#everything else from there should be fun and easy and less. minutia.

[rxttenfish]

okay managed to not draw yesterday so thats good

today im gonna try to devote my time to working on chapter 3 again and hopefully i can get to 50k words today

[twistedminutia]

A Million and One Minutia: Cryptids

Gray and the board game club discuss varying kinds of cryptids.

Read the rest of the chapters here and crossposted to AO3 here.

When it comes to newspaper club, my somewhat unceremonious appointment there has led to a few fringe benefits. And I want to be clear: I didn’t pick the newspaper club. It was an assignment given directly by Crowley a bit after the Spelldrive tournament, when Grim had thrown a fit about wanting to start his own club. He eventually relented to let Grim do what he wanted- as long as I used the ghost camera to help him. He presented it as magnanimous, of course. I don’t think he’s capable of presenting it as anything else. The burden of choice generously taken away, and if he was so magnanimously letting me keep the camera, then letting me join a club where it was required also allowed me to put my film on the club’s budget, which reduced my costs significantly.

That last bit was, more or less, a decent enough argument, and, in fairness, picking a club was the last thing on my mind when I first arrived. Any sports clubs were out (my lack of physical fitness aside, being the only girl on the team wasn’t an appealing prospect for several reasons), spelldrive club, plus a couple other clubs involving magic, were physically impossible, and while the arts clubs were closer to what I would have picked for myself at home, I also had a lot more things on my mind than submitting club applications. (Apparently clubs are mandatory here as well.) Freedom from choice had been a relief in that moment.

And the newspaper club isn’t a lot of work- I’m technically on the ‘record-keeping’ committee, which I guess is more or less like being part of the yearbook committee. I just have to go around to other clubs or events, take some photos, and write up a few notes on what they’re doing. It’s relatively easy. Sometimes it’s even fun.

And sometimes, it’s awkward.

The board game club should be one of the clubs I enjoy the most. I like board games. Ortho and I have talked about trying to set up some kind of tabletop campaign, and tabletop gaming is part of the board game club. Sometimes, I can even win board games, if there’s a decent amount of luck involved and the strategy isn’t too complicated. But trying to take photos of a board game club event?

Look, I don’t like having my photo taken either. But I recognize that it’s necessary sometimes, and just do everything in my power to avoid looking at the photo after. A majority of the board game club are also some degree of camera shy. The sort that manifests in a pathological determination to avoid the camera at all costs, and a supernatural ability to have their backs turned to the lens no matter what.

Idia is the king of this. He’s showed up in person today, but that’s only because I coordinated with Ortho ahead of time. Unfortunately, Ortho’s at his own club, and not here to help. Then again, I’m not sure even Ortho could extricate Idia from the sweatshirt cocoon he’s nestled himself into.

I would have thought I could get a good shot of Azul, but he’s not being much more helpful. I’ve seen him in photos before, because he’s got a bunch of promotional shots of the Mostro Lounge… but it occurs to me only as I’m trying to photograph him that he’s actually not in a lot of those photos. Jade and Floyd show up more than he does. And the photos that do contain his visage are all carefully crafted, with the lighting tastefully angled and makeup neatly applied.

Maybe it’s not that surprising that Azul wouldn’t be pleased with a bunch of candid photos of him, actually. Considering he was going to make me steal a photo of him so no one else could see it.

I back off and content myself with some shots of the games themselves and a few distant shots of people playing. Their backs are, naturally, still toward me.

Once I’ve got a few shots that I think will work, I wander back over to Idia and Azul’s game table. They’re playing each other, and, based on the murmurs I’ve heard around the club, that’s because no one else wants to play them. Between Idia’s uncanny knowledge of games and Azul’s complete inability to be anything other than a total control freak, they must make an intimidating pair to play against.

I don’t know what I expected them to be playing (chess? Azul seems like a chess guy, assuming they have that underwater) but they’re playing some kind of elaborate game that involves traveling over a mini-map and collecting little tokens. Each of the tokens seem to have some kind of creature painted on them- the one Azul picks up is bristling with spines, like a porcupine, but each spine is much thicker, like it’s carrying a back of railroad spikes. Idia has one that just looks like a log, but with a dripping mouth opening up in one end.

I lean over the game to get a better look. Azul’s gaze lifts over the tops of his glasses. “Prefect,” he says. “Can we help you?” His eyes move rapidly between my face and the camera. I get the sense he’s loading an excuse onto his tongue as he speaks.

“What are you playing?” I’m unfamiliar with most of the games in this world. Ortho tried to give me a crash course, but while he has much better social skills than his brother, there are ways in which they’re a lot alike. Namely, an ability to talk at light speed when excited. I caught a bit over ten percent of it.

“Lorist,” Azul says. I sink into a chair nearby and watch for a few more rounds. They’re fast- both Azul and Idia seem to have some kind of strategy they’re executing with ruthless efficiency. Azul’s marker hops all over the map, collecting little creatures with each landing. Idia’s playstyle is much slower. He stays in one location for a little bit, picking up creatures and placing them on the mat in front of him.

It’s kind of eerie. I’m used to playing games with people who narrate their turns as they go- both to explain what they’re doing for everyone else at the table and also for rule-checking. But they each play in utter, ruthless silence. It makes it a bit hard to pick up on what the gameplay is supposed to be.

“So,” I offer after a few more minutes of failing to understand what they’re doing, “how do you win this game?”

Idia seems to be attempting to shrink further into his sweatshirt. Azul cuts his gaze sideways at me without turning his head. “Collecting victory points.”

There’s an oppressive sense of silence after those words. Which is interesting, because there are people talking in the rest of the room. The silence around us just seems so thick that it’s stifling everything else.

“And how do you do that?” I ask.

Idia makes an attempt to emerge slightly from his cocoon. “The, uh, premise of the game is, uh, that you’re a folklorist collecting stories from around the world.” He emerges slightly more. I can make out one of his eyes. His mouth is still partly smushed against the inside of his hood, but the words he’s saying are, mostly, understandable. “You want to, uh, become a popular folklorist, so you have, um, have to collect stories by having, uh, experiences, then you have to, um, spread the stories.”

He stumbles over the explanation, but guides his little figure to a section of the board and places it there with no hesitation. A few tokens in the shape of houses map out what I guess are villages. Idia picks up a card from the marked location, reads it, then sets it back, face down.

Azul, apparently unwilling to let an explanation go half-finished (or because it lets him sound really smug and know-it-all), continues. “You direct your character either to the Unknown Lands or to a village. In the Unknown Lands, you can collect stories of folklore beasts, and then in the village, you can spend them to collect points. Different creatures exist in different areas of the Unknown Lands, and you can only collect what’s there per round.” He gestures to the tokens stacked at each area. “Certain villages only want to hear about certain creatures, and some creatures are only popular during a certain round.” He taps at the round marker- it has a card next to it, showing a large, wolf-like creature with a slavering jaw full of massive teeth.

“And you only know what creatures a village wants to know about by going there and checking,” I say.

“Precisely,” Azul says. “Though you can spend a few points to reveal a village before going there and wasting your time if you feel you need it.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “It’s quite a fascinating game of memorization, predicting trends, and risk management.”

“It seems like a pretty pure strategy game,” I say. “There’s not much luck involved.”

Idia makes a noise that might be derisive. “Azul doesn’t like games with luck.”

“It degrades the strategy!” Azul protests. “The fun of a game is concocting the correct strategy and carrying it out. Having to deal with rolling dice or spinning wheels is hardly fair. At least with drawing cards, you can count what’s likely to be left in the deck based on the draws.”

Which implies that he’s memorizing the cards, a level of dedication I could never have for any board game. I mean, I like them. I’m just not that kind of a freak. “Wouldn’t having some element of luck be more realistic, though?” I say. “It’s not like there isn’t a lot of luck present in real life.”

Azul’s expression sours, like he’s annoyed I reminded him of the concept. “Luck is a random, arbitrary concept. Running a business is all about analysis and prediction, examining the non-random aspects of the market and adjusting any practices to suit. Luck is to be minimized, if not eliminated.”

There’s a certain amount of venom in his voice, like luck pissed on his dog, or dogfish, or whatever they have as pets under the ocean. I guess we’re never playing board games with each other. I prefer the luck-based ones since, as I mentioned previously, I’m too stupid to get any real strategy going.

“Okay,” I tell him, and he goes back to the game. Now that I have a basic concept of the rules, I kind of have a sense of what they’re doing. Azul’s plan seems to be hopping onto new trends as they appear and capitalizing on them. Idia’s going for what seems like a more well-rounded strategy; he’s sticking with a few towns whose preferences he knows and gathering monsters that fill their needs. It’s not earning him as many points as Azul, but it’s a steadier strategy. Azul’s losing turns trying to track down locations for new monsters (or stories or whatever they’re called) and Idia’s just cycling carefully between villages, capitalizing on a trend if he can.

A sort of big risk, big reward strategy versus a chip-damage strategy. Neither of them seems to be particularly far ahead of the other. I watch in silence for a bit as they make their turns with precision. A new round starts and Azul places the old round card into the discard pile to make way for a new one. There are words across the back, written in small print, so I lean over and snag it, just for a look.

Renders lurk on the outer edges of the Unknown Lands, venturing into the cities to steal animals and, in desperate times, children. Their gleaming teeth are said to be nearly unbreakable. Said to be the whelps of wolves who were tainted by blot and old magic, they consume without end. Lorists tell tales of villages left in ruin by a single starving render, with nothing but scraps of cloth and wood left behind.

I flip the card back over to examine the image again. The artist drew it so the creature’s coming past the card border, jaw open and teeth overcrowding its mouth, like it’s moving in to eat. The card sitting next to the round marker now is a weird little creature, kind of like a snail with a fancy shell and two squid-like tentacles rising from its sides.

“Are these things real?” I ask. Azul blinks, tearing his eyes away from his strategy for a moment to see what I’m indicating.

“No,” he says once he catches sight of the card, then goes back to the game.

“Oh,” I say. He technically answered my question, but I would have liked more of an explanation. Then again, maybe I should just be grateful he’s giving me an answer and not charging me for it. Still, I press on. “Why not?”

This time, it’s Idia who answers. He even pushes most of his face out of his sweatshirt, presumably to direct more derision my way. “Because they aren’t? What kind of a question even is that?”

Okay, so sheer disdain can actually overcome his social anxiety. Good to know. “There are a lot of other monsters here,” I say. “Why are those real but this one isn’t?”

“Because they aren’t,” Azul says in an ‘I’m ending the conversation now’ kind of tone. “They’re just old stories.”

“People saw weird animals or got attacked by something and didn’t see what it was, or got drunk,” Idia agrees. “And then they made up stories that spread. I mean, not that it wouldn’t be cool if some of these things were real.” He picks up a token from the table, this one emblazoned with a big, blue beetle of some sort. “These things are supposed to create hives that generate their own electricity. If I could reverse engineer a technomantic coupler for that, we could get energy directly from magic in the air-”

“Idia,” Azul cuts him off. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh.” He goes back to the game board. “But, yeah. Not real. Just weird stuff people tell stories about.”

“Huh.” I mull that over. “Like bigfoot.”

Idia makes a strange, strangled noise that I think is supposed to be a laugh. A similar noise escapes Azul, one caught between actual amusement and disbelief. He follows it up with, “What is that?”

“Bigfoot? It’s like an urban legend,” I say. “You know, one of those stupid stories people pass around about something. It’s a… there’s a term… um… oh, it’s a cryptid!”

Idia’s brow wrinkles. “That’s, uh, a word for a made-up monster, right?”

“Something like that? They’re supposed to be animals that can’t be proven to exist,” I say. “Bigfoot. Nessie. El chupacabra.”

Azul’s brows are approaching his hairline. “El what?”

“It means goatsucker,” I say. Azul’s expression gets more twisted up. “It’s supposed to be some weird creature that drinks the blood of goats, because people saw it and I guess someone’s goats died around the same time? I dunno. Anyway, people think it was actually a coyote with mange and the goat thing was unrelated or made up, but the story kind of stuck and traveled.”

“What’s bigfoot?” Idia asks. His face scrunches beneath the hood, like he’s trying to figure out what kind of monster could possibly have earned that name.

“Like an ape, but it walks upright like a man.”

“Oh.” Idia makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “Is that it?”

“Well…” For all the fervor around it, I guess it doesn’t sound very exciting when you say it out loud. “It’s in a location where apes aren’t supposed to exist, and a lot of people kept saying it might be more intelligent than we think, and then people started saying it might have psychic powers, but I think that was just the myth spinning out of control. Or people just trying to drum up publicity so they can sell you things.”

Azul’s head bobs back up from the game. “People made money off that?”

“There were tourist traps. People sold, like, bigfoot fur or would take you on paid tours to see bigfoot, or sell you bigfoot calls, or a bunch of other stuff. I don’t really know, I didn’t pay that much attention. It always seemed kind of stupid to me.”

Azul’s eyes get distant for a moment, then he seems to shake it off. Maybe he doesn’t think there’s a market for it, or he thinks hawking such things is beneath him. Come to think of it, he doesn’t actually seem to ever engage in any outright scams. Schemes, yes. Underhanded dealings, absolutely. Generally scummy, capitalist assholery, of course. But I’ve never heard anyone saying something he sold them wasn’t good, or it didn’t work.

I guess that means he has some kind of scruples. My opinion of him rises. Very slightly.

“I’ve heard of people selling stuff like that,” Idia muses, moving his little meeple between a village and a monster point. “Render teeth or scarabullet shells. Sometimes they throw them in with actual monster stuff, which is really annoying, because then you have to sort out the junk from the SSR pulls.” Both Azul and I look at him. “Uh, STYX sometimes uses monster parts for experiments,” he explains, retreating back into his hoodie as he does so.

“If there are really monsters, then how do you sort out the not real ones from the real ones?” I ask.

“The real ones are the ones we have evidence for,” Azul says, with that familiar ‘duh, obviously’ tone to his voice. I bristle at the implication.

“Yeah, but how do you know they’re not really out there somewhere?” I insist.

“How do you know yours aren’t out there somewhere?” Idia asks, still in his hoodie.

“Because we do!” I say, then realize that’s a bad explanation and try again. “Because for some of them, no one’s been able to ever give any kind of evidence that’s not faked, or produced a body. Like, for bigfoot, it’s been so long since the original that if there is one, it’d be dead, and if there’s more than once, you’d need to have some kind of sustainable breeding population, which would be a lot easier to find. Or someone brought a couple of orangutans or gorillas over from Africa and there’s a breeding pair, but the point of bigfoot is that it isn’t any ape we already know about, so it has to either be a native population, or someone’s breeding hybrids in their basement, which is honestly just as unbelievable…”

Azul’s staring at me. So’s Idia. Neither of their expressions are totally comprehending. I assume Azul’s at least a little more used to it, since Floyd will sometimes go onto strange tangents. Idia’s used to strange tangents as well, just clearly not being on the receiving end of one.

“I’m saying, people have spent so long looking for these things that if they really existed, we’d know. And some of them have really restricted areas they could even be in, so we can search them really thoroughly. Like the Loch Ness Monster- people have gone searching for her so much that it’s pretty much the only lake in the world we can be sure doesn’t have a monster in it!”

“Why do people believe it, then?” Idia says.

“People believe whatever they want,” I say.

Azul, who’s well-versed in the art of telling people just enough so that they decide he’s telling them what they want to hear, nods.

“I think a lot of people believe it because it’s fun,” I say. “And because it makes the world seem less boring. People always wanted to believe in magic in my world. I guess having weird monster-animals around, stuff that was kind of plausible even if it wasn’t really magic, kind of fulfilled the same thing.”

Not for the first time, I think about how stupid-cool it is that I’m in a world without magic, and I can’t even appreciate it because I’m stuck here with no way to get home, and no responsible people to help me out. I don’t even have any magic of my own to play with, and there’s no way to learn it. Isn’t getting Isekaied supposed to give you cool powers?

“Anyway,” I say, trying to direct my thoughts literally anywhere else, “it’s not like there hasn’t been anything we thought was a cryptid that later turned out to be real. Like, there was the coelacanth. We thought that was extinct, until some random fisherman pulled one up. Or the giant squid. I think people thought it might have been a cryptid for a while before we found out that was definitely real.”

Azul pulls a little bit of a face. “Ugh. Those things.”

I whip my head toward him. That’s right, he lives in the ocean normally. “Have you seen one?”

“No, of course not. They don’t come near civilized areas, and our guards would drive one off if they did. They’re just stupid. Merfolk have been blamed for attacking ships before, and it turned out it was a giant squid trying to see if an enormous boat would fit into its beak.”

I blink. I know people blamed giant squids for taking down ships in the past, but I didn’t think they actually did that. I was kind of under the impression they couldn’t stay close to the surface for very long. But maybe I’m wrong. Or maybe the giant squids here are different.

“All these cryptids seem to be of land animals,” I say, finally looking back at the game. I don’t touch the draw deck, but there’s a small discard pile and a few stacks of unused tokens that I can glance through.

“The game was made by land folk,” Azul says. “It makes sense there would be a bias.”

“Um, you can actually buy an undersea expansion,” Idia says. “Plus, uh, the two ‘confirmed monsters’ expansions. And the ancient beings expansion. And the fairy expansion.”

“I’ll add it to the club’s potential purchase list,” Azul says, though his voice has the tone of a parent agreeing to think about something so their kid will stop asking. Azul’s the board game president, isn’t he? I know board games are kind of expensive. He must handle the budget with an iron fist.

“Are there urban legends for merfolk?” I ask, curious.

Azul moves his little figure to another space on the board and starts rummaging through his tokens. “They’re a bit different from land tales. Merfolk aren’t as numerous as those on land, and our settlements tend toward large city-states, rather than sprawling continents. Outside city borders, the ocean is a dangerous place, with threats from both monsters and mundane creatures. It’s harder to say if certain things are real or not. There’s not such a clear delineation from our settlements and the Undiscovered Lands.” He plays a few tokens in silence, seems to think for a moment, then frowns. “Except I can state with near-certainty that the mer-angler is not real.”

“The what?” I ask.

“You’re aware of what an anglerfish is?” Azul asks. I nod. “It’s larger. And the lure is not meant to mimic a glowworm, but an injured merperson. And they are also decent sonic mimics.”

“They’re what?” I say.

“They can mimic voices,” Idia fills in. “That was a big plot point in Undersea Kingdoms, when they were looking for a way to activate the ancient technomantic seals in the Altenas kingdom, which would only be activated by the voice of the long-dead princess, so they needed to find a mer-angler that had heard her voice to mimic, it, but it turned out the princess wasn’t dead after all, which I totally saw coming, but it was still tearjerking anyway-”

“How do you know for sure that one’s not real?” I ask as Idia trails off into muttering about the specific plot points.

“Any slain monsters are recorded in the Records Hall in Atlantica,” Azul says. “There’s never been a record of that one in particular, and a monster that hunts merfolk in specific would have been recorded there.”

“Unless no merfolk ever managed to kill it,” I say, dropping my voice into as spooky-scary a tone as I can make it. “And there are a bunch of unkillable monsters roaming the ocean, just waiting for an unsuspecting merfolk to come across them…”

Azul fixes me with a deadpan, unimpressed, ‘are you done yet?’ sort of look. “Hardly.” Then he pauses and that businessman smirk starts to creep up his face. “However, if you were looking for some more information on actual merfolk lore, I’d only be too happy to inform you- provided, of course, that you cover the cost of my time to do so-”

“Hard pass,” I say. “You know the library has books on merfolk society, right?”

“Books primarily written by land dwellers,” Azul grouses. “They hardly convey the depth of the information.”

I stare at him for a moment (was that a pun?) but the expression on his face suggests it was unintentional. “It’s still a no.”

Azul gives a ‘can’t blame me for trying’ shrug and goes back to the game. I toy with a couple more cards. Neither of them speak again- Idia seems pleased for the silence. It’s some of the most talking I’ve ever seen him to at school without his tablet.

There’s one more round in the game. Idia gets to capitalize on a trend for something called a mogloto, which kind of looks like someone’s kidney got out of their body, quadrupled in size, grew a bunch of coarse, black hair, and started rolling around on its own. It’s pretty ugly, and I don’t know how threatening it’s supposed to be. Then again, we have jackalope cryptids. I don’t think they’re supposed to be threatening either. Just weird.

I still don’t know how they can tell for sure if something’s real or not, given the scope of the Undiscovered Lands. How do they know something didn’t crawl out of the monstrous depths for a quick peek around before scuttling away, never to be seen again? Then again, that might only work for civilizations at the border. I guess someone seeing a big, weird monster in the middle of civilized territory might get more skepticism.

On the other hand, people have been making up stories for as long as there have been people, so ‘monsters that aren’t real monsters’ is definitely a possibility. And they’ve conceptualized aliens, though their design for a classic alien is a weird, squat blue thing, instead of a little green guy. I guess it’s not that strange they’ve made up some monsters, too. And their monsters would probably be even more realistic than mine- ‘bug that shoots lightning’ is pretty impossible on Earth, but significantly less impossible in Twisted Wonderland.

It must be hard to figure out a baseline for ‘unbelievable’ here. Magic doesn’t seem to have any fixed rules- there are things people say you ‘can’t’ do, but that seems mostly confined to ‘bring people back from the dead’ and apparently people are working on that one. The rules of physics are a hard limit on Earth. Here, the rules of physics seem more like a firm suggestion.

The revelation actually makes me feel a bit woozy- kind of like how I did after Jamil hypnotized me that one time. An ‘oh no, I am really out of control here’ sensation that pulls at the bottom of my stomach in an unsettled swoop.

“Mrowwr.” My head snaps up and I look around a little. Idia, having just completed the last move of the last round of the game, does the same. It only takes me a moment to find the source of the sound- Sassy is seated precariously on the outer windowsill of one of the closed windows. She sees me looking, then taps her paw on the glass and warbles out another, “Mreowrra.”

I get up and open the window for her. “Hey, girlie. What are you doing here?”

She winds her way in and brushes up against my legs. Idia emerges fully from his sweatshirt, eyes like saucers as he stares at her. I walk back over to the table and she follows, Idia’s gaze trained on her the entire time.

Azul looks over and seems considerably less impressed. “I don’t believe cats are allowed on the school property,” he says.

“Professor Trein’s cat is,” I say.

“Familiars are allowed,” Azul corrects. “Regular pets are not.” He gives me a look like he’s weighing the odds of being able to blackmail me with this particular broken rule. Then his gaze slides to Idia and he seems to shrug it off. I suppose keeping the heir to a massive secret corporation happy is more important than trying to extort the pitiful sum of money and labor I have access to.

Sassy hops up on the table of the game, her paws narrowly avoiding hitting any of the game pieces. Azul pulls a face and makes to move her away. She narrows her eyes, hunching down in protest. Her ears flatten back and she growls. Azul retracts his hand, eyes wide and uncertain.

“Here kitty,” Idia says, scooting back from the table. His expression is almost pleading, desperately hopeful. “C’mere?”

Sassy eyes Idia for a moment, then stands up, aims a lazy swat in Azul’s direction, then hops over to Idia. She bears his affection for only a moment before trotting over to me. I crouch and she scrambles up to balance on my shoulder.

“D-did you train her to do that?” Idia asks. “Uh, ‘cause, uh, m-maybe she could do that with me?”

“I didn’t train her. I think she taught herself. Maybe she’ll try for you?” I move closer, trying to tilt my shoulders toward Idia. Sassy remains perched firmly on top of me and starts licking my hair. “Maybe not.”

Idia sags with disappointment. Azul brushes the entire conversation aside. “I believe we were about to calculate victory points?” he says.

Still drooping, Idia starts to calculate everything himself. It’s a quiet affair. In my family, we go one at a time, explaining where we’re getting all our points from. Both Azul and Idia calculate their points with deadly efficiency in complete silence. I’m not sure where they’re getting all the points from- I think having leftover monster tokens earns you a point per two tokens, but that’s all I’ve gotten.

By the time calculations conclude, Azul is smiling smugly and Idia is glaring at the game board. It’s an extremely narrow victory- three points separate them. But Azul is the winner. I attempt to pat Idia’s shoulder in sympathy and he retreats like I’m trying to touch him with a taser.

“It was a good attempt, of course. I’m sure, with the right compensation, I’d be willing to give you some pointers,” Azul says, delightfully smug. Idia emerges a little from his sweatshirt to glare.

Given the opportunity, I lift my camera, still hanging around my neck, and snap a photo. Idia dives backward into the safety of his sweatshirt as soon as the flash goes off, while Azul’s head snaps in my direction. “Thanks for the photos!” I chirp. “They’ll be recorded in the newspaper for your viewing at a later date! We appreciate your contribution to the school’s culture!”

Sassy leaps off my shoulder, running down the hall next to me as I take off. Fortunately, while I am not at all in shape, the people I’ve offended are possibly the two least athletic people in the entire school. Admittedly, annoying Azul is probably not the best move, but I don’t think he’ll consider it worth bothering me further. At worst, he’ll send the twins to try and get the photo off me, and I’m not that wedded to it. I can hand it over without much of a fight. Idia could be a problem, if he decides to do something, but I’m friendly enough with Ortho that I think he can act as a buffer. It’s not like I plan on printing the photo, anyway. I’ll just keep it with the others.

“Come on,” I tell Sassy as we round another corridor and slow to a walk. “We’ll need to drop the rest of these photos off at the newspaper room before it closes.”

“Mrup!” she agrees, and brushes herself against my legs as we walk down the twisting halls. Her purr vibrates through my pant leg, and manages to loosen the omnipresent tension in my chest.

Read the next chapter here.

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Prime numbers for the writing asks!

[Writer questions!]

[1 is neither prime nor composite!][also this was So Many Questions so I ended up just picking my favorites (of which there were still a lot)]

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

The drafting would be doable; the editing/occasional rewriting less so. I do occasionally handwrite, and it's nice to have a built-in editing phase when I transcribe the draft onto my computer (it's also nice to actually use my collection of stationery, what a concept).

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

I don't know if this is a superstition so much as an observed phenomenon, but after yet another failed novel attempt I have the fear that if I write a scene from farther along in the story (beyond a 100 word or so dialogue or description), especially if it's one I'm looking forward to writing, I will not finish the story.

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

Probably getting to share my writing with people. In high school and college when I was involved in literary magazines, I had to put a couple of my pieces under pseudonyms for various reasons and I did not enjoy that feeling; nowadays it's a little frustrating that I can't just fling google doc links for my fanfiction at people I know irl (I don't want to risk them finding my AO3 and by extension my tumblr).

On a more positive note, I wrote a short story called "Dear Abby" and submitted it to my college literary magazine as a freshman and it was unanimously accepted, everyone at the meeting loved it, and when we hosted an open mic my friends in the magazine practically demanded that I perform it (which I did). It remains one of my favorite things that I've written.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you to write about? What is easy?

Oh god suddenly I have forgotten about every subject matter ever. I think I struggle with heavy worldbuilding, which is why so much of my writing is set in places I'm at least somewhat familiar with (or can easily research). I also tend to take settings from my life and repurpose them to work around this weakness.

Easier writing - this is a weird one, but I think gender and sexuality crises come a little easier to me than they perhaps should. Best not to think too hard about it.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

I have multiple active WIPs right now (which I normally try to avoid, as it leads to none of them getting done), but! I will talk about the juggling AU.

Basically, I was at a juggling festival last January with my friend who is a casual Newsies fan, and we were discussing which props/skills the various newsies characters would be into. This, of course, led to me realizing that I could use this for my mini bang fic, so on the (very snowy) drive back my friend and I figured out the overarching plot. We decided early on that it would somewhat mirror the plot of Newsies since we had Davey as an outsider with a slightly different skillset from everyone else.

A piece of background lore that won't necessarily make it into the story is how Katherine got into contact poi - as a preteen/teen, she went to CTY (nerd camp, essentially), where poi are very popular. When she got to college, she (much like one of my friends) wanted to bring her poi to the juggling club, but was nervous that people wouldn't be into other circus props. Turns out, there were a couple casual poi people (poi-ple?) in the club, but also some people who made fun of poi. Katherine wasn't a huge fan of that, so when she learned about contact poi she convinced her mom to split the cost of a set of contact poi as a birthday present and learned how to juggle them. Turns out juggling poi is pretty hard, so it's made Katherine a much better juggler. I got the idea for this from a combination of my irl friend's anxiety + wanting a parallel to Katherine being taken seriously as a reporter in canon.

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

I am still in shock that anyone wants to read my silly gay fanfiction, but! I appreciate you all so much and I have all your comments saved in a folder on Google Photos.

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Ch3 Dead Plants and Memes

Beta read by Tarek_giverofcookies

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 3- Dead Plants and Memes

“You know,” Crowley drawled with his chin in his hand, elbow braced on the register counter as they both stared down at the 5th dead plant Aziraphale had brought back to the shop, “I’d probably give you a discount for bringing the pots back if I didn’t know it was because you kept murdering my plants.”

“My plants, you mean,” Aziraphale corrected, trying to distract them both from the fact that this was the fifth, the fifth!, plant he’d killed.

Crowley tipped his head to the side, a sly tilt to his grin as he looked straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark glasses. “Do I?” he challenged, a hint of a purr to his voice that sent a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine and gave him a feeling that he was perhaps missing something.

“Well, of course,” he insisted, “I did buy it after all.”

He peered at Crowley trying to figure out that feeling and a hint of awareness of... of something but before he could figure it out Crowley’s grin tripped into an amused smile and he shoved himself to standing, palms flat on the counter.

“Right. Victim #6.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale’s mouth turned down, offended as much as he was embarrassed but before he could continue on Crowley snorted, gave a dismissive wave and claimed, “teasing, teasing,” and sauntered out from behind the counter to prowl the isles of his shop.

“Well, still!” Aziraphale insisted, trailing after the ginger and worrying the ring around his pinky finger, back and forth, back and forth, “that was terribly-”

“-Rude?” Crowley supplied with a glance back at him over his shoulder, grin terribly bright.

Aziraphale huffed. “-Inconsiderate. Honestly. It’s not as if I mean to kill them Crowley,” he rushed on when Crowley turned around, mouth open to say something, “or feel good about killing them!”

Crowley shut his mouth, twisting it back and forth as if he was literally chewing over his words as he watched Aziraphale in that particular way that made him think he was seeing far more than just Aziraphale’s physical form.

Crowley finally settled on a soft “I know” before abruptly turning on his heel to march towards a purple leafed plant and carrying on in a much lighter tone, “Alright! What about a gorgeous Elephant Ear?”

Aziraphale just watched him for a moment, feeling something else in his chest and a slow wonderment over how very many sides Crowley seemed to have and just how well hidden they all were but the one he chose to front.

Perhaps that quiet admission would have meant nothing or not all that much to someone else, but Aziraphale was used to a lot of his own particulars being brushed aside and yet Crowley hadn’t. The man had been honestly teasing most likely but when it hit a nerve he had paused, looked, addressed it, then moved on to keep from making Aziraphale more uncomfortable. So it hadn’t looked like much, a brush off, a stumble in conversation perhaps, if not for that soft tone of voice. The careful eye contact. The pause.

Aziraphale had nearly thirty years of reading every minutia people revealed in situations more perilous  than this one and even with leaving that life, the skill and passive use of it hadn’t faded. So he noticed it all. Noticed that the loud mouth Crowley, prone to bluster, cutting wit, and dramatics, had decided to stop and be understanding, soft even, for just a moment.

Crowley was still prattling on about the plant, seemingly a touch nervously now.

Ah. He hadn’t yet responded had he? How terribly rude to leave the dear hanging like that after such a kindness. A kindness he hadn’t had anything to gain by.

Perhaps he was still so used to the cruelty of the life he left behind and that was why that small kindness had surprised him and meant so much at the same time.

Crowley picked up the pot and turned to face Aziraphale finally, somewhat half hidden by the plant.

“So. What do y’think?”

Aziraphale smiled terribly fond and reached out to gently run his fingers across a leaf.

“It’s lovely.”

“Ngk.”

-

“You are ridiculous.”

Crowley scowled at the computer screen, knowing that even while being on the other side of the internet that Anathema would be able to tell. “Am not. Shuddup. Are you gonna help me or not?”

She cackled. “With this quest? Sure!” And as if to prove the point, she hexed the monster that had spawned behind them while they were talking and began attacking them.

Crowley groaned, “no you witch,” she laughed and he ignored it, “with the book.”

“For your problem customer? God you really are being ridiculous, just ask him out already.”

Crowley groaned in real life while simultaneously eliminating three more of the threats in their game AlwaysWinter. “Not everything is about that Anathema.”

He could hear her eye roll. “Whatever you say, you closeted romantic. This cave’s clear. Which way?”

“Left. The boss’s right and once we beat him we wont be able to come back.”

They continued for a while, just clearing the remaining monsters and looting the dungeon’s branches, chattering about the game or Anathema’s day. Then as they made their way back to the final cave with the boss and it’s goons, Anathema asked. “What is it about then?”

“What’s what about?”

“Oh don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

Crowley snorted.

“Crowley.”

He groaned. “Fine. Whatever.” He was silent for a moment, staring unseeing at the boss as they came to a stop just outside of the entrance of the cave. A few more steps and they’d trigger the boss battle and he wouldn’t have to talk.

She’d never let it go if he did that. She’d just hound him as soon as they were done. At least this way, he could just blurt something out and then start the boss battle after she got one line in and maybe the conversation would be dropped after that.

He sighed. “It’s just- he’s, ugh.. this is dumb- ridiculous.”

“Is not.”

“Of course you wouldn’t think it is. You just want blackmail material on me.”

She laughed. “As if I don’t have enough of that already. You’re stalling flower boy.”

He groaned. He didn’t like this. Or he did. It was hard to tell anymore. Was it freeing to be more honest, more vulnerable with someone you could trust? Or was it bloody terrifying?

“He’s ridiculous, fussy, funny, kind, and a bit of a bastard. I just- I’d- I fucking hate this. I just want to befriend him. Is that good enough for you?”

Maybe he was a bit more aggressive than warranted at the end there but Anathema didn’t say anything, just was quiet for a moment. Just as the anxiety was starting to itch beneath his skin at the thought of having pissed her off, she softly said “you really are sweet Anthony.”

“I am not! I shouldn’t have told you- I’m-”

“-yes yes, you’re scary and mean. What I mean is that’s really sweet. You should have more friends and I think it’s sweet that you want to befriend him.”

“Feel like a bloody high schooler saying it like that.” He complained, dragging his hands down his face  in exasperation, careful not to dislodge the headset he was wearing. Two months of sporadic meetings with the man and he still hadn’t figured out a way to befriend him or make it all sound normal in his head.

In a mocking ‘there, there’ kind of tone Anathema cheerfully added, “and you’re just as bad at it as one!”

“Are you ready to start the boss battle?” He asked a touch desperately, trying valiantly to move past all of this.

“Oh fine, you big ba- CROWLEY What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m not doing anyt-” his indignant tone spluttered to a halt as he dragged his hands away from his face to look up at his screen just in time to see his character charging in through at least three groups of minions and heading straight towards the boss.

“Just because you want to run away from your feelings DOESN’T MEAN LITERALLY RUN STRAIGHT INTO THE BOSS BATTLE YOU-”

There’s a weightless moment where the blood in his veins freezes, his heart trips on the next beat, and his mind throws itself into a figure eight of panic trying to figure out who found him. And then Warlock’s symbol pops up on his screen, three sixes connected by the stems to make a looping circle figure, and then Warlock’s voice itself hacks into their voice chat yelling “LEEEEEEROY JENKINS!” and all of the breath Crowley was holding rushes out in choked off laugh.

“Who the-” Anathema starts but Crowley cuts her off because he can’t help the feeling of pride that just swelled, “my little hellion! You’re getting better- you didn’t even set off any of my firewalls this time.” Not a peep, and that wasn’t easy to do, Warlock really was getting better in leaps and bounds.

“Little hellion?” Anathema mutters lowly, thinking, as Crowley finds all of his control over the computer is stripped away. The mouse, the keyboard, everything but the voice chat left open for him to still communicate with them. He’s pulling out his laptop when she goes, “oh! So this is one of the kids!”

“Not a kid!” Warlock retorts, offended, and this is good, good, because he’s distracted allowing Crowley some more element of surprise.

“Oh? How old are you then?”

“Sixteen!”

“Sixteen? Who taught you Leeroy Jenkins?!”

“Nanny did!”

Bewildered, Anathema disbelievingly repeats, “Nanny?!”

He’s not going to try and retake control over his desktop computer, a hacking tug-o-war over it would be fun but--

“Oi! Do not kill my character Warlock!”

“Well hurry up and take back control of your computer! You’re getting slow in your old age, Nanny.”

“Slow?! Are you telling me you can’t keep a simple character-” now surrounded and being beat on by no less than twelve minions and a boss “-from dying for five minutes? Some gamer you claim to be.”

His character’s health is dropping dangerously low and it keeps getting stunned and really Crowley needs to look away and focus on getting past Warlock’s firewalls, which have gotten better, good boy, “and don’t think I didn’t notice you not helping Anathema!”

She laughs, “I’m just enjoying the show, Nanny.”

At the same time Warlock and Crowley both make noises of objection to that.

“-guh-wah-Anathema!”

“Hey!! Only I get to call Nanny that!”

“Okay, okay!” She backs off with a bemused laugh, “can’t say I expected that.”

“Full of surprises, me.” Crowley snarked back, half distracted by hacking into Warlock’s computer and yet unable resist sassing back.

“Why are you guys playing this lame game anyways?”  Warlock broke in impatiently, trying to hide the fact that no matter how fast he’s picking up the controls and powers, he might be too late to save Crowley’s character from an unfortunate death.

“Because he doesn’t have enough friends to play dnd with.”

“Excuse you! Where are all of your friends to play dnd with, witch girl?”

“Oh my godddd that’s even lamer!”

“Oh as if you didn’t pick the standard tiefling warlock the first time you played, little hellion.”

“Nanny!! How do you even know about that?!”

Anathema’s cackling in the background is the perfect soundtrack for this moment. He hits the last key and lets the grin take over his face as he seizes control of Warlock’s computer at home. “You had your first game online.”

“You spied on me?!”

“Nah. As soon as I figured it was dnd I buggered off, didn’t want interrupt your game with one of our wars.” Crowley paused, finally figuring out just what was in Warlock’s tone just then, “oh? Wait- did you do something embarrassing that I should find out about?”

“No!!”

That was a yes then. Oh what-

“God take back your character already Nanny!”

“Eh, I’ve got something better.”

“Wait- crap-”

“Language-”

“As if! Just- wait before you shut my computer down!”

“...alright. What?”

“My dad’s got this thing coming up and I may have left your business card with him.”

“May have?”

“Okay fine. I definitely left it. And probably forged a promotional email from you to him.”

“Warlock!”

“It’s fine! I swear it’s fine!”

As reassuring as that was, Crowley was still digging through the boy’s hard-drive looking for the evidence, “you don’t even have my business card.”

“Noooo,” he drew out, “but, uh, it wasn’t hard to recreate. Not sure if I got the right paper but dad doesn’t really notice that kind of thing anyways.” A muttered, barely heard, “he doesn’t notice anything really.”

Crowley found it finally and took a moment to sit and look at it. Surprisingly, it was done really well. It matched his business card and website and could, actually, look like a real email from his business. If he was the sort to keep up with emailing. Newsletters were a bit out dated for him and honestly, most emails like that tended to be entirely too annoying to read so he figured he wasn’t loosing out on too much business that way. Though it would ring as more legitimate for his business to have both to a rich snob like Warlock’s unfortunate father.

He’d been quiet too long evidently, because Warlock’s voice came through less confidently than usual as he asked, “was that not alright?”

He probably only meant well, and, well, it’s not like Crowley couldn’t use the business.

“Nah, it’s fine. You did a really good job on the email, almost looks like I could have sent it myself.”

He could practically hear both the relief and eyeroll over the headset from Warlock. “If you ever sent emails you mean.”

“Eh. Outdated. Anyways, when’s this event? Hold on- does this say- it says I’ll set up and arrange the flowers on site!”

“Uhhh… Yeah?”

Crowley groaned, “no no, I’ll figure it out. ‘s just a pain to do by myself.”

Anathema, sensing a weak point, jumped in, “maybe you should hire someone to help you out at the shop then.”

Crowley groaned, “not this again Ana...”

“Don’t call me Ana and yes this again. I don’t understand why you feel the need to work yourself to the bone in that place by yourself.”

“I’ll call you Ana all I want if you’re gonna keep beating this dead horse. I don’t trust anyone else with the plants! Some of them are delicate and I don’t need any clumsy fingered dolts bruising them or-”

“-or harming them or blah blah blah, just get someone to help you transport them then! Or just run the cash register and not touch the plants!”

Crowley groaned.

“Yeeeah, I’m gonna go now,” said Warlock, the son of two parents who didn’t really get along and often fought.

“Ah, shit, sorry Warlock. Not a real fight, just a...”

“disagreement,”

“Dissagreement. We’ve been through this debate a hundred times and Ana doesn’t know when to stop-”

“-Only because you don’t know when to give in!”

“Anyway! It’s after 11pm on a school night, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Well you see-”

“Goodnight little hellion!”

“No- wait!”

A moment of silence and then Anathema asked, “did you just shut down his computer?”

Crowled hummed a deviant agreement before adding, “and all his lights and phone.”

She was quiet for a moment. “That really is evil.”

“Eh. The phone’ll reboot in an hour and he knows how to unlock his computer- hey- wait a minute! When did my character die?!”

He stared mournfully at his dead character, had a moment of silence for his lost exp, and tried not to feel more betrayal at Anathema’s character hiding in the entrance of the cave than the boss and its minions standing over his dead body.

Anathema laughed.

[vagrantblvrd]

How about some mini-fics (ficlets???) from today’s GTA V video???

Alfreyco

====

The problem with dealing with independents like Alfredo is that -

“Sorry Trevor, it’s not personal,” he says, shrug in his voice. “Business.”

Trevor scoffs as he looks down at the zip ties around his wrists.

“Kinky,” he murmurs, and bites back a smirk at the sudden cough Alfredo seems to have contracted running around in this weather without a proper jacket and all. (Cold season, so tragic.) “Mind telling me who hired you this time?”

Alfredo gives Trevor a look, a shrug, and gentle hand on his shoulder to urge him along, answer enough because Trevor’s question aren’t part of the rules they set in place. (Cheating, really.)

“Don’t worry about it,” Alfredo says, tossing in a saucy little wink for good measure. “Not like you’ll be around here long.”

Yes, well.

The problem with dealing with independents like Alfredo is that Trevor <i>likes</i> him, doesn’t he.

Allows him to get away with this nonsense to bolster his reputation, draw more business his way. (Not every day you bag a Fake, let alone someone of Trevor’s standing.)

Because here’s the thing, about independents like Alfredo, you see.

People hire him to bring in troublemakers like Trevor. Have him hunt them down truss them up all nice and pretty for them. Pay him handsomely for it before they see him out the door.

Not his problem if they can’t hold on to said troublemaker once his part in things is done.

“Fine, fine,” Trevor sighs, glad it’s his day off so he won’t miss anything fun like meetings with B-Team to deal with the minutia involved in keeping a crew like theirs running or whatever chaos the core group has caused this time. “But I get to pick where we go for dinner on our next date.”

They’re not so much dates as Trevor extolling the benefits and whatnot of Alfredo joining their little band of misfits, but that whole business of <i>tomayto</i> versus <i>tomahto</i> and all.

“Deal,” Alfredo says, big old happy grin on his face that Trevor may or may not find endearing as hell.

(There’s a reason the crew loves to give Trevor shit regarding how kidnap-able he is when it comes to Alfredo.)

======== ========

Trevyan

====

“So,” Ryan purrs. Smug little smirk on his face and all-over insufferable. “About what you said earlier.”

Trevor sighs, because he’s got a big mouth and stupid brain and Ryan’s everything just does things to him.

He doesn’t correct Ryan’s misconception because the infuriating bastard will just twist it back on him, get this pleased little air to him while he does. (Trevor had meant the training exercise, not...bedroom activities, but Ryan’s very much Ryan, isn't he.)

This, right here? Ryan cornering him in a little out of the way place on one of the lower floors of the crew’s base is a problem.

Or should be, because Trevor’s got things to do, places to be. Can’t spend all day in the depths of the building with Mr. Vagabond like this, and yet -

“Tell you what,” Trevor says. Pitches his voice low, because secrets, and watches Ryan lean in further because who needs personal space bubbles? “You let me take care of crew business and we’ll talk all about it at home, hm?”

Trevor cheats a little. Rests his hand on Ryan’s chest, heartbeat strong and steady under his palm and this little smile on his face because Ryan is a study in contrasts. Complicated bastard, but he’s easy too.

Soft heart under everything and a lot of love to give, and he lets Trevor get away with far too much.

Ryan makes this noise in his throat and waggles his eyebrows in a patently ridiculous move.

“Oh really?”

Trevor snorts, because while Ryan is capable of pulling off suave when the situation warrants he’s too much of a lovable goofball when he’s not acting.

“We’ll have to see about that one, now won’t we,” he says, and presses a little kiss to the side of Ryan’s mouth as he ducks around him. “Now be good and help me with the armory inventory.”

They need to re-stock after the last heist, little jobs and training sessions since then, and have let it slide too long as it is. B-Team is getting increasingly passive aggressive in their e-mails the last few days.

There’s a sigh behind him, because Trevor’s a strong proponent of work before play, but when Trevor glances back Ryan’s following along without further complaint.

(Ryan’s also aware Trevor’s a fan of the adage work hard, play hard and knows they both stand to benefit from that later.)

======== ========

Gen

======

People underestimate Jack.

Look at her and dismiss her as less, weaker, based on some overblown, and entirely unwarranted sense of superiority based on outdated beliefs.

And that’s fine, because she’s learned to use it against those kinds of assholes. Lets them underestimate and dismiss her because it makes things easier for her.

It’s harder to pull one over on the Fakes, but it can be done.

They all know Jack’s specialty has more to do with vehicles. Speed demon behind the wheel, ace pilot behind the stick and whatever else.

She’s a decent shot and a passable sniper, but leagues behind the true marksmen in the crew’s ranks, the skilled and gifted snipers they’re lucky to have, and everyone knows it.

[swanqueeneverafter]

After The Sunset, Pt.9

Wonderland. Past. Coronation Day. (With the sudden and unexpected death of the Red King, Anastasia is hours away from being crowned Queen and supreme ruler of Wonderland. Quickly packing her things, Anastasia glances at her would-be coronation dress before closing the closet door and turning to leave.) Cora: (Stood waiting for her:) "Getting cold feet?" Anastasia: “Your Majesty. I was... I was having the hardest time with my gown.” Cora: “Don't lie to me. You're about to make a terrible mistake.” Anastasia: “No. No, I'm about to fix one. I can’t rule Wonderland, it’s too much.” Cora: “Stop! Perhaps this is all my fault. Is it possible that you're not running from your people, but from me?” Anastasia: “No. You've been wonderful. I mean, yes you did try to have me killed, but since then... No, it's not you at all.” Cora: “Oh, good. I thought maybe I'd scared you off with all my talk of your potential and how special a young woman I think you are.” Anastasia: “Special?” Cora: “I'm sorry. It's not my place to say such things. I'm sure you've heard it many times from your own mother.” Anastasia: (Nods:) “Yes. She believes in me, just as you do.” Cora: “That’s not surprising. What’s inside you, Anastasia, is hard to miss.” Anastasia: “Really?” Cora: “What I see in you is a desire to make a mark in this world. Someday, we'll all move on, and when we do, do you really want to be buried in your family’s mausoleum, mourned by few. Or do you want thousands to gather around, celebrating the glorious life you led. The life you were meant for?” Anastasia: “How can you be sure that's the life for me?” Cora: “Because you could have been a nobody, but you chose to be a queen. You chose power over weakness. Don't be shaken by the doubts you have rattling around in your head. The part of your story where you play the dutiful queen is over now, but a new chapter is just beginning. You can be a wonderful ruler.” Anastasia: “Will you show me how?” Cora: “Oh, of course I will. (Embraces her:) I'll teach you everything you need to know.” Castle Balcony. A Short Time Later. (The people of Wonderland cheer as their Queen steps out onto the balcony. Looking down at them, Anastasia's face is unreadable as Rapunzel joins her on the balcony.) Rapunzel: "Oh, Anastasia, I'm so proud of you. (Noticing the pensive look on her daughter's face:) Is there something wrong?" Anastasia: "No, Mother. It's just a lot to take in." Rapunzel: "I know, my darling. But I have full faith that you will be the greatest ruler this land has ever known. Now, where's that smile?" Anastasia: (Adopting a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes:) "Right here." Rapunzel: "Good girl. Now, wave to your people, my Queen." Herald: “The King is dead. Long live the Queen!” (Anastasia turns and waves to the people who cheer loudly for her once more.)

Enchanted Forest. Past. (In a village, Robin and the Merry Men give the Sheriff’s gold to the poor villagers.) Marian: “You know Nottingham will want you dead now.” Robin Hood: “I consider that a victory.” Marian: “You're the most famous hoodlum in all of Sherwood. And what of Rumplestiltskin? You never gave him the potion. If he ever sees your face again, he'll kill you on sight.” Robin Hood: “Well, then I shall have to make sure that he never sees my face again. (Pulls something from his pocket:) Should I ever run across him, if I'm ever in a pinch... (Holds up the item:) the infamous six-leaf clover of Oz. They say it can transform you into anyone you wish to be.” Marian: “Clever, Robin Hood. Very clever.” Robin Hood: “Well, you didn't think I'd leave here with nothing, did you?” Marian: “I should've known better.” Robin Hood: (As they leave the village and their tavern behind:) “I'm sorry that I didn't tell you what I was doing.” Marian: “There's always now.” Robin Hood: “I was there to steal something so I could keep the tavern. I thought that was what was important, but...I'm not a barkeep. I'm a thief.” Marian: “I could've told you that.” Robin Hood: “While I was in Oz, I learned that my thieving can be put to good use. I met a friend, someone who needed help. And when I helped him, it showed me that... When you steal for yourself, that makes you a thief. But when you steal for someone else, that makes you a hero.” Marian: “And you are.” Robin Hood: “Sadly, that message didn’t sink in for the friend. But no matter, I still want to keep making a difference. Marian, this is no life for a family.” Marian: “It is. As long as I'm with you.” Robin Hood: “You want to stay with me? This isn't gonna be easy.” Marian: “It also won't be boring. Doesn't matter where we are or what we face... I want to be with you.” Robin Hood: “I love you.” Marian: “And I you.” (They kiss.) Wonderland. Past. (Anastasia stands admiring herself in the mirror. Although no less beautiful, her attire and demeanor has changed to one far more austere.) Cora: (Stands watching:) "Oh, I'm so proud, Anastasia. You remind me of myself. I too had humble beginnings, and yet both of us have pulled ourselves up to become the most formidable women. Now, where the King believed magic separates us from our subjects, I happen to think a little separation is a welcome thing. We queens have so much to think about. Why not use everything at our disposal to help us rule?" Anastasia: "I guess I hadn't thought of it in that way." Cora: "Trust me, Anastasia, In order to rule your people well, you must keep your distance. The people must know there is a line they cannot cross, between them and their rulers." Anastasia: "Do you really believe that?" Cora: "Sadly, it is the only way."

Storybrooke. Present. Town Meeting. Mayor's Office. (The monthly town meeting is taking place in Regina's office. Where once the use of the auditorium would have been required to seat all the interested residents, turnout has dropped considerably since the uniting of the realms. In addition to the Mayor and the Sheriff, the people attending the meeting include; The Charmings, Archie, Leroy, Granny, Ruby, Ashley and her family and several other town members.) Regina: "Very well, if we're all assembled. (Regina bangs a gavel to start the meeting:) This session of the Storybrooke city council will come to order. We will begin by reading the minutes from our last meeting. Snow, if you would like to do the honours?” Snow White: (Stands:) “Thank you, Madam Mayor. (Begins to read the minutes:) Minutes from last Storybrooke city council meeting, eighteenth of September...” (As Snow begins reading, Emma settles herself in for another long morning. Looking around the room, she smiles at the familiar faces and wonders yet again how anyone would voluntarily attend one of these meetings. It’s not like anything has happened since last month after all. But, in her role as sheriff and, perhaps more importantly, dutiful wife of the mayor, Emma has no choice but to tough it out one more time. The mention of the proposed renovations to Granny’s holds her attention momentarily, before her mother moves on to talk about Leroy’s latest complaints about whatever is bothering him this month. Catching Regina's eye, Emma smiles warmly at her before the Mayor's attention is needed elsewhere. 'She really does love this stuff' the blonde thinks to herself with a shake of her head. Despite not wanting to be queen, Regina was clearly born to rule. With a natural poise and elegance, not to mention a withering stare, the Mayor of Storybrooke effortlessly holds the attention of everyone around her whenever she speaks. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for her mother, Emma muses. It's not that Snow White lacks the capacity to use words to stir the soul and inspire people, but away from the battlefield and safe from danger, her mother's voice often has the same effect of a sedative. Especially when reciting the minutia from last month's meeting.) Snow White: (Folding over a sheet of paper and continuing:) “Item two...” (Item two?! Emma’s mind screams as her mother continues her seemingly endless monologue. Finding a kindred spirit in her own father, David, Emma smirks when he winks to her in a show of camaraderie. If anyone knows what it’s like to be a supportive spouse, it’s definitely Prince Charming. Easily the more even tempered of her parents, their time spent as co-sheriff helped bridge some of the twenty-eight year gulf between them. It had been Snow's idea to send Emma through the wardrobe alone all those years ago, David had confessed to her one evening. Emma had already figured as much from simply observing her parents on a daily basis. Snow made the decisions and David went along with them. Of course, it mattered not to Emma who had made the fateful choice back then, only that because of it, she had spent the majority of her life alone. ‘But I've long since forgiven them’, Emma resolves. And, after all, they were in an impossible situation at the time. Suddenly shaken from her musings, Emma looks around for an open window, which must’ve been the obvious cause of the slight shiver that had just travelled through her body. Frowning when no one else seems to have been effected by the cool air, Emma sits up in her chair and attempts to at least look interested in the new school textbooks that had apparently been approved last month. A few more moments pass uneventfully and Emma can feel her eyelids starting to droop. Glancing to her wife, Emma checks she's not being watched as she picks up her copy of the meeting agenda and holds it up. Emma had discovered a couple of meetings ago, that if she held her copy at just the right angle, it would appear to others that she was reading. Whereas in truth, the sheriff had managed to spend the rest of that meeting napping. Of course, Emma would feel guilty about this later, but after all the recent fun she and Regina had been having, finding a chance to sneak in a little power nap would be beneficial to both of them, she reasoned. However, at the precise moment when Emma feels herself starting to fall asleep, her eyes spring wide open in surprise. She definitely felt something that time. This was no breeze or drop in temperature. What Emma felt was like the caress of a hand upon her. A familiar hand. But it couldn't have been. Not from here. She looked around the room to find everyone still avidly listening to Snow spout on about... whatever she was talking about. In fact the only person paying even the slightest bit of attention to her was... Regina. Upon receiving a smile from her wife, Emma's eyes narrow when she notices that the Mayor's hands are hidden from view. Far from feeling a chill, Emma's body now feels as if it’s warming up quite rapidly. Detecting the barest hint of a caress of fingertips along her thigh, Emma emits a sound that unfortunately does not go unnoticed. Looking up, she sees Snow White glancing at her, eyebrow raised. Thankfully Emma manages to convince her mother she’s fine by feigning a small cough.)

Snow White: “Next, I'd like to discuss preparations for the Halloween ball to be held later this month at the...” (Fortunately for Emma, Snow's continued talking manages to cover the sheriff's next involuntary utterance as she squeezes her thighs together, effectively trapping the phantom hand before it could reach its desired destination. Looking over at Regina, Emma watches as she erases something from her own copy of the agenda and leans down to blow the traces away. Locking eyes with the sheriff, Regina purses her lips and blows. Immediately feeling air travel over a particularly sensitive part of her anatomy, Emma shifts quickly once more in her seat, grabs her phone and begins to text. Picking up her own phone, Regina smiles as she reads the message.) Emma: "I know what you're doing. My mother is right there!" (After a moment, Regina sends her reply.) Regina: "I thought you liked the thought of being watched?" (Regina's phone buzzes a moment later.) Emma: "This is not what I meant and you know it." (There is a long pause without a reply. Looking over to her wife, Emma sees Regina's fingers moving in tight concentric circles just above the screen of her phone. Once Regina's fingers make contact with the touchscreen, Emma gasps as she feels those fingers mirrored on her body.) Snow White: "Did you have something to add, Regina?" Regina: (Glancing up from her phone:) "No, no, just checking the weather for the Halloween ball. Please, continue." David: (Leaning over to check on his daughter, whispering:) "Are you all right, Emma? You're looking a little hot. Perhaps you should take your jacket off?" Emma: (Nods:) "Maybe you're right, thanks. (Emma unzips her jacket and is about to remove it when she notices two very prominent reasons not to. Pulling her jacket closed, to David:) You know what, I'm fine. It can’t go on much longuhhh." (Emma's ability to form coherent words escapes her as she feels a phantom fingertip breach her last defense.) David: (Concern etched on his face:) "What's the matter, are you sick?" Emma: (Shakily:) "Oh, I'm not the one who's sick, believe me." (Turning away from her father, her legs clamped shut, Emma searches frantically for something along the office wall. Finding it, she uses the only option available to her and magically pulls the fire alarm. A split second after the alarm begins, Emma stands and bolts from the room, leaving everyone else in her wake.) Regina: (Nonchalantly, to Snow:) "I guess that means meeting adjourned." (Picking up her bag and calmly walking around her desk, Regina beams at David and Snow before joining the others in leaving the building.) David: "Do you think-" Snow White: "Don't David. (Shaking her head:) Just please, don't." (Confused, David watches his wife turn and leave the room, then quickly follows her out.)

Wonderland. Past. (Fireworks light the night sky and music fills the air as a ball is being held in the Queen's honour. Several aristocrats and well-wishers pass by her throne, to which Anastasia greets with the merest nod. Arriving fashionably late, Rapunzel enters the palace ballroom and heads directly to her daughter. Once she reaches the foot of the dais however, Rapunzel is stopped by the Tweedles.) Rapunzel: "Out of the way, you ridiculous creatures. I'm here to speak with my daughter." Tweedle Dee: "Apologies, Milady, but her highness isn't receiving guests at this time." Rapunzel: "I am not a guest you imbecile, I am the queen mother. Now get out of my way!" Tweedle Dum: "Ma'am if you don't leave under your own power I shall be forced to escort you." Rapunzel: "How dare you!" Anastasia: (Rising to her feet:) "That won't be necessary, darling. Stand down." (Both Tweedles bow and move away.) Rapunzel: "Anastasia really, what is all this about?" Anastasia: "Don't you know? (Looking around the room:) I believe they call this a ball. A nauseating soiree for sycophants and social climbers. Drizella never could stand these things and I must say I’m surprised it took me so long to agree. This will be the last ball I throw, so I do hope you enjoy yourself.” (Anastasia moves to return to her throne but is stopped by her mother.) Rapunzel: "Anastasia, what's gotten into you?" Anastasia: (Innocently:) "However do you mean? Isn't this what you wanted, for me to rule? Well, everyone knows the best way to do that is with some separation. What good can come from sharing all this with those who are beneath us? Surely it's better to distance ourselves, deprive the people, to make them hungry, to make them wonder what life is like every day within these palace walls? (Chuckles:) After all, it is called Wonderland for a reason." Rapunzel: "Stop it, Ana. This isn't like you at all.” Anastasia: “Oh, but it is me, Mother. It’s who I have to be, for my people.” Rapunzel: “Your people will love you for who you are. You just have to let them see the Ana I know, the Ana I love.” Cora: (Arriving:) “Love and respect are two very different things.” Rapunzel: "You. You did this to her." Cora: "I merely showed the Queen how to rule." Rapunzel: "No, you've twisted her into your image." Cora: "Your daughter was about to throw away her best chance at life because she was too afraid. Your coddling made her weak. (To Anastasia:) The strength needed to be queen was already inside you. (To Rapunzel:) I just allowed her to access it." (Anastasia smiles at both of them before returning to her throne.) Cora: "Oh I know how you feel, my dear. My own daughter's been such a disappointment to me. (Glancing up at Anastasia:) Yours is much more the kind of daughter I'd choose to have, if one could choose such things." (Cora leaves Rapunzel staring up at Anastasia. Her daughter's transformation into the Red Queen now complete.)

Storybrooke. Present. Sheriff's Station. (Emma paces the floor of the bullpen, trying to calm herself after the events of the town meeting. Placing her hands on a desk, she takes a few deep, steadying breaths before the unmistakable sound of the Mayor's footsteps reaches her ears. Deciding not to look at her just yet, Emma continues breathing, waiting for Regina's inevitable smug comment.) Regina: "Well, I must say, the sight of our sheriff running for the exit ahead of everyone else gave me pause. Perhaps the people may think twice about voting for you come election time?" Emma: "Then it's just as well I'm sleeping with the Mayor." Regina: "Hm. That might just save you." Emma: (Finally turning to face her:) "I hope you're pleased with yourself." Regina: (Beams:) "I am rather, yes. Although not as pleased as you seemed to be. Or should that be pleasured? The only question is; when do I get mine?" Emma: (Scoffs:) "You think I won't get you back?" Regina: "Oh, I'm counting on it. Quite looking forward to it in fact." Emma: (Thinks:) "Then why wait?" (With a flick of her wrist, Emma envelops them in a cloud of smoke before they reappear in one of the cells, Emma admiring her handiwork. Giving her wife a moment to let her predicament sink in, Emma watches as Regina looks to find both her wrists handcuffed to the bars of the jail cell.) Regina: "Impressive." Emma: "I had a great teacher. (Stepping forward, Emma reaches up and begins unbuttoning the Mayor's blouse:) Now magic has it's uses, it's true, but we both know that nothing beats the 'hands on' approach." (Regina gasps as Emma proves her point by sliding her hand down the front of the mayor’s skirt and inside the fabric of her underwear.) Emma: (Sighs, slowly removing her hand:) "Now, don't you go anywhere." Regina: "W-what?" Emma: (Whispering in her ear as she passes:) "Shhh, don't worry, I'm just going to turn off the cameras and lock the station door. We wouldn't want anyone catching the Mayor in a compromised position now, would we?" (Emma sucks briefly on Regina's earlobe before leaving to secure the building. Restrained and helpless, Regina looks down at her open blouse, her chest heaving with her rapid breaths. Turnabout was indeed fair play, she thought, as she waited for the sheriff's own particular brand of justice to begin.)

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Spontaneous Attraction Ch. 19

Pairings: Kyungsoo x You

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut | Ambiguous AU

Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation, cumplay

Word Count: 4k

Description: A late night phone call.

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"Thoughts?"

That was the caption you put under the message you sent to Kyungsoo. Two and a half painstaking weeks of mulling it over and discussing with your friend about Kyungsoo. She was moody about it. Sad at first, then ecstatic you were getting along so well, then upset again because her best friend was leaving her. You told her it wouldn't make you two any less close, but she knew better, and honestly you did too. That was the biggest hang-up. Your schedules were already so unsynchronized, and without the dusk and dawn chats you had every day it was going to be harder to see her. You talked it out logically with her.

"Answer with the first thing that comes to your head. Forget everything else," she had prompted. "Do you love me?"

"Of course," you grinned, laughing a little.

"Have you loved living with me?"

"Also obviously yes."

"If I were to say I wanted my partner to move in would you still be hesitating to go?"

"...no...not as much," you admitted.

"There. See? I want you to be happy, hun. Say yes to the handsome bastard. I've seen the way he looks at you when saying goodbye in the morning. I can get along fine alone honestly. I never really needed a roommate for rent purposes. You better visit often, but you're always welcome back."

That was that, really. You didn't have to worry about your friend, you had a good feeling about it. To top it off you held fast to your logic that if you have to debate on doing something or not for too long then you already know the answer. It's never failed you before. You agreed to move in with Kyungsoo. You weren't surprised when the timing was horrible. They were leaving on tour. For two months. Of course.

You chose to view the silver lining. It gave your current roommate time to transition, and gave you time to apartment hunt and plan out the details. That way when he returned you could check out the ones you liked best in person. Kyungsoo would exchange listings with you in his rare spare time. Typically while eating. He had been giddy at first, but for once you were the one pulling him back towards reality. He had never been apartment hunting before so the minutiae was lost on him. It took a week of you sending him links to better prospects for him to start grasping what to look for. Searching by area, price range for one bedroom versus two, were utilities included in that, is there laundry in the unit or in a separate communal area, was there designated parking spaces, etc, etc, blah blah blah. It was monotonous, but research was crucial to find a decent place so you weren't ripped off or stuck somewhere that turned out to be poorly managed. Been there. Not doing that again.

However, the aforementioned text had nothing to do with that. You decided you were missing him a little. A lot, actually. So you shot a short clip while wearing lingerie. It was meant to be a surprise for when he returned, but that went out the window rather quickly. It was all black, stockings held up by a thin, almost all sheer garter belt. The matching underwear and bra were decorated with lace. You liked this set when shopping because of the bit of optional flare you wore. A delicate, slightly elastic ribbon that circled your throat like a necklace. Only where the pendant usually sat on a necklace the ribbon continued in a straight line under your bra between your breasts to a small loop where it could be unhooked at the top of the thong. It gave the illusion everything was connected. So you pulled on one of Kyungsoo's shirts he left behind and set up your phone camera. You stood in front of a mirror, recording your hands gently gliding up your body while taking his shirt with it in the process. You swayed your hips and turned your torso slightly as well so it really showed off how good you looked. When the piece of clothing was close to your chin you giggled and dropped the material then stopped recording. It took you a few tries to get a video you were satisfied was sexy enough before sending it.

When your phone told you it sent successfully you changed back into regular pajamas. Kyungsoo would be performing so you didn't see a point to keeping it on. It took several hours for him to reply. By then it was the middle of the night and you were close to falling asleep when your phone began ringing. You pushed yourself up on a forearm, squinting at the bright screen when you picked up the phone from your nightstand. Upon seeing his name light up you wiped the fatigue from your eyes and flopped back on your pillow. You cleared your throat before answering so he didn't worry he was waking you up.

"Hey Kyungsoo." You did your best to sound cheerful. "How are you?" His deceptively mellow, deep, almost breathy voice sent chills along your skin.

"You know damn well how." He sounded far too calm for his biting words. "Did you think just because I'm busy with touring you could get away with teasing me like that? Do you understand how close the others were to seeing that video?" You smirked and replied innocently,

"It's been so long since you played with your pet. I was only letting you know I'm thinking about you." He sighed quietly into the receiver. "It's getting really hard to be good."

"I know it is, jagi. Only two more weeks."

"Did you at least like my outfit? I was going to surprise you, but I got excited."

"Of course," he answered flatly.

"What did you like about it?"

"Jagi, I have to be awake again in five hours. Can we please save this for when I come back?"

"I meant it when I sent that text," you complained. "I want to know what you thought when you saw the video." A long pause. You chewed on your bottom lip anxiously. There was a heavy click like a door shutting and fabric rustling on the other line.

"Use your imagination." How could he be so frustrating? It was an easy question. All he had to do was say you looked sexy. That's all you wanted. If he was going to be stubborn then you would just need to try harder.

"Okay then, I'm imagining you were on your hotel bed. You replayed the video a few times, but you couldn't stop yourself from getting turned on. After all it's been just as long for you unless you've been bad, and I looked sexy as hell." That earned a soft chuckle. The bright sound chimed in your ear and made your chest ache to be with him in person. "Maybe the tightness in your pants got too uncomfortable so you decided to call me to distract yourself. Although you said the other members almost saw it so maybe you were riding back to the hotel when you checked your messages. In that case I can see you blushing and trying to hide your phone. I wonder if you got hard and had to try and cover it up. You are adorable when you're flustered, sweetheart. You get all fidgety and giggly, and your face goes all red. I think you were so frustrated you tried to palm yourself a little bit and got caught. It would explain why you sounded so irritated when I picked up."

"That's some imagination," Kyungsoo breathed. "Totally wrong, but creative."

"Then tell me the real answer. Please?"

"You are something else," he muttered. "Alright, jagi. You want to know what really happened when I saw your message?"

"Please," you repeated.

"Junmyeon needed to borrow my phone because his ran out of charge, but when I saw your message I had to snatch it back and make up an excuse so he'd go away. On our way to the hotel I couldn't get you out of my head so I decided to call you when we arrived." He paused briefly. You thought that was the end so you opened your mouth to speak, but he continued at a lower volume. Slower; so that you heard every syllable clearly. "I kept imagining what it would be like to rip that little outfit off before fucking you until you lost your voice. It looked like you had on a fucking leash. I wanted to pull you down to your knees so you could fix the problem you made. The one thing you got right? I am currently sitting on the hotel bed."

"Alone?"

"Did you think I'd speak to you like this in front of the other members?"

"Not really, but you're making this so difficult." He took the bait.

"What is?" You trailed your fingertips down so your hand rested on your lower stomach.

"Trying not to touch myself while you talk." His breath hitched. You smiled triumphantly and settled back into your pillows. "You know how much I love your voice, Soo. It makes me want to misbehave."

"Don't you dare," he growled back. "Only I get to touch your pussy. And only you can touch my cock. I don't care how needy you get. Those are the rules, pet."

"Maybe I'm tired of your rules," you purred. It was the first time you were actually trying to shift the power dynamic. You'd disobeyed before for the fun of it, but you never took full control. Not being able to see him made you bolder it seems. And the fact it's been over a month since you were together. You might have been a bit desperate.

"How disappointing to hear. Don't you still want to make your sweetheart proud of how well you follow orders?"

"What's the harm if you're on the phone with me? You're still involved. Wouldn't you like to listen?" The gap of silence was too long. You slipped your fingers beneath your underwear and hissed softly at the sudden stimulation. A fire lit inside your gut, eyes falling closed. "I'm so wet already Soo," you sighed. His sweetness vanished, replaced with a huskiness that you've come to recognize as Kyungsoo trying to hide how his steely, calm composure was crumbling.

"Take your hand away," he ordered. "Do it now and apologize."

"No," you answered. You couldn't help the smile that formed at the thrill it gave you to hold some of the power. "I don't care anymore. This feels too good. Should I use my creative imagination to picture you're the one here touching me? Will hearing me moan your name make you realize how much I miss you? How much I miss those hands, and that mouth, and that gorgeous cock." You took a trembling breath, voice lowering to become raspier. "I miss the way you play with my pussy, master."

"Disobedient little brat," Kyungsoo gritted through his teeth. "You know how much I hate that name." You moaned happily.

"That's right, sweetheart. Tell me how bad I'm being. Scold me so I'll listen to you." A throaty groan hit your ears through the phone. You began pumping your fingers in and out of yourself, breath coming more shallow. It wasn't near as good as having his fingers. His were thicker than yours, soft from never building calluses playing guitar or working a more manual job, and they could reach deeper so they curled into just the right spot. You did, however, hold a very vivid imagination. So the pleasure you felt wasn't lacking. There was another rustle that came through the speaker paired with a huff of air.

"Fuck," he whispered. "How can you be so selfish? You don't think I'm just as frustrated? It would've been so easy to get off before now, but I wanted to save everything for you." His voice strained. "Only you."

"Are you touching yourself right now?" you teased. He moaned quietly, breathlessly. The phone speaker was thinning the sound through the static over the line. It was just a hair off from how his voice actually sounds like. It sent another jolt of heat through you, and you squirmed against the sheets, spreading your legs wider. "So much for sticking to the rules, huh Kyungsoo?"

"Shut up," he snapped. "You have no idea how hard I've been ever since that stupid video. Teasing me with that outfit and that pretty, perfect skin, waiting for me to mark it all over again. You couldn't have waited just a little bit longer. I think I've spoiled you too much. You need to learn better patience." He must have changed something he was doing because there was a small whimper that was cut off, voice snagging in his throat. You remembered he was in a hotel so he was probably trying to stay quiet. When he spoke again his pitch was higher, tone almost pleading. "It hurts." That was a problem you were glad to fix. You were getting closer, fingers speeding up a little as some of your muscles started tensing. You did your best to not sound as breathless as him.

"How are you on the bed?"

"Laying at the end. Feet on the floor," he panted. The new image of Kyungsoo in a hotel room, phone pressed to his ear, bucking his hips up into his hand, hair sticking to his forehead, was more than enough fuel. The fire in your gut stretched and spread.

"Close your eyes and picture I'm there. What would I do, Kyungsoo? How am I touching you?"

"You're teasing me through my boxers," he struggled to answer. "Hand running up and down my cock."

"Do you want more? Or are you going to keep being stubborn?"

"More."

"Put me on speaker and take off your pants," you exhaled shakily. The sound quality lessened, but somehow you were able to hear more. The a/c was rattling in the background. You heard the distinct sound of a zipper. He huffed and grunted softly while fabric scratched and wrinkled over the receiver. "Did you listen?"

"They're off," Kyungsoo sighed pleasantly.

"Take off your shirt, too." The break was shorter that time. He hummed in questioning, waiting. "Stroke your cock nice and slow for me, sweetheart."

"Fuck your hand feels good." He sounded winded already.

"Run the other hand up your side and play with your nipples." You moaned as you switched to circle your clit. "You're doing so good for me, sweetheart." A sharp intake of air overcame the static on his side.

"Shit. You're gonna make me cum too early."

"As long as I can hear it."

"You're so naughty today." You weren't sure if he was annoyed or aroused by that fact.

"I can't wait to see what punishment you'll give me."

"Plural," he replied. "Punishments."

"Tighten your grip and go faster. Then scratch at your skin and pull your hair." Your quick orders didn't disappoint. You knew how to exploit what he likes. He sucked in a trembling breath and whimpered. "Does that feel good? Do you like how I'm touching you?"

"P-please...it hurts so fucking bad."

"What hurts, Soo?"

"Y-you..." He started over. "I do. I hurt. All over. It's been too long. It's so difficult not to cum." He was attempting to say it without saying it. That just wouldn't do.

"Be direct, sweetheart, or else I won't understand how to make it better. Where does it hurt the most?"

"My cock. My fucking cock hurts and my thighs are burning. Is that enough?" he practically begged. "Pulling my hair isn't working. It's just making me want it harder." His breathing grew louder and more ragged, drowning out any other noises in the background. Kyungsoo groaned angrily. "I'm fucking lightheaded, sugar. It's so fucking hard and slick from my precum and you're fucking around to amuse yourself."

"That's right..." you pretended to recall. "You said you were saving yourself for me. Do you think now's a good time?"

"I'm so ready for you, jagi. So ready to make a fucking mess everywhere. Anywhere you want it. Fucking take it all I can't--say it. Please say it."

"You want to cum with me, sweetheart?" The only answer you got was a whine. "Cum on my stomach. Ruin my pretty, unmarked skin. Give me what I want, Kyungsoo." He choked out another, more depraved whine. His panting grew louder, catching on every inhale and exhaling quickly in an attempt to prevent being too noisy. He sounded wrecked and you drank it all in, admiring how easily you could make him like this when you tried. In between one of his gulps of air he whispered your name reverently. You felt it like a gentle caress across your cheek. Eyes shut, your mind conjured the tingling sensation of his breath down your neck as if he was beside you, and it pushed you over the edge. Your grip on the phone shook as you arched off the mattress, falling on the pillow by your head. Your moaning triggered his release. He sounded far away and muffled, groans fracturing and tapering off into tiny, simpering mewls while he worked all the pent up frustration from his body. You eased yourself down before putting the phone back to your ear, satisfaction settling in your bones. You called his name softly.

"Sugar," he crooned tiredly. His rough, rich voice made your stomach do flips. "Thank you."

"Do you feel better?" He simply moaned, still trying to catch his breath.

"You sounded really sexy. Fuck you're amazing." Finally, you thought. He called you sexy. "I tried to keep myself quiet by biting my arm, but it really stings. How do you put up with me?" You laughed softly. Rolling to your side, you reached out and grabbed a pillow to hug. It was dark, but since your eyes adjusted you could see clean across to the window on the opposite wall. No body to block your way hogging all the covers and constantly moving around in his sleep. A weight pressed on your chest, so you curled more in on yourself. You really were missing Kyungsoo more than you thought. But he didn't need to hear you mention it all the time. He couldn't do anything about it, and you wanted to be as supportive as possible.

"Is it as big of a mess as you thought?"

"Yeah," he replied. You heard the smile in his voice. "I missed this feeling." A small hum and an overexagerrated smack of lips. "You would love the taste."

"Fucking tease," you muttered.

"See? It would've been better if we had waited. Then you would be able to see me."

"You could take a picture."

"I'm not that simple, jagi."

"I can hear your smug smirk," you shot back, making him chuckle. "You should probably clean yourself up so you can get some rest." More rustling and you recognized the little moan he made while stretching. It sounded clearer. He must have taken you off speaker.

"In a minute."

"Whatever you say. Just don't neglect your sleep. I'll talk to you again soon."

"Wait. Hold on." It went silent for a solid minute or so before he called your name in questioning.

"Yeah?"

"Don't send any more videos. Please. I don't think I can take it."

"Alright. I promise. I'll wait until you come back."

"Good, because when this ends we all get four days off in a row, and I don't think we're leaving bed."

"Four days with just you? Sounds like heaven," you agreed.

"I can't wait to see you again, jagi."

"Same here. It's lonely without you."

"Don't worry. I'll be back soon, and then we can move somewhere where I can make sure you're never lonely."

"You're such a sentimental dork," you grinned. His chuckle chimed through the phone again. You halted your farewell when there was a muffled, shocked shout on the other end of the call. A door slammed shut.

"Fucking at least put a sign on the door or something!" a new voice grumbled. "Jesus christ, Soo. You're usually more discreet about this. Miss Y/N much? You look like a hot fucking mess. Here's a towel. You shower first."

"Sorry jagi," Kyungsoo said to you. "Jongin came back. I need to go."

"Th-that...s-she was..I'm so sorry," the other boy stumbled over his words. You could practically hear his face getting red. "Please tell her I'm sorry. I-I swear I didn't mean to interrupt. If I had known I-I never--"

"He's funny when he's embarrassed," you mused.

"She doesn't care," Kyungsoo relayed. "We're done anyway." You snickered at his candor. You loved how blunt he was. It was part of his charm. Then he was back to talking to you. "Goodnight, jagi. Rest well."

"Sweet dreams, Kyungsoo."

After hanging up you got a message from him. Tapping on the notification, a video was downloading. You played it and immediately thanked every entity in existence you were alone. Kyungsoo was zoomed in too far as usual, dark hair falling away from his face and jutting out in odd angles, forehead shining with perspiration. He had a full face of makeup on. You were taken aback at first. He almost didn't look like him. His tiny blemishes and moles were covered and smoothed out, contouring tricking the camera into making his cheeks appear thinner. Shimmering highlighter swept across his cheekbones, and his eyes were much more prominent on his face. A thin line of eyeliner and precisely applied eyeshadow was smoked out to bring out his natural eye shape. His lips looked glossy and pinker than usual as well. You didn't have a lot of time to take it in, but it wasn't bad. Just...unexpected. The camera zoomed out, and you bit your bottom lip hard. The frame cut off at his navel, but you swore you felt your heart stop working for several seconds. His entire chest and stomach was smattered with his release, angry red marks clawed into his flesh randomly from his short fingernails. One line of liquid by his ribs was cascading down his side about to stain the overstuffed white comforter on the hotel bed. He used his free hand, starting at the 'v' in his hips. The camera was unstable, but you caught the irritated horseshoe teeth marks on his forearm. The pads of his fingers dragged slowly up his torso, smearing a few of the erratic, crooked lines. Up his heavily rising and falling stomach, over a nipple all the way to his clavicle. Halfway up he stretched and arched his back towards the camera. Staring transfixed while his skin pulled taut over muscle and bone briefly, a trail near the bottom of the frame crept upwards before he eased back onto the bed. The white contrasted his tan skin in such a tantalizing way. It did not help in the least that Kyungsoo had sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and was watching the camera. It was relaxed. Lazy almost, but the intimacy of it made it seem less pornographic. You were less lusting after him and more just in awe that he could do something like this at all. It was so outside his normal comfort zone. He must have been delirious from lack of sleep, you reasoned. As he brought his hand to his mouth, what had gathered dripped once on his chin before his tongue could go out and lick the stickiness from his fingers, an obscene moan falling past his lips. It was juxtaposed in his own perfectly strange way with those owlish, innocent eyes. They twinkled with amusement as his hand dropped tiredly onto his chest, uncaring of the steadily drying mess covering himself. He must have muted his mic to record this while you talked. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and the video ended. The message beneath:

"Thoughts?"

[standbyyourmantis]

Bottle Episode 3/3

PART 1 | PART 2 | AO3 | FFN 

THIS ‘VERSE IS OPEN FOR PROMPTS. YOU’LL SEE WHY.

They were halfway through the pack of cookies before they came up for air from the game. Belle was surprised at how good Eli was at Scrabble, she hadn’t been allowed to play with anyone back in San Diego because she was so good at it. She was still pretty sure she was going to win, but it was nice to at least have a challenge. They’d been playing for ages, and the longer it went on the less talking they did, he was pretty competitive but so was she. If they were slightly more comfortable with each other, she could easily see this turning ugly. She was already choking down her worst instincts whenever he put down a particularly good word.

“I should have let you stay outside,” she muttered when he played QAT down to a double word score.

He just chuckled as he drew his replacement tiles and she watched his face settle into a smirk as he started rearranging them in his tray. She couldn’t quite decide if she liked it or not. He was a smug bastard, but he was a handsome one.

“Nervous?” he asked her, and she just glared at him as she contemplated her tiles, letting her eyes flick between her letters and the ones on the board while she mentally arranged and rearranged them until they made some kind of sense. At last, her eyes lit upon her vengeance, and she watched with no small amount of satisfaction as he took in the word BEZIQUES where she’d placed it coming off of his Q.

“Well played,” he said.

“Wasn’t it just?”

“I hadn’t pegged you as a sore winner,” he said with a voice dripping with amusement.

“I am not. I am competitive. There is a difference.”

They played in silence a little longer, he may not have expected her to be competitive but she’d always assumed that he would be. He had a reputation for being such an asshole, but the more time she spent with him the more she realized that wasn’t the whole story – sure, he was almost certainly a right royal bastard when he wanted to be, but beyond that he was mostly just competitive and a little sarcastic. But he had a sweetness to him that peeked out on occasion. He would banter with her over Life and match her intensity at Scrabble. There was nothing else for it, she was having fun with him.

They played in relative silence for the rest of the game, until finally the last tiles were played and on checking the scores he’d edged her out by less than a dozen points. That was...different.

“Are you okay?” he asked her carefully, and she tried super hard to relax. She always won at Scrabble, she should not be this upset by it, and she definitely did not know him well enough to freak out about this.

She nodded, and bit her lip to keep from talking. Talking was bad, and she’d say something she regretted. Instead, she just set about packing away the board and pieces. After a bit she felt him watching her and when she glanced up he was watching her and obviously trying to hide his amusement. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly.

“No, tell me!”

“It’s really nothing.”

He was trying so hard not to smile it actually made her smile. She was being ridiculous. This was all ridiculous.

“I’m sorry. I’m overreacting.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll beat me next time.”

“Maybe.” Next time. If that was her way of asking her on a date, she was willing but he was definitely going to have to do better than that. “We’ll see.”

“How long have we been playing this?” he asked, pulling his phone out and checking the time. “Wow, it’s already afternoon.”

“Oh, damn. I guess I should probably make lunch.”

“I’ll help.” He jumped up to his feet and offered her his hand where she sat. She took his hand and let him help her up off the floor. It took her a split second to realize that she was standing too close to him and she quickly took a half-step back with a muttered thank you before retreating to the kitchen.

Belle surveyed their options in the pantry and the refrigerator. She hadn’t really prepared to be snowed in (the news had called for ‘flurries’ not ‘the apocalypse’) and she certainly had not prepared to be entertaining anyone in her home. This storm needed to clear up or she was going to be in trouble.

“How do sandwiches sound?” she asked. There wasn’t much else without getting into dinner territory, which was something else she was going to have to figure out later.

“Sandwiches sound perfect. What can I do?”

“Can you check the pantry? I may have some canned soup or something in there.”

He poked his head into the pantry. “I see a carton of tomato and… how much Top Ramen does one woman need?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Can you make the tomato soup and I’ll make sandwiches?”

He nodded and pulled the little waxed paper carton of soup from the pantry. It was a slightly higher quality than the canned variety, but honestly snowy weather made her miss the canned stuff. It wasn’t a complicated meal, but it was nice just cooking quietly with another person, even if she did only sort of know him.

 Eli hadn’t done anything like this in ages. When Bailey had been a little boy they’d certainly had snow days together, but that was a decade or more ago and certainly a different energy altogether. He didn’t know that he’d ever had a day like this before.

The radio was still playing after they’d finished eating, the conversation had paused and she was just smiling at him and it was comfortable. Very comfortable. He stood quickly and grabbed the dishes off the table, bringing them to the sink like he’d done after breakfast.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I can get them in a little bit.”

“I don’t mind. Besides, it’s the least I can do.”

“Well, thank you anyway. It’s nice not having to worry about them for a change.”

He could well understand that sentiment, as much as he didn’t mind living alone the daily minutiae of keeping a house by himself did wear thin. It was nice to have a short break from dealing with his own home, even though his was going to be completely destroyed by a college student by the time he got back to it. Well, real life could wait just for the day.

Belle filled a kettle while he washed the dishes, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she opened a cabinet next to the refrigerator.

“Coffee, tea, or cocoa?” she asked.

“Um, tea is fine.”

She was humming a little tune as she prepared the tea, and he ended up distracting himself cleaning the sink just to stick around a little bit longer and listen to it. Besides, what else was he doing before the tea was finished?

“Do you mind taking the tea out to the balcony?” she asked him. “I want to get some blankets.”

He took the mugs and followed her back into her bedroom and out through a door he hadn’t noticed to a small patio with two chairs and a little table which he set the mugs on before sitting. She offered him a blanket and he settled in with the tea and blanket. It was nice and comfortable, and even with the cold there was a warmth he hadn’t anticipated.

 They weren’t able to stay outside much more than an hour or so, but somehow it didn’t seem like a wasted day. It was actually almost comfortable, even pleasant, which wasn’t how he was used to feeling around strangers. But then, could he really say that she was a stranger still? They’d most likely had sex and sure, he didn’t remember much of it, but it still meant something. Or at least it should. He wasn’t exactly in the habit of having casual sex with women, and especially not with women who he actually rather liked. So, the question just remained, how not-casual was this, and how to move forward from here.

Belle was sprawled across the sofa with a book in her face – an inexpensive looking paperback copy of a novel he’d never even heard of, and he was trying to lose himself in an article on his phone, but it wasn’t really working. It was a dull article about tax rates, and it just could not hold his attention.

“So what do you want for dinner?” she asked without even looking up from her book.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, that’s okay. I can handle it.”

“I don’t mind. You look a lot more interested in your book than I am in what I’m doing, and besides, you cooked for me this morning.”

She didn’t look completely convinced, but she was also glancing down to her open book in a way that implied that she was at an interesting part.

“Keep reading,” he said and she finally nodded and leaned back down into the sofa with her nose back in the book. It was cuter than he’d have thought it would be, and he was enjoying her obvious enjoyment of her novel.

The kitchen was still a bit of a mystery, but a quick glance through her pantry revealed dried pasta, garlic, olive oil, and some chili flakes. Her fridge yielded a lemon and parmesan cheese. Parsley would have been perfect, but she had cilantro which would work fine. He put the pasta on and set about sauteing everything else in a saucepan when he heard her nearby.

“That smells amazing,” she said, glancing into the pan he was working on. “What is it?”

“It’s pasta aglio et olio, nothing fancy.”

He was showing off, and she probably knew it, but she didn’t say anything about it. It was an easy enough dish to make, but it always sounded complicated if you didn’t see it being made. She made a little humming noise and smiled before retreating to the pantry. She emerged with a bottle of red wine and stood on tiptoes to reach two wine glasses in the cabinet. She poured one glass and offered it to him with a little tilt of her head, wordlessly asking if he wanted the wine. He took the proffered glass and she poured the other one for herself as he started mixing the pasta into the oil sauce with a pair of tongs. A spritz of lemon, a little bit of the leafy parts of the cilantro, and a lot of parmesan and it was ready to plate.

 Dinner went well. The wine had eased both of them just enough to smooth the conversation, but not enough to cause any stupid decisions like the night before. They finished all of his pasta followed by the remainder of the cookies and a second bottle of wine. She was all easy smiles and sweet giggles no matter how bad the joke he told. It was pleasant and fun, and by the time they retired to her living room he was already beginning to sense that she might have some interest in him. It was an odd thing to be sitting next to a woman he hadn’t thought twice about two days ago wondering if he should ask her on an actual date, but it was also his new reality.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked. That was never a good thing to hear from a woman in general, and he was not sure at all this was going to go well.

“Depends on what it is.”

“Where does your son think you are?”

Oh. Well, that certainly wasn’t where he saw that going.

“He knows I spent the night with someone, but I didn’t exactly go into details.”

“So he’s not going to come around telling at me to stay away from his father?” She said it with a sly smile and he realized all at once she was flirting.

“No, I think you’re safe.” He had to come up with some way to flirt back. But subtly, because this was still so new and so promising. “What about me? Am I going to have an army of jilted admirers chasing me down to defend your honor?”

She giggled again and stretched out her foot to tap his knee playfully. “No, I’ve been staying away from men for awhile now. But you’re not supposed to talk about that before, like, the fifth date.”

“Yeah? Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“It’s really not that interesting. I mean, do you date a lot? Since your divorce, I mean?”

He had to laugh a little at the sheer absurdity of the question. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t that many single women in this town.”

“You know what I meant! I just didn’t want to jump back into another mistake.”

“Fair, although I admit I am curious how you managed an annulment.”

“That was the easiest part! We got married in Vegas, and the first night of our honeymoon he confessed he’d been having an affair, and his side chick was pregnant.”

His jaw dropped and he wanted to say something comforting, but honestly what was there to say to that?

“I could have gotten a divorce at home and it would have probably been easier, but I wanted it to have never happened. So I petitioned for an annulment in Nevada and that was that.” She took a long drink of her wine and looked away for awhile and he pretended not to notice that she was blinking back tears before she looked back at him with the big smile back on her face.

“Would you like to dance?” he blurted out before he could even think about having asked her. The radio was still on, there was music playing, and he’d just asked her to dance. He was about to backpedal and try to play it off as a joke, but then she surprised him.

“I’d love to.”

She got to her feet before he did, and at that point there was no backing down without being a jerk and a coward, the dumbass who panicked at the idea of a girl liking him.

 It was silly to dance to the radio in her living room, but it felt so damn romantic Belle couldn’t stand it. She probably shouldn’t have said the things she’d said about her marriage, but he was probably going to find out sooner or later and she’d never actually told anyone what had happened, they’d all just sort of figured it out when he’d posted the sonogram on Facebook. It was just nice to have said it all out loud. It had felt like the rug had been ripped out from underneath her and she’d spent the last two years in a freefall before finally landing and finding her feet again. And now, she was dancing.

He was a decent dancer, though they weren’t exactly doing anything special. Just swaying in time and trying not to be so self-conscious that she couldn’t look at him. It was nice, and it was easy to pretend just for a moment that this was going to be her life from now on. She knew next to nothing about Eli, it was a silly fantasy world and he was just a stand-in for the ideal she’d created of the man she should have married, but it was her fantasy and for right now it was exactly where she wanted to be. He was looking at her like he wanted her, like she was the only girl in the world, and she wanted to chase that elusive feeling for just a little bit longer. The Belle who lived this life would think nothing of tilting her head back and kissing him, but the real one was only given the courage by the wine and the late hour of the evening.

Kissing him sober was a whole new experience for her. He was a good kisser, he didn’t try to push too hard or control the kiss, he asked and she answered. They weren’t dancing anymore, but it took her awhile to figure it out because she still felt like she was spinning. Maybe it was a bad idea to do this, but if so it was the right kind of bad because she just felt better about herself when she was talking to him. He already had to stay the night again, what did she have to lose?

She broke away from the kiss and loved the dumbstruck look on his face. That made the choice for her, she wanted to keep seeing that look for as long as she could.

“Do you want to go to bed?” she asked. She wasn’t sure if he’d gotten her point right away, so she punctuated the question by teasing the ends of his hair in her fingertips waiting for the dawning realization of what she meant. It had been on the table all day, and it was time to follow through.

He didn’t reply, instead he just leaned down and kissed her hard again. She sighed into the kiss when his hands came up to hold her face and she leaned into him. It was so nice to be close to anyone, but especially to him. They had all night, and they were both finally, blissfully, sober.

 The morning had come too soon, and Eli was actually disappointed to find out that the roads had been cleared and he was safe to go home. She’d kissed him goodbye, and he’d asked her to get lunch sometime. She’d agreed, and as soon as Bailey had gone back to college they’d started dating in earnest. It was the happiest he thought he’d been in the last decade.

He was at work when he heard the bell on the door ringing, and when he looked up she was there, dusting snow off her shoulders and looking just as beautiful as she ever did.

“Hey,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is there someplace we can sit?”

He felt his stomach drop to his feet at her mood, because she was more serious than he’d ever seen her. He pulled the curtain to the backroom open and she didn’t wait before walking in ahead of him and dropping onto the daybed in the back with a dazed look on her face. He was worried as hell now, and if she didn’t tell him what was going on soon he was going to have a heart attack.

“What –”

“I’m pregnant.” She hadn’t even waited for him to finish sitting down across from her before saying it, and for a brief moment he thought that she might be kidding, but she was stone faced as she sat there and it wouldn’t have been funny in any event.

They’d only been dating about six weeks. He couldn’t believe this had happened – what the hell were they even going to do?

[gloieee]

Limbo

Started this post sometime early July and could not finish in classic fashion because the heaviness weighed me down TOO much for me to continue writing. Usually for me writing is catharsis, but this time it felt laborious because it meant I had to sit with my emotions even more so than during my day-to-day (which was already too much to handle). It was hard for me to even listen to these songs then because it made my entire being ache. Yet, of course, cause I loved the pain, I did and anguished in it to paralysis. Most of these thoughts no longer resonate with me, to a surprising extent, but am attempting to pay respects to the pinnacle and hopefully, the conclusion of a long year+ of distress. Here goes, Limbo. 

 8/12/2020 

_______________________________________________________________________

Good News – Mac Miller 

I spent the whole day in my head Do a little spring cleanin' I'm always too busy dreamin' Well, maybe I should wake up instead A lot of things I regret, but I just say I forget Why can't it just be easy?

I think this sums up my days better than any of my own words can. These couple of weeks have been exactly this—spending whole days in my head (doing little else sometimes gleefully, sometimes woefully) attempting some “spring cleaning,” then going on some tangent on things I should fix in my life, attempting to constructively go down memory lane, then things getting too much and wondering the forever questions, “why can’t it just be easy?” 

Regret has become a salient gateway word into my life these past two years, not always consistently, but at least with some regularity. It feels especially shocking cause it really had so little presence prior to this. I suppose, some may say that before a certain age, there are no real consequences to one’s actions, hence, no need for regret. But under that logic, I don’t think at 26, I’m that old either, so I wonder what happened at 24 that began this trajectory. It seems extremely fitting that I couldn’t finish the blog post for “Mistakes” in May 2018, because to be frank, since then, a tinge (or more) of regret has persisted in my days. There have been some lateral moves for sure, but never a vertical move past the regret. Continuing on this thread of analyzing my own past actions, it also appears fitting that I started that 2018 playlist with Unhappy by Outkast/ Big Boi because regret rings profoundly (maybe only) when you’re unhappy with your current state. You don’t see a happy woman ruminating on a thought exercise of what could’ve been. At the time, I included the song based on feeling, (as with everything on this blog), but never really discussed it. 

Might as well have fun 'cause your happiness is done When your goose is cooked

I suppose this was pretty much how I lived my life this past year. I’m trying not to say it as a bad thing, cause it isn’t necessarily, and I have a tendency to romanticize tribulations. I had a lot of fun, even though at moments I got pretty millennial REKT in the process. It’s less the fact that I had fun (and was very healthy (physically)! Which I am grateful for), but that I had little else. I didn’t feel very fulfilled or feel like I knew myself, or my values, or even what I wanted. I lived nonchalantly, maybe even a little numbed, and got wrapped up in a LOT of distractions. Admittedly, it was nice in the moment to care about such light things, to not have to deal with so much heaviness. I remember reveling in it, in my personal conversations and on this blog as well. 

Yeah Right by Joji is my past year in LA told from the perspectives of cynics (aka Me). It’s a simple, almost grossly millennial song. Despite the extremely self deprecative lyrics, I love how the melody feels like a calming, boppy afterthought. There are moments in the track where you’re just super down in the dumps, but also moments when you’re singing with a lopsided, wry, self-taunting smile on your face. 

 Yeah Right – Joji 

Imma fuck up my life    We gon party all night She don’t care if I die  Yeah I bet you won’t try  But you know I don’t mind 

I don’t think my motives were ever as extreme or bleak as “imma fuck up my life” but the general sentiment rings true. There was definitely a pervasive detachedness to my days, and a total lack of “trying”.  And a lack of minding over that fact. 

Yeah, you know I feel right Yeah, you living right now She don't ever pick sides

I unfortunately discovered Joji during the small insanity of quarantine, and of course blazed through all his interviews. I hadn’t fully realized how not picking sides in my life and going along with the flow belied a sense of numbness or ambivalence. This is so how I’ve been feeling/ felt about so many aspects of my life—career, relationships, values, lifestyle. I couldn’t choose anything because nothing pulled at me. I remember telling a friend that I’m at a point of ambivalence where if I had two research projects I would not be able to pick which one to pursue because they would feel all the same to me. I feel almost no sense of what interests me.

Yeah, you bet I go to see you when I'm feeling like a drum without a beat Yeah, you dance so good And I think that's kinda neat

I am/was truly a drum without a beat, just noticing some insignificant thing of slight interest and noting “that’s kinda neat.” Really not a reason to go after a girl/ relationship in the slightest, but I get how it’s all that could be mustered at the moment. And then you shrug and run with it. 

 Another millennial moment of wisdom from Joji about this song:  

It’s not productive but it’s not destructive. And that’s how a lot of people get stuck, in relationships and in life in general. 

This was exactly what was happening during the year. I was not productive AT ALL, but I was still passing, still technically going through the motions, going through the hoops. Life was happening. And I was stuck. 

What you know about love? What you know about life? What you know about blood? Bitch, you ain't even my type

Honestly not super sure how it relates, but to these lines. Joji explains:  

I mean, the way I see life is like, no-one’s special. You’re not born special, if you’re lucky you’re given a certain set of skills and a certain set of resources and you run with them, and then everyone dies. So as long as they know that, and they’re not thinking in a God’s plan sort of way... So just stuff like that

This was interesting as this summer as I was trying to figure out my path and my direction, and grappling with whether I wanted to try to pursue things that I thought I should/ kinda wanted for extraneous reasons/ seemed practical and logical and well desired vs. what I may be better at/ what I knew I wanted before. And there was definitely this idea of a (lost) calling, a larger cosmic reason that I had blindly chosen this much harder and guilt-inducing path. Something that may make it all make sense. I was extensively looking back on my past self and aspirations. I felt like I had forcibly given up things that made me me without gaining the practical traits I had so envied in others; I had become a boring medical student who wasn’t even super productive nor good at medicine. I was obsessed with this idea of a passion, this abstract thing that I seemed to have perhaps had the inklings of at a certain point, but seemed to have lost entirely, all after having sacrificed much to pursue it. It was refreshing to see someone who is an artiste (hohoho) saying these things, since (successful) artists seemed to be the only people who were truly special or passionate enough in what they did, in that they had risked so much stability, and had made it. 

Returning to the song, I love how all these serious questions are raised only to be followed up by a super petty “bitch you ain’t even my type.” And indeed, my many deep queries have no conclusions and I find myself returning to the minutiae of daily life.  

Back to Good News. The utter exhaustion and endless circle of rumination on past days, a desire to fix the pattern, slight hope, and inevitable resignation Mac sings of make me close my eyes to take a deep breath. His tracks from Circle capture so well the fluctuating inner thought processes of those who are struggling to dig themselves out of something beyond their control:

When it ain't that bad It could always be worse I'm running out of gas, hardly anything left Hope I make it home from work Well, so tired of being so tired Why I gotta build something beautiful just to go set it on fire?   I'm no liar, but Sometimes the truth don't sound like the truth Maybe 'cause it ain't I just love the way it sound when I say it   But I heard that the sky's still blue, yeah I heard they don't talk about me too much no more And that's a problem with a closed door   Then I'll finally discover That it ain't that bad, ain't so bad

The coexistence of heaviness and hope is what I’ve always loved about Mac. I’m obsessed with duality, contradictions, and being conflicted because I think it’s what I have so struggled with for my young adult life (Joji also mentions this is a driving force behind his songs). Also, I think inconsistencies are just something that is so humanizing about people. It’s no wonder that my favorite works of art attempt to dissect or observe dualities—The Unbearable Lightness of Being; the esoteric song by the lead singer of a small Korean indie band that I had to pay 50 cents to download and save on my desktop cause it wasn’t on youtube (it is now huzzah). A minor tangent, in the aforementioned song Jo Woong implores someone to tell him what he did wrong because he sure as hell can’t figure it out. And a line that has stayed with me for years: Aren’t people’s fronts and backs inherently different? Or is it just me that’s lacking something... It’s a play on a Korean saying, but it points out the inconsistencies in people in an aching plea for understanding and sympathy. It’s what too many plagued, conflicted individuals are hoping for. 

내가 뭘 그렇게 잘못했는지 모르겠어요 누가 내 잘못 안다면 얘기 좀 해줘요  사람이 원래 앞뒤가 맞지가 않잖아요? 아니면 나만 이렇게 모자란가요  

When I listen to Mac with a clear head, aka not in the throes of depression, I hear the hope in his voice and lyrics. It strikes me and warms my heart even more because I know that the hope has shined through despite the darkness. But when I’m on the other side of the equation, I hear how deep the sadness and pain is, and how the hope is not enough to overcome that. It’s almost worse because I know the hope exists, and yet I can’t get there. It feels like a failure. 

Everybody- Mac Miller 

Everybody's gotta live And everybody's gonna die Everybody just wanna have a good, good time I think you know the reason why   Yeah, sometimes the goin' gets so good Yeah, but then again, it get pretty rough

The fatalism of this song coupled with Mac’s slight falsetto embodies a type of pain that is ineffable. The back and forth of things being good and rough reminds me of an addled and empty-eyed shrug.

Surf – Mac Miller

And the days, they go by Until we get old There's water in the flowers, let's grow People, they lie But hey, so do I Until it gets old There's water in the flowers, let's grow   Yeah, well Sometimes I get lonely Not when I'm alone But it's more when I'm standin' in crowds That I'm feelin' the most on my own And I know that somebody knows me I know somewhere there's home I'm startin' to see that all I have to do is get up and go

Surf speaks more quietly of possibility even during dark times. The faint sense of having known at a certain point that someone knows you and gets it, and that you could feel at peace again, like in a home of sorts. The desire to grow, the slight feeling that maybe, it we let go (of societal perceptions, of greed, expectations?), something could change. But in the here and now, it’s just a sense and not a reality. A hypothetical thought that has not yet passed the threshold for action:

Gotta get goin', goin', goin' before I'm gone

A break from the melancholy for a throwback to myself, which made me chuckle as well as feel a sense of wistful nostalgia. This short and sweet track seems like the perfect modern-day ode to me. My conflicted state of being in awe of and yearning after impractical aestheticism but simultaneously being terrified of and slightly disgusted by the indulgence and recklessness of art and its values has led me to eschew it as a profession but try to implicate myself in it in other ways. I think one of the slightly problematic ways this has manifested is not pursuing art in my own life, but seeking to be a muse in other’s’ artful endeavors. I’ve definitely probably contributed to the problematic male gaze I’ve written papers on, but in all vulnerable honesty, that is how I’ve been in the past. The redeeming qualities of Kota’s muse reminded me of the past, some of the qualities that I had prided in myself. I woefully feel as though I have lost all these qualities--Doing my own thing, riding my own wave, not being affected by others’ values, particularly the more superficial ones, being grounded, reading (hah, but never self help), low-key taking care of my life, knowing what I want.  

She – KOTA the friend 

She do her own thing, she ride her own wave Only twenty people on the 'Gram that she followin' Only post work, she ain't tryna be a model chick She believe in white wine, feet up on the ottoman Low-key, got her own business and she mindin' it If she get your number, you'll be lucky if she lock it in She hella grounded, but the plane trips to BnB stay booked Told me I should read the Four Agreements, it's a great book Cracked a little smile and she threw me back the same look, yea 

Slowing it down, this song sounds like a warm afternoon sunset on a lake in New Hampshire that’s not even sad. Which is rare for me since I find sunsets heart-wrenchingly empty most days.

Hand Me Downs – Mac Miller 

Get away to a place where the lakes such a great view Leave the bank, couple hunnid thou' I made it, but I hate once I build it I break it down Might just break me down   And all I ever needed was somebody with some reason who can keep me sane Ever since I can remember I've been keeping it together but I'm feeling strange

As long as I could remember, this is what I wanted. Yet in recent months, I’ve felt so confused about what I want. I’ve been feeling strange, and things don’t seem right, with no proper conclusion:   

Get away when it ain't really safe and it don't seem right But what's new? You get used to the bullshit, the screws they go missing It's likely they might be but...

I almost wish that there was something I distinctly missed, since that would at least show that I cared about something. But to be fair, wanting the wrong things have led me down many wrong turns in the past, so maybe this blank slate is not so bad. I’m so very unsure of what I want, but I suppose I just need to keep it up and act like I do* want something. That’s been the conclusion for this past year. It’s sometimes nice and fine, sometimes so difficult, and I’m in the latter end of the spectrum now, but perhaps it’ll click eventually. In the meantime, the detached voice of Giveon soothes me that I’m not only lost soul goin back and forth on the lost young adult pendulum:  

Like I Want You – Giveon  

I guess I'll just pretend until it all makes sense   Like I want you You, ooh, ooh Even if it's true, ooh (Even if it's true)

Early-ish July 2020  

[swipestream]

Stealth GMing

Stealth GMing

Over the past few years my game mastering to playing ratio has significantly shifted towards running games. I love both roles, but now that I understand more about GMing role playing games I am certain I have become a very different (read: better) participant overall.

Sometimes when playing I feel my GM instincts kick in when the facilitation of a game starts to nose dive. At a convention earlier this year, some friends and I were talking one night when the topic arose about how myself and another person had each taken on an undercover facilitation role to try and improve the respective games we were playing in. Upon reflection, I realized I had “Stealth GMed” the game – at least for a while. This wasn’t something I had set out intentionally to do, but I realized the value of having this concept in my toolbox and now I’m spreading the word.

TL:DR: Stealth GMing is working intentionally to support the GM, fill in gaps to make the event run smoother, and enhance the joy for everyone at the table. This is NOT advocating taking a GM’s game away from them.

What is Stealth GMing?

Facilitating a role playing game is about much more than being prepared with interesting characters and a great plot. Being an exceptional Game Master is about trying to maximize the enjoyment of all the participants within the framework of the game (yourself included). GMing absolutely requires strong facilitation skills; keeping each of the players engaged, keeping the story moving, and gently herding the cats towards making something (anything) happen.

 Stealth GMs support the authority of the official GM and help to fill in areas that aren’t being managed well on a short term basis. The goal of a stealth GM is to enhance the enjoyment of the game for all of the participants in the moment, including the official GM. 

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The opportunity to act as a Stealth GM arises when playing in a game where the official GM’s facilitation skills are in need of bolstering. I consider this a step beyond being a great player, because Stealth GMs are assisting with the table management. This is done in a way that supports the official GM’s authority and helps to defuse out of game problems that detract from the game.

I see the usefulness of Stealth GMs arising at one-shot games or perhaps for extremely brief spans of time when the GM is having a bad day or gets thrown off by a specific occurence. If you find yourself repeatedly Stealth GMing an on-going campaign, that’s the time for a one on one conversation with the GM about table management and facilitation skills. (In fact, GMs should mentor one another much more frequently, the gaming sphere would be much better off if we did.)

Why would anyone Stealth GM?

The goal of most games is for the participants to have fun and be entertained. If people at the table seem to be disengaging and the game master either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care; that’s when a stealth GM has the opportunity to step up. Keep in mind that as a player there’s no obligation to Stealth GM. However, when a game or GM is flailing, stepping up to help out will likely lead to a better event for everyone. It is a judgement call, but I think that’s worth it.

Why be stealth about it?

 Stealth GMing isn’t about ego or starting a power struggle with the official GM, it’s about maximizing fun during the session. Taking on the mantle of Stealth GM explicitly calls for subtlety – think calm, collected, and confident – not antagonistic. 

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Stealth GMing isn’t about ego or starting a power struggle with the official GM, it’s about maximizing fun during the session. Arguing with the GM or telling them how they aren’t doing a good job is just going to create friction and make people uncomfortable. That isn’t likely to result in a better game, it may even abruptly end the game. Like roleplaying, GMing is a type of performance art and undercutting the GM’s confidence mid performance it a jerk move.

Taking on the mantle of Stealth GM explicitly calls for subtlety – think calm, collected, and confident – not antagonistic. You won’t be recognized, lauded, or given laurels. Your name will be lost to the ages when other players recount the game session. This is about being such badass that you don’t need recognition. Your satisfaction comes from enhancing the game for everyone without making the official GM feel like they failed.

If you aren’t able or willing to keep it to yourself, or discretely provide the GM feedback one on one, there are two options besides Stealth GMing. First: be the best player you can be and have as much fun as you can. Second: politely excuse yourself from the game and move on with your day. Taking any other action is going to create friction and likely lead to a very uncomfortable session for the participants, yourself included.

What could Stealth GM’s do for a game?

Support the authority of the Official GM. If the GM makes decision in order to move the game forward support their authority and move on. If someone is stopping the action to argue rules, let them know that isn’t fun and (unless this is some kind of tournament) it doesn’t matter.

Keep the game flowing. If the other participants are stuck, whether directionless or overwhelmed with the minutiae of planning, try and gain consensus about how to move forward. Either throw your support behind another player’s idea or present a compromise the majority of people can get behind.

Ask for and (as needed) use the safety tools. At the start of a session ask what safety tools are being used and prompt the GM for content warnings. At a recent convention a player inflicted a harmful and inappropriate backstory element on another player’s character. I tried to redirect his insinuation, but he doubled down. I’ve never hit the X-card so fast. No one objected to the use of the X-card except the guy who made the statement, that’s when the GM shut him down. Be brave and lead the way with safety tools, especially when harmful remarks are directed at other members of the community who have less status/power than the person making the statement.

Engage the other players. If someone seems to be getting left out or is disengaging, find a way to direct the spotlight their way. An easy way to do that is to invite them to work in tandem with your character on something, encourage them to offer ideas on how to get the next step done, or engage them in role play.

Shift the focus off of dominant players. If someone at the table is hogging the spotlight or telling other people what they should do, step in calmly but firmly. Assert that “X is taking their turn, I want to hear what they have to say.” Then shift your full attention to player X. [Use similar calm confidence when telling someone to stop if they are calculating other folk’s dice results or grabbing someone else’s dice, cards, or character sheet.]

Be helpful with rules when called upon. If the GM calls themselves out for not knowing a rule or has a memory lapse, go ahead and help out if you know it. Otherwise, offer the GM an out and say “you’re the GM, make a call.” If the GM is really concerned about getting it right, look it up for them while the game carries on.

Help defuse out of game tension. If there is an out of game issue that the GM doesn’t know how to handle, help out however you can. One good option is to ask for a 5 minute break to use the bathroom and either pull a player or the GM aside to talk to them privately. I’m very thankful to have received this kind of support from a player during a convention game earlier this year. Three quarters of the way through my story game a player asserted they didn’t like the plot we had collaboratively crafted and wanted to completely rewrite it. I was at a loss and glad to have someone step up and help me talk the other player through continuing the story as created.

What Stealth GMing isn’t

Taking over another GM’s table. If the game is flowing well and people are enjoying themselves, leave it alone. If your GM sense is tingling, there is probably one specific area where you can direct your support. Focus on that and don’t take over functions that are already going fine. People learn by doing, so don’t take away their opportunity to make a few mistakes and learn how to do better. Stealth GMing is about keeping a game from nose-diving, not nit-picking.

Explaining/correcting rules or trying to override GM rulings. If the game is flowing well and people are enjoying themselves, leave it alone. If a game master seems to be floundering or stops the game to look up a rule, offer to help. Don’t correct or explain rules the GM hasn’t asked for help with. Let the GM answer any rules questions – this is their table. When the GM makes a ruling, accept their authority and move on.

Stealth GMs are rarely needed

When a game is going well, there isn’t the need for a Stealth GM. Observe the people at the table. If the other players are smiling, engaged in the game play, and having fun: leave it alone. Be a badass player and enjoy your time and dearth of responsibility. That is a gift! Inserting yourself just to do so when everything is going well is overstepping your bounds and will likely lead to tension with the GM and the other players. It will take people out of the moment and it won’t lead to more fun.

Note: Sometimes the group style at a table doesn’t fit your style of play. That’s a bummer but it doesn’t mean the table is being run poorly.

Rules objections are not Stealth GMing

 The most frequent way players try to take away the agency of the Game Master is through rules or lore discussions. This is a way that players try to subtly (or not so subtly) assert control over the table and specifically over the GM. Even if the intentions aren’t malicious, it is still a jerk move. 

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One more time for the people in the back: Objecting to GM rulings is not Stealth GMing. 1. it is overt and 2. it does not support and uplift the official GM.

The most frequent way players try to take away the agency of the Game Master is through rules or lore discussions. This is a way that players try to subtly (or not so subtly) assert control over the table and specifically over the GM. Even if the intentions aren’t malicious, it is still a jerk move.

While there could be groups who are more concerned with getting rules right than with keeping the story flowing, I assert that the majority of the time rules discussions diminish the overall fun and satisfaction people have with the game. Fudging the rules and continuing play is almost always the best option. If this is hard to swallow, feel free to silently acknowledge in your head “That’s not the exact rule, but everyone is having fun, so I am going to let it go.” That is one of the most powerful ways to be a badass player.

Final Thoughts

Most games won’t need a Stealth GM, this is a tool to be used on rare occasions. If the need does arise, it’s likely you’ll only have to do this for part of the game, it could just be for five or ten minutes to navigate an awkward or tense situation. While this is a good option to have in the back of your mind, no one is ever required to step up and facilitate a game they didn’t sign up to run. Finally, keep in mind the goal is to enhance everyone’s experience by helping out with easy confidence, and it’s not about getting into a power struggle with the official GM.

Have you ever been a GM and had a player go above and beyond to support you? Have you ever had the opportunity to uplift another GM by helping them through a rough patch?

Stealth GMing published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[fangirl-university-blog]

Set (and achieve!) Goals Like a True Badass

  It's that time of year when New Year's Resolutions are a thing. The New Year feels like the perfect time to start fresh, and with the excitement of the holidays, many of us get overly ambitious with our goals, only to end up bombing everything a week later and giving up. Sound familiar?

In our fast moving world, instant gratification has become an ingrained expectation. We expect instant results in all aspects of our lives. Even when it comes to things that we should know take patience and persistence-- like creating an empire or, you know, taking out the local crime boss-- our favorite stories and heroes create unrealistic expectations on the type of work, dedication and persistence that is required to make shit happen.

In books, television and movies, the timeline is necessarily skewed. These stories have to leave out the boring bits, which in reality make up the bulk of the process. We only get to see the exciting parts and then the end result. 

Even for Sam and Dean Winchester (from Supernatural, in case you didn't know), there battle against the Big Bads generally take the course of an entire season. So sure, it takes about a year, but we don't see the hours and days of time when they're stuck without a lead, or researching fruitlessly, just hanging out until something comes along. As a viewer, we understand that something is going to happen any minute, and so we hang in there. But Sam and Dean have to hang in there, remaining dedicated to their goal even when it seems like nothing is ever going to happen.

So how do they do it? How do the Winchesters, Superheroes, and real-world heroes actually complete their goals even when things look bleak? Well, they have a process that they stick to-- a process that you, too, can learn to follow.

(Download your free step-by-step worksheet.)

Making shit happen takes so much more than wishing for change. In reality, it takes continual action, persistence, and oftentimes, help from an outside source or two. But follow these steps, and there's nothing you can't achieve!

1. Pick one primary goal that comes from the heart.

When a hero decides to do something, they do it. They don't stall, they don't get distracted by unimportant minutiae, and they don't quit when things get a little hard. They keep their eye on the prize and push forward, no matter what.

2. Figure out why it matters to you.

One of the reasons that our favorite characters and heroes are able to maintain focus and drive when they have a mission is because they know why their goal is important. That know that the end result is sufficiently important to warrant the hard work. If there's no greater purpose, they simply wouldn't bother.

3. Focus on what you need to add to your life rather than what you need to take away.

A frequent mistake we make when setting our New Year's Resolutions or other goals is that we focus on what we want less of-- we want to lose weight; quit smoking; stop biting our nails; less debt. The problem is that when we focus on what we don't want, our subconscious doesn't here the "not" part. So you think, "I want to lose weight," and your subconscious hears "Weight!"

When we look at our heroes-- in this case I'll use Harry Potter-- we'll see that they inherently understand this principal even if they don't talk about it. Harry doesn't spend all of his time dwelling on "what ifs" or focusing on his hate for Voldemort. Rather, he creates positive goals that will propel him forward. He focuses on what he can do right now. Like finding the horcruxes.

Same goes for you. Don't focus on losing weight by thinking about what you can't have; aim instead to add things to your life to gain better health. For example, start by adding 4 servings of vegetables to your diet each day, or exercising 3 days a week. You'll find that adding is hella easier than taking things away, and you'll achieve results quicker because you'll be able to stay consistent.

4. Make a plan.

Sometimes a hero has to think on his feet, but more times than not, that's only when something unexpected happens. But in order to get to that point, first you have to have a plan! What steps do you need to get through to reach your end goal? What tasks will be necessary for each step?

Remember, it's okay to change things up as you go, but it's important to have that starting road map.

5. Enlist the help of others.

Tell me just one character or real-life hero that has never needed help from anyone for anything. Go ahead. Just one!

No matter how good you are, eventually your going to need help. Knowing that in advance will make it easier for you when the time comes. Might as well embrace it now.

6. Track your results.

Unless a goal happens overnight (which, sorry, just doesn't happen) it can be easy to forget what you've accomplished in your journey. And when you forget-- that's when you get discouraged and your much more likely to quit.

All of the best heroes have a way of tracking their results and accomplishments along the way. John Winchester has a journal, the Winchester boys create their wall webs of information, Batman has his lair. Harry Potter, Ron and Hermione continuously discuss what they've found so far and what they still need to find when they're looking for the horcruxes.

Whatever way works best for you-- journals, charts, computer logs, videos, newspaper clippings-- don't let yourself forget how far you've come. Heck, maybe even celebrate once in a while.

7. Never quit!

Sometimes you'll go a long period of time when it feels like nothing is happening. You may feel discouraged and feel like you should just give up. This is the time when you dig in your heels and remind yourself that anything worthwhile takes time. So go scream in your pillow, take a weekend to binge on Netflix in your pajamas, or go for a run. It's okay to take a break. But make sure that during that break you are reinforcing yourself with positive thoughts and words. Then when you're ready, get back to it!

(Note: Every couple or months or so I'll require a week-long break to get my head back in the game. I used to feel guilty about it, but I've come to learn that it's just part of my process. Every time I come back stronger and that's what really matters!)

8. Have fun!

If it's not fun at least some of the time then you need to take a second look at what you're doing. Are you doing it for the right reasons? Any goal that you're not passionate about will quickly go by the wayside.

  Can you think of anything else that you or your favorite hero does to make shit happen? Comment below!

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Set (and achieve!) Goals Like a True Badass was originally published on Fangirl University