#multiple centers of his brain and also like keep him off a rhythm. never let him know your next move lol

[halfbaked00q]

ngl. I want a Dom Q flavor that is like. a bit of a sadist. like maybe not necessarily a looot of a sadist. but like at least a bit of one. I want him to like. rly bully Bond. and not just in a cute way. like in a genuinely sadistic for his own haha sickos personal, gleeful pleasure kind of way.

this can include for example things like, playing with Bond (handling dick, tweaking his nipples, continuing to finger him or fuck him) after he's come and while he's like still sensitive and like getting into the overstimulated territory about it. also lmao. ...habe to admit. I found many of @/doll-tamer's posts very like. "ooh what if this for a specific flavor of Dom Q & sub Bond 👀👀👀... 👁👅👁." some examples that uhhh yeah I do gotta admit had me thinking... quite a few thots... (some of them are wow that would be gr8 to see... I want all of this but 00q.... and lowkey a couple are me going "....yea this is kind of Bond-core...." or like this is the-flavor-of-Dom-Q-Im-going-for-here-core....)

to be fair to me tho!!!!!!! I know Im not the only one cuz some of these DO in fact bear similarities to things I have seen in fic!!! So yes this is about me and myyy haha sickos personal tastes. But also I Know it also is Our tastes!!!

But also I want this specific flavorr and also.. if I could get like five more of these little blonde bitches dot meme.........

[thebountyfucker]

The Game

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Afab!Reader x Embo, Afab!Reader x Bossk, Afab!Reader x Cad (Not gendered) Tags: Primal play (hunting), voyeurism/exhibitionism, unprotected sex, alien biology, cum eating, PiV sex, anal sex

Summary: Hunting makes a lizard's brain go brrrrrr. (Or, in other words, three hunters hunt you down. Their prize? You)

Here's the link to my masterpost. Want to be tagged in fics like this? Here's my taglist application!

“Ya get ten minutes. Make dem count.” Cad drawled as he glanced down at the chronometer on his wrist gauntlet. You glanced down at your own chronometer, your heart already racing; standing before you were three bounty hunters, each ready to prove their hunting skills in a test of chase. The prize? You. Whoever found you got first dibs on your cunt. Or whatever it was they desired to fuck. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you could hardly keep still.

Bossk and Embo had both been rather quiet this entire time - for Embo, this was par for the course. Bossk though… you wondered what was going on in that thick head of his. His nostrils kept flaring, as if trying to take in as much of your scent as possible, which… was likely. He was quite reliant on scent for these sorts of hunting games, which made it near impossible to hide. But that was the fun, you supposed.

The boys got to wander through the abandoned settlement briefly beforehand, getting acquainted with the terrain. Sometimes, they’d go in blind… but you all quickly realized that Cad was at a disadvantage. He was a great tracker, but his tech only went so far. You decided to give him a fighting chance by giving him time to set up traps or… whatever it was he used his tech for. Embo and Bossk got to wander around too, just to keep it fair. But you were going in blind.

Cad gave you the signal and you darted off; you were tempted to glance at them over your shoulder, but you knew that would only slow you down. Ten minutes, in theory, felt like long enough to get away. But you knew otherwise. You had to make each movement count.

You ducked through alleys and down streets, dropping items of clothes to try to throw off Bossk. You did your best to avoid Cad’s motion sensors. You tried to take the least logical path. All the while, your heart was pounding and your cunt was throbbing.

You ran through buildings, bumping up against the walls to transfer more of your scent, and then ran out again. You weaved around an empty marketplace, running circles around wooden stalls and touching everything. To top everything off, you took off your shoes, and chucked them in opposite directions.

Soon enough, your chronometer beeped, letting you know that the boys were officially on the hunt… and you needed to hide out. You decided on a warehouse toward the eastern edge of the settlement; it had multiple levels to it, so you figured you could easily hide there. Just as you reached the doorway, Bossk let out his hunting cry, and spikes of pleasure shot to your cunt. Soon… soon…

You crept through the reception area, trying to touch as little as possible. You knew Cad could track your heat signature, and you knew that Bossk would be able to follow your scent still… but you didn’t want to make it easy for them. You decided it would be best to take your chances upstairs, so you wandered until you found the stairwell, and began your ascension.

Climbing the numerous flights of stairs took a significant amount of time, but you had enough of a head start that it didn’t worry you. Even when Bossk’s calls grew closer. You went up five floors, before traversing down the long, empty hallways. The wind whistled through the bones of this building, drawing shivers up your spine. You weren’t sure why, but you swore you were being watched.

You ducked into a room off of the hall, and spotted a locker that looked like you could hide in it. You only made it about halfway across the room before a hand grasped your wrist and pulled you flush against a warm, hard body. You squirmed against the restrictive hand, startling as another hand was clapped over your mouth.

“Do not scream.” It was Embo. How…? You glanced up over your shoulder, meeting his golden gaze. He winked, and a shiver went down your spine. “I want to see how long it takes for them to find you.”

He eased you back into a corner, his hand moving from your mouth to your hip. He gave it a squeeze, his thumb brushing along the curve of your soft flesh. A foreign heat burned in his chest, and you could tell by the vibrant green tinge to his skin that this hunt had thrilled him. A low purr rumbled from deep in his chest.

“How did you…?”

“Your patterns are predictable. The others are concerned about where you have been… I was concerned about where you would go.” He explained, his voice edged with desire; you whimpered softly. “You go for large structures with many places to hide. You should just keep running. Maybe then Cad would have a chance.”

You fought a chuckle. “Unlike you, I don’t have unlimited stamina.”

“It is a shame.” He mused, the hand on your wrist dropping to grab your other hip. He pulled you flush against him, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “It would be much more fun if you did.”

Your breath came out as a shaky rattle, and his hands slid down farther. His large hand cupped your still-clothed cunt, rubbing a thumb over where he supposed your clit was. Your panties dampened as you sunk your teeth into your lip.

“Bossk surely can smell you now, all wet and yearning. He is going to be pissed.”

“Cad’s going to be madder.” You mentioned. Any moment now, the two pissed off hunters would barge in, and the thought of their anger sent spikes of pleasure to your cunt. Embo did not always win, but he won enough… enough to make the other two quite jealous.

He pressed his clothed cock against your back, and you could hardly stop yourself from begging him to fuck you. Not yet, he’d tell you. I want to see their faces when they notice I have won. Embo was not usually one to be conceited, but this game drove them all to their more primal instincts. You reached back to ran a hand along his length, just watching the door.

A loud growl alerted you to Bossk’s presence. He sauntered through the doorway, his teeth bared and his eyes narrowed. He jutted a claw toward Embo, who still had a firm hold on you, as if worried that Bossk would try to wrestle you away from him.

“You cheater!” Bossk roared. Surely this would draw Cad to you, if he wasn’t on the trail already.

“I do not cheat.” Embo replied pointedly.

“You have to! There is no way you found them that quickly!”

As if on cue, Cad stalked through the door; his lips pulled back to reveal his fangs. He leaned against the wall, watching as the other two bickered about ‘what counted as tracking’ and how Embo was ‘a dirty cheat’. You managed to break from Embo’s hold, and you wandered over to Cad.

“Good try?” You offered him, unsure of the mood he’d be in at this point. Judging by his growl, he wasn’t feeling too hot. “Don’t worry… gotta save the best for last, right?”

He quirked a browridge, but seemed to lighten up a bit. Maybe next time, you’d try to give Cad a better chance. You cupped his cheek, and he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Do not get any ideas, Cad.” Embo frowned, and Cad rolled his eyes.

“Wouldn’t dare.” He released his hold on you, and you moved to the center of the room. You pulled off your undershirt, and tossed it aside, bearing your torso to the boys. Bossk’s pupils dilated as he took in the intoxicating scent of your arousal. Embo’s eyes brightened. Cad just smirked and pulled out a cig.

“Good game, boys. I’ll try to make it last longer next time.” You winked, hooking your fingers around the waistband of your panties. You wondered if their more primal natures would become more intense if they were able to chase longer; honestly, a part of you wanted this. Next time… next time…

You shucked your panties off and tossed them to Bossk, who grappled for them and immediately brought them up to his snout. He inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the scent of your arousal. Embo beckoned to you with a finger, and you flitted toward him, falling to your knees before him. He leaned down to stroke your cheek as you reached for the ties of his skirts. They were, frustratingly, complicated to undo, so despite your best efforts, Embo did most of his own undressing. He neatly folded his clothes and set them atop his armor and hat, before bringing you up to stand.

“Do you need preparation? Or can you take me?” He asked, drawing the pads of his fingers down around your nipples. You bemoaned the fact that you were in an environment where he couldn’t remove his mask, as you knew that he would love to eat you out. But that could wait for another time. Right now, you needed to focus… oh fuck, your pussy was drooling now. Your legs shook as he gingerly pinched your nipples.

“P-please… I need your cock.” You whimpered, and he lifted you up; you wrapped your legs around his waist as he lined his cock up with your cunt. Slowly, he pushed in.

“Did you wish to see them?” Embo asked, his voice surprisingly even as he pushed further into you. You nodded as Embo turned to give you a better look at the other two. Though you’d never admit it, you were aroused at the thought of the other two watching as you were fucked. Bossk’s cocks had slipped out of his slit and were rapidly hardening. You couldn’t see Cad’s hard on, but you knew he would be quick to follow. A part of you wondered if it was just you that turned them on, or if they were also enjoying the view of their rival…

Soon, Embo had bottomed out, completely sheathing himself inside you. You swore his cock had pressed up under your ribs, though you knew this was not possible. You were so completely impaled by him. Your head lolled back as he slowly eased out, and then back in, quickly finding a suitable rhythm that wouldn’t completely wreck your insides.

You glanced over at the boys, watching as they shifted to try to accommodate their hard-ons. Bossk was rubbing a clawed hand over his cocks, still completely intoxicated by your scent. Cad smoked his cig to the butt, before crushing it beneath his boots.

Embo took his time fucking into you. His stamina would allow for him to fuck you all day, but while he was delighted to have you first, he was not greedy. He would allow for Bossk and Cad to have their turns with you.

Every thrust made his nodes drag across your sensitive spots, massaging them in a way that made your head spin and warmth pool in your belly. And when he pressed a thumb to your clit and rubbed, it was game over for you. You orgasmed, your body going limp and your vision going black as you milked his cock for all it was worth.

He would not have given up so easily in a private session, but given that he was not the only one fucking you today, he decided to cum early. He growled softly as he rested his head against yours, shooting his hot cum deep into you. It kept coming and coming… when he finished, he pulled you off his cock and his cum seeped down your thighs.

You wobbled, hardly able to catch your breath before Bossk approached. He had already pulled his cocks from his jumpsuit, and they were twitching for you. First, though… Bossk laid you down on the ground and spread your legs open wide. His tongue flicked out, lapping at the cum which dirtied your thighs; you weren’t sure if he actually enjoyed the taste of another man’s cum, or if he was just trying to clean you. Either way, his tongue slipped into your cunt, slurping up the left over cum like a starving man at a feast. He dragged his tongue in and out, growling and groaning, drawing gasps from deep within you. Heat boiled in your belly, and you felt as though you could cum then and there… but you’d wait as long as you could. You needed Bossk’s cocks…

He lifted your hips, his tongue swirling his lube-like saliva and cum mixture around your asshole. When he felt that you were sufficiently slicked, he situated himself between your legs, and lined up his cocks with your holes. When he pressed in, you let out a howl of pleasure.

He was slow, knowing your ass would need more time to adjust than your cunt would. Your hands went to your breasts as you looked over at Embo and Cad. Embo had found a desk to sit on, and was idly stroking his hardening cock. Cad was finally starting to show his arousal, his cheeks flushed green and a dopey look in his eyes.

“Pretty little prey.” Bossk purred as he stroked a claw along your cheek. “Pretty and tight.”

He eased in further, his cocks rubbing against the thin wall of flesh separating your cunt from your ass. You whined, arching your back and angling your hips toward him. Your legs were already shaking, your toes curling. And when he finally sheathed himself inside you, stars danced in your vision.

“Don’t cum yet, little prey… we’ve only just started.” Bossk eased out, and then back in. Bossk was long - not nearly as long as Embo, though - and his cocks were thick. Where Embo impaled you, Bossk completely stuffed you. Like Embo, though, his cocks pressed through your belly, and you watched as your belly rippled with every thrust.

His tongue snaked out to lick at your nipples, getting them hard; you were desperate for a mouth around them, though you knew Bossk would not be able to fulfill that desire. Maybe Cad would…

Bossk picked up his pace until you orgasmed, shooting fluids all over him; Bossk was quick to follow, his frills expanding to keep you locked onto his cocks. His cum was cool and thick, and filled you up; slowly, his frills deflated, and he pulled out. He was satisfied, but at the same time, like Embo, you knew he wanted more. He backed away, allowing Cad to approach now.

You sat up, watching as Cad pulled his cock out; it was hard and leaking what you assume was Duros precum. You were always shocked by how aroused the boys were; you had originally thought that they’d be turned off by the presence of each other… and yet…

“On yer hands an’ knees, doll.” Cad drawled, and you were quick to oblige. Your swollen, pliant cunt was ready for him, and he reveled in it. He drew a finger between the lips, rubbing Bossk’s cum around as a sort of lubricant, before pressing into you. You twitched around him, every touch sending sharp spikes of pleasure to your cunt; your body was flushed and hot. Your eyes were half-lidded. You were drooling onto the ground. You were so goddamn cock-dumb that it was making Embo and Bossk chuckle.

Cad’s grip on your hips was bruising, and every once in a while, he drew a hand back to smack your ass. You lurched forward with every hit, gasping and whimpering. He was determined to make his mark on you, much more concerned with claiming you than his companions were.

He nipped at your neck and shoulders, thrusting harder and harder into you; his ridges - oh, the ridges!- massaged your sensitive spots, which were already overstimulated from the two previous cocks in you. You could hardly keep yourself up, which Cad hadn’t failed to notice. Instead of holding you up, though, Cad shoved you to the ground, his hand holding your head down on the ground.

“Cad~!” You moaned, your voice pitching up as ecstasy gripped you. The heat in your belly threatened to spill, but you knew Cad didn’t care. He’d fuck you through three orgasms if he wanted.

“Dat’s it, doll. Yell my name. Tell dese idiots who ya belong t’!” He growled, not letting up on his pace. You turned your head to look at Bossk and Embo, noting their continued arousal; something told you that you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow…

“CAD!” You cried, tension building. You were so goddamn close! If only…

Cad pressed his thumb to your clit and the tension snapped. Fluids rushed out around his cock as your body went limp; your head was in the clouds, high on ecstasy and sex. Every nerve was set ablaze.

You weren’t sure how long your orgasm lasted, only that Cad had continued to fuck into your tightened cunt. He was grunting, and his pace was beginning to falter, but he wouldn’t give up that easily. He tangled a hand in your hair and pulled you up closer to him. He dragged his teeth along your back.

“Yer too good t’ us, doll. Too good.” Cad muttered as he leaned forward, latching over your shoulder. You braced yourself, knowing what came next.

Cad’s pace grew erratic, and before long, he came, biting down into your shoulder as he shot his cum inside you. You cried out, orgasming again - this orgasm caught you off-guard, but you were pleased none the less.

Cad licked away the blood, before easing out of your sore cunt. He sat nearby, his soft cock just bobbing between his legs. The room was silent for a moment, before Embo approached once more.

“Are you able to take more?”

You knew you had a long night ahead of you.

-

Tags: @doctor-ren, @that-clone-wars-girl, @some-serendipity-snail, @rewin-d

[purpleyellow]

characters unlocked

basic info: 

Chung Minkyung/Mae 

The Boyz 12th member

birthday: 1999/01/14

birth place: Seoul - South Korea

Chung Minji 

TXT 6th member

birthday: 2001/05/31

birth place: Sydney - Australia

a/n: have I gone insane and made two ocs at once? kind of. actually, I haven’t made up my mind about actually going forward with them yet but I’ve had this idea for about two months and my mind couldn’t rest unless I actually wrote it down. and since I already had it typed out, I might as well share it right? (awkwardly laughs and runs away). 

also disclaimer, this is 100% focused on the ocs and not on their groups, you may be asking why since I never really cared this much about backstory before... I honestly don’t know, my brain thought of it like that and that’s how this turned out.

2011

Minkyung watched the teacher leave the room from the corner of the classroom and began packing up her things as the girls around her whispered between themselves. She didn’t blame them for talking, considering this was the first time in months she had made it through the first period without her mother showing up. 

Actually, some days she wouldn’t even go to school due to her day packed with auditions and art-centered classes. But this time she had, and just for a moment, she allowed herself to think she would have a normal day. Until the teacher had to answer a knock.

Walking back inside, the middle-aged woman speared a pitied glance at the girl and nodded once she excused herself. The official routine of letting her know her mother had arrived was long gone after the fifth consecutive time it had happened.

Going outside as fast as she could, so she wouldn’t hear anyone talking about her. Minkyung met her mother near the school entrance.

“Let’s go, we can’t be late” The woman rushed her, picking up her backpack and throwing on the backseat before circling her car and sitting in the driver’s spot. She barely waited for her daughter to buckle up before driving away from the parking lot. Wheels scratching the pavement as she did so.

“What is it this time?” She asked with half the excitement of her mother, leaning her head on the window as she watched the school becoming small in the rearview mirror.

“Acting gig. You got this in the bag” The older woman spoke cheerfully and Minkyung hummed. Once they stopped at a red light, her mother turned to her and brushed her a strand of hair behind her ear “Hey. I know you’re growing tired but I think this one might be it. Just blow them away with your talent, alright baby?”

“Alright, mama”

2011

Minji sat at the curb as she watched her friend jumping into the backseat of her parent’s car.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride sweetie?” The friends’ mother asked her leaning out of the window “Eliza was telling me you usually wait quite a while, I can talk to you mother and arrange a carpooling system with her”

“No, it’s fine Ms.Smith” Minji hugged her lunch box and smiled sweetly, her small feet tapping the ground in a rhythm she had made up “Mom should be arriving soon, I don’t want her to worry if I’m not here”

“Well okay, be sure to mention that to her so next time you don’t have to wait” The blond woman smiled politely before driving off. 

Minji waved at them and stared at the empty sidewalk in front of the school. Checking her pink watch for the fifth time, she noticed she only had to wait five more minutes before she gave up on waiting and walked home. 

The girl knew there wasn’t a big chance of her mother remembering she had a younger daughter to pick up, but still, she allowed herself to wait for an hour every day. Just in case she would show up.

After the five minutes were up, the 10 year old grabbed her stuff and began her usual walk home. The neighborhood wasn’t too dangerous and she would only have to walk six blocks to arrive, but still, it felt too cruel for the teacher to see it happening constantly. 

The woman had walked half of her way to get to the girl when she saw a tall man approaching, she sighed relieved as Minji gasped surprised.

“Dad” She jumped on the man’s arms and he laughed, waving at the teacher before picking her lunch box that had fallen on the ground. 

“I came home from work earlier today, I figured you’d want some company on your walk home” He patted her on the head and the girl smiled brightly “I’m sorry for not being able to do this every day”

“It’s fine. Come, I’ll show you the pet store I walk by. Oh, and there’s this old lady resting on her porch every day, she always gives me a good afternoon” Minji smiled pulling him by the hand as they made their way back. 

2014

Minkyung quietly stood in the hallway as she heard her parents discussing. Earlier that day, her mother got an email confirming her acceptance into a trainee program in Korea, the multiple years of singing lessons and learning various instruments had finally given a bigger result than the acting route had. 

The girl had never seen her mother more excited than after getting the news, but since she told her father about it they had been locked in the kitchen arguing about the changes this opportunity brought to the family.

“I don’t know about this, it sounds pretty expensive” Mr. Chung sighed walking back and forth. 

“It’s an opportunity for our daughter to finally become someone. She worked so hard for it, we don’t know when the next one might come. This is her chance” 

“She is someone already. She’s our daughter, a sister, and a student. What will happen with her studies after she’s gone?”

“She can keep them overseas, she’s homeschooled after all”

“Only because she couldn’t keep up with school and your obsession for making the girl famous” 

“She wants this just as much as I do” 

“What’s going on?” Minji showed up out of nowhere startling her sister, who whispered for her to keep quiet and listen.

“They’re discussing moving to Korea” Mikyung waved her off and returned to listen, but the younger slapped her arm and frowned. “Ouch, stop that dumbass”

“Why would we move to Korea?” 

“I passed an audition there. Mom is convincing dad to accept it”

“No, absolutely not” Minji shook her head, walking determined downstairs only to be stopped by the older “Let me go. I’m not moving because of you” 

“Minji don’t, let them discuss this, mom almost has him”

“I’m not moving. I don’t care what you want. Different from you I have friends here, I have a life. I’m not going because of you” 

“Hey, stop that” Their father opened the kitchen door to stop the two arguing girls. 

“No, I’m not stopping. You’ve always given Minkyung the fancy tutors and expensive courses without thinking twice. She can go on her own, I don’t want to leave our home”

“We are a family, if one of us is going, the rest is too” Her mom spoke up pointing a finger at her “And this might be your home, but Seoul is your dad’s and mine. We’d be going back to our family. No more trips during holidays and all of that. Think about it, it would benefit us all”

“No, it wouldn’t. Dad would have to leave work, and I have school and my friends. We built a life here” Minji cried out looking between the two of them. In the back, her sister leaned on the wall and watched them ultimately deciding her future.

“And you’ll build a new one in Korea too. Think about all the work your sister has done for us to have this chance”

“This is her chance. Not ours”

“Minkyung” The man spoke, shutting the two up and getting the girl’s attention. “Do you honestly want this? We would be investing a lot once you sign with them”

“Yes, I’m sure of it” She answered, it was honest. But considering that was the only thing she had worked for her entire life, there was no way it wouldn’t have been.

2015

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” Minkyung’s mom asked her again as they made it in front of the building. 

“Yes, mom” The girl rolled her eyes fixing the big duffel bag under her arm “Most people leave their families for this. I don’t want to brag that mine follows me no matter where I go”

“They deserve to know we support you” The woman cupped her face in adoration and she laughed.

“It isn’t a matter of support, some people just can't afford to move around”

“Okay, but I’ll come by your accommodations later to bring the rest of your stuff and you’ll tell me everything then”

“Fine. Oh, and mom. Can you give Minji my guitar, she might have a better use for it than leaving it untouched”

“You don’t want to have at least one of your instruments with you?” The woman frowned, reluctant in passing by her daughter’s belongings to the younger.

“I’m sure they’ll have a bunch I can practice on” The girl shrugged moving around on her feet.

“If you say so. Don’t forget not to let the boys mess with you okay. And don’t stress if you don’t get along, remember this is only one phase for you to become the star you were born to be”

“Uh, okay. I have to go” Minkyung gave her a hug and walked inside the building, blushing furiously as her mother screamed good luck to her.

Walking to where a receptionist was, she noticed a boy, a little older than her, getting some credentials with her. Standing behind him, she waited until the woman asked for her name.

“Chung Minkyung” The girl said and she nodded.

“Right, the girl from Australia. I have your stuff here too”  The woman said and the boy, who was puzzly looking through his papers, looked up at the mention of the Country and quickly stared at her, wondering if he should introduce himself or wait a little more “You’re both going the same way, press two in the elevator down the hallway and go to the room on the far left”

Thanking her, Minkyung picked up her things and nodded for the boy, giving him a tight-lipped smile as they walked together.

“I’m sorry, I think I overheard you’re from Australia. I’m from Canada, and my Korean is a little rusty. Do you speak English?” He smiled embarrassed and the girl nodded.

“Yeah, no problem. Mine would be too, but my mom made me take lessons as a child because speaking both languages would be good for the resume” She told him as they entered the elevator “A little TMI, I’m sorry. I’m bad at making friends”

“It’s fine” He laughed nervously and looked around before hitting him that he hadn’t introduced himself “I’m Jacob, sorry for not saying my name”

“I’m Minkyung but I guess you can call me Mae if you want to” She smiled generously at him and he nodded. The elevator’s doors opened up for them to step out. 

Walking inside the room they were told, several heads turned around to stare at them and a buzzing boy came straight to greet them. 

“Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Youngjae. Where are you guys from?”

“Uh- My name is Jacob, I’m from Canada” 

“Oh, you came from the international auditions, right? In that case you can call me Eric, I used to live in LA” Eric smiled and looked expectantly at the girl.

“I’m Mae, I came from Australia” She smiled nervously and he gasped.

“Oh wow, we’re all from different places” 

“Yeah um could you show us around, I’m kind of lost right now” Mae said and Jacob nodded from her side making Eric laugh.

“It’s my first day too actually” He said making both their eyes widen “But everyone seems nice, let’s introduce you to them and they’ll help us figure things out” 

“How are you so comfortable?” The girl asked on a whim and cleaned her throat embarrassed after realizing what she had done “Sorry, I’m sorry. I- I suck at meeting new people”

“It’s fine” Eric laughed, intertwining his arm with hers “We’ll get along, all of us. Let’s talk to the others because they’ve been staring for a while”

2017

“Your sister is debuting today?” One of Minji’s friends, Yoojung, gasped on her left as they stood in the food court at the mall. The three of them wearing their school uniforms while deciding what to eat.

“Yeah, and my mom is a mixture of excitement and annoyance at home, that’s why I’ll stay in this place until her and dad leave for the stage”

“Annoyance?” Jisoo, her other friend asked while looking at the ice cream store “Let’s go to the parlour”

“Sure. And yes, her original plan was for Minkyung, I guess Mae now, to go solo after a while. But last month she came home exclusively to tell her she wasn’t going to leave her group” The girl said nonchalantly as if it were old news for her.

“Wow, that’s so cool” Jisoo gasped, making Minji roll her eyes.

“Why are you not going to the debut showcase?” Yoojung asked again, making her shrug.

“We were never that close, since she became a trainee we haven't talked at all. I’m sure she won’t miss me that much”

“Still, you would meet a bunch of good looking idols, I’d give everything to be there” Jisoo said in a dreamy tone and both of the girls laughed at her expression.

The three of them were slowly walking to get their sweets when a couple stopped them in the middle of the aisle, quickly handing a card to each of them and introducing themselves as scouts from an idol company.

“We’re holding auditions tomorrow and it would be lovely if you could attend, I’ll make sure to remember each of your faces” The lady smiled politely, her gaze sticking a little more on Minji than on the other girls.

They gave some more information to them and gave a quick goodbye. Looking at the card and back at the girls, Minji tried to sound as casual as possible while asking if they would show up for the process.

“Nah” Yoojung said making Jisoo nod along “But you should, they seemed more interested in you than us”

Humming along, Minji stuck the piece of paper on her pocket in the promises of deciding that night.

2019

“Hey, what are you doing?” Mae asked after coming out of her room and seeing Kevin, Changmin, and Haknyeon huddled up around a computer.

“A new group just debuted” Kevin mumbled, scrolling down what seemed to be an article and she snorted.

“So what, rookie groups show up literally every day” She rolled her eyes standing behind them and reading some of the words flying by “Tomorrow X Together, isn’t that Bighit’s new group? Wait, why are they talking about us there?”

“Because there’s a rumor that one of the members is your sister” Haknyeon said and as if on clue Kevin stopped in a picture of Minji.

Feeling like time had frozen, Mae widened her eyes and gasped, pulling Kevin away and scrolling down herself to check if she wasn’t having a fever dream.

“You never said you had a sister” Q noticed casually as she freaked out in front of the computer.

“She never came to visit us either” Kevin complained for a second and then gasped “Wait, was she missing? Did you just find your missing sister?”

As the boys began sharing conspiracy theories as to why they didn’t know about the existence of Minji, Mae turned to them with a shocked expression and waited until they fell silent to quietly mumble 

“That little devil never told me she wanted to become an idol”

[jasoningram]

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[topmixtrends]

I WENT TO LUNCH with Ben Loory a couple years back, and afterward, we walked to a gelateria. While I wolfed down gelato, he sat across from me, not eating, and asked how he should end a story about an ostrich and a UFO. He gave me the premise and the outline of the story so far, and I puzzled along with him, but mostly nodded with my mouth full while I watched him chase down his own neuron fire like some kind of fabulist Good Will Hunting. About 15 minutes later, we were talking about something else entirely when he announced that he had it: “The aliens put their head in the sand.”

It all made sense when I read “The Ostrich and the Aliens��� in his spectacular new collection, Tales of Falling and Flying. As with all of his stories, I felt that satisfying click, the visceral understanding that the pieces locked together, even if I wasn’t quite sure how.

I asked Ben over email about his stories, his process, and other Ben Loory things. Here’s a look at the inside of his weirdo genius brain.

¤

STEPH CHA: You have this distinctive metered style that makes your stories instantly recognizable as Ben Loory stories. How did you develop this style? Are there unpublished proto-stories where it’s halfway there? How defined are the rules? Do you have like a personal style guide?

BEN LOORY: It’s weird, you know, no one has ever asked me about that. I think most people don’t even notice. (Which is good, because if people started calling me a poet, I’d probably never sell another book.) Anyway, yeah, that just emerged gradually. Going way back: When I first started writing stories, I was really just thinking of them as story ideas — as outlines or treatments; I was brainstorming, hoping to find a good one to write a screenplay out of. It was only after I’d written maybe 15 or 20 of them that I started to think, “Hey, these are actually really cool as they are, as these very short, simply told, action-packed little stories.” They didn’t have a lot of extraneous description, didn’t rely on metaphors or similes (or anything people usually remark upon as “good writing,” really), didn’t have much internality or background characterization — it was all just pure story, pure happening, beginning to end. And I started to ask myself, “Why don’t people write stories this way?” I mean, this is the way people tell each other stories, if we’re all just sitting around talking, at a bar or a party or a dinner or something. So I figured that was the assignment I was giving myself, and I set out to write a book of these stories.

But then — okay, getting to the point now — after I’d been writing those stories for about a year, I remember there was one night — and I wish I could remember which story it was — but there was this one night where I was writing a story, and it ended, accidentally, in a kind of rhythmic half- or slant-rhyming couplet. And at first I was like, “Oh jeez, gotta change that”; but then the more I looked at it, the more I liked it; I liked the way it brought the story together at the end with this kind of bang, the way the rhythm of the prose told you the end was coming, and then the semi-rhyme made it feel complete. So then I started ending all the stories that way — sometimes with a full rhyme, but usually with a near-rhyme or half or slant rhyme, and always trying to get the meter of those last sentences moving that way to build up to it. I don’t even know how to describe it, really — I think it might be ballad form? But I’m not an expert. And then, over time, that rhythm that began in the closing paragraphs began to spread backward through the stories, it just started to infect my prose in general, until finally I just found myself writing in that meter, even when I wasn’t planning to. I remember the night I noticed that — I remember sitting there, thinking: “Be careful! This is what happened to Dr. Seuss!” But then I was like, whatever, Dr. Seuss did okay, so I just embraced it and have pretty much written in that meter ever since.

So yes, to answer your question, there were early versions, at least of my early stories, that were written before that meter emerged, and yes, I had to go back and shift those stories around in order to fit the “guidebook” — but that guidebook isn’t written down; I don’t even really understand it. I just kinda know when it feels right and when it doesn’t. I like the way the meter adds this beat, this pulse to the story, that propels readers along — I think it’s kind of hypnotizing.

I know you read widely, in pretty much every genre. I wonder if you ever think, like, “One day, I’m gonna write a dystopian trilogy, or a 600-page realist novel set in New Jersey.” When you sit down to write, is it always short stories that come out?

Well, yeah — so far! I’ve always said, “Hey, if one day I sit down and a novel starts coming out, so be it, I just do what I find myself doing.” (That’s my rule.) That being said, I did actually have a novel idea not too long ago — it came to me in the night one night sometime about a year ago. I wasn’t writing, I was just lying there, staring at the ceiling, and it came to me, just sorta crept on in, and very quickly I saw the whole thing spooled out — it’s this Jonathan Franzen–type multiple-perspective decades-spanning realistic novel centered around a thrash metal band, starting in the mid-’80s. It even has a title (which is a really good title!) and I know how the whole thing goes, even the last line. (I’m leaving out all the cool stuff about it — don’t worry, it’s better than it sounds here.) So then I spent some time thinking, “Well, do I write that?” I figure it would probably take me about two years. And I did actually toy with the idea for a while, and even wrote the opening chapter, but in the end (at least, so far) I decided it wasn’t worth it. That two years would be two years I wouldn’t be writing stories, and I could probably write between 50 and 100 stories in that time! And those stories would be good — or at least, I hope they would be — and they would be my stories, which I kinda feel like only I write. So do I really want to preemptively flush those stories down the drain in favor of writing a novel that pretty much any writer could write? I mean really, it might be good, but it would just be another realistic novel about some people in a band … only really differentiated by the specific flavor of my prose. Which just doesn’t seem like enough to keep me going. I don’t know; I might do it someday. Mostly because I really love the title.

I feel like when a reader picks up a book by an author she likes, the expectation is that it’ll be the same, but also different. How do you think your writing has changed since you published Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day?

I don’t know. I don’t think it’s changed much; my hope is it’s just gotten better, more focused. This book does come out of a better time in my life, though; Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day, I started writing when I was really at rock bottom; it was a scary and kind of terrifying time in my life, so the stories were pretty dark, pretty horror-based. The last few years have much better, so while there’s still a lot of (at least) existential horror in this book, I think a lot of it is more fable-y, fairy tale-y, maybe a little more fun? But I could be wrong. It’s hard to step outside and judge.

I noticed you wrote some stories in the first person this time. That’s new, isn’t it?

Yeah, first person was a bit of an experiment. I actually started doing that a long time ago — it was right after I’d finished (or at least, thought I’d finished) my first book … I’d been writing all these third-person stories where no one had names and they all took place in this kind of nebulous, cartoony otherworld. And when I finished that book, I got up the next morning and I was like, “Okay, what do I do now?” So I figured, well, I guess I’ll write some more stories. But when I sat down to do it, I suddenly felt like I was faking it, like I was just copying what I had done before. So I decided to switch it up and just do the opposite of everything. So I wrote a lot of stories (and I do mean a lot, probably around 200 [just first drafts, but still]) and they were all in first person and they were all about “real”-seeming people, characters with names who lived in the same “real”-seeming town. For a while, I was planning to put out a whole book of these stories, it was like Winesburg, Ohio, but in the Twilight Zone, was how I saw it. Anyway, that ended up not panning out, for a couple reasons (first off being that all the stories ended the same way, with the main characters either dying or leaving town, which got kind of ridiculous after a while). But I still kept writing the stories — I really liked a lot of them — and after a while I started going back and forth between those and the ones in third person. Now I just sort of indiscriminately move between them, whenever I start to get bored. It’s just become another arrow in the quiver.

I will say that first person was really hard for me at first. Coming from screenwriting, I tend to see stories from outside — as pictures, as people out there in front of me, walking around, doing things. First person is weird because now you’re in some character, and what are you doing there? You have this body, this mind, this whole past and language to deal with, and how do you stay in that and deal with the expansiveness of it all and not let the outside world just get completely washed away? In the end I think my first-person stories remain a little mysterious. The person at the center of them is always a little blocked out; it gives them an interesting feel, but they get a little claustrophobic if you read too many of them in a row. I was actually thinking of them recently when I was reading those new Rachel Cusk books. She does the same kind of thing, where there’s this big hole in the very center of the narrator, where you’re used to this grandly etched monument. It’s unsettling.

How do you start a story? Like the first story in this collection is about a dodo who hasn’t gone extinct with the others, and who wants to prove to himself and others that he is in fact a dodo. Where did that come from? I have about one good story idea every one to three years, which is why I write novels. Are you getting hit by new story ideas like every week?

I don’t actually have ideas, is the thing. People always laugh when I say that, but it’s true — I don’t even want ideas. In the past, I always sat around waiting for ideas, waiting for a “great story” to fall into my lap, fully formed, thinking then I’d go off and write it. And every now and then I would have what I thought of as an idea, but then I’d cling to it so tightly, so desperately, so carefully, that I would never actually do anything with it out of fear I might lose it or mess it up or something and never get another. So finally I decided to just let all that go, and now I don’t deal in ideas. Now I just deal in images and characters, I start simple and then just follow the characters and let the stories unfold.

So, for instance, in that story about the dodo, I started with just the “idea” of a dodo. It’s nothing fancy, a million people have done it. So whatever, a dodo comes to mind, so now I’m writing a story about a dodo. So I sat down and wrote that first part of the first line: “Once there was a dodo.” Then I looked at it and wondered what would happen next, and the first thing that came to mind was that he probably died, because they all died, and that made me laugh, so I wrote it down: “… and he died with the rest.” So then there I was, it seemed like the story was over? But how could it be over, it just began! So then I added: “But then he suddenly got back up again!” And then after that, the whole thing just flowed out, he’s running around proclaiming that he’s a dodo and no one believes him because the dodos are all dead and he’s trying to prove it but there’s no way to prove it — it all just follows inevitably. But that wasn’t the idea, it didn’t start with that — it just started with an image, a simple statement: once there was a dodo. That’s it.

I think a lot of people think about imagination as this kind of telephone that you pick up and then someone tells you what to do. But for me, it’s more like an openness, a determination, to just follow what you have right there on the page and respond naturally and honestly to what’s happening. It’s a matter of just trusting your instincts, all the time, and resolving to never turn away from them.

I know you work on some of these stories for years. When do you know that a story is done?

For me, there are two parts to a story being done. The first is the hard part, that’s getting the actual story right, which for me is mostly figuring out how it ends. Most of my stories tend to hinge on paradoxes or logical contradictions or impossible things like that, and so somehow managing to resolve those unmatchable threads in the end always throws me into a terrible brain pretzel. Usually what happens is eventually something gives and the emotional conflicts in the story come together and then the last line appears and at that point I usually burst into tears. Either tears, or I feel like a great big giant hole has opened up inside me and I’m falling down into it (those are the scarier stories, I guess). And it’s that moment, that point where the story suddenly surprises me with an unexpected emotional charge, that I’m looking for, and once I’ve found that, I know I’m at the end. It’s always an emotional thing — there it is.

After that, I leave the hard part and move on to the impossible part, which is getting all the words right, getting the whole thing flowing properly. That usually consists of me sitting in my house, reading the story out loud to myself over and over and over, making sure I don’t trip or cringe at any point, and then doing that again and again and again. And that work could go on forever and ever, because what seems perfect today is never perfect tomorrow. As a writer you grow and change and you’re always in different moods and different psychological/intellectual places and you’re always seeing the story from different vantage points in your life, so, whatever … long story short, you can never actually get a story perfect, I hate to say. So eventually, after straining for perfection for however long, eventually you just kinda get tired of moving the same couple of commas back and forth, or sticking a word in and taking it out, and at that point you just kinda say, okay fine, whatever. And then that’s the end of that.

This is a book of 40 stories in three parts — 13 each plus a bonus. I’m guessing this was deliberate, since your first book was organized the same way. How did you land on that structure? And how did you group/order the stories?

That structure just emerged during the editing of the first book. I’d started out with a manuscript of 101 stories, but Penguin asked if I could cut it down to 30 or 40 (they seemed to think a 500-page book of fables by a first time author was a bad idea). Of course I went with 40 because I didn’t know if I’d ever get a chance to put out a book again. My editor thought it might be helpful to divide it up into different sections, as a way of giving people guideposts, sort of rest stops along the way, so I just immediately split it into three, because I’m obsessed with three-act structure. That made 39 — three sections of 13 stories each (which I also found numerologically pleasing) — and that meant one story would be left over, to kind of hang out by itself at the end. That made good sense to me because that last story was the one from The New Yorker, which was longer than the rest of them and had been written in a slightly different style.

As for order, for the first book, I basically just put the stories in chronological order by when I started writing them. This was after months and months of trying (and failing) to make up a natural-seeming order for them. Chronological order worked out well, because there’s already a natural evolution to the stories; they start out kinda scary and about mostly unnamed people, and then slowly start to change, they get weirder and wilder and then animals start talking, and then all hell breaks loose. And at the end, in the last few stories, it contracts; the stories settle down into this strange, spooky, surrealist thing, and then it goes out on the explosion of “The TV.”

For the second book, I didn’t how to structure it, so I just went with 40 like before, and kept the three sections and that +1 at the end — I really like having that “+1” spot because it gives me a place to stick a story that’s a little different from the rest. In the case of Tales of Falling and Flying, it’s the story “Elmore Leonard,” which is longer and maybe a little more “real world” than the rest. I’ll probably do the third book the same way.

Did you write toward 40 or did you leave tons of stories on the cutting room floor? How did you decide what to put in and what to leave out?

Well, I did aim for 40, but it was more of a corralling and whittling down — I don’t leave anything on the cutting-room floor, exactly, it’s more like some stories just go back into the oven. I have hundreds of stories I’m working on at any given moment, and I’m always writing more and juggling them around and moving back and forth between them. So the ones that came together and really felt exciting to me come deadline-time, those were the ones that went into the book. The others will come together someday, for some book. I never give up on a story.

Do you have a favorite story in the collection?

No. They are all my favorites. But! There are some that I feel particularly attached to, usually because I worked on them for so long — they sorta feel like family members I lived with for years, trying to help them get on their feet. “Death and the Lady,” for instance, I think I worked on for 10 years (not a solid 10 years, but coming back to it again and again). “The Rock Eater” and “The Sword” and “Elmore Leonard” are in that group. And “The Woman, the Letter, the Mirror, and the Door.”

There are also those stories that still feel mysterious to me — the ones that I know feel done to me, but are still just slightly beyond my comprehension. Those I always love because I don’t really feel responsible for them; they feel like these gifts that sorta floated into my life and began to eat from my hand. So in this book, those are “The Fall,” “The Madman,” “Gorillas,” and to some extent “Picasso” and “The Ambulance Driver.”

And then, beyond that, there are the ones that just make me laugh, the ones that when I read them, I just feel like a little kid sorta discovering stories all over again, which is weird because they’re my stories, but hey, I’ll take what I can get. “The Porpoise” in this book is like that — I’m smiling now, just thinking about it — and also “The Cape” and “The Frog and the Bird.”

And fine, okay, “War and Peace” is my favorite.

You’ve done a lot of teaching since your first book. Has that taught you anything about writing? Any great advice you give to students that you don’t actually follow?

The main thing I’ve learned as a teacher is that what works for you as a writer is not necessarily what works for anyone else. You can’t just say, “Here’s the key, do this,” because the key to everyone’s personal creativity is different. So instead you have to come up with lots of different keys — even ones that you yourself don’t find even slightly useful — and just keep throwing them out there in the hopes that someone will catch one and it will work. Being a teacher requires a much more open mind; being a writer is just a matter of being true to yourself. They are related of course, because you’re dealing with the same field. But the skills involved are completely different.

As a writer, the main way being a teacher has changed me is that it’s made me a much better editor. I’ve gotten much quicker at zeroing in on story problems, whether in other people’s work or my own. Somewhere along the way, I developed a list of common questions — How does this character pay their bills? What does this character do when they’re not at work? Does this character have any friends? Do they like them? What are they afraid of? et cetera — that I find are usually pretty helpful for beginning writers. And hey, you know, they work for me too! You just get to know the territory a lot better.

Do you write for any particular kind of reader? What do you hope people get out of your writing? Like what’s the best kind of email you can get from a fan?

I don’t really think about readers when I’m writing (when the book is out, they suddenly become very real). I just figure that we’re all basically the same, so if it works for me, it’ll probably work for everyone. Sometimes I wonder if people will know some strange word, but in the end I just go with whatever feels right — that’s the only thing I can be sure of. I never know what people mean when they talk about writing for a particular audience; it just seems really condescending and bizarre — not to mention completely impossible. I have a hard enough time figuring out how the story goes, what the characters want, how the events are going to unfold — now somehow I’m supposed to change all that around to please some nebulous, generalized group of nonexistent people, based on how I think they’re going to react? Just seems like a cynical and doomed undertaking. If the readers like the story, then they become the audience — that’s about the best I can figure it.

As for what I hope people get out of my writing: basically, I’m just hoping for an experience! An emotional, experiential, hallucinatory one, and one they can’t turn away from. Ideally, I think a story should provide an experience that a reader’s never had — or even dreamed of! Both as a reader and a writer, I’m always hoping for a roller-coaster of the mind and the heart and the soul.

I’m always happiest when people just tell me they like the stories, or when they tell me they were moved by them, that they made them happy or sad, or made them laugh or cry. I’m always a little distrustful when people compliment the details; when they pick out a particular line or some specific image or moment. I feel like when you love something, when it really affects you, there isn’t a whole lot to be said. (Wow, thank you, that was great — that’s what I’d tell Tobias Wolff if I could.) Not that I won’t take any and all compliments! But it’s the emotional response I’m after.

What’s next for you?

Well, I’ll probably write some more stories. And one day maybe I’ll vanish into the night.

¤

Steph Cha is the author of Follow Her Home, Beware Beware, and Dead Soon Enough, all published by St. Martin’s Minotaur. She’s the noir editor for LARB and a regular contributor to the LA Times. She lives in her native city of Los Angeles with her husband and basset hounds.

The post “Like ‘Winesburg, Ohio,’ but in the Twilight Zone”: A Conversation with Ben Loory appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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