put it on the kitchen reference shelf, you’ll be happy it’s there the next time you have something that needs to be put to use in a hurry. $20, Buy now.

Food writer Joe Ray (@joe_diner) is a Lowell Thomas Travel Journalist of The Year, a restaurant critic, and author of “Sea and Smoke” with chef Blaine Wetzel.

When you buy something using the retail links in our product reviews, we may earn a small affiliate commission. Read more about how this works.

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[ericlwoods]

Ok Sony we get it. You mean business this time.

I have long liked Sony. On my gear churn odyssey I have passed by the RX100ii, a6000, A7, the A7ii, most recently the A7Rii (now realizing I have never written a proper review of this camera) and now the A7iii. This was not an impulse buy. When I read the spec sheet of the A7iii this is what I heard Sony say:

We kept the great things great.

IQ

IBIS

full frame vintage lens adaptability.

etc.

We made the good great.

Now has 4K video.

Better lowlight performance.

More focus points and better focusing with elements from the A9 and A7Riii.

10fps over 5 fps with no menu blackout while writing to the memory card.

etc.

We addressed the things we get dinged on.

Two memory cards.

Burst with no menu blackout while the card is writing.

Battery life. Waaaaaay better battery life. Over 80% at the end of a casual day of photo and video shooting battery life.

Thumbstick. Personally never asked for it. Never had a camera with one before. Glad they put in because a lot of others asked for it in reviews so I won’t have to hear that anymore.

Touch screen adding touch focus and playback pinch zoom and swipe controls. While I made do after years with brands like Olympus I would still absent-mindedly double tap the screen to zoom when reviewing photos from time to time in futility before. Now stuff happens.

etc.

With that without hesitation I assembled the gear necessary to trade for an A7iii, and among the list was the A7ii, and dropped it off at my favorite local camera shop and placed my order.

Kept the A7Rii for three reasons:

42.4MP

42.4MP

4k… No, seriously 42.4MP.

Bought the A7Rii at a time where for a moment I had the option of trading for an A7Riii for $800 more or get back the $500 of the new discounted A7Rii price. I chose the latter. Why? Simple. Unlike the difference between the A7ii and iii the only notable A7Rii to iii changes for me were the battery life and added memory card slot. Ok… I admit it. I also love this camera in a less than rational way. Moreso than any other digital camera before it. Team it with a good lens and it feels like the high detail digital medium format camera I have dreamed of (below photo of my friend Ricardo Nazario Colon with the FE 85mm f/1.8).

https://flic.kr/p/Z3NkCh

The A7iii arrived recently…

Wow.

Have read and watched the previews and reviews. Was prepared to like this camera, but this camera is quite astonishing. Moreso than I expected. Have purposely held off on writing too much as a self-imposed cooling off period.

There will be more posts about this camera. A lot to cover. But this will be Part 1. Expected to like the advancements I listed above. But there was one area I either did not read about or did not remember hearing.

Feel.

In a Pentax K-1 review a while back I offered the following:

Some cameras I have owned felt like light capturing electronic devices roughly shaped to resemble a camera, but Pentax cameras feel like actual cameras updated to the digital age.

I was mainly referring to the Sony A7. The A7ii improved on matters enough to bring me back to Sony, but it still did not quite match the feel of DLSRs I have owned. Fuji cameras came close also. But the A7iii has taken things a step further.

What feel am I talking about? Some not easy to quantify. Some are. Let’s give it a go with a side by side. Gen ii on the left and the newbie on the right.

Tacky: It feels “grippy”, or “grippier”? The rubber pleather baby elephant print common to all DSLRs that was mimicked on earlier A7 models is much more convincing this time around. Feels a bit deeper and tacky, but in a good way. Subtle, but noticeable going back and forth between gen ii and gen iii cameras.

Button shape and travel: Previous buttons looked the part, but lacked depth. They were near flush and hard to find on the fly. They also felt more like old cell phone buttons more than camera buttons. No more. Many are rounded, have a more tactile feel, and offer better resistance when pressed.

Layers: Again previous Sony generation cameras looked the part, but most every surface was flush while DSLRs I used had raised bezels and housing for controls that made them easier to find by feel and muscle memory.

Heft: More accurately the apparent sensation of heft. When holding them side by side the gen iii body feels beefier though it does not appear to weigh significantly more. Likely a side effect of a larger width grip that houses the larger battery.

Placement: The video record button. Previously flush and located on the right shoulder of the camera it can be difficult to locate and nearly impossible to depress without shaking the camera. Now it has been moved to just right of the viewfinder and is quite easy to find and depress with a thumb while all fingers stay on the grip. Much easier and steady video activation. Also they gave AF and AEL there own buttons rather than combining them with a toggle. Again, much better for activating with removing one’s eye from the viewfinder.

Thumbstick: Redundant for me since I am more apt to use the (much better defined) direction pad or touch screen. But as I said earlier I am glad it is there.

Welp. That is it for Sony A7iii: This time Sony is serious. Part 1. Feel.

What’s next? No idea. May touch upon battery life although I pretty much covered that on Instagram:

If not that ISO most likely. Value? How they changed it, but kept it the same enough so as it is no bother to use back to back with gen ii cameras? Focus speed and accuracy and continuous Eye AF? IQ? How it works with adapters? Don’t know. A lot of places to go.

Nothing image related discussed here, but what the heck. Here is a link to an ongoing album and some images from week one below.

Happy shooting.

-ELW

  Sony A7iii: This time Sony is serious. Part 1. Feel. Ok Sony we get it. You mean business this time. I have long liked Sony. On my gear churn odyssey I have passed by the…