#with her third space being like. the internet. mostly.

[wilddogsdivorce]

don't open up about shit before your finals. worst mistake of my life

[navstuffs]

Emptiness

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: You are dead, and Leon wonders why he is still alive.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, long one-shot, leon is suicidial, suicide attempt!!, leon is depressive, MAJOR ANGST, abuse of alcohol, some usage of y/n, cigarettes/smoking, leon is a mess, SAD SAD SAD!!!, leon is suffering a lot, lots of pain, NO HAPPINESS!, dates in italic count since reader's death

Author's Note: idk, except i am sorry i like to make the characters i love suffer and share that on the internet? i made my husband read this, and he doesn't care about leon whatsoever, and he ended up upset for him at the end so you can imagine how this goes. i have more happy leon's fanfics, you can check it out here!

PLEASE, PROCEED CAREFULLY, AS THIS FANFIC DESCRIBES SUICIDE, SUICIDE ATTEMPT, DEPRESSION, AND ALCOHOLISM.

If you have been struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, you are NOT alone! Here is a link for tumblr support for some helpful information, depending in what country you are! Seek help, you are loved, you are strong, you are wanted!

3 months, 27 days, 3 hours, 5 minutes

The first thing Leon notices when he wakes up is that he is cold. He isn't wearing a shirt, and for some reason, the blankets covering his body look dirty with some unknown substance. He groans, throwing the blanket on the floor. He still wears the jeans from last night, has no shirt on, and doesn't smell well.

The second thing he hears is his phone's ringtone. It had to be Chris. Or Claire wondering if he is alive. He sits up, his hand rubbing his face as a way to make the headache less.

The third thing Leon notices is his hand resting in the empty space of the bed. Your empty space on the bed. He gulps because he hasn't touched that part since returning to the house. He raises his hand as if Leon contaminated the area, the last pieces he had of you.

Leon glimpses under your pillow a very familiar black shirt. One of the ones he gave to you. Leon doesn't remember grabbing it last night. He holds it, checking if he got dirty, but the shirt seems clean. Leon takes the shirt to his nose, smelling it. 

His phone rings a second time breaking his trance. He gets up from the bed and sighs when he sees the nightstands filled with beer cans. You would have hated that.

When he finally finds his phone on the bathroom floor, Leon's headache worsens when he sees Chris's name.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck Leon, I was on my way to your house right now. You scared me, man."

"What do you want?" Leon isn't in the mood to talk, especially with Chris.

"Claire told me she went by your house last night, and you weren't there. She says the motorcycle wasn't there. Have you been drinking and driving again?"

Leon rolls his eyes. As if drinking and driving was a big problem for him now.

"Okay, mom, if that is all, then."

"Look," Chris sighs, and there is a long pause before he speaks again. "There is a mission. If you are still interested."

Finally, Leon thinks. He has been begging for one for weeks now, and Chris has always said "no," "next time," or "we shall see" due to his mental health situation.

"Yeah. When?"

"I will send you more details when I have it. Look, Leon, I just don't think you should—"

Leon hangs up without letting Chris finish. He scrolls through his lost calls, mostly all of them being from Chris and Claire. A few from Jill when she was trying to help. It got too much for her as well. Leon scrolls down even longer, finally finding your name.

Almost four months ago. Has it been that long? Two last calls.

As a ritual he repeats every morning, Leon clicks on your name, hearing the call go straight to voice mail. Precisely as he wanted.

Hi, this is Y/N, you tried to reach me, but I can't take your call now! Leave me a voice message, and I will contact you as soon as possible!

Beep.

-x-

 4 months

Jill Valentine is sitting in front of Leon inside the jet. She hasn't looked at him once inside the plane as they are being taken to a contamination site. Her eyes are distant, her form is tense, and Leon maybe thinks that time can't cure it all.

"Preparing to land," They hear in their radio communications. Leon rechecks his gun, wondering without significant interest if any of that would ever end. When he looks up, Jill is observing him.

"You ready for this?" She asks with a mild tone of curiosity in her voice.

You knew Jill longer than you knew Leon, actually. You were her best friend before becoming his lover. Jill had given Leon all the solemn talk of "Don't fuck up with my best friend, or I will kill you." After your passing, Jill had become somewhat like a ghost in his life. She tried, Leon wonders, if not for you, to give him support in the first two weeks, but Leon knew deep down she blamed him.

And she was right.

"Yeah," He answers.

Jill nods. The last time she had seen Leon, he was miserable. With the longest beard Leon has ever had, bloodshot eyes, hair a mess, drunk, and the smell of cigarettes around the house. She told herself she would try for you, but it wasn't easy to see Leon like that. And after she said you would hate it if he smoked inside their house and Leon grunted that you were dead and never coming back, she left without looking twice.

She never understood why Chris and Claire continued. Maybe because they knew him longer than they knew you.

The plane finally lands in a safe space, and they exit. It is in an abandoned industrial area this time, and they might have survivors who live nearby and might need help.

"Do not fuck this up," Jill warns.

"I won't."

-x-

1 month, 1 week, 2 days, and 5 hours

Claire Redfield is knocking on Leon's door. It is way past dinner time, but she brings pizza. From your favorite place. Claire knows he won't have eaten anything since Chris kept telling her Leon is losing weight. Since your death, Claire has tried to help Leon out as much as she could because she knows that is what you would have wanted, to no avail.

"Come on, Leon, I have pizza! I know you haven't eaten today!" She announces.

That's when her sixth sense starts beeping. All house lights are off, which is strange: Leon either left the TV or any light on. Leon didn't like the darkness. Claire tries to open the door but is locked. Leon never locked the door since he was back for this house. With her heart racing, Claire goes to her bag and grabs the reserve key. She shares one with Chris, and they both trade every week. Leon doesn't seem to care, not that he cares about many things lately.

She enters the apartment to complete silence. No sight of him anywhere.

"Leon?" Her voice is distant, as her hands are looking for her gun. Maybe someone invaded and got him? Perhaps something else—?

The air escapes from Claire's lungs when she sees Leon. Hanging from the ceiling.

"Leon!" She screams, running fast to hold his legs. She doesn't know what she is doing, she is calling for help, she is trying to get a chair, she is trying to hold his legs up so he can breathe. Claire doesn't dare to look up.

With one sudden decision, Claire gets her gun and shoots three times at the rope. Leon's body drops, and he is pale as a ghost. She kneels near him, feeling his pulse. There is still one, very light, but there is one.

Without thinking twice, Claire starts CPR, Stayin' Live by Bee Gees, in her head. She knows Leon will hate her for this, but she can't fail this. She would have hated herself, you would have hated her.

"Come on, Leon, come on." She begs desperately as she compresses his chest with all her strength. When Leon finally breathes, a small vigorous one, Claire is sweating on her clothes. She sighs, relieved, sitting down on the floor, drained.

She grabs her bag and finds her phone to call the emergency number, asking for an ambulance. That her friend attempted suicide. She gives them Leon's address, checking for his breathing. When Leon opens his eyes, he is confused. The last thing he remembers is kicking the chair away, the air escaping slowly from his lungs. He looks around, finding Claire's face in his peripheral view. She seems to be crying, her hands on his chest.

His blue eyes find hers, and Leon looks with hatred in her direction for the first time that Claire doesn't recognize him. She feels tears form in the corner of her eyes, and her lips shake, but she holds them back.

"I have called an ambulance," Her voice shakes, and Leon's stare carries so much weight that she must look away.

-x-

1 month, 3 weeks, 8 hours, 2 minutes. 

The hospital door opens, and Leon exits, carrying his duffel bag. After staying confined for almost two weeks, he inhales the fresh air. Those two weeks, instead of helping, just made him feel worse. Much worse. With no alcohol, no cigarettes, nothing, Leon had no way to forget. He woke up and went to sleep with your face on his mind.

Going through what he did wrong. What he could have done right.

He feels the pain sting his soul, thinking about your smile. Fuck, he needed a drink. He needed some sort of dubious mixed-up cocktail. The stronger, the better. When he looks to his left, he sees Chris Redfield standing.

Sighing, he walks toward Chris. Leon knows he won't be able to run away. Chris has a worried stare as he gets closer. To be honest, Leon thought he should have hated after what he did to Claire, but no, Redfield still manages to give him a small smile when Leon gets close.

"Hey."

"Who told you I was going to leave?"

"Mhm, the hospital? You are in my care for the next couple of weeks."

"I am going home." Leon starts to walk away from him, but Chris's arm stops him.

"No, you are not. As I said, you are in my care. And if I need to drag you to my car and make a scene in front of all those people, I will. What do you think?"

Leon hates how Chris can look like you so much regarding his care. Always to drastic measures, you both could say. Pretending to have given up, Leon holds his hands up as a sign of defeat and follows Chris to his car.

"Is...Claire okay?" Leon mutters as Chris starts the car. Leon can see Chris hold the wheel stronger than he should, but the moment passes, and Chris answers.

"She is worried sick about you. She has been...busy, that is all."

Leon knows that is a lie. He had seen Claire on one of the visitations day, and she seemed upset like she had been crying every day since she found him. Leon felt guilty Claire was finding him (he thought someone else would) and was outraged when she saved him. And he ended up lashing out at her. When Claire tried to argue during the visitations that is what you would have wanted, Leon roared that he never wanted to see her again.

To be honest, Leon is relieved. One less person for him to hurt. Chris, well, that one was hard. Leon knows he isn't giving up that easily. Especially after the last thing he said to you was that he would protect him during a mission.

"No, no, Chris, you don't understand, he bikes around without a helmet and thinks that is super cool? I mean, how old is he again? You better keep your eye on him, if I am not around. Got it?" You asked, winking in Leon's direction. He knew you were teasing him, but Chris's tone was serious when he answered.

"Loud and clear."

In the first three weeks after your death, Chris was there. He rummaged through the house, taking everything Leon could use to harm himself. Leon's guns were the first to go, Leon didn't know how he discovered the password, and honestly, he didn't care. He just woke up a day with them gone. Knives? Gone. It was like Chris was baby-proofing the house. 

Leon would have lost much more weight during that time if it wasn't for Chris insisting on him eating. Or hydrate. Warning if he got too weak to take care of himself, Chris would have made sure to strap him to a bed and kept him there against his will.

"There are cigarettes in the glove's compartment," Chris says, cutting his line of thought.

Leon looks at him with suspicion before opening. Chris wasn't lying. There is even a lighter there.

"You smokin' now?" Leon asks out of curiosity.

"No. I bought those for you."

Leon lights up a cigar, opening the window. The rest of the car ride goes silent, and when they finally arrive at Chris's house, he turns off the car, sighing.

"Look, Leon. I am not very good at this, and you know it. You will stay with me as long as you want, but I can't keep you a prisoner in my house."

Leon observes him, and Chris takes the courage to finally say it.

"No one wants you dead, Leon. What happened to Y/N, it wasn't your fault. And you need therapy."

Leon gives a humorless laugh, opening the door of the car.

"You are not bad at this, Chris. You are terrible at this."

-x-

4 months, 1 day, 5 hours

Ada Wong is good at her job. She does what she is paid to do when she needs to do it. No feelings attached, except, well, when Leon Kennedy is involved. It had been like this since the events during Raccoon City.

And then, suddenly, you appeared on his side during the events in Spain. You were something else, for sure. Standing by his side, remaining strong, although that was your first mission, or so Ada heard. And facing up her, determination in your eyes. Ada found you adorable, perfect for Leon. The loyalty, in your eyes, was something she could never demonstrate.

The man in front of her now was just what once was Leon Kennedy, her..."ally" from the other side. Ada had to admit she was shocked when she first saw him, barely recognizing him. Leon had big dark bags under his eyes, not as strong as he once was. And there was...no life in his once vivid blue eyes. Nothing.

"Ada Wong. Doing something for yourself again?" Leon asks, his voice monotone.

Ada was used to his hostility, mistrust, and even anger. But not that complete apathy, a complete lack of emotions. Leon Kennedy was dead, she was confident, and he died when you did.

"You know I don't share my secrets, big boy," She says, her tone the same as always. "But we can always find common ground, as we always do."

Leon nods, and Ada tells herself she shouldn't care, she shouldn't ask. But she has never seen it like this, and this Leon frightens her.

"I have heard about Y/N. My condolences."

Leon's eyes go wide with surprise. He looks at Ada as if she has just arrived from outer space.

"Is this one of your schemes? 'Cause if it is, cut the crap, I am not in the mood."

"It is not. I heard about what happened." Is Ada Wong really showing empathy? Leon blinks, surprised, but he shakes his head. No, it has to be one of her tricks. Since when did Ada start caring about him?

"Shut up, Ada. Do not mention this ever again. We are here for a mission, nothing else, nothing more. Stop pretending you fucking care." Leon's voice is low, and Ada doesn't say anything as she watches him walk in the dark corridor before her. She has known him long enough to know when he is being serious, and she knows he is threatening her life now.

Ada sighs. The Leon Kennedy she once knew, was gone. You left a carcass behind, a damaged man for the rest of his life. Ada still remembers the last thing she said to you, before she disappeared.

"You are truly special. Take care of him."

-x-

1 minute

"Is Mr. Leon Kennedy speaking?"

Leon stops when he answers his phone to a strange voice. 

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Mr. Kennedy, this is from McKenney Hospital. Could we speak with you in just a moment? Are you busy or driving?"

"No. Hospital, you say? What is going on?"

"We just need a moment of your time. Do you know Y/N L/N?"

Leon's heart starts bumping against his chest.

"Yes. What about it?"

"Y/N L/N was involved in a car crash today, sir. At this moment in time, they are doing surgery on them."

"What? No, excuse me, ma'am, this is some mistake."

The gentle voice behind the phone silences as she listens, Leon saying you weren't involved in an accident. It was impossible. You were coming to have dinner with him later, you were going to forgive him, you were going to be back together just fine. When Leon shuts up, the voice speaks again with much more compassion.

"You are tagged as their emergency contact, Mr. Kennedy. How long can you get in here—"

"I just fucking told you, lady, that is impossible, they are coming to have dinner with me, we are supposed to reconnect, and you aren't listening to me!" Leon screams the last part, punching the counter before him and making all the glass bowls in the counter jump. 

The compassionate voice waits to speak again in a much more determined tone.

"Mr. Kennedy, I suggest you come to the hospital, not alone. Come with a friend. We will answer all your questions and concerns when you get here. Just don't come alone."

Leon turns off the call, pissed. How can the lady be so stupid? He told her over and over again you were on your way to his house, your house. Leon had been cooking the whole night, preparing your favorite dinner. After that, he would never let you away from him ever again. He breathes deeply now, trying to ease the tremors on his hands, when he lets his eyes wander off to the TV, a news broadcast about a terrible accident that happened. Some drunk driver caused this accident that involved a with a truck oil tank, and five people were killed. Many injuries reported.

Without thinking twice, Leon grabs his motorcycle's keys.

He doesn't know how he got in one piece in the hospital. Something inside him tells him to call Jill, Claire, Chris, or someone, anyone, but he doesn't. The hospital's entrance is chaotic, with most victims being taken there since it was the closest location.

Leon asks your name to the front receptionist, and they say they are operating you now. The lady points to the waiting room area, where Leon waits. Leon had felt fear many times in his life, but nothing compared to this. He knew you were strong. Stronger than him, actually. You were brave. You were getting out of this.

Because he didn't know how to live without you.

Leon observed families getting good and bad news for what seemed an eternity. The death toll climbed to more two people, a mom crumble in the doctor's arms due to the loss of his son and husband. Leon was praying, begging for some higher force or anything for you to live.

He would never drink again. Leon Kennedy would never let the darkness inside him win and let you go. He would never doubt himself or his ability to love. No, Leon would love you even more intensely than he already did, more than anything in his life.

Leon takes a while to get up when the doctor finally calls his name. He feels sick, his stomach is twisting. He counts nine steps until he gets to the doctor, a lady with scrubs and an indecipherable face.  

"Mr. Kennedy, do you want me to take you to a more private room?"

"Tell me."

The doctor sighs, looking directly into his eyes when she says. 

"We did everything we could, Mr. Kennedy. I am sorry they didn't make it."

No. 

"I am sorry, Mr. Kennedy, I truly am."

No. NO! NO!

"Mr. Kennedy, please, don't, I am sorry. Can I get some help over here? Please, don't do this!"

It takes six or seven security guards to stop Leon from destroying the waiting room or even hurting someone. He is crying, he is begging, he is losing himself. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. It was unfair: not after everything he had done or everything you went through together. He always told you he needed to die first because Leon knew damn well he couldn't live without you. Leon has a hole in his chest that will never close again. He feels someone pull his sleeve up, a pinching sensation, and Leon falls into darkness. 

[scumscuttlers]

eavesdrop

send me “eavesdrop” and my muse will describe your muse like they’re talking to a third party

Juelie's on your case again. You think she's somewhat aware of the shit you have going on, but you didn't think she was so in tune that she'd up and message you out of the blue about it.

It starts out simple enough. SM: . i don't see whaat thaat haas to do with aanything though SM: . if i'd killed him you'd haave aalreaady heaard aabout it

[...]

SM: ? no SM: . he's just some guy

[...]

SM: . trolls haave died for lesser crimes thaan being aannoying twaats . you should be haappy i didn't kill him just becaause his lusus dropped him aa couple of times aas aa wriggler SM: . if i decide i need somebody to string up in the middle of the week he's not off the list of options but i'm not going out of waay . i've got shit to do

[...]

SM: . i know SM: ? you haave shit to do too so why aare you even messaaging me

[...]

SM: . whaatever . caall next time

– indefatigableMortician [IM] stopped trolling standoffishMaialse [SM] at ??:?? –

Notes

RE: The whether or not Inezra is a threat thing. She would kill Adjaxi if it would bring her an ounce of satisfaction or entertainment. As it stands, she's mostly fine right now, and isn't actively seeking to kill people just because they annoyed her on the internet. She still doesn't like him though, but he's more like an annoying bug that can be swatted away than someone who takes up any of her brain space.

But her refusal to now kill him now that he's turned it into a game...

This bit in particular from Adjaxi's point of view is funny to me. She doesn't not want to kill him. She's not even refusing to kill because he's turned it into a game. Plenty of people have tried this. She won't get anything out of killing him right now, so she won't.

Does it make sense? No. She's just weird like that.

[cream-and-tea]

[ID: a picture of a group of peaches lying in a pile with a faint border around the edge, white text in the centre reads CREAM-AND-TEA while smaller text below that reads reintro/navigation. END ID]

hi! hello! salutations! my name (at least on the internet) is creme (she/her please and thank you), and this reintro has been... a long time coming, to say the least. let’s get some quick facts out of the way so i can talk about my over abundance of projects!

i tend to write character-driven stories, complicated relationships of all kinds, queer/nerudivergant characters (hey, write what you know), fucked-up magic systems, and basically everything i touch ends up having SOME kind of fantasy element (whether intentionally or not)

i also write poetry! but that tends not to get posted as much bc of just how personal it is to me

i’m pretty active on here but i'm trying to get better at actually Posting My Writing, i do have some stuff up (mostly from my main wip Lay Me Down) but that’s something i’m working on

(i’m working on… a lot)

i’m currently studying journalism and creative writing in university!!!

i’d love to be published one day (primarily with my poetry and maybe a novel) but first i have to actual finish something lol

i am literally up to read/follow anything. anything at all. i do have stuff i look for and some genres i read more than others but if something has a premise i like/tropes i like/a cool vibe/anything remotely interesting at all i tend to jump on it

i love love love being tagged in tag games even if it takes me fucking forever to do them lol

aaaaand i think that’s mostly it! now onto the main event (aka all my stories i couldn’t shut up about so i had to put them under the cut):

LAY ME DOWN.

[ID: an opening between two trees surrounded by ferns and leading into darkness, with text across it that reads LAY ME DOWN in white letters. END ID]

BASICS. drafting/outlining. fantasy/horror, dark academia (sort of). third person present tense, dual POV. book one of the gravespeaker trilogy.

PREMISE. On an earth overtaken by a infectious supernatural forest: a runaway with the ability to see the dead, a star student with far worse than blood staining their hands, the ghost of a murdered girl with a score to settle, and a failed prophet who knows far more than he thinks, must work together to unravel the mysteries and secrets of a deadly library at the end of the world that is just as much prison as it is salvation (that is… if they don’t kill each other first).

CHARACTERS. 

Agnes-Maria white [17 and too good for this place. she is made of bruised skin and bleeding flowers, a girl half dying who will do anything to live.]

Pallas [17 and exactly where they think they belong. there is nothing safe or kind or soft about them even though they want to be, both the knife and the open wound.]

Nina Martin [18 and longing to leave. she is an echo of someone a different girl used to be, and death is only the beginning.]

Fiver [25 and looking for something better. he exists as an ichor-toned lie and wishes to scrub the residue of it from his skin, someone desperate to break the chains of the past around his neck.]

TAG. wip: ghost story

comic sans intro

playlist.

pinterest board.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo @transmasc-wizard​ @houndmouthed @muddshadow @just-wublrful @corkywantstowrite @shrunkupthejams @andromedaexists @caninemotiff @lungs-and-gills @lychniscitrus @phantomnations @onomatopiya @deer-in-headlights-stare @arctic-oceans @redbloodprose @definitelynotclayface @cannivalisms @atthenian @dallonwrites

BURN THE STARS

[ID: a photo set in a dark space where a young person stands, face upturned, eyes closed, as their arms reach up, hands cupping an orb of light that casts a golden glow in the space around it. the text across the centre of the image reads BURN THE STARS in white letters. END ID]

BASICS. planning (seriously in the very early stages of planning). sci-fi fantasy. third person past tense (for now), four major POVs (for now). book one of a planned duology.

PREMISE. Exiled from one of the galaxies seven holy ruling families and poisoned with magic she doesn't understand, Apollinaires self-destructive spiral is interrupted by an event that leads her into the path of a sharpshooter with a taste for vengeance and a fervent medic pursuing knowledge no matter the cost. Meanwhile, in the heart of a massive rotating space station known as the Rings, wearing a stolen face and longing for home, reluctant assassin Anandi Alva plans to finally bring the star-spanning church to its knees. While within the palace both a fallen warrior and a girl-king strive to remember what means to be human.

CHARACTERS.

Apollinaire Sibel-Marie Gloria Alphonsine el Belrose, eldest daughter of the house of the seventh saint [the unchosen. the eldest daughter. god-cursed and roiling in flame]

Danny [the trickshot. the wanderer too far from home. saltbitter and stormy-eyed]

Silas Ambose [the “healer”. the seeker of truths. broken heart still beating and trembling hands]

Anandi Alva [the assassin. the tortured idealist. silken tongue and a thousand masks]

Rill [the executioner. the punished. steel bite and starstreaked blood.]

Glorian Apollinaire Alphonsine El Belrose, the first mourner, he who bears the sword and cries with the tears of a thousand people, aka “Alphie” [the chosen. the youngest child. golden crowns and redrimmed eyes]

TAG. wip: burn the stars

pinterest board.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @just-wublrful @transmasc-wizard

MISC PROJECTS

[ID: a backdrop of soft, glittery peach fabric. the text across the centre of the image reads MISC PROJECTS in white letters. END ID ]

aka “things i’m not actively working on but constantly ping-pong around my brain on a day-to-day basis”

SALT BIRDS. low fantasy/slice-of-life audio drama. outlining. follows the lonely keeper of a seaside graveyard when one of the bodies she fishes from the ocean ends up being very much alive. With nowhere else to go the teenager she finds washed up on her shore must stay with her and the two must find a way to live with each other, despite the secrets both are keeping.

guilt, redemption and forgiveness. facing the unknown. stagnation and apathy. isolation. the ocean is real scary you guys (but also cool).

ONE DOWN AT DEVONS MARSH. urban fantasy with heavy litfic elements. planning/sporadically drafting. follows twins Friday and Oliver Walker as they attempt to understand the curse that dictates one of them will die on their seventeenth birthday while also navigating their relationships with each other, their family of witches, the town they live in, and the friends they meet along the way.

family (blood and otherwise). complicated platonic relationships. coming of age, faeries and witchcraft. weird small towns. fate and free will. death and grief. oops! this one is all about MY specific high school trauma!

SUNDOWN LAND. soft fantasy/roadtrip. planning. follows Shrike, a runaway thief slowly dying from a magical disease, and Ariel, an artificial construct who's maker has recently disappeared, as they journey through the ruins of their wartorn country in search of a mystical place both know from a popular childrens story.

finding closure. coming to terms with childhood abuse. generational trauma. personal autonomy. fantasy vs reality. discovering and defining identity. places being personified. it can be a pinocchio retelling if you squint reeeealllly hard.

ALL FALL DOWN. superhero. rewriting and replanning. follows hero and villain duo Tatum and Umbra as their city of New Victoria is plunged into chaos following a series of increasingly violent attacks. forced to work together and battling their own inner demons the two and their rag-tag group of friends are drawn into a much larger conspiracy that could unravel their ideas of themselves, each-other, and the foundation of the very world they live in.

enemies-to-lovers. gray mortality. the dangers of black and white thinking. what makes someone a villain and what makes a someone a hero. found family. the dangers of obsessive hate and revenge. heroes who choose to save the world. healing and recovery. heist bullshit.

GO TO #creme does a writing if you want some examples of my scribblings

GO TO #creme does an art if you want to see my gay little drawings

GO TO #creme does a tag for a look at the tag games i’ve done

GO TO #*stares in podcast rambling* if you want a taste of the OTHER things i obsess over constantly

[ollieofthebeholder]

Because I feel like inflicting this on as many people as possible: This was my weekend.

I went to a wedding this weekend, and as a summary of what I'm about to tell you, at one point I turned to my mother and said, "I love you, and because I want to continue loving you, if I ever decide to get married, I am eloping."

This was a Nightmare Before Christmas-themed wedding at a beach house in Corolla put together almost entirely by the bride's mother. Wedding was set for 1:30pm on Sunday, with the bridal party arriving at the beach house on Saturday to set up and rehearse. Starting Saturday morning:

Mom and I were several hours later getting on the road than we initially wanted because Mom had to finish sewing her bridesmaid's dress

We arrived to find we couldn't get up the driveway because someone (who later turned out to be the father of the groom) couldn't be arsed to pull his car all the way into the circular driveway and nobody could get past him

 Beach house is three stories high and the front door is on the second floor

 The main living spaces (kitchen, living room, balcony, etc.) are on the third floor

Wedding was also being held on the balcony on the third floor

We arrived in the middle of the maid of honor and the Strapping Young Men staying at the house hauling the chairs rented for the wedding from the porch to the third floor

 Rehearsal dinner was supposed to be at 6:30pm

 We did not get started on time

House rapidly filled up with a bazillion people

I knew five of them (not counting my mother) and liked three of them so you can imagine what my anxiety was doing

 Pretty much everyone except the groom, the small children, and me had alcohol

 WE ATE FIRST

"Rehearsal" turned out to just be all of us standing there while the pastor read off the order of service

Everyone not staying at the house left and the rest of us got pressed into service to start setting up for the wedding

It's about 9pm at this point

Mother of the bride is snapping about how she's doing all this herself and everyone that's let her down so far

Father of the groom comes up with a bottle of beer in his hand and starts loudly announcing about a political topic that reveals to me I am probably the only liberal in this house

At this point I manage to escape and go to bed

Sunday is supposed to start at 7am

I go upstairs to find the mother of the bride shunting things around in the kitchen and the setup mostly complete

Someone says there are going to be 65 people at this wedding

 Me, internally, "Bunny, how the fuck do you think you're going to fit 65 people in this living room?!"

I politely ask what I can do to help

MotB informs me she needs my mother to move her car so she can go get the chicken from the Publix

She says this very quietly

I realize that MotB is one of those people who gets quieter and quieter the angrier she is and I am McFreaking Terrified™️

I go downstairs and wake up my mother

Mom comes back in from moving the car and goes back to sleep

I go back upstairs in the hopes that someone sane will be there to give orders and start helping the Maid of Honor with the charcuterie board

Bride has requested MoH recreate that picture floating around the internet of a charcuterie board shaped like a skeleton so I am recruited to wrap a plastic skull in proscuitto

It is 8:30am and this is the calmest it is going to be all day

Once the charcuterie board is together I go out onto the balcony to help the groom set up the wedding arch, which is three pieces of PVC pipe hammered together

We are going to attach the lattice studded with pumpkins to this arch when MotB shoves a box out the door and informs us the arch is supposed to be draped with fabric

Groom and father of the groom and I have to take the entire arch apart and put it back together with the fabric

It's probably worth mentioning at this point that a) we are doing all of this with the bride and groom's two-year-old developmentally-delayed not-yet-fully-walking son crawling around underfoot and b) the groom only has one leg.

I go downstairs to wake my mother up and change into the outfit I am planning to wear

I come back upstairs to set up my little corner of the balcony where I will be playing my flute

I go back inside to find out where the bride's phone is so that I can play the music she wants recordings of played

MotB is slamming things around in the kitchen

MotB had informed my mother and me (i.e. ranted at us) the night before of All The Trouble She Had getting the bride's dress, groom's suit, and their son's suit back from the cleaners and how she had to literally chase them down all over the region before managing to get them just that morning

This is important to what comes next.

Me: *opens my mouth to ask where the bride's phone is and if she has the music queued up* MotB: *in a near-whisper* "[Groom]'s suit didn't come back from the cleaners. And he has no clean clothes."

Look

I had already chatted with the groom and confirmed that we weighed the same

but he's about a foot taller than I am even if I have a foot on him (<-- this is a terrible, tasteless pun and I'm not sorry for it)

so it's not like I can loan him a shirt or anything

Groom and father of the groom end up going on an emergency shopping run to buy him Something To Get Married In

Groom apparently has a meltdown for which he will later apologize profusely and repeatedly (general attitude: "I THINK that's a bit justified!")

Guests and those members of the wedding party smart enough to stay elsewhere begin arriving

Now we get to the family shenanigans so buckle up 'cause this gets good

(Comment from friend when I told this story the first time: “Gets good? Good Lord.”)

MotB and Father of the Bride are divorced and FotB was not around much while Bride was growing up

Everybody, including FotB, expected Bride would want her godfather (MotB's brother) to walk her down the aisle

Bride's attitude was "HELL no it's MY wedding and I love my uncle [Godfather] but I want my dad to walk me down the aisle"

MotB is not happy about this but it is one of three things Bride has insisted on and she's been pushing her to make decisions so she concedes but has been grumpy about it for weeks

Groom's parents are also divorced but FotG has remarried

Groom does not refer to FotG's new wife as "stepmother", just "mother", so both Birth Mom and Stepmom are being referred to as "Mother of the Groom"

BM is pissed about this and makes several loud remarks about "Excuse me, I'm the Mother of the Groom, the real Mother of the Groom" every chance she gets

(It's probably worth mentioning here that referring to both as "Mother of the Groom" is a concession to BM and not SM)

BM also makes quite a number of snide remarks about SM and FotG periodically throughout the afternoon/evening - SM tries to avoid her but BM seeks her out specifically to be a bitch

(At one point BM makes an unkind remark about FotG's shirt and demands to know "where he got that ugly thing" and SM has the pleasure of looking at her and saying "You bought that for him, twenty years ago!")

MotG mentions later that her brother (not Bride's godfather, her other brother - apparently) has been married three times and all his ex-wives are at this wedding, but apparently the three of them just got drunk and laughed and had a good time together

Other than Groom's parents and stepmother, literally every other person at this wedding seems to be for Bride

Wedding FINALLY starts about twenty minutes late

Groom is wearing brown shirt, darker brown pants, and a string tie and looks like he's a hat and tin star away from having a Halloween costume as a Wild West Sheriff sorted out

Bride has requested a recording of an Ed Sheeran song (”Visiting Hours”, for those wondering) as a "prelude" that comes AFTER the preacher's opening remarks because someone doesn't understand the meaning of the word "prelude"

I am supposed to play the Imperial March from Star Wars on my flute as Groom escorts the Mothers to their seats - Groom starts escorting them in during the Ed Sheeran song

I am not upset about this because this is the song for this wedding I am least confident of being able to play

I am supposed to play "You'll Be In My Heart" on my flute as bridesmaid/MoH/flower girl/"ring bearer" (Bride & Groom's son, whose walker is decorated with leaves and a Jack Skellington doll and who is not actually carrying the rings - FotB has them) come in

Someone tells my mom "the music's started! Go in!" before I can pause the recording

I am still feeling bad about this because those two songs are LITERALLY the only two things Groom specifically requested for this wedding

I am at least able to play “A Thousand Years” as performed by the Piano Guys on the phone when Bride comes out so there’s that going for us

Bride & Groom are supposed to recite the words from the finale/reprise at the end of Nightmare Before Christmas after the opening remarks while I play

Both of them have forgotten the words

Time comes for vows to be recited

Pastor tells everyone Bride & Groom have written their own vows

Groom delivers his in a choked-up, very sincere, heartfelt voice

Bride announces that she's "winging it" and has no idea what to say

Thankfully manages (with some prompting) to say SOMETHING

Remainder of wedding goes off without complications (thankfully)

Bride wants "The Monster Mash" played while she and Groom come into reception

Which is being held in living room directly off balcony where wedding was held

Groom has not left living room because he is trying to corral son

At least a third of the guests leave as soon as the wedding is over

Musicians hired for reception come through with keyboard to get set up in the middle of everything

Both of them give me the fakest, most poisonous smiles imaginable as they pass me because they had wanted to be hired to play for the wedding too and MotB told them they'd already asked me

(For those wondering: No, I did not get paid for this, it was my gift to the couple)

Bride eventually gives up on the idea of a formal entrance and just yells for everyone to go eat

Small child (one of Bride's cousins) has been planning to sing "My Heart Will Go On" during the reception at some point

Small child comes up to me before wedding to ask me to give him the words

Wedding musicians are contracted for three sets of ten songs

Wedding musicians play extremely abbreviated versions of these songs (as in one verse + chorus of any given song) and go straight into the next set, so what you would think would be three 40-minute sessions with breaks in between essentially turns out to be about 30 minutes of continuous music

Wedding musicians also let Small Child sing half the songs

MotB comes out to tell them it's time for the toast

Musicians pack their stuff and leave

Toast is happening now (30-45 minutes into reception) because BM has to leave

Toast does not actually happen

Bride and Groom are photographed feeding each other traditional First Piece of (Cup)Cake

BM leaves and everyone immediately sighs in relief

Small Child drags microphone and stereo inside and shouts for everyone's attention so he can sing

Small Child does actually have a very good voice and everyone applauds

Small Child proceeds to spend the rest of the reception demanding everyone's attention while he sings (mostly Justin Bieber songs)

I spend most of the rest of the afternoon hiding on the balcony with the flower girl

Or trying to

Eventually everyone comes back out for further pictures

I spend half the time hiding in a corner trying to stay out of the pictures and the rest trying to distract Bride and Groom's toddler so he doesn't crawl into the pictures

The last of the people not staying at the beach house finally leave at around 5pm

Half the people staying at the beach house immediately go to their rooms to take naps

The other half go to find places to watch the moonrise

(I have pictures of the moon over the ocean btw and the view almost made it worth it)

I go back to the house and am immediately recruited to help break down tables and chairs because MotB has to return them by midnight

Bride and Groom (along with three of their friends) are in the hot tub

Toddler is crawling around underfoot

SM trips over Toddler and almost slams into a column trying not to fall, then sits on the floor to gather him in a hug because he starts crying (both of them were more surprised than hurt)

I pick Toddler up to keep him out of the way

Toddler (who is not yet fully verbal) indicates he wants to go outside

I take Toddler onto balcony

Toddler indicates he wants to go back inside

Toddler gets increasingly distressed while I try to figure out what he wants

Bride and Groom come upstairs at this point

I inform them that I think what Toddler wants is to go to bed

Bride takes Toddler to put him down

Toddler is apparently asleep before his head hits the pillow

Score one for the preschool teacher

I manage to make my own escape about twenty minutes later and collapse into bed

Thankfully, Monday morning was substantially less chaotic, mostly because MotB actually got a few hours of sleep (I...forgot to mention somewhere in there that MotB never went to bed at all between 6am on Saturday and at least 11pm on Sunday), but also because MotB and Bride left (temporarily) fairly early because Bride had an outpatient procedure scheduled for that morning, and Mom and I managed to get everything packed and get out the door before they got back...

And then I had to drive home because Mom was tired and had an upset stomach. (I didn't mind the driving part so much, honestly.)

[charbarker]

A short review of Escape: How a generation shaped, destroyed and survived the internet. By Marie Le Conte

Beginning Bit

Yeah, the book put into words the feeling of how the internet has changed. It was hard to wrap my head around while it was happening, but looking back I can see that it happened. It felt very gradual, and then suddenly all at once.

The shift away from small and self-governing communities and towards centralization under corporate banners was a sudden jump I didn't notice. For perspective, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Reddit feel like they make up most of the internet for everyday users. Two are owned by the same company, one by the Chinese government, and the third by a single tech billionaire with little interest in reasonable governance.

The Book

The book mostly follows Le Conte talking about early exposure to the internet and how this shaped herself and her career. This ranges from triggering her early interest in blogging which led to her career in journalism.

Broken up into sections: Who Am I? Who Are You? Where We Are? Where Are We Going?

And not only covered the kinds of communities that existed on the early internet, but also the kinds of people involved with them, using herself as a regular example.

Missing the "Old Internet": Being All Things to All People

One of the things Le Conte identifies is that the old internet involved a lot of hiding, pseudonyms, and a shifting identity between different accounts.

Part of this can come down to the time that she was active in these forums, her formative teenage years, but she also brings up the issue of the consolidation of social media into single websites and streams creating a single place to exist. A single identity that has to please your employer, friends, and strangers all at once.

The problem is that everything got very close together. It can be hard to take risks and be a bit of a misfit when there are people watching you that might not "get it", that's half the reason I have this blog.

Encountering The Bad

One of the points made in the book is that the slow rollout of the internet made encountering its worse areas more tolerable, you stuck your head in and adapted to the filth. There are references to Chat Roullete and the parade of dicks being funny rather than traumatizing, and the bullying that can happen on some forums being a method of dulling people's elbows, and showing them how to behave.

While this changed with the emergence of cyberbullying and the resulting harm it could cause, the disconnection from these digital spaces from the real world undoubtedly helped, the fact a lot of us just got lucky.

Nostalgia for The Internet or Nostalgia For Our 20s?

A recurring theme in the book is Le Conte having some kind of adventure, like going to indie music shows in Paris as a teenager or faking being a journalist to get press passes to events (Something I've also done in Berlin before)

The book makes regular reference to age and the passage of time and I can't help but think that the nostalgia is also for the periods of our lives less structured.

There's a portion of the generation that grew up as the internet matured that is now entering what could be seen as adulthood, late 20s early 30s, and many are caught in arrested development, unable to start a family but arguably too old to have the same chaotic life they enjoyed when the world was smaller.

TL;DR

Book is good, it made me feel a lot of nostalgia I didn't know I had, and made me think about how to continue the culture of older internet communities into the future.

A really good read for anyone under 20 or who never lived through the early days of the internet.

To quote its final chapter "Stay Weird"

[theadventurerslog]

Chook & Sosig Walk the Plank | Part 2

The Adventurer's Log

Part 2 and finale x2. Yes twice.

I left off last time needing to find some ink for a pen to give to Cow to write a calming poem to placate a seagull. I love the sentences games can make you write.

I wasn't quite sure at first where to get ink but then I remembered there was a mounted squid at the Adventurer's Guild. Sure enough, I was able to, er, stab the pen into it and that got me the ink. Ick.

I had one more thing I wanted to do before I brought Cow the inky pen and that was show the parrot to everyone! Mostly everyone commented on how angry and/or bitey he seemed. However, the goblin at the bottle mail centre was properly appreciative.

Sky goblin <3.

Then I back to the Sea Shrine to see Cow and get the poem.

He mentioned before he'd turned some of his marketing spiels into poetry instead and I suspect something like that happened here, but we never get to get any even snippets of the poem he wrote for our angry seagull and I'm disappointed in that. Even just a line or two of seemingly terrible poetry? No? No.

It did work on the seagull though who fell asleep. Or maybe it was that boring. Either way I got the bit of flyer from it which had the location of the Haunted Cove, location of the treasure, so off I went.

It was quickly exciting because I found a dragon!

Hebble found his dragon model and as the rest of the players were fine with this Exley just has to have a dragon in his setting.

The dragon had a shovel head, I couldn't seem to talk to the dragon yet until I'd gone further in and found a cave with a good ol' X marking the spot and a pole. I grabbed the pole and then I don't know if that changed things or if I'd been clicking the wrong space, but then I was able to talk to dragon. It had decided to make a new hoard of shovels. Gold and such is just so common. However, they were willing to give it to me if I could find something else rare to start a new hoard with.

Cow's shop back at Cape Codnapper had been selling Galaxy Princess Dolls that seemed good and hoardable. So I went back there, and along the way discovered that the chalk drawing that had been there had had more added... Just an observation for now.

As for Cow and the Galaxy Princess Doll he had only ever found one and sold it already. To waitstaff Hebble at the tavern as it turns out, so off I went again.

Of course Hebble wasn't willing to just give up the doll but Barkeep Cow hated it because Hebble was just using it for internet clout and getting even less work done than usual. So, he had Sosig put a dislike on his latest Galaxy Princess Doll post to make him give up on the whole thing because he's all about that praise.

Very silly but it worked. Hebble moved on to other things and let me have the doll.

The dragon was happy with the doll and I was able to combine the pole and the shovel head back into its proper shovel-y form and dig up at that X. Chest time! We're a real pirate now!

Of course the chest was being guarded by a Min ghost who was buried and cursed to guard this chest until her head is returned. As a psychic in life her skull would have a third eye. These players really like putting themselves into their characters... If I could bring her skull back to her she'd be able to leave.

I knew that skull. It was back to Cape Codnapper and Fortune-teller (attemped) Hebble again. He was trying all sorts of other divination tactics including tea leaf reading, which netted me the used up tea leaves. None of it was working. He was willing to give me the skull but only if I could make him a potion that would enhance his psychic abilities, or y'know, maybe give him some at all. He gave me a recipe and the bottle to put it in and it was time to go again.

This is where I did not realize something and that led to me getting stuck for a bit. You're meant to click each of the images to be told what they are. I didn't realize you could click on them and just went based off what I saw.

I knew the pot was likely the goblin soup - it was.

I guessed the spirit in a bottle may be one of the cocktails at the tavern. There was skeleton rum that seemed like it would fit the bill. I was right about that and having 'stolen' a dragon's hoard I was proven hero enough to be able to buy cocktails and was able to get that.

At first I thought the stones were like runestones, so I tried going back to the Forsaken Atoll to talk to Viking Min. No such luck.

I found the mushrooms in the Haunted Cove, but I couldn't take them because Sosig didn't know what they were and didn't want to go around picking up strange unknown mushrooms. While I glared at the recipe going look, look! Also your an adventure game protagonist; pick up all the things!

Thinking maybe those weren't the right mushrooms despite appearances I went to the goblins and was able to add the rum and as it turned out, the tea leaves. Ah, the stones and card were showing that I needed a divination related item. Which I confirmed later when actually checking the images.

I still didn't know what to do and ended up part way through another quest line. See, I decided to talk to Chook and get a hint and was told about steam being needed to power a place on the Secret Reef. As it turned out the baby seagull that had been nesting in Fortune-teller Hebble's kettle had left leaving the kettle free for the taking.

I took it and went to the Secret Reef and put it on the stove finally putting the lit fire and dripping tap to use. It made steam, powering a contraption that then opened a shower curtain revealing the Fabulous Mermaid.

Hebble again. Hebble just grabbing up all the roles.

This character had found a way to the Sea Goddess and was granted a wish to become a mermaid. Unfortunately for him, he's just not getting visitors and wants more. He's gotta show off and get attention. So, he gave me posters to put up in return for information on the Sea Goddess' location. I needed to put them up at the Goblin Isle, the tavern and Cow's shop.

I got the ones done at Goblin Isle and Cow's shop done just fine, but got stuck on the one at the tavern because it needed to go on the bulletin board but would cover Barkeep Cow's poster which had a picture of him on it and Cow didn't want that. So I needed to figure out a way to deal with that and was unsuccessful at that moment.

However, while getting the poster done at Codnapper I had to talk to Fortune-teller Hebble again and that led me to looking at the recipe once more while I was there anyway and then I discovered I could examine the pictures which informed me of the mushrooms, which I could then go get and finally make that potion and get the skull.

Side rant: I'm kind of irked at that recipe situation. A puzzle's rules should be consistent. Why was I allowed to add the rum and tea leaves without examining the images first for confirmation? Those images were a lot more abstract than the mushrooms which were exactly the same as their respective image, but I couldn't even take them. It should have either let me take everything but not be able to add them to the pot without checking the recipe images individually or let me be able to figure it out solely based on the imagery as I did. This mix was just frustrating, especially with the most obvious item being the one that was the problem, and it felt like being punished for taking the harder route.

Okay, back to business.

I brought Min's skull back thus freeing her from being bound to chest protection duty, leaving Sosig free to loot!

Mmm Multi Meow brand cat food. Sosig's favourite.

And it turned out that was one of two endings. I got more player chat in which Exley revealed he had a different treasure planned for each of them. Chook kind of mocked Sosig's tastes, but he just loooves Multi Meow. And so I got credits!

BUT

I wanted to get the Sea Goddess ending, so I reloaded right before bringing Min back her skull and set off again.

I still needed to work out that poster so I went back and tried things and it turned out I needed to put the poster on the board and then use the scissors to cut the face out so that Cow's face would still show. That was enough to keep him happy.

Reporting back to Mermaid Hebble had him giving me the location of the Sea Goddess' island. But when trying to get close a fog would rise and I'd be shoved out.

So I went back to Viking Min to finally get some more info out of her. She had been putting together a special figurehead along with a hagstone (rock with a hole in the middle) that would allow a ship to see clearly and pass through the fog. However, she hadn't finished the figurehead nor found a hagstone, I'd need a chisel -- she dropped one in a lobster pot that needed a winch to get it back up -- and the hagstone.

I tried to go for the chisel, but the cord for the winch was missing, so I also needed to find something for that too. After a bit of looking I found rope at the Secret Reef. I don't know if it newly appeared or if I just missed it before. Either way I got the chisel up and was able to finish the figurehead.

It took me a little more wandering and checking beaches for the hagstone before I landed back at the Adventurer's Guild where I was then reminded of a stone tablet and Hebble's mini office cannon... Which I had played with before and it would shoot at said stone tablet--simply didn't have enough force. I talked to Hebble about it and discovered it had a higher powered mode that was voice activated but Hebble refused to use it.

I kind of stumbled on this solution by accident. I was showing the parrot again as you do and that led to my parrot mimicking his voice and so having learned it, I was able to use him with the cannon to activate it.

And blam! One newly made hagstone for me. I took it back to the figurehead and was ready to go. The fog was no longer a problem and I landed at the Undersea Palace.

Along the way down the stairs I found various secretive clams of a tight lipped variety. And at the bottom...

Sea Goddess Hebble. Taking. Every. Role.

Cow wanted that role, but Hebble beat him to it. Exley seems perpetually exasperated. Min is clearly not doing a great job of keeping Hebble in line.

Anyway, I got some conversation with the Sea Goddess and found out he imprisoned his advisor that came with the job because he was trying to make him do work like taking people's prayers and wishes. The horrors.

Poor goblin. I had a chat with him too and found out there was some kind of problem at the bottle mail centre, presumably caused by the Sea Goddess, so the wishes weren't coming in. He's also hungry and would really like some meat.

The tavern has loads of meat and a meat eating contest, though that's only on Mondays and it's Friday. Still, it was something to keep in mind. But, I first went to check out the bottle mail centre.

Goblin Queen Min told me to talk to the goblin with the bottle who was supposed to be in charge of the deliveries, but something had gone wrong. Talking to the goblin I found out that the weathervane used to guide mail to the Sea Palace was broken. It needed a pearl from the Sea Palace itself to be able to find the way. I'm gonna assume one of those clams has a pearl I could get for him. Very subtle work, Sea Goddes Hebble.

I was correct. And I could have gotten the pearl earlier. I just needed to use the chisel to open the clams until I found the right one. Easy peasy, except Sosig got a case of butterfingers and dropped the pearl into the coral. Not a problem either; some of the coral bits had bubbles coming out and could be squeezed to cause other bits to expel their stuff. I just had to move the pearl along until it got shot back out onto the ground.

I was able to fix the weathervane, so the mail was up and running again. When I went back to the Undersea Palace there were bottles everywhere, which Hebble was stalwartly trying to ignore except for some fanart and fanfic. Gotta keep stroking that ego. There was also a threatening letter though... something to do with fish, stinky dead fish.

I still needed to get some meat for the poor goblin. I ended up checking back at Codnapper again to discover that expanding chalk drawing had expanded all the way to Chook, who was the one who had been drawing it. She was done and gave me the chalk and then I knew immediately what to do:

Change the date on the meat contest chalkboard at the tavern to Friday. Bring on the meat!

I brought the meat back to the very relieved goblin who would be happy to offer me his secretarial duties now.

I wasn't entirely sure where to go from here, but in the end more searching around the bottles had me find the threatening letter. It was from someone who wanted to send fermented fish as part of a viking ritual in honour of the Sea Goddess.

Obviously that had to have come from Viking Min and when I went back there was a indeed a big ol' bucket o' fish waiting.

Stinky smelly fish. Min would only send them once she was assured the letter had been received by the Sea Goddess, so back I went again. The goblin was only too happy to stamp the letter to verify it had been seen and received.

Min accepted it and off went the fish! And I was automatically sent back to the Sea Palace to see the results.

Fish, fish everywhere. There were still some fish drifting down as well... Sea Goddess Hebble was horrified and wanted nothing to do with this and gave up the job, relinquishing the throne to none other than Sosig!

Victory! Sea Goddess Sosig and a freed goblin advisor/secretary!

And some more banter back around the table.

Hebble had to concede defeat. Chook offered her services as advisor. Cow though that'd be fun too. I love that the dragon figure appeared on the table too after the earlier shenanigans.

Party time for future sessions!

And that's the other ending! All done now!

The end!

Time: 2:52

--

Final Thoughts

In general it was a fun, chill, breezy sort of game. For the most part I found it fairly easy and where I did have some hiccups they didn't last too long. Plus there's the hint system through Chook if you do need a little extra nudge.

I enjoyed the framing device and setting. It was entertaining to see which characters the players made too while running into them in different places and situations and also what they retained from themselves--quite a lot in general. They might not be the best actors but they're having a good time.

There were some things I would have liked to see more results of like the poem, but this was also, by my understanding, a one-person endeavour, so there's only going to be so much that can reasonably be done. More of a 'it would have been nice, but' kind of want.

I also really liked the art, especially the background art. It's a lovely charming looking game. And there were a few extra things to look at that were more for flavour than any puzzle solutions, and I do always appreciate the extras.

Just a nice 2-3 hours with some fun humour.

[wralings]

Mountainous Monotony

The simplest of tasks have always seemed to overwhelm me. For as long as I can remember it has been that way. And the current dilemma is buying a couch.

Since August I’ve been opening my apartment door to a completely empty living room. My mom and sisters will ask me if I’ve gotten a couch yet as a matter of conversation, not really hinting that I should get on that, but maybe poking a little fun at how long it’s taking me.

I realize that a couch for most renters or homeowners, or anyone really tasked with furnishing a space is at the top of their list. And it’s likely that anyone that would visit my apartment would immediately note the completely barren living room. And if that were to happen I would be pretty self conscience about it. I’d worry they thought I was lazy, mostly, and maybe a little weird.

There’s a few explanations I’ve thought of as to why I haven’t made the big purchase yet. First, maybe it’s spending around $1,600 dollars on a piece of furniture (Which isn’t that too much? Can’t I find cheaper? What if I don’t even like the damned thing? My sister got hers for less! Can’t I buy one for less?). Second, maybe it’s having to move that furniture into an apartment I know I won’t be staying in for years and years... and oh god what if it doesn’t fit through one of the doors or through the hallway? Third, maybe it’s all the internet browsing I’d have to do, scrolling through unfamiliar websites and being inundated with choices, knowing I’ll just get overwhelmed and stop looking anyways. Fourth, the explanation I’m starting to think is the most likely, maybe I just don’t care. I don’t care that I have to lay on my bed instead of the couch, I don’t watch TV, I spend all my time in my bedroom anyway, and it seems completely useless to me.

So those are the reasons I think I’m having such a hard time ordering a damn couch. But if I don’t want a couch then why am I still contemplating it? Societal standards? Really? That would be ridiculous if I’m letting a standard that is private to my own space, that no one sees, take up space in my mind. But hey maybe it’s possible.

Or maybe there’s a feeling I have that having a couch would be nice. A place to plop down after a long day, that I won’t spend the next 8 hours in. A place where I could sit in that one position, leaned against the armrest, with my legs crooked to one side, kind of under me. A place that maybe a cat would like to sit (if I can ever work through the mental gymnastics I’ll have to put myself through to get one). A place that guests can sit before we go out, and listen to someone making something in the kitchen. Somewhere I could read, somewhere I could put lots of fluffy pillows, oh dang and a weighted blanket. I’ll put one of those long lamps that has a swinging head nearby. Maybe I’ll actually open the blinds (since it’s just my living room, god forbid anyone on the street see me in my bedroom!), and the light will play nicely with how it looks. Always late afternoon light because it gets dark so early.

Well, maybe I will get a couch. 

[estherkatz]

Getting Past Bro Barrier in NFT Industry

Has society told you that girls can do this, but girls can’t do that? Math is not for girls, chess is not for girls, and the top level of academia is mostly males. It is embedded in some of our citizens’ subconscious that we have set gender roles.

The level of gender roles varies throughout the world. In some areas women have more rights than others. In some areas, they have no rights. Low self-esteem and gender segregation is something that is deeply embedded in some cultures.

Thanks to social media, and streaming media in the form of podcasts and YouTube, people have bigger platforms to communicate their messages. Women were able to connect with each other on common causes more so than ever before. Subjects that were normally not discussed were getting the spotlight and some taboos were getting dispelled. It started to feel as if we were making some progress.

Then another paradigm shift started to happen, the transition from Web2 to Web3. During the Web2 boom, people were able to connect, but there was always a middle person, someone taking a cut from advertising, aggregating information on their users and the connection between people started to feel not as authentic.

In comes Web3 and we are starting to experience a peer-to-peer economy. Artists of all styles and backgrounds can now sell their art direct to consumers. The NFT space in particular became quite the hot commodity. Did it seem like during the transition from Web2 to Web3 that women got lost in the mix?

There has been a barrier for a long time in the world of tech between men and women, as in some other industries. But the Crypto Bro Culture is strong. Is it because they got here first and is this a barrier that can be broken?

#By the numbers

It is not just the digital art world. A data analysis of major US art museums found that their collections were 87% male. This is an age-old art form too.

There’s an apparent gender gap between the number of men compared to the number of women in crypto. Male creators represent 77% of NFT art sales, while only 5% go to women creators.

“The study, conducted by a research agency called Art Tactic and reported by Bloomberg, claims at least 77% of the money generated by NFT art sales over the past 21 months went to male artists, with just 5% going to female artists. “

Despite the metaverse being touted as an inclusive and diverse space, the NFT market has been dominated by the likes of the US artist Beeple (aka Mike Winkelman), Pak and Canadian-born Mad Dog Jones (the trio take the top three spots).

While Pak’s nationality, gender and age remain undisclosed, the only known woman to make it into the top ten NFT artists is the musician Grimes, whose sales total $8.9m to date, compared with Winkelman’s $50.8m. Overall, male artists account for 77% of all primary and secondary sales, at $258.3m.

The highest selling woman artist in NFTs is currently IX Shells aka Itzel Yard. Whose work “Dreaming at Dusk” sold for 500 ETH or ~ $2 million. The most well-known female NFT artist must be Yam Karkai of World of Women. Her work, Woman #5672, went for £567,000 at Christie’s London Evening Sale earlier this year.

Women account for just 16% of the NFT art market, according to a report published by the research firm ArtTactic, which based its findings on primary and secondary market sales on Nifty Gateway over the past couple of years.

In 32 countries across the world, including India, Egypt and Nigeria, men are 50% more likely to have access to the internet. In those countries, a third of women were connected to the internet compared with almost half of men. The digital gender gap has barely improved since 2011, dropping just half a percentage point from 30.9% to 30.4%. Globally, men are 21% more likely to be online than women, rising to 52% in the least developed countries, according to a report conducted by the World Wide Web Foundation in 2021.

Women in certain parts of the world have a hard time getting internet access, which is a problem if you have dreams of making a career online, where there are plenty of opportunities. New opportunities are popping up left and right in the digital world and gasoline has been poured on that fire since the introduction of crypto and especially lately, NFTs. A space filled with mostly men, but is that tide shifting?

Originally Posted: https://idostrategy.com/getting-past-the-bro-barrier-in-the-nft-industry/

[fruitcoops]

So this is sort of similar to the people writing fanfic about the lions but can you imagine the YouTube edits? Like the videos that are just "Cap having heart eyes for Loops for 10 minutes straight" or "Loops lovingly dragging Caps name through the mud for 3 minutes" like those kinds of things and I can just imagine them doing reaction videos and it just being funny and the world just loving coops

Okay so this wasn't a specific fic request but I got carried away with imagining videos and....here you go. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Grace and Anna are mine! Bonus points to anyone who remembers the easter egg in this one!

Message From: Gracie

ANNA HOLY SHIT

Anna frowned at her phone screen, squinting to read around the spiderweb crack decorating the upper corner. She had tried to convince herself that it was cool, goth, edgy, but in the end she had to admit that it was just irritating. In a tragic turn of events, packing tape couldn’t fix everything.

Message To: Gracie

Wtf did I do

Two weeks of radio silence, then unexplained accusations. Anna shook her head as the grey bubble disappeared for a third time and turned back to her computer. Grace may have been her favorite cousin—and favorite person, if she was being honest—but very few things came between Anna and video editing. Especially editing for a Lions meme video. She had a whole 2,341 followers to attend to, after all.

Message From: Gracie

DID YOU SEE THE FUCKING INTERVIEW???

Message To: Gracie

Wow thank you so helpful

Message From: Gracie

Skip to 2:45 bestie

A link popped up just as Anna cut a segment from the sleep study video, where Loops’ heart eyes were in full effect. It was a rare, precious find for fan editors like herself.

“Come on,” she groaned. Maybe introducing Grace to the deepest parts of her hockey obsession was a mistake. But, really, what else was she supposed to do when she learned her cousin, who didn’t even live in Gryffindor, got to meet her favorite players just by chilling in a café? What kind of cosmic joke was that?

She narrowed her eyes at the embed of the link, then stifled a shriek. Impossible. How had she missed an upload?

As if on cue, her computer pinged with a new notification from the Lion Pride channel. “Oh, fuck me,” she muttered, scrambling to save her half-done video and pressing play.

The interviewer asked basic questions, ones she had heard the answers to a million times while curating her content. It always felt funny to hear people refer to Cap as ‘Sirius’—it was too official, too formal. She had spent countless hours on the compilations of his softer moments, and they were her most popular videos. Cap Having Heart Eyes for Loops for 10 Minutes Gay. Cap Being an Actual Puppy for Six and a Half Minutes. Everyone Wanting Cap Cuddles for Fifteen Minutes. Every Time Cap Smiles When Someone Mentions His Godson. The list was endless. She loved it.

She did a silent fist pump when she saw the interviewer had snagged both Cap and Loops; that would give her a whole new stream of workable content. If she was lucky, she could expand on her series of Loops Lovingly Roasting His Friends, part…fuck it, who was even counting anymore?

Anna was so caught up in her excitement that she nearly forgot about Grace’s suggestion. I’ve never skipped through a video on the first watch before, she thought hesitantly. But maybe just this once…

Her cursor hovered over the 2:45mark. She closed her eyes, and clicked it.

“—have you been adjusting to life as a celebrity?” the interviewer asked. Anna nearly rolled her eyes when Loops laughed. That question had been used far too often to be interesting anymore.

“It’s had its ups and downs,” Loops said with a smile. “Mostly, though, the fans have been incredible and just knocked my socks off with their support.”

“Really? What’s your favorite part of the Lions fanbase?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Their creativity, for sure. There was a video a while back where we reacted to some of the comments people left, and this person on Twitter made an absolutely beautiful collage of photos.”

“I have it saved to my phone,” Sirius added.

One more clip for the simp video. Anna made a note on the small corner space of her European History notes. The degree can wait for ten more minutes.

“Do you have a favorite creator?”

The interviewer was clearly teasing, but Loops’ smile was genuine. “I don’t know about a favorite, but there’s this person on YouTube who makes a shit ton of videos and they’re hysterical. I saw one the other day about—god, what was it again?”

“Every time I smile when people mention Harry,” Sirius answered around a laugh. “Can you blame me?”

Anna didn’t hear the next question. A ringing noise filled her ears as she sat, frozen, on her shitty dorm mattress and listened to her literal heroes talk about her dorky little channel. “Holy fuck,” she blurted after a moment of silence. “Holy fuck.”

“—subscribed?” The man’s voice snapped her back to reality.

“Of course I am!” Loops said. “You think I’m passing up a chance to watch a compilation of my friends making stupid decisions for the entire internet to see?”

A noise that would have been a shriek if Anna had any breath left in her body escaped her lungs; she clamped a hand over her mouth and shakily exited from the video before going to her YouTube account. 800 new notifications. 700 new followers in the last quarter hour. She was pretty sure she blacked out for a second from sheer shock and joy.

Message To: Gracie

What

Message From: Gracie

You’re famous!

Message To: Gracie

What

Message From: Gracie

I bet he knows your stuff better than he remembers me tbh

“They know me,” she whispered, staring at her computer. The unfinished video showed a perfect frame of Loops’ soft smile as he watched Cap get his toothbrush stuck in his pajama shirt. Somehow, the thought was both exhilarating and horrifying. What if they thought she was a creep? She wasn’t, not really, just a bored college student with not enough free time for a job but too much to keep herself busy with schoolwork. Her 2,341—no, 3,052—followers were just other hockey nerds looking for time to kill.

And the subject of those videos was one of her subscribers.

Anna slipped her headphones back on and began to edit like it was her last day on earth. Her fingers flew across the keyboard on muscle memory while her brain fizzed. Perfect, she thought. It has to be perfect.

In four hours, it was done. She sat back, panting, then hunched over again and began tapping out a title card.

Hello. Idk if anyone saw the new Lion Pride video today (linked below if anyone wants to see why I’m dying right now) but apparently Remus Lupin is subscribed to this channel and has been for a while.

Hi Loops. I’m Anna. You met my cousin once and she said she liked your sweater.

Now that that’s out of the way, please enjoy the next five minutes of our new rookie being the sappiest mf in existence (except for his fiancé). Mr. Lupin, please tell Hattie I say hello.

She pressed upload, peeled her headphones off, and collapsed backward on her bed.

Message To: Gracie

If I die here, tell the world I did it doing what I loved

Message From: Gracie

Will do

OH FUCK YOU FOR BRINGING UP THE SWEATER I SOUND LIKE A CREEP

Anna covered her itchy eyes with her forearm and settled in for a long, long nap. Her brain still needed to repair a few circuits.

[astouract]

The Smell of Soil — Chapter 2 (Y/N)

Synopsis: (Y/N) almost burns her house down, and of course Loki shows up to help

Words: 1901

Warnings: None yet 😈

—

You practically slammed the door behind you, leaving the god-turned-gardener on your front step. Something wasn't right. You weren’t supposed to be stationed at the house right next to his, why would they put you there?

Watch him from afar, they had told you, don't get too close. He's still dangerous. Unpredictable.

Your heart felt as if it would beat right out of your chest, you noticed, as you placed a hand on your chest and let the door support you. After taking a moment, you pushed yourself off of the door and wandered into the cottage. It definitely wasn't anything like the Asgardian architecture you were used to, floral patterns and natural wood instead of stark white marble and expensive accents. There was no television, which was almost a relief as you had absolutely no idea how to use one. There was, however, a little pink radio on a shabby looking green end table.

A floral sofa was the centerpiece of the room, placed in front of a small fireplace. Small tables held little knickknacks and tiny vases that could only hold one or two flowers. And, actually, it seemed like plants were taking over the house. They were everywhere, you realized with a groan. You’d have to water them every day, and they’d still end up dead.

You moved on and into the kitchen, where there was not nearly as much counter space as you were used to. The room was a cacophony of different patterns and colors, but somehow it all came together to form one cohesive style. A little round table sat in the corner, with two mismatched chairs and, of course, a potted plant. Everything looked like someone else had used it for twenty years and then dumped it on the side of the road somewhere. Even the gas stove could've used a cleaning. Cooking--yet another thing you would have to learn how to do. Fresh herbs hung from the wall above the large window, making the room smell faintly of rosemary and basil.

To the left of the kitchen was a small flight of stairs that led to the second floor, which you soon discovered was more of an attic with a bed and some windows. You let your hand trail along the puffy duvet, feeling its softness under your fingers. It wasn't an Asgard duvet, that's for sure, but you had a sneaking suspicion that you may like it more. It was plush and inviting, and you resisted the urge to sink into the mattress.

A little dresser held flowing skirts and dresses, and a few pairs of jeans. You looked down at your current outfit, your last work of magic before hopping through the portal, and the first assignment of your mission: a loose T-shirt, paired with blue jeans that had to be the tightest pants you had ever worn. Not your usual clothing choices, but you were to play the part and do it well. So, flowing dresses and flower crowns it was.

Your feet carried you to the window, where you brushed the curtains aside. You had a clear view down the street, and your eyes landed on Loki's house, where he was on his hands and knees in his garden.

It was so odd, seeing him like this. Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, was on his hands and knees digging through dirt to care for fruits and vegetables. Loki, who a week ago would have killed anyone who even looked at him wrong, came over just to help you with a yard sign. His hair had been thrown haphazardly into a top knot, and he'd had dirt smeared on his cheeks. He wasn't in Asgardian robes, trading his armor out for cotton button-ups and flannel pants. What had become of the prince you’d known your whole life?

Shaking your head, you stepped away from the window and retreated back to the first floor. The rest of the downstairs consisted of a small bathroom and an equally small study, where picture frames hung on the wall presented pressed flowers of all kinds and random journal entries. A wooden desk sat against a big window, and a small bookshelf was tucked into the corner.

You made your way back into the kitchen and through the back door, where nature had reclaimed the property. It was immensely overgrown, with so many clusters of weeds and flowers that your eyes couldn't find a place to settle. There was a rotting shed, and a greenhouse hidden behind greenery. Various gardening tools were scattered around the area, and you couldn't even imagine what else might be hiding in the bushes.

"It's. . . Charming." Loki's words echoed in your mind, and you rolled your eyes.

You liked a good project.

--

"Shit shit shit shit!"

You clamped your hands down over your ears, rushing into the kitchen and throwing the oven door open. You reached through the billowing smoke and grabbed the pan, crying out and dropping it immediately as burning pain overwhelmed your senses.

"Fuck!" You switched the oven off and held your hands helplessly in front of you, coughing.

You didn't know what to do. Your hands were an angry shade of red, an alarm was blaring from somewhere in the kitchen, and the smoke wouldn't stop billowing out of the oven. Somehow, above all of the noise you were able to hear a series of knocks at your front door. You crossed the distance from the kitchen into the living room, and carefully pulled the door open, hissing sharply at the pain rolling over your hands.

Shit.

There, standing on your doorstep for the second time that day, was Loki. Of course it was, because what else could happen when you were supposed to be watching him from afar?

He looked into the house behind you, and back at you with wide eyes. "Is everything okay? I heard the alarms and some loud crashes, and. . . Your house is full of smoke." His gaze asked what he wouldn't say out loud--asked if you needed help. Norns, he was practically begging you to let him help.

Who even was he?

You sighed, and then did the unthinkable: you stepped aside to let him in. He followed you into the kitchen, and you realized just how much of a mess you’d made. The oven door was hanging open, with smoke still billowing out relentlessly, and there were charred cookies all over the floor. The baking pan was upside down in the middle of the room, but Loki didn't seem to notice as he rushed around the room trying to reconcile the smoke issue.

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, propping the back door open and sliding every window open that he could.

"I made cookies. I think."

Loki reached up above the door frame, and pressed a button on a white box that stopped the screeching alarm. He started opening every drawer in the kitchen, until he found what he was looking for. He offered you a tea towel, but you just stared at it.

"I can't," you murmured, looking down at your hands. Loki's gaze followed.

"Oh my God." He sucked in a breath, "You need to take care of that."

I would, if I could use my magic, your subconscious snapped.

He turned on the sink, and gently guided your hands into the cool water. "I think maybe you should go to Urgent Care."

"Urgent Care?"

Loki didn't seem to hear you, lost in thought as he looked around the room. He pulled over the chairs from the kitchen table, offering one to you at the sink before leaning against the counter while you soaked your palms.

"Did all of this furniture come with the house?"

You nodded. "It was mostly furnished when I got here, I just had to add a few small things. I only brought one suitcase with me."

"I see. Where did you move from?"

Shit. Why was he interrogating you? Did he know something?

You removed a hand from the water to gesture vaguely. "Just some run down old town about a day's trip north of here." The lie came effortlessly, and Loki accepted it with a nod.

"Where's your bathroom? Though I really think you should see a doctor for your hands."

"To the left of the entry, and there’s no need for medical treatment. I’m a fast healer." You grimaced, not daring to move your fingers.

Loki disappeared into the next room, and returned a moment later with gauze bandage. "It's going to hurt, but you have to wash your hands with soap before I can wrap them."

"What?" You asked stupidly.

Loki took the old soap from beside your sink and squirted a bit into your open hands. "Just wash them real quick. The internet said so."

Gods, being mortal sucked.

You did as told, and Loki turned off the tap before grabbing the gauze. "I'm going to wrap them now, okay?"

You offered him a hand, and he began to unwind the bandage with extreme delicacy onto your skin. It was mesmerizing, watching someone who you knew to be an actual war criminal act so selflessly. Gone was the dark, brooding prince, and standing in his place was a mortal, kind and simple. And concentrating.

Loki released one hand and moved onto the next, and suddenly, those green eyes were staring right back at you. Your breath caught, and for one, fleeting moment, you were swept up. The atmosphere felt different, like a static kind of electricity clung to the air.

War criminal. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here, with your hands gently in his.

The things those hands had done, the lives they’ve ended. The cities destroyed, each one’s story carved into the lines on his palm. Those hands were unpredictable. Dangerous.

War criminal.

"That should do it," Loki said softly, "and look, the smoke has cleared!"

You grimaced as he collected the charred cookies from the floor. "You don’t have to do that. ."

Loki only grinned, putting the now dented pan in the sink. "I'm more than happy to help."

You walked together back through the house, and ended up back on the front steps for the third time that day. The sun was setting behind the trees, the sky a breathtaking canvas of oranges, yellows, and pinks. The world outside was quiet, peaceful.

"Seriously," Loki emphasized, turning to face you. "If you need anything. You know where to find me." He offered a sympathetic smile.

And, unfortunately, he knew where to find you.

Loki pointed to your hands. "You should take the bandages off in the morning and see what the burns look like; your hands will likely get worse over the next twenty-four hours or so. Whatever you do, don't apply ice. And, don't apply any ointment until the burns have cooled. Make sure you keep them clean and wrapped."

You cocked your head slightly to the side, regarding him curiously. Suspiciously. “How do you know all of this?"

Loki smiled all the way to his eyes. "Internet."

"Oh. Right.”

Loki rubbed his hands together--something that you wouldn't be doing for a couple days, by the sound of it. "Well, you seem to have had a rather. . . eventful. . . day so I'll leave you to it. Have a good evening, (Y/N)."

"Loki," you called out, stopping him on his way down the steps, "Thank you."

He smiled.

[hautecompress]

Perfume

The largeness of the room threatens to swallow Erwin whole. Lying on his side in bed, he can see the outline of familiar shapes in the dark--a sleek, white desk, a large computer, long black curtains over two equally long windows. A minimalist chair. Two overstuffed bookshelves. There is a closet on the far wall, a small room in its own right. The white doors are slightly ajar, a mound of dirty laundry spilling out from within. 

The windows are open, and he can smell rain, hear it even, tapping against the glass. The earth smells different here, he thinks. Deeper, older. Less complicated. He can smell the woods beyond the house, the maple and elm and pine with their leaves that change from green to gold and red. He wonders what it will look like in the winter, when all the leaves have gone and only the long tangled branches remain, clasping at one another like lover’s hands. He wonders if he will be able to see the horizon through them--the sun setting behind the mountains far in the west, its rays reaching out towards him like warm arms. He wonders if the sky will turn a thousand splendid colors, splintered into shards like light off the surface of a diamond. 

He lights a cigarette, rolls onto his back. 

The ceiling seems to drift away, even as he remains still on the flimsy IKEA mattress that his father managed to drag up the stairs while he was at school. Could it be growing? Floating upwards? Lifting away? 

This will be a new beginning for us, Erwin, I swear. 

He thinks about the brownstone in the city, with its steep stairways and small closets and narrow rooms. He thinks about his body pressed into stranger’s bodies on the train, the cats in bodegas who wrapped like twine around his ankles. He thinks about his mother, holding him tightly to her chest as they slipped into a crowd, her hand cupped over the back of his skull. He thinks about protection. Being protected.

Life is smaller without her hands on his shoulders. Miniscule, like walls closing in or doors slamming shut. His father says the woods will do them good. All of the space will encourage them to change, to move on, to grow up. 

It’s like with fish, Erv. Bigger the tank, bigger the fish. We need a bigger tank-- that’s all.

Erwin frowns, soft blonde hair spilling across his pillow like milk. He wants to believe that that’s true, but in his heart of hearts he knows he’s simply not a fish. Even with all this room to grow all he wants to do is curl in, shrivel up, and disappear. 

--

At school the classrooms seem empty. Twenty vacant desks to ten filled ones. He wonders why people stay, why they don’t move to the cities and let nature take back what belongs to it. What is the point in passing through the world like a ghost, so far removed from other people that you hardly know what’s real? That morning he’d heard an old song on the new hits radio station. He wonders if they ever play the songs he knows intimately, the ones that blare out of open car windows and through the swinging doors of clubs you have to know somebody to get into. He wonders if he’ll ever hear those songs again, or if they’ll fade away like the fall, like the sun in the west, like the smoke from a cigarette. 

--

“Can I sit here?”

Erwin is surprised, so he doesn’t answer. The boy is small and pale, fingernails picked so clean that he can see the skin underneath. He has black hair, inky and soft. It falls in waves over his forehead, the rest of it shaved to the scalp. He has very full lips, like two petals blooming from the stem of his sharp chin. 

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Erwin says. He sits up a little straighter.

When the boy sits down, his hair falls over one eye, Erwin notices, and the smell of it wafts across the table. The boy smells uncomplicated, like smoke and leaves and something fresh. Laundry detergent. 

“What are you drawing?” the boy asks, rusty, rough--but still so quiet. 

Erwin looks down at the table, to the notebook he has cupped between his hands. He’s sketched something crude there, a scribble of a skyline that is etched like a tattoo on his memory. He pushes it across to the boy, an offering. 

“Home,” he says, simply.

The boy looks at the drawing for a long time. 

--

There is a box in the front room that neither Erwin nor his father will touch. They have adapted their lives around it, have grown so used to it being there that he hardly notices it anymore. 

It is three in the afternoon, and he is crawling on the floor, looking for the dropped back of an earring he’s been wearing since middle school. His shoulder snags the corner of the box, and he sits back on his heels, looking at it properly for the first time in months. He knows what they’ve packed in there, of course. He knows why they don’t unpack it now, and knows that he won’t ever do it alone, even if it feels irrational. Still, it seems important, all of a sudden, to at least look inside.

He crawls forward, kneeling in front of it, a boy at the altar.

Inside, things are just as he expected. He runs his fingers over a silk scarf, wound up tenderly and placed neatly on top. When he pulls them away, they smell like perfume. He closes the box, and goes upstairs to wash his hands. 

--

The boy with dark hair is called Levi.

Levi is allergic to peanut butter and doesn’t like to be talked to. He talks a lot to Erwin, though. Mostly about books he reads, or things he sees on the internet. At times it seems that all Erwin does anymore is sit and listen to Levi talk, busy fingers working at something on a blank piece of paper. A memory, perhaps, or a want. A forest of tall green trees. Feathers, falling. The faces of monsters. 

It always becomes a blur before the end. 

Erwin doesn’t mind when Levi talks. In fact, he has started to feel as though he needs Levi to talk. It makes him feel special, unique. Relevant. When Levi talks, he leans closer, their cheeks nearly brushing as Levi mumbles thoughts against his ear. He doesn’t always follow their meaning, doesn’t always have to.

It’s enough just to feel the vibrations against his skin. To be told a secret.

--

When winter comes, Erwin cannot see the mountains. He is walking past his window one afternoon and sees only the tangles of trees, thick silver arms twisting up towards the sky. They have fingers, but not faces.

He feels strangely relieved. 

--

“What’s in there?”

Erwin looks up, following the direction of Levi’s eyes. They are in his living room, curled side by side under a soft blanket. At first, he doesn’t see what Levi means. His eyes scan the large room, finding nothing but familiar shapes. Large, leather sofa. Broad oak table. Wide brick fireplace. There is a circular rug in the center, a simple design. There is a pile of magazines on the side table, old copies of Outdoor Life that his father won’t throw away. 

When he sees it, his fists clench.

“Nothing, just some old shit we haven’t put away.”

Levi looks at him, gray eyes searching his for something. It makes Erwin feel distinctly uncomfortable and he looks away, folding his arms across his chest. He feels defensive, though he isn’t sure why.

“It’s always there. Since we met.”

Erwin frowns, padding in his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out, lighting it. The silver smoke fills up the space between them, makes the room feel smaller. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. 

“You never want to talk,” Levi replies.

“How could I get a word in edgewise?”

It comes off harsher than he means it, and he worries that Levi will leave. He looks up, face tight with anxiety. He needs Levi to stay, to talk. If Levi goes the world will expand. If Levi goes he’ll drift away, like a ship without an anchor. Like he’s made of nothing but air. 

Levi’s eyes are soft when he catches them. It startles him, how much he sees there. Gentleness swims in those gray eyes, a fish kept small by the size of his irises. Erwin wonders how big that fish might grow if only it could escape, if Levi’s eyes became the size of the sun, or the moon, or even something small, primitive--a fist. 

Warm fingers brush against Erwin’s cheek, smoothing a line beneath the bone. 

When Levi kisses him, Erwin is not startled. Instead, he is heavy, so weighed down by their physical bodies that he is sure that he can feel the ceilings lowering, the room shrinking. He fits, here, against Levi. In this room. 

It’s snowing when Levi goes home that night. Erwin watches it fall through the living room window, kneeling in front of the open box. He holds the scarf in his hands, tight. 

--

It’s cold out, but Erwin walks to school. The sky is white, so thick that he can hardly tell where it ends, where the earth begins. He feels small, comfortable. His hair is growing longer, white threads along his pale cheeks. He’s nearly as tall as his father, now, has to wear socks under his jeans to hide his peeping ankles. 

As he walks, he listens to an old song, one he knows the words to. One he knows the feeling of. 

--

“Can I see it?”

Levi is perched like a cat on his knee, curled around his body like twine. Erwin looks up, smiling his crooked smile. The one that is like his mother’s. 

The page is full. There is the city there, it’s skyline crisp against a blue sky. In the center, a woman in a silk scarf looks back, bag hanging off her shoulder. He can nearly smell her perfume.

“She was really beautiful, Erwin.”

“Yeah, she was.”

Levi’s arms close around him protectively, a hand cupping the back of his skull. 

--

In the spring, Erwin carries the box up the stairs. He takes out the things that are practical--the photos, the pieces of art, the journals. He puts those things away, in places where he can get to them. He hangs some of the photos in the living room, some paintings in the hallway. He leaves her clothes, folding them neatly and storing them in the back of the coat closet. 

The scarf he keeps. He folds it into thirds and tucks it beneath his pillow.

--

When Erwin wakes up, her perfume is everywhere. 

He slips out of bed, smooth as a fish in cold water. He dresses slowly, eyes fixed on the woods outside the window. The trees are budding. Their leaves will blossom soon, he thinks, green and uncomplicated. Infinite. 

As he stoops to catch his reflection in his mirror, he wonders when his room got to be so small. He wonders at how much he’s grown. 

Outside, Levi is waiting on the porch. His mouth is full of words, the kind that Erwin bends to hear. 

The silver smoke from his cigarette disappears from between his fingers, drifting up into the endless blue sky. 

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Marasmus

Marasmus only has a handful of fics left at Gossamer, but you can find more X-Files fics at AO3 (as finisterre). Some of my favorites of her stories I've recced here before, including one of the most clever fics you could read, Cellphone (here at AO3), and the lovely, London-set A Candle for Katherine (here at AO3, bonus commentary at LJ). Big thanks to Marasmus for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Mine, yes, older XF in general, no — some of that stuff is amazing. Though I wonder how well fandom operates now there is not a plethora of rec sites. I know of yours and one more Tumblr blog and that’s it.  I find it really difficult to find good stories in any fandom unless someone whose taste maps to mine recommends something.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I look back on it fondly, but it was one of the first things that really hammered it home to me that every grouping throughout life follows the pattern of school.

A lot of people are really talented and funny and kind. Then there are absolute ego-rampaging nightmares who act like lady bountiful in public but do cruel things in private, or chuck their toys out of the pram at the least provocation.

And like school, fandom brings together a disparate group of people who you’re friendly with, but once you leave, the ones you stay in touch with are your friends.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Thank God.

I watched the show pre-widespread internet and mostly when I had almost no money. I didn’t have regular internet access until the third season, and that was only at my incredibly conservative workplace. I didn’t get home internet access until midway through season six. You couldn’t download episodes easily, you couldn’t stream, you just had to wait until it aired overseas. I decided I didn’t care if I was spoiled and that worked for me. In fact for some particularly annoying episodes, I was glad.

I was a newsgroup and mailing list sort of person. Never really did message boards unless a newsgroup counts, though I had a Haven account.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Mostly, how talented people are. I know some are now professional writers, but so many people who didn’t do it as anything but a hobby were also amazing.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I always liked science fiction, oddness and urban legends, so it was kind of made for me. But it was the relationship between Mulder and Scully that kept me around, and after season six, it was the fandom that kept me around. I loved Scully in particular, cos let’s be honest, Mulder can be kind of a twerp at times.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I hung out on alt.tv.xfiles.analysis (a newsgroup), which was one of the smartest boards I’ve ever been on. The threads were full of well-read, erudite people. That led to a site which collated reviews of XF episodes. They mentioned alt.tv.xfiles.creative, and I got there the summer after Gethsemane, which was pretty optimal timing.

I’d take floppy disks into conservative workplace and quietly download the most gloriously filthy fanfic onto them for reading at home on my ancient second-hand Mac.

After that I joined Scullyfic, a mailing list, which was a lovely place to hang out for a while, and got stories through a couple of other mailing lists.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Like my relationship to ice hockey: glad that activity exists and that some people enjoy it, but not watching and not involved myself.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Reading, yes, and writing the odd bit of feedback, but any other fandom involvement didn’t really take. I’ve never found a bunch of people I liked as well as I liked some of the people in XF.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I am usually more interested in female characters than male ones (the Doctor, Mulder and Jack O’Neill notwithstanding), which is why I only read a bit of m/m slash. I usually develop a perverse dislike for any woobie the fandom loves.  

Some favourites are: Samantha Carter and Jack O’Neill, Granny Weatherwax, Furiosa, everyone from The Good Place, Donna Noble, Sarah Jane Smith, Martha Jones and Yasmin Khan, Maia from The Goblin Emperor, Cordelia Naismith and Miles Vorkosigan, General Leia Organa, Rey and Finn, and lately all of The Old Guard, even Booker...

I like nerds, pining, best friends discovering feelings for each other, second chances, redemption narratives, people being sneaky for good ends and stoics who stay stoic through all kinds of misery, only to crack and start crying when they get a happy ending.

Basically, you know Eleanor at the end of the Emma Thompson Sense and Sensibility? That.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

No. I had about four years there where I made up stories about Mulder and Scully on any commute where I’d forgotten a book, but that’s gone now. I watched two episodes of the revival, but it wasn’t for me.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I occasionally wander in and read a bit on AO3, but nothing that deals with anything past season seven. Not interested in William, not interested in domestic fiction, not even interested in post-col any more, which was 100% my crack during XF fandom days. I did read By the Dim and Flaring Lamps [Lilydale note: by @sunflowerseedsandscience] earlier this year. Love a bit of AU historical.

I read lots of different fandoms, though I am between intense enthusiasms at the moment, which always feels a bit odd.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Yes, but they’re all about 20 years old. Is there such a thing as fandom classics any more?  There used to be a litany of stories that ‘everyone should read’. I wonder how well they hold up now.

I think there are waves of writers who come into a fandom and then leave again: I think I was part of a second wave, with the first wave being Mustang Sally, RivkaT, Karen Rasch, Lydia Bower, Nascent etc.

Then there must’ve been a third wave for the revival (and mini-waves in between). I don’t know that group of writers, so I am probably leaving out people who are really good.

One of my favourite Scully voices is Five Years and One Night [Lilydale note: by Shalimar], because of the contrast between her inner monologue as written and how little she actually says.

I really like quieter, thoughtful authors like Michelle Kiefer, Cecily Sasserbaum, Scullysfan, Cofax, Anjou, Maria Nicole, Kipler.  Love everything Kel ever wrote.

At one point there were also about three authors called Rachel who were knockout. I like to think Rachel Howard is writing professionally because it’s a waste of talent if she’s not. Rachel Anton had a crazy gift for pacing and wrote a good Krycek.

I really liked Branwell’s strange AU novels, which riff off The Field Where I Died (a wretched episode but so much good writing came from it.) [Lilydale note: Condemned to Repeat It by Branwell is a really long story involving The Field Where I Died.]

Everyone who is reccing other people’s stuff here is also a good writer. (and their taste in recs is — mostly — excellent): http://www.thebasementoffice.com/museaxfnet/museans/TitlesAF.html

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I like The Flexible Concept of Tomorrow. I loved trying to work out the timelines. I like the one about airships and cross-dressing which only exists on my iPhone and in my imagination right now.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Only an AU, if ever. I am completely at sea with canon.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

In my head. Mostly AUs. Everyone has daemons! It’s an airship! They’re exploring space! It’s mediaeval Slovenia!

Most of my creativity is sucked away by work. Which is good I suppose, as writing fanfic never paid my Netflix subscription.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Reading long-form journalism and non-fiction books.  

What's the story behind your pen name?

Well, I changed mine. The first one was picked out of a magazine article about Branwell Bronte, and I liked the shape of the word. Then I got to feel uncomfortable with it because it was a real illness that made people suffer. The current one comes from the shipping forecast when I was a kid.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

No, and also absolutely not. Over my dead body. Over YOUR dead body.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I took my stories off Gossamer but I don’t remember why. They’re on AO3 now and there are probably stray copies on some archives out there.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I have made all of these mistakes. All of ‘em.

— On no account offer unsolicited concrit. In fact, do not provide concrit EVEN IF THE PERSON ASKS FOR IT, unless you know them reasonably well and it’s in private.

— Avoid the wank. If you have the perfect riposte to something awful, write it and file it to drafts for two days. If you still want to send it after that, godspeed.

— Write anything you want, and when you start keep going. You can edit later.

— Never put any story into the public sphere unless you’ve had a second pair of eyes on it, preferably the eyes of someone who is willing to say “are you SURE about that?”

Finally, just have fun. Being in the grip of love of story is a wonderful thing, and you never know how long it will last.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 29, 2020)

[sluttyten]

want it all

summary: you are entirely innocent to the point of being naive. johnny is not innocent, but he loves that you are because it means he can teach you everything you don’t know

words: 13,756

tags: innocence kink/corruption kink, praise kink, phone sex, masturbation (male and female), slight exhibitionism

One of the first things Johnny ever said to you was that you were the picture of innocence. You were a total cutie, all wide-eyed innocence the first time he kissed you, nearly a whole foot shorter than him and you still had a baby face (which only made him want to baby you even more). And to be fair, you were definitely quite innocent.

You’d been kinda sheltered throughout your life. Your family had strictly enforced rules about who you could hang out with, what you could watch, what sort of things you could learn about. Sex ed had been a class that your family wanted you taking no part in. You weren’t allowed to watch movies where physical contact went any further than kissing. And if your family got a whiff of anyone you hung out with was having sex or talking about sexual things, you were no longer allowed to be around them.

But then you grew up. Ignorant of sexuality and all sorts of dirty things.

To be honest, at times you almost felt like you were thrown to the wolves when you were unleashed out into the world. An adult who was so out of the loop when it came to dirty jokes and the casual ribbing people around you did about their sex lives.

You met Johnny through a friend of a friend of a friend. You spotted him from across the room, as soon as you walked through the door into the hole-in-the-wall restaurant where your friend had invited you. Johnny caught your eye, sprawled out in the booth as he was, and you couldn’t look away even as your friend called out and started trying to talk to you from across the way. 

It wasn’t love at first sight. Although you were raised on mostly Disney-type romance movies, you didn’t believe in love at first sight. 

But when you met Johnny, it was as close to love at first sight as you’d ever felt.

Johnny seemed to be totally enchanted by how adorable you were, teasing you almost right away about being short (even though you insisted that he was just very tall). He liked the way that you got shy when someone at the table asked you if you had a boyfriend.

Johnny liked a lot of things about you, and he liked all the things that he didn’t see in you too. Maybe it was a bit about how he thought he could corrupt that picture-perfect innocence. 

That night Johnny stood at your side, making you feel so tiny, while you waited for your Uber to come pick you up. He asked for your number and smiled and laughed loudly and shamelessly with you. It wasn’t until several days later when you met up with your friend again that she laughed in your face and told you that Johnny was hardcore flirting with you and she couldn’t believe you were so blind.

You had her review the texts you and Johnny had exchanged, and she laughed even harder. “He’s got it so bad for you, babe! This boy is desperate and, bless your heart, you really didn’t notice? You keep curving him and you didn’t even realize?”

Maybe you accidentally playing hard-to-get made Johnny want you even more, she hypothesized. She claimed that a lot of guys would’ve gotten tired of their advances being rejected by this point, but Johnny was still texting you every free moment, trying to get you to open up, to come hang out with him some time. But you were nervous because you’d never spent much (or really any) one-on-one time with a guy before. Especially not a guy like Johnny who made you nervous--your palms sweating, your heart beating, your body flushing with heat like you’d never felt before.

“A guy like Johnny would be so good for you.” She said, and you watched over her shoulder as she typed out a message to Johnny from your phone. You barely registered the words before she’d hit send.��“There it’s a date. You and Johnny, tomorrow night. If you need any advice, I’m open to give it.”

Your anxiety built over the next twenty-four hours until you were standing there, waiting for Johnny to show and you felt like you could absolutely burst. What if he stood you up? What if your friend had misread everything and Johnny really didn’t like you? Worst of all, what if he just wanted to have sex with you?

You may have been innocent, but you knew that there were plenty of people like that. People who just wanted to have sex, who weren’t interested in romance.

You couldn’t be that way.

For one thing, you barely even knew how to have sex. Only the most basic understanding of penis and vagina, and you couldn’t even comprehend how it worked when it was two guys or two girls, and you totally blamed your parents for this blank space in your knowledge, blamed them for the fear and guilt you felt anytime you opened up a window in your internet browser with thoughts toward searching it up.

You always panicked and exited out before you could do it, so here you were, going on your first date with Johnny Suh and completely in the dark about how sex worked.

“Y/N?” 

“Johnny, hey!” You sighed when he appeared beside you. “I was getting nervous.”

Johnny towered over you, a baseball cap shading his eyes, but nothing could hide his bright smile. “Don’t be nervous. Do you want to go in?”

Your first date was an ice cream shop. Johnny paid, and then you walked around the area, eating your ice cream and talking, and he was a gentleman. He asked if he could hold your hand. He asked before he used his thumb to wipe away the vanilla ice cream that dripped from your bottom lip; his eyes were dark on the droplet and he licked his lips when his thumb traced your mouth.

You felt your whole body tingle at his touch, but you ignored it.

A second date, a third, a sixth, ninth date all followed the first. Each time you got to know each other a little better. Sometimes you hung out alone together, sometimes you met up with the same group of friends as the first night you met. And then Johnny invited you to meet the members of his group. They were all nice and funny, very welcoming when Johnny walked inside and introduced you to them while he held your hand tight in his.

You hung out with them for a while, boys drifting in and out of the dorm, new names and faces. It was great meeting them because you’d been hearing about them for weeks from Johnny, plus they were all very good looking, but soon you just wanted to be alone with Johnny. You wanted his attention only on you, which you weren’t getting when Yuta and Mark were trying to coax him into playing a video game with them.

“Johnny,” You whispered, clinging to his hand.

He glanced over at you, his eyes flickering back to the screen for a moment, but when you squeezed his hand again, he looked back at you and you felt a smile burst to your lips. “I should show you around, shouldn’t I?” 

Maybe you should’ve been more nervous when Johnny brought you straight to his room. You’d never been alone in a bedroom with a boy that you weren’t related to before, but somehow being with Johnny alone in his bedroom (even with the door shut) didn’t make you nervous at all. You simply savored the attention, all of it poured on you.

Johnny moved over and sat down on his bed, watching as you moved around the room, looking at the pictures, collections of knick knacks and belongings, books and CDs and fan gifts. Then your eyes land on his camera, perched on top of a chest of drawers, half of which were spilling out clothes. 

“Can I?” You asked. Johnny nodded, so you carefully picked up the camera, powered it on, and turned it on him.

Johnny grinned and leaned back on his hands, his legs spread apart and his eyes glued on you. “Are you gonna take my picture? Do I look good?”

“You always look good.” The camera flashed as you took a photo, and you took a step closer to him. Johnny shifted, sitting up as you approached, his expression shifting from his bright smile to more of a pouty look that had you giggling as you pressed down on the shutter again. “Just like a model.”

You snapped a few more pictures before you suddenly felt his hand on your elbow, pulling you forward so you stood between his legs, his face so close in the viewfinder that you lowered the camera so you didn’t get lightheaded at the proximity. But he was still close, still beautiful and breathtaking.

Johnny carefully took the camera from you and he leaned back some, now aiming the lens at you. “If you think I’m good-looking enough to be a model, you should see yourself.”

You laughed and covered your face, hiding behind your hands. While Johnny’s attention was always flattering, you couldn’t help but still feel self-conscious about your cheeks being too chubby or your nose too wide or your eyes too close together or something silly like that. 

Johnny smiled warmly as he set aside the camera and reached for your wrists, drawing your hands away from your face, drawing you down to sit beside him on the bed. “You’re so cute,” He teased. “I told you before, you don’t need to be shy or nervous with me. You’re beautiful.”

His fingers stroked the inside of your wrist, and you hoped that he couldn’t feel how hard your pulse was racing. You dipped your chin and watched his fingers on your skin for a moment and everything else in the world fell away so it was just you and Johnny in the quiet of his bedroom, his fingers making soothing shapes on your skin, his touch so warm and nice that you felt like you could just melt into him.

He cleared his throat. 

You looked up.

And just like that, Johnny Suh was kissing you.

You jerked backwards in surprise, your eyes so wide, your face burning as your brain processed what just happened. You stared at Johnny, your gaze darting from his lips to his eyes, and back. His fingers were still on your wrist, unmoving, just a warm relaxing presence.

“Sorry,” He apologized, ducking his head a little, but he didn’t look away from you. “You look so adorable, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be sorry, I was just surprised. I’ve -- I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His fingers twitched against your wrist. “Never?”

Again, you shook your head. “I know, it’s silly right. To be this age and not have kissed anyone before. It’s embarrassing.” Your face felt even hotter then than it had just a moment before.

“Hey, what did I just say? You don’t have to be shy or nervous or embarrassed with me.” One hand loosened from your wrist, coming up to cup your cheek. For a second, your heart leapt in your chest (whether from nerves or excitement you couldn’t be sure) as you thought he was about to kiss you again. But he didn’t, instead he cocked his head a little to the side and as you met his eyes, you were hit with a wave of unsurety.

The way Johnny looked at you, you’d never seen it before. Not on his face anyway. His eyes glinted, his lips curved into a gentle smile, but there was a rough and sweet hunger hiding just under the surface, a curiosity that made your heart beat faster and filled you with your own curiosity.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend before?” Johnny asked then, his voice quiet, gently prodding so as not to scare you or make you feel any more embarrassed.

You shook your head. “No, not really. I mean, there was one guy but we only went on a few dates. He never even kissed me, we just held hands.”

“So you’re really perfectly innocent, aren’t you? It’s not just your personality, you’re really the picture of innocence that I teased you about being?” Johnny dropped his hand from your cheek, reaching for your hand instead as you nod in response to his question.

“Yes.” Again, your face burned and you swore you might combust. But still, part of you liked it, liked the way that Johnny was only looking at you, his attention never wavering for even a moment. “The only physical contact I’ve ever had with boys are that guy who I dated and you.” 

Your gaze drifted to his lips again. Johnny smiled. 

“Can I kiss you again?” He asked.

You swallowed hard and nodded, shutting your eyes.

Johnny leaned closer and closer, his hands on yours, and when he was close enough you could feel his breath mingling with yours, he whispered, “Relax, beautiful.” 

That time when he kissed you, you were expecting it. That time you didn’t pull away, you sunk in, enraptured by the magic that was Johnny’s kiss. He was the one that drew back, and he chuckled when you chased his lips, so he closed the distance again. 

You kissed for a little while and it was so nice with Johnny guiding you, his small sounds of encouragement when you started growing more confident and kissing him back. 

By the time that Johnny moved back, running a hand through his hair in a very attractive manner, you felt kinda out of it. Your eyes were heavy, your lips tingled, and you just wanted to curl into his side and never leave. You wanted more of his lips, but just as you were about to ask him for just one more kiss, he moved.

Johnny grabbed a pillow from the head of his bed and dragged it into his lap, then he took one of your hands in his again, and you folded your legs in front of you and scooted closer until your knees were both touching his, each of you facing the other on the bed.

Things were quiet for a moment, just Johnny playing with your fingers while you watched and silently contemplated how to get him to kiss you again without sounding too needy, but in the end it was Johnny who broke the silence with another question.

“Have you ever cum before?” He asked, tracing his fingers over the back of your hand.

You cocked your head to the side, watching his fingers. “Come where?”

He laughed a little then turned your hand over, repeating the movements of his fingers there. It made your hand tingle and your fingers want to draw in on your palm. “No, I mean. Orgasm. Like, you said you’re a virgin, but have you ever masturbated? Ever touched yourself down there?”

Oh.

Your body got very hot, and you slid your hand away to flutter it over your hair, nervously trying to busy your shaking hands. You lowered your eyes down to your lap.

You shook your head.

The only touching you’d ever done was for the sake of washing your body. 

“Hey, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you...” Johnny reached for your shaking hands, soothingly taking them between his own. “You don’t have to be nervous or shy with me. And you don’t have to answer my questions if they make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” You pressed the words out, and lifted your gaze to his. “I just, I’ve never talked about anything like this with anyone. I don’t... I don’t know a lot about sex. Or much of anything at all really. So I’m sorry if I sound stupid or if I’m just too much of a baby for you to want to be with me anymore.”

Johnny inhaled, the sound sudden and sharp, and he brought his hands up to your face. “Don’t say that. You might be a bit like a baby, but you’re my baby.”

A warm, hot feeling bloomed in the middle of your chest, like a bright tropical flower blooming, unfolding all of its leaves and filling your chest with their thick heated glow. Sweet and pretty and you wanted to pluck it from inside you and share it with Johnny. You liked what he said. You liked it a lot.

You bit your bottom lip and looked into his eyes, deep and beautifully brown. Your next word slipped from your mouth, smooth as silk. “Yours?” 

Johnny grinned. “Yeah. You’re my baby. Do you like that?”

You nodded. Johnny squeezed your cheeks between his hands, then leaned in and kissed you chastely. 

“Can I teach you?”

Teach you? Teach you what?

“Can I teach you all about sex?” Johnny asked, softly pressing his lips to yours again. “I don’t mean we have to have sex. That would be pretty presumptuous of me, but, like, you said it yourself. You don’t know much of anything about sex, but I can teach you.”

And deep down, a part of you yearned for Johnny to be your teacher, to finally take away that innocent part of you that you felt had always held you back a little bit. You wanted to know about that darker, dangerous place of sensuality that you’d never been allowed to understand.

So you agreed. 

“Teach me. You promise?”

Johnny grinned wider and kissed you once again, looping his pinkie finger through yours and stamping the promise as he murmured, “I promise, baby.”

Johnny’s sexual education class didn’t begin that night. It was a few days before he texted you, asking when you’d be free for your first lesson. You’d almost forgotten about that promise, but at the reminder, your heart leapt in your chest, nervously pounding.

You met at the dorm again, and the place was quiet and dark and Johnny took you to his room to sit together on his bed again, his laptop open on his lap. 

The first thing he did was google ‘penis.’ 

“I know what a penis is, Johnny. I’ve seen them before.” You told him, and Johnny looked at you in surprise until you blushed. “Well, I mean, I’ve seen them in anatomy textbooks.”

“That’s not the same thing. Looking at a dick through a medical kind of perspective is nowhere near the same as seeing one sexually, my sweet girl.” 

He slid the laptop over into your lap, and you blushed, unsure what to do now. “Just search, sweet girl. Anything you have questions about, ask me. I just want to help you.”

You squirmed a bit as you clicked on the images tab and row after row of images of penises appear. “They’re so weird,” You mumbled, not sure where to look first, but your eyes kept drifting to the safety of the anatomy diagrams rather than pictures of actual penises. “Like, guys just have that thing hanging between their legs all the time? Doesn’t it get in the way?”

“Get in the way of what?” Johnny sounded amused, but he didn’t laugh. “The only time it’s kinda annoying or in the way is when I’m turned on and can’t do anything to get rid of it.” 

You turned your gaze to him. “Turned on?”

Johnny bit his lip, considering you for a moment, and then he took his laptop back. “I think I’m doing this the wrong way. Why don’t you tell me what you know about sex at all, baby?”

“I know it’s how babies are made. It involves a penis and a vagina, although, honestly, I’m not entirely sure how. I don’t get how gay people or lesbians can do it, but I know that they can somehow. I’m sorry.” You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. “I’m sorry I don’t know anything.”

“Hey, hey,” Johnny shifted around so he was in front of you, and he held your face between his hands. “You’re fine, alright? It’s okay that you don’t know this stuff, sweet girl. That’s why I’m sitting here beside you right now, to teach you. It’s basic stuff, you’ll understand it all in no time.”

So Johnny started with the basics. He told you about penises, how when Johnny experienced sexual thoughts or physical contact that was very pleasing, there’s an increased blood flow to his penis which causes it to engorge, getting erect and hard and increasing in size. 

“The rest of the time, it’s kinda just soft and... limp? I guess is the way to call it. And when I’m turned on, or hard like that, there’s like a natural lubricant that comes from the tip to make everything feel better and go easier. Similar to how vaginas do when they’re turned on.”

He googled vaginas too, and you hated to admit how unknowledgeable you were about the place between your own legs, but as Johnny pointed out to you the clitoris, the urethra, and the vagina on the diagram, you couldn’t believe you didn’t realize all these things were down there. Johnny explained that the clitoris, or the clit, is a great source of stimulating pleasure for people who’ve got vaginas. He told you that the urethra is not the same hole as the vagina, as too many people believe, but a separate hole that’s just in close proximity to the vagina. 

He taught you all of these basics about vaginas and penises, about how vaginas, although they look and really are kinda small, they can stretch because they’re a muscle, which is how babies can fit out into the world from a hole that looks so small, and also what allows penises which may look rather large (although definitely not as large as a baby) to fit inside.

You wrinkled your nose, thinking about how that means that every time a baby has been made, some guy has been sticking his penis inside a woman’s vagina. It all seemed rather gross, but the more Johnny explained the more you wondered how everyone could think sex is so great. It seemed gross, messy. 

Johnny talked about how it’s not just simply the act of inserting the penis inside the vagina that makes a baby. It’s not just like, slipping it in and voila there’s a baby. It’s a longer process than that, he told you while grinning around his words at your innocence. 

“If you do it right, sex can last for ages. And it’s not always just to make babies. It feels good too. So there’s the clit but there’s also another spot inside and when they’re stimulated apparently it feels really good. Sure, sex gets kinda sweaty and just messy in general, but it’s the pleasure, the emotions, every bit of it that makes it good. I promise. It’s not as gross as it sounds.”

He explained about ‘come’, about how that’s what causes pregnancy. The semen, or male ejaculation of sperm inside the vagina is accompanied by great pleasure for the man and then all the sperm swim through the vaginal canal, through the cervix, to the uterus and into the fallopian tubes where they may or may not meet an egg produced by the ovaries. 

“And women do that too?” You asked, looking at another diagram on the screen of his laptop. “They.... cum?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah, they orgasm too. It’s not as visible really, usually. Like there’s semen for guys, and some women can squirt, which that’s just like a whole other longer explanation, but mostly women just like.....” He trailed off, his gaze going a little distant as he thought. “The vagina contracts, and from the reviews I’ve gotten in the past, they say it feels really, really good. Some people say female orgasms are better than male, but it’s a bit difficult to do a real comparison of them.”

He explained all these things to you, so by the time you were leaving the dorm, your head was reeling with all of this new information. Johnny explained a lot of it in a scientific manner which kind of helped, but now you had all of this information but no visuals to go along with it.

But for now, you thought that was all you could handle.

Johnny’s kisses were buttery, sweet, like he’d eaten too many of the snickerdoodle cookies you’d been baking earlier. His hand rested on your knee while you kissed on his bed, the door cracked open because when you came in there moments ago it was just to change into something that didn’t have cookie batter all down the front. 

You’d slipped your shirt over your head shyly, even with the camisole you were wearing beneath it, you felt almost indecent taking your shirt off in front of him. 

“Here, wear this.” Johnny had handed you his shirt, and you pulled it on, and when your head popped back out of the shirt Johnny was right in front of you, ducking in to give you a kiss. That simple kiss was too nice for you to want to quit any time soon, and then you were sitting down together on his bed and the kisses grew more intense.

“Johnny,” You sigh his name, and he simply moans softly, kissing you quiet again. “Johnny, I have a question.”

He squeezes your knee gently and then sits back. “Question about what?”

“Ever since you were telling me about it, I just can’t stop thinking about it. You told me that the only time your penis is in the way when you’re... turned on and can’t do anything to get rid of it.” You nervously roll your lips together and then ask, “So how do you get rid of it?”

Johnny smirks. “I jerk off. Masturbate. Touch myself.”

“Like you asked me if I do?” You shift in your spot, “And how do you do it?”

His hand is still on your knee, his thumb moving in strokes. “You want to watch me masturbate, baby?” Johnny’s eyes are dark, his gaze unmoving from your face, and you want to lean in, kiss him again, sink into him like he’s the depthless sea, but you hold yourself back and verbally answer him instead.

“I want to see. I want to know what it looks like when it’s not just a picture in a textbook.” You admit quietly. “Please?”

“God, you’re so fucking cute.” Johnny rests his hand on your cheek. “I think I would probably do anything you asked me to. Yeah, sweet girl. I’ll jerk off for you.” He twists his fingers in your hair, drawing your mouth to his again.

This time you give in to your impulses. You climb into his lap, dig your fingers into his hair and moan his name softly again. “I want to watch now.”

“You’re impatient, aren’t you, sweet girl? Go close the door.” 

You slip back off Johnny’s lap, crossing the room to the door with your heart pounding in your chest. You’re not sure what you’re really about to see, but you know that you like that Johnny is so willing and ready to let you watch this. The bedroom door snaps shut and you turn around, press your back to it, facing Johnny again. 

He’s shirtless now and you drink in the sight of him--his shoulders, chest, the softness of his stomach, and a light trail of hair leading down from his navel below the waistband of his pants. There you see a bulge, and your body grows hot and your heart pounds. Johnny sits back with his shoulders against the headboard and his eyes leveled on you.

You watch as he slides a hand inside his pants, rolls his head back and shifts his hips into his own touch. You watch the way that his hand moves under the material, an up-and-down movement, the slight twisting of his wrist. Johnny rolls his hips slightly, bites at his bottom lip, and keeps his eyes on you, moving over the shape of your body.

“Come closer.” His voice sounds slightly strained as he undoes the button fastening his jeans.

You push off from the door, moving closer to sit on the edge of his bed. “What does it feel like?” 

“Good. Tight and warm.” Johnny pull his hand free, lifts it to his mouth, and spits in his hand before plunging back beneath his boxers. “It’s not the same as being inside someone, but it’s the next best thing.” 

“It’s good?” You scoot across the bed until you’re sitting at Johnny’s hip. “What does it feel like when you have a... have an orgasm?” You look down at his hand moving inside his pants again, but when Johnny groans you pull your gaze up to his face. 

He doesn’t answer your question, instead he moans out loud and jolts forward, crushing his mouth against yours. You clutch at his shoulders, kissing the moans right from Johnny’s lips. You kiss the buttery, sugary taste of his mouth and you slide your hand down his chest, resting your hand over his heartbeat.

“Teach me how to touch you. I want to make you feel good, too.” 

Johnny’s head falls back against the headboard and he reaches for your hand with his that isn’t otherwise occupied. “You don’t have to. You can just watch, if that’s what you want.”

You shake your head, pout out your bottom lip, reach for the waistband of his jeans. “At least let me see. I want to see how you touch yourself, how it looks when you cum. Please, Johnny. I’ve never seen it before.” 

When he lifts his hips off the bed and shoves his jeans down to his knees, your heart starts that pounding again. You swear you can feel it deep between your legs, a throbbing insistent need that you’ve never felt before. 

Now you can see the rough shape of his penis through his underwear, hard and straining against the material. Carefully, curiously, cautiously you lay a hand over it, and you’re surprised by the warmth, the hardness and yet the softness, surprised by the sudden twitch of it when he feels your touch.

Johnny groans, rocking up into your hand. “Just watch, baby.”

So that’s what you do.

Johnny peels his underwear down, slowly revealing where that trail of hair from his navel led to. 

Maybe it’s just because you already really like the guy that this particular penis belongs to, but you don’t find it nearly as strange looking as those that you’d seen on the internet had. Johnny’s penis looks nice, kind of intimidatingly big with veins running over his length, and a pink tip peeking through the top of his foreskin, a bead of clear liquid beading on his tip.

You lick your lips without even thinking as you look at him.

“What do you think?” Johnny asks. He wraps his fingers around the base, slowly stroking upwards. 

“It’s big.” You want to touch him, your curiosity getting the better of you, but you don’t because Johnny told you to just watch. He keeps running his hand up and down his length, twisting his grip sometimes, and you can’t look away. He bites his lip, but that doesn’t quite manage to cut off the labor of his breath, and his eyes flutter closed, his eyes moving under his eyelids, prompting you to ask, “What are you thinking about?”

His eyes open for a moment, memorizing your face. “You, baby. I’m thinking about you, sweet girl. About how pretty you’d look on your knees in front of me, looking up at me with your pretty eyes and your mouth wide open.” He reaches up with one hand and drags his thumb over your bottom lip. “Since the night of our first date, that’s my favorite fantasy to return to.”

“Why do you want that?” You ask, leaning into his touch, the hypnotic drag of his thumb over your lip.

“Do you know what a blowjob is?” Johnny waits for you to shake your head no. “God, you’re so innocent. A blowjob is when you suck on a penis like a lollipop, basically. Suck on it, use your hand, kiss it and lick it. Don’t use teeth unless the guy tells you he’s into that. And then swallow the cum like a good girl. And on our date, when you had vanilla ice cream dripping from your lip, all I could think about was you sucking me off, my cum dripping from your mouth because you couldn’t take it all.”

The throbbing between your legs suddenly grows harder to ignore, almost painful. You cross your legs to try to make it go away because it feels weird. 

Johnny seems to notice what you’re doing. “Baby girl, does this turn you on? Watching me like this? Hearing me talk about what I want to do with you?”

Is that what that feeling is? Arousal? 

You nod.

“Are your panties wet?” He groans, his hand squeezes around the base of his penis. You don’t answer, you’re not sure what to say. “Fuck, I--”

Johnny jerks his hand up and down his penis, and you watch, unable to look away as his hand moves faster and faster. He groans, a deep sound that rumbles his chest.

“Baby, I’m going to cum. I’m so close.” Johnny’s hand slows, and you notice the way that his hand squeezes around his penis. And then.

A thick white liquid spurts from his tip, dripping down his belly, his thighs, leaking down his knuckles and there’s more of it, like a slow stream of it, all while Johnny moans and keeps touching himself, and it’s beautiful to watch and gross and you want to see more.

Johnny strokes himself softly, more of the semen leaking from his erection as he pants and moans quietly. 

You’re still watching his hand when he grunts your name. “What are you thinking about?”

“I like watching you do that.” You sit back and brush your fingers through your hair. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself, like you felt really good. Would it be like that for me?”

Johnny nods. “Yeah, sweet girl. It feels so, so good.” His hand falls from his lap, wiping his fingers off on his sheets. He sits up again, turning his face toward you. “An orgasm’ll feel good for you too when you have one. Do you want to have one?” His hand touches your knee lightly.

“No, I’m fine for now. It’s just all really fast, you know?” You shake your head and look down at his hand. “Plus, I feel like maybe I should do it myself first, you know?”

“Yeah, you could.” Johnny moves closer, rests his head on your shoulder. “Do you know how to?”

You shake your head no, and for a moment you feel that wave of embarrassment again, the feeling of shame for being so inexperienced and unknowledgeable about sex. But then Johnny sits up, crawling over you to get off the bed. He stuffs his penis back into his boxers, pulls his pants up, and walks over to grab his laptop. 

“What are you doing?”

Johnny comes back over, gesturing for you to scoot over on the bed, making room for him to sit back beside you. You slouch down and Johnny does the same, flipping open the lid of his laptop and quickly pulling up a website.

“Since you’re interested in visuals, baby, I thought we could watch some stuff together.” You look up at him, and Johnny smiles. “Porn, sweet girl. I’m saying we should watch some porn together so if you want to learn how to touch yourself, you can see how to do it.”

You’re not so sure about this, but Johnny types something into the search bar of the site, and a moment later the screen is filled with videos. He hovers over a video, but before he clicks on it he says, “Tell me if you don’t want to watch. I’ll turn it off.” 

But the curiosity latches onto you and doesn’t let go. 

“I want to watch. Show me.” You rest your head on Johnny’s shoulder, like you’re doing nothing more than watching a regular movie. 

“So... snickerdoodles, huh?” 

Yuta’s sidled up beside you as you’re standing in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. He’s holding one of the cookies, nibbling at it while he looks at you. You refuse to look at him because you’re pretty sure all of the members think that you and Johnny have been in his room having sex, but they are so wrong.

“Cookies, right?” Yuta waves his hand in front of your face. “Hey, are you so blissed out from Johnny’s dick that you’re not listening?”

Your face goes so hot that you swear you might just combust. “What!? No! No, that’s not-- I just--” You stumble over the words, not sure what you’re even trying to say.

“We all heard him moaning earlier. Trust me, we know what Johnny sounds like, he’s never quiet.” Yuta laughs. “And besides, I’m not judging you or anything if that’s what you’re worried about. I was just trying to make conversation about these cookies. They’re pretty good.”

“Thanks, and uh...” You take a deep breath. “We weren’t doing that. I’m not... I’ve never... Me and Johnny haven’t had sex.”

Yuta pauses with his mouth full of cookie. “Oh. I didn’t need to know that.” 

Yeah, you would prefer that Yuta didn’t know that, that he didn’t know that Johnny was only moaning because he was jerking off for you to see, that you were then watching porn together because you didn’t know how to get touch yourself really, but through watching the video and Johnny talking you through it, now you at least knew that. But you still felt a bit wary about it.

He chats with you for a few more moments while you finish your glass of water, and then you flee back to Johnny’s room, tucking yourself against his side where he’s dozing, his laptop still open to the end of the last video. 

“You fell asleep,” You whisper to him as you press your cheek to his shoulder. “Yuta was accusing us of having sex and I told him that that’s not happening, and now I’m all embarrassed.” 

Johnny chuckles and wraps his arm around you, his lips against your cheek, still pretty sleepy. “Do you want to give him a real reason to think we’re having sex?”

“I’m not doing that with you, Johnny.” You squirm. “Not tonight.”

“I know, and that’s what I love about you.” He sighs. “Do you want to go home, or are you staying tonight?”

Staying. You’re definitely staying especially when Johnny sleepily brushes his fingers against a small sliver of skin that shows between your shirt and the waistband of your pants. He nods off and starts snoring pretty quickly, but you don’t care. You just love the feeling of being tucked against his side, his heartbeat under your ear, his words from just a moment before echoing in your mind.

That’s what I love about you, he’d said. And those words have a nice warm feeling growing in your chest. Is Johnny in love with you?

You hope he is. Because you’re falling in love with him too.

You want to be like this with him for a long, long time. To sleep with him. To kiss him. To bake cookies and laugh and talk with him. And you want to have sex with him, that’s something you realized about two videos in to your porn-watching. It was something you felt while watching him touch himself, but it was stronger when you were shoulder-to-shoulder, watching as a girl slipped her fingers inside herself and moaned for the camera.

You want Johnny, to feel his fingers touching you, to do everything with him that you’d seen in those videos you watched together. All the things that had made you squirm as you felt your heartbeat between your legs, your panties getting wet. 

Johnny had whispered in your ear all about kinks, clicking through a variety of videos. Daddy kink. Anal sex. Bondage. Blowjobs and pussy eating. Threesomes. Voyeurism, exhibitionism. So many things that you didn’t know people could be into. Fetishes for panties and feet, for bodily fluids. 

“And what are you into?” You asked Johnny.

“Do you really want to know?” Johnny had asked, sliding lower in his bed, moving the laptop onto his stomach.

It was silly to think, but he looked really cute like that, a double-chin kind of thing going on, his face all lit up in the hideous light of his laptop, his eyes half-lidded. He typed something and then turned the laptop toward you, turning his head to the side on his pillow to look up at you. 

“Creampie?” You read off the screen. “What does that mean?”

So he clicked on the video and had you watch a guy thrusting into a girl, both of them moaning ridiculously loud until the guy orgasmed, and filled the girl’s vagina with semen to the point that it was just oozing out of her.

It was then that you looked over at Johnny who was very much not looking at the screen, but rather at you, and it was then that you decided that you didn’t care what kinks or fetishes Johnny had.

You want it all.

You want him. 

Dating Johnny wasn’t always the easiest thing.

It had been months now and you were still sneaking around without his company finding out, trying to keep it a secret from the fans too. It was only your friends in common and his members that knew the two of you were a couple, which made it tough when it had been two weeks since you last saw him in person because he was busy touring.

And now he was back, but only for the day before they’d be moving on to the next place. Only stopping in Seoul for long enough to change out some clothes, to attend a meeting at the company building, and not have any time for you.

So you called him that night, knowing that you couldn’t actually be together, but hoping that since he was in the same city as you and since they had a flight that was leaving early, Johnny would be home at the dorm and be able to take your call and talk.

“Hey?” His voice sleepily rasps through the phone. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice. But if you were sleeping, I’ll let you go back to it.” You twist over into your stomach where you’re stretched out on your bed.

Johnny makes a low noise and you hear the rustling of sheets on his end. “It’s fine. I was having trouble getting to sleep, and Taeyong’s at the studio pulling an all-nighter so I’m not bothering him.”

So you make quiet conversation for a little while, chatting about silly unimportant things, and then about a certain drama that you’ve been watching. And then you think about what else you’ve been up to.

“I’ve been doing a little self-study.” You tell Johnny quietly, already feeling yourself warming as you say those words.

Half-asleep still, Johnny just gums and says, “Studying what?”

You hold your breath for a moment, waiting for him to figure it out, but when he doesn’t you whisper, “Myself. I—I touched myself, Johnny.”

There’s a noise on his end of the line, a muffled sort of thump and then a sound like hands searching through bedsheets and then, “Yeah? And how was it, sweet girl?” 

Johnny sounds more awake now, slightly breathless, his voice deeper.

You slide deeper into your bed, tugging the sheets up to your chin as you quietly admit, “I’m not sure I did it right. I was touching like how I saw in those videos we watched, but it just didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel bad either, it just didn’t really do anything for me.”

You’d been in the shower just a few days ago, missing Johnny, thinking about how the last time you saw him, you’d been curled together in his bed at the dorm, watching porn specifically based on female masturbation for you to better see what it was like. So you’d decided to give it a go based off of what you could remember. You’d touched your boobs a bit and it felt alright, but when you’d started touching your clit you just felt weird and nervous about what you were doing, and even when you’d powered through it, swirling your fingers on your clit anyway, it just didn’t work.

“Maybe I’m broken. I didn’t use them, so those parts of my body just shut down.” You tell Johnny now.

He chuckles a little bit. “I’m sure that’s not the case, baby. Do you want me to talk you through it?”

“If you want to.”

“There’s nothing I would like more than to hear you going through your first orgasm.” Johnny’s voice drops again, lower, quieter. “Are you in bed, baby? What are you wearing?”

You consider lying to him for a moment before you think better of it, and you tell him the truth. “Those unicorn pajamas you teased me about.”

“That’s so cute,” Johnny groans. “Alright, sweet girl, I want you to unbutton your top for me.” 

You sit your phone aside, putting it on speakerphone so you can still hear Johnny as you use both hands to unbutton your shirt. Somehow, even in the privacy of your bedroom where you’ve been naked hundreds of times, you suddenly feel shy at the exposed strip of skin that appears between the two sides of your shirt. 

“I bet you look so pretty right now,” Johnny says. “Are you blushing? You probably have that cute look on your face right now like you’re embarrassed but you like it, don’t you?” You cover your face with your hands as if Johnny could actually see you right now, and you whine. Johnny laughs softly, “Are you finished with your top?”

“Mhmm.” You drop your hands to play with the two edges of your shirt. 

“Good girl. Now touch your chest with both hands, massage your tits.”

You slip the shirt off your shoulders but don’t take it all the way off, your hands moving to your boobs to do as Johnny says. It feels alright, but it’s not until Johnny tells you, “Now close your eyes, imagine I’m there right with you. Listen to my voice, think of me, pretend it’s me touching you like this.”

So you do just that.

You close your eyes, envisioning Johnny kneeling over you, his lovely hands on your chest, his thumbs and forefingers pinching your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. You feel a sharp twinge of pleasure as you do that to yourself, and you feel like there’s a tether between your nipples down to that bright spot of heat in your belly. 

You must gasp or make some other sound of pleasure because Johnny speaks up, “That’s the sound I like to hear. Does it feel good?”

“Yes, Johnny.”

There’s a sound from his end, the rustling of sheets, squeak of bedsprings, and the next time Johnny speaks, his voice is softer but strained. “If I was there, I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from kissing you, from playing with your nipples until you’re just a hot, needy mess under me, baby. I’d kiss your neck in that way I know you like.”

You sigh, thinking about Johnny’s lips, sucking gently on your throat, the way that the last time he did it, you curled up against him, sighing and whining softly until you had to push him away because the good feeling of it was edging up against pain. But you definitely liked it, and you were sure that if Johnny was here with you right now, kissing your neck like that and rolling your nipples between his nimble fingers, you just might be already that hot, needy mess he wanted you to be.

Already you could feel that damp feeling in your panties, an uncomfortable throbbing starting up. 

“What else would you do?” You ask.

“Rub you over those pretty unicorn pants.” 

You can almost hear the smirk in his voice, and if anything it makes you want him there even more. 

“Can you touch yourself for me, baby? Since I can’t be there?” 

You slide your hand down from your chest, skimming your fingers so lightly down your belly that it almost tickles. You pause when your fingertips touch the waistband of your pajama pants, but then you hear the faintest grunt from Johnny.

“Are you touching yourself, too, Johnny?”

“Yeah, baby, I am. Thinking about you touching yourself has me so hard.” Johnny moans softly.

You dip your fingertips under the waistband of your pants, sliding them down over your panties to touch yourself like this first, brushing your fingers down over the wet spot on your panties, the heat of your private parts, and then you bring your finger back up to your clit, touching lightly, gently in small circles like you’d seen in those videos. 

This, this is a feeling different than when you’d tried touching yourself the other day. Already it feels pleasurable, foreign but very good, an electric tingle, buzzing under your skin, twisting in your belly.

“I so wish I could see you right now.” Johnny swears. “I’d love to see you, if you want to show me.”

“What?” You freeze, open your eyes, and look over at the phone. 

“You’re so pretty, sweet girl. I want to see you looking pretty, touching yourself while you’re thinking of me, thinking of my lips, my hands, of my dick.” He groans, and you move your hand inside your panties, slipping a finger down to your wet and throbbing heat. “But I’ll settle for hearing you, sweet girl. Touch yourself and think of me.”

“What do you want me to do, Johnny?” You slide your fingers through your wetness, waiting for his reply.

“Do you remember that video we watched, the woman who had three fingers in her pussy before she used a toy on herself?” Johnny asks, “I want you to do that. Finger yourself.”

“Okay, Johnny.” With one hand on your breast, you ease a finger inside yourself ever so slowly. You close your eyes and let your imagination take control.  

You picture Johnny sliding his finger inside you, kissing your thighs, being gentle and sweet with you. You want him, so much so that a part of you considers how long it would take for you to make it to the dorm, how many hours you could squeeze in with him before he had to leave again.

Johnny between your thighs, crooking his finger inside you, easing a second in to scissor, opening you wider. You feel your arousal dripping between your fingers, making you wetter still. 

A sound breaks through your lips before you even realize it.

“Shit, baby, you sound so good. Your moans are so pretty.” Johnny’s voice sends another thrum through your core. “Do your fingers feel good?”

“Yes, Johnny. So good.” You thrust your fingers, curling them against your walls, your thumb moving up to touch your clit. It all feels so strange, this tightening of pleasantness in your belly. Is this what it always feels like? “Better if they were yours, Johnny.”

“Next time,” Johnny breathes heavily. “I’m back in four days. We’ll be home for a while. Then. Come over then, and we can do this for real. Cum for me now and come for me then.”

You fit in a third finger, surprised as you realize just how wet you are, you’ve never in your life felt anything like this. You’re so wet that you can hear your fingers moving in and out, and Johnny can probably hear it too.

“God I want to taste you, sweet girl. Lick you out, hold you against my face until you’re begging me to cum.” He moans. “And then, to be inside you, God, thinking about it now...”

For a moment there are no words passed between either of you. Just the soft moans, heavy breathing, the sounds of you both touching yourselves to the thought of the other.

You imagine Johnny over you, taking your virginity as he kisses your cheeks and how good it will feel when you have him inside you.

“So big,” You sigh.

Johnny hums in pleasure. “Yeah, but you can take it. Take it like the good girl you are, right, baby? You’d look so pretty taking me in like that, feel so tight, warm and soft and so wet. Are you imagining that right now? My big dick stretching you open, filling you up, making you feel good, baby?”

Yes, that’s exactly what you’re thinking about. Your fingers aren’t nearly enough for you, and you think that you both know it, because they just aren’t reaching deep enough, not filling you well enough. You need him. You need. . . .

“Johnny.” You whine his name, your fingers slipping through your wetness. 

“Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?” He pauses just to hear the strained whine that you make, a desperate but sweet sound. “God, I wish I could see you right now. Go on, baby. Don’t be shy, don’t hold back. Cum for me.”

There’s nothing that you can compare the feeling of an orgasm to. It’s not quite like anything else. But if you had to try you would explain it like this: you’re a hot air balloon, lighting up and lifting off, feeling light and hot and untethered; you’re the ocean, waves crashing and crashing; you’re the earth itself, quaking as this build up of pressure is finally released, leaving you devastated but calmed in the aftermath.

And like an earthquake, you experience aftershocks as you close your thighs around your hand, twisting onto your side toward the phone, still slightly moving your fingers inside yourself.

“Oh my god.” You sigh, your breath mildly labored. You stroke your fingers against your walls and then open your legs and pull your hand away, dragging your wet fingers over your clit, touching just a bit more before you just drop it away. You stay like that for a moment, unmoving, your mind still whirring in ecstasy, and you listen to the sound of Johnny breathing on the other side of the phone call. 

He doesn’t moan your name or anything, but his breath picks up and you hear a sound like limbs moving over bedsheets and then a soft groan. Then it’s quiet again, both of you just breathing, your highs fading away. 

“Johnny?” You whisper, afraid that maybe he’s already fallen asleep since you’ve both been quiet. 

He hums sleepily to let you know he’s still there.

“I think I love you.” 

You whisper the words so softly, you’re really not sure if he even hears them. And if he does, you don’t wait around to hear his response, murmuring a quick, “Goodnight” before you end the call.

The moment that your knuckles make contact with the door of NCT’s dorm, the door is tugged open and you jump back, startled.

Johnny’s standing there, all six foot something of him, looking beautiful and sexy and cuddly. Your face burns as you remember that you haven’t even spoken with him since that night. You’ve texted in his few spare minutes of time, but this is your first face-to-face encounter in weeks. Your first time even hearing him breathe in nearly a week.

You open your mouth to say hello.

He sweeps you into his arms, cutting your words off before you’ve even spoken them, squeezing you so tightly that you’re a bit worried he might break you. Just as you’re about to start squirming and complaining, Johnny softens the hug, presses his lips against the crown of your head and says, “I love you, too.���

Now your face really burns, as well as your whole body.

“So you did hear that?” You ask. 

“I heard. I was about to say it back, but you ended the call.” Johnny releases his arms from around you, sliding on hand down your back and then taking your hand in his. “So I’ll say it again, I love you.”

You get a feeling in your belly, a light and warm and fluttery feeling. You press up on your tiptoes and peck Johnny on the lips, still clinging to his hand. “I love you.”

“Oh, God. That’s so gross. Get a room.” Haechan groans as he walks up behind you, squeezing by with Mark and Taeil. All three of them squeeze inside, and you decide that maybe you should come in off the doorstep. With your fingers still knotted together, Johnny walks beside you, and both of you are fighting off grins, and you can’t help giggling at the happy, lovely feeling you’ve got. 

You kinda want to just keep walking with Johnny, head to his room and lock your selves away so you can be his sole focus, so he can kiss you and keep holding you and touching you, so you can hear his voice calling you baby and sweet girl and telling you that he loves you.

But instead you and Johnny join most of the rest of the members where they’re all sitting around, getting ready to watch a movie and eat the takeout that Taeil, Mark, and Haechan had just brought home.

You and Johnny squeeze to sit down on a sofa beside Jaehyun and Doyoung. 

As they’re divvying out food, someone asks where Taeyong’s at. 

“He’s at the studio again,” Doyoung answers from beside you without looking up from his plate.

Mark snorts, “No, he’s not. He’s visiting his muse again for a little bit of inspiration, is what he said. You know that he’s just fucking so he can write dirty lyrics to a song and pretend that they’re about something entirely different.” He shoves a mouthful of food into his mouth and still says, “If I have to listen to him tell me about how great it feels when he’s got two different--”

Yuta glances toward you and smirks, cutting Mark off as he says. “Hey, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this? Not in front of her, she’s so innocent.” 

All eyes turn to you then and your face goes hot. You pinch Johnny’s arm. “Did you tell them?”

Johnny starts to shake his head, but Yuta beats him to answering. “I got it that time when you were stuttering, trying to explain that you and Johnny hadn’t had sex. You seemed so shocked and embarrassed about it, I just knew that you’re Johnny’s precious little angel when it comes to anything sexual. He never joins in on sex conversations anymore. I figured you must be a virgin.”

You whine, knowing that they can all probably tell how embarrassed you are, and it doesn’t get any better when the boys all around the room start laughing.

“It’s alright that you’re a virgin!” Jaehyun leans around Doyoung. “So is Mark.” 

“Hey!” Mark shouts.

You groan and hide your face against Johnny’s shoulder. The boys turn their teasing from you to Mark, who soon gets fed up and shouts, “Alright! Let’s watch the movie! Everyone shut up!”

His cheeks and ears and neck are all brightly blushing, and you’re still cooling down from the embarrassment, so you’re grateful when someone turns the lights off and when Johnny tugs you closer so you’re sitting halfway in his lap. You snuggle up against his side, letting him occasionally feed you bits of takeout, and before long you’re just resting your head on his shoulder, your legs draped over his lap, Johnny’s hand resting on your knee making soothing back and forth motions. 

Maybe it’s silly, but that simple touch, just the gentle rubbing of your leg as if he’s not even thinking about it, starts affecting you. 

You check that none of the other guys is watching, then you lay your hand over Johnny’s. He doesn’t look away from the movie, just twists his fingers with yours, and laughs along with the others who are actually watching the screen. 

Maybe it’s crazy, but Johnny’s touch, the heat of his skin, the gentle pressure of his fingertips on your knee have that new throbbing sensation of sexual desire growing between your legs. You want him.

This was never your ideal situation, but with your fingers twisted together with Johnny’s, you slowly guide his leg higher on your thigh, into your lap. When you cup his fingers against your mound, his fingertips twitch and he turns to look at you. 

Johnny’s eyes glow oddly in the light of the movie, half of his face in shadow, and it’s such a hungry look. 

He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for a long moment, searching your eyes to see if you’re telling him to do what he thinks you’re telling him to do. You nod, and with your hand over his, you press his fingers against you again, moving them in a circular motion right over your clit.

Johnny’s gaze burn against your face as he touches you like this, right in front of everyone. You’re not as innocent as they might believe, not anymore. Johnny flicks his hand, brushing yours away so it’s only his fingers touching you over your clothes, keeping his motions smooth and subtle, inconspicuous as he goes back to watching the movie again.

It feels so different to have someone else touching you like this. 

You’ve only done this to yourself a few times now. The one time before you did it on the phone with Johnny, and another two times since then, but none had been quite as good as when you’d had Johnny in your ear. 

But this? Having him actually touching you between your legs? Too good.

With your legs over his lap like this, your knees angled up, his movements are somewhat hidden from the rest of the room, but when you bite your lip and press your face against his shoulder, you worry that you’re going to make a sound that will alert the others to what Johnny’s doing. That thought alone sends a strange feeling gushing through you, almost like you want to tempt fate more than you already are.

You spread your legs a bit more.

Johnny looks sideways at you. The one side of his mouth curls up in a smile and you almost gasp when he drums his fingers over your clit before going right back to rubbing those gentle circular motions. 

You want more. You want to roll your hips into his touch, to kiss him, to make the noises that you want to make for him. You feel so wet in your panties.

There’s a loud sound, and your eyes flash open though you’re not sure when exactly they closed. 

Johnny’s hand disappears from your lap, and you look over toward where Yuta had accidentally dropped his plate, food scattered across the floor. As the boys start being noisy, a combination of teasing and complaining at Yuta’s expense, you want to groan in frustration. You want Johnny’s fingers back on you, but you feel like that’s not going to happen now that they’ve all been drawn out of their entranced movie-watching.

In all the movement of cleaning up the mess, you stand up and head to the bathroom, needing to take the opportunity to cool down.

As you stand in the bathroom, facing yourself in the mirror, you wonder what you were thinking, letting that just happen out there. Not so long ago you’d never even been kissed, but you were just out there almost letting Johnny give you an orgasm in front of all of his friends. What had gotten into you?

You splash a bit of cold water on your face, hoping to wake yourself out of this mood, then you wait a few more moments before opening the bathroom door and stepping back out into the hallway.

A tall shadow looms in front of you, and your heart stops. You take a step back and gasp, “Oh, Johnny! You scared me!”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Johnny steps forward, wrapping his arms around you, drawing you into his chest. “Are you okay? Why’d you disappear?”

“I needed to cool off.” You admit to him, tilting your head back so you can see his face. 

Johnny runs a hand lightly up and down your spine and you struggle to hold down your shivers. “And did it work, baby?” As if he doesn’t already know the answer. You know that you’re nearly trembling in his arms even if you would like to pretend that you’re not. Try as you might to push down your newly awakened sexuality, when Johnny’s this close to you, touching you and so warm and smelling so good, you can’t help but have these needs rising to the surface.

“No, Johnny. It didn’t work.” 

He nods. “Come with me, sweet girl.” 

When he takes your hand, casting one last glance in the direction of all of the other guys, he heads toward his bedroom. You don’t argue because you’ve given up on holding yourself back. 

You have a hunger, and you know that Johnny has been waiting to fill it.

As soon as he’s got you in his room, Johnny’s lips are on yours. He presses you between his body and the wall, and you put your hands on his arms, clinging onto him as if you’re drowning and he’s your only hope of staying afloat. 

Johnny’s hands move down to your hips, his fingers dancing against your waistband before slipping under and stopping right there, just ten small points of contact. “Do you want me to touch you, sweet girl?”

Yes, of course you do.

You nod.

“I need to hear you say it.” Johnny’s lips trail over your jaw, falling to your throat just as you open your mouth.

You gasp and move your hands to twist in the fabric of his t-shirt. “Yes, Johnny. I want you to touch me. Please,” You whine. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, I’ve even been dreaming about what it would be like to have you really touching me, not since that night.”

His lips curl against your skin and he hums gently. “I can make that dream come true for you. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful with you.”

When Johnny cups your face between his hands, holding you like you’re something precious, you feel your whole entire world reduce until it’s only this room, only you and Johnny and nothing else even matters. 

He kisses you again. You press up on your toes, shaking slightly as Johnny drops a hand back to slip under your clothes. He holds his touch for a moment right there on your hip, a gentle and relaxing weight and heat before he dips lower, his hand sliding over the stretch of skin that’s never been touched by anyone but you.

You gasp a bit when his fingertips actually come into contact with your clit. Johnny kisses you quiet again, his touch down there light and pleasant. When his touch grows a bit more insistent, slipping through your wetness back toward your vagina, you make a sound and pull back from the kiss, your shoulders hitting the wall as you try not to moan or sound too needy.

Johnny smiles as he watches this, and he swoops down to peck you on the lips. “You’re too cute, you know that? Let’s move to the bed, sweet girl. It’ll be more comfortable for both of us.” He draws his hand out of your pants, but leaves it on your hip, bringing you along with him as he backs toward his bed until he hits the edge and sits down with you standing between his knees. “Do you want to take your clothes off? You don’t have to but, God, baby, I want to see you like that.”

You squirm, embarrassed (and also very turned on) by the idea of being naked in front of Johnny. 

At your hesitation to answer, Johnny prompts, “Do you want me to get naked too? If that’ll make you feel less embarrassed or self-conscious or anything?” He smiles, his thumb moving in dizzying circles on your hip. 

“You first.” You tell him, tilting your chin up.

Johnny laughs, and without hesitation, he pulls his shirt off, leaving his hair messy and your heart pounding. His hands drop to his pants, making quick work of the button and zipper and then he’s shoving them down past his knees, kicking them off. He stops with his thumbs tucked under the elastic of his underwear, the material clings so tightly to his penis and balls, you don’t even need the material to be gone to see him.

“Those too.” You swallow nervously.

“Whatever you want, sweet girl.” 

And then Johnny’s naked. Again. But this is different than the first time when it was just him masturbating for you to see. Sure, that was a sexually charged atmosphere, but this one is even more so. This time you know what’s going to happen. You are going to fully participate because Johnny’s going to be touching you. And if things go the way you think you want them to, you’ll be touching each other. 

“You too.” Johnny leans back on his elbows, and you tear your eyes away from his growing erection. Already he’s gone from somewhat limp to definitely getting hard, his penis shifting over his thigh as it engorges. You fight the urge to lick your lips. 

Before you can think too much about it, you reach down, taking the hem of your shirt in your hands, and you pull it over your head, slide your hands quickly down to your pants to rid yourself of them. And then, there you stand in your panties and your bra. They’re mismatched, a plain skintone bra, and purple cotton panties with a tiny little bow at the front. 

You cross your arms in front of you as the cool air of the room rushes over your heated skin.

“You’re so beautiful. Honestly.” His voice sounds a little hoarse, bleeding sincerity, love, and awe. 

Johnny’s eyes swallow you down, you watch the way his gaze moves down your body. From your face, along the line of your throat to the shape of your bra curving over your chest, then moving on over your stomach and your belly button, hitting the hem of your panties, and he looks back up to your eyes. You hold his gaze, then drop your arms, reaching for him instead.

He sits up, holding out a hand for you to take, and you do.

You pull his hand back toward your body, guide it between your legs again, like you had back out in the other room. “Touch me. I want you to do the rest.”

“Okay,” Johnny nods, his fingers already moving against you through your panties. The way he looks up at you then, it makes you feel weightless, floating, and it’s only as Johnny reaches his hand up your back, tracing and skipping his fingers up your spine, flicking his wrist and unfastening your bra just that easily, you come crashing back to Earth, your body filled with heat.

Your bra falls from your shoulders, cast aside. Johnny bites his bottom lip, his hands both move to your hips, his fingers curl in the fabric of your panties. 

You breath out as Johnny slides the panties easily down your legs. You step out of them and then look at Johnny again, shivering when he ghosts his fingers up the outsides of your thighs to hold your hips again. 

He turns you slowly, facing you away from him, but you hear the slide of his body on his sheets, and then he pulls you back to sit in the available space between his legs, your back resting against his chest. You feel his erection digging into your hip, but you don’t have time to think about that before Johnny’s fingers slide between your legs, exploring.

“Oh my...” You sigh and roll your head back against his shoulder when Johnny presses a fingertip inside you, easing his finger in about halfway. 

He kisses your cheek. “Does it feel good?” And then he lifts his thumb to your clit, rubbing you there as he pushes his finger deeper. 

“Yeah.”

“It’s because you’re so wet for me, baby.” Johnny starts to pull his finger out, but then suddenly he curls it up against a spot inside you and you bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out. “That’s your G spot, it’s what’ll give you an absolutely insane orgasm.”

Already you can imagine how that’ll be. You didn’t know that you had one of those, not until right then as Johnny rubs his finger against that spot inside you as well as your clit. You close your eyes and press your forehead against the column of his throat, letting out a low moan. 

“I can show you where it is. Give me your hand.” Johnny murmurs. “I want you to be able to make yourself feel as good as I can make you feel.” 

You offer him your hand, whining in complaint when he draws his hand away from you to take your hand. He brings your hand down between your legs, directing first one of your fingers inside you, and you can’t help but wonder why you both made a big deal out of him touching you if now you’re just touching yourself. But then Johnny nudges his finger alongside your own, stretching you as he does. 

His finger presses right alongside yours, his cheek against yours as you both look down between your legs. “Feel that right there?” Johnny asks, his finger moves yours up against the top wall of your vagina, and you do feel something there, something like a bump, and just that gentle touch of your finger and Johnny’s against the spot sends another warm jolt through your body. “That’s it. Find that and you’re almost guaranteed a good time.”

Slowly, Johnny works a third finger inside you, and you let your hand fall away from yourself, reaching to grip Johnny’s thigh. He makes pleased noises as you sigh and pant and moan, your hips moving into his finger thrusts. And he keeps touching your clit and that spot inside you, and then his other hand rests over your belly, drifting higher and higher until he’s touching your chest, both of his arms now securing you against his body. 

With each curl and twist of Johnny’s fingers inside you, you feel that build up of pleasure inside you, a wave growing and growing, soon to crash over you.

“Are you going to cum, sweet girl?” Johnny brushes his lips over your shoulder.

His fingers press right against your G spot, his thumb on your clit, his other hand on your breast, and you feel that tether stretching thin inside you. And then it snaps.

Your fingernails dig into Johnny’s thigh, your breath coming out in sharp bursts as your walls pulse around his fingers, moans pouring from your lips until Johnny moves a hand up to cover your mouth. 

If you thought that the last orgasm on your own fingers was good, this one is even better. You feel so explosive, like your body can just fall apart there, and the only thing holding you together is Johnny’s arms around you. 

“Shh. Much louder and they’ll all know what we’re up to in here.” Johnny laughs and kisses your cheek. “Was that good?”

You nod, press your cheek against his chest. 

Johnny pulls his hand away, but you grab onto his wrist, squeezing it before he can go far. 

“What?” He asks, shifting behind you, and in doing so, he rubs his erection against your hip. 

You twist in his arms, kneeling up between his legs. “I want it all with you, Johnny. Over the last few weeks, with the stuff you’ve been teaching me, it’s awakened something in me, and I want you, Johnny. I really, really want you.”

His hands stick to your hips again. “You really, really want me?” Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Right now?”

“Right now. Tomorrow. Whenever.” You drape your arms around his neck. “All the time. I told you, I love you, Johnny.”

“You’re perfect.” He moans, and with his hands on your hips, he lifts you up, turning you both around so your lain down on the bed, Johnny fits between your legs, lowering to kiss you. He kisses you and you sneak your hand down between your bodies. You want to touch him, to have him in your hand. 

Johnny startles a bit when you do wrap your hand around him, grunts against your lips. “Not quite so hard, sweet girl.” 

“Sorry.” You lighten your grip until Johnny murmurs, “Yeah, like that.”

He kisses slowly, moaning at the feel of your hand around his erection, the easy pump of your hand along his shaft. It feels strange but good to be doing this, your core still hungry for more and more as Johnny rocks into your fist. 

“Not to rush along, but can we move on?” You ask.

“Eager?” Johnny teases, sitting back, and he leans across the bed, digging into the drawer on his bedside table. He comes back up with a small square packet which he tears into and then pulls something out. You squint at it. “It’s a condom, sweetheart. You’re not on birth control, I’m assuming, so a condom’s necessary. I love you, but I’m not trying to get you pregnant.”

“I’m not trying to get pregnant either.” You watch as Johnny rolls the condom down his penis, and then you take a deep breath and lay back on the pillow.

Johnny comes down over you again, his arms on either side of your head, and he brushes his fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed.” 

Johnny strokes your cheek, sinks down the rest of the way until you can feel him brushing between your legs, dragging his tip between your folds.

You think back to not so long ago, your first time seeing what sex was, back when you were disgusted at the thought of a guy sticking that inside a woman. And now here you are. 

Johnny pushes forward, and the stretch is uncomfortable at first, he’s bigger than a few fingers, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s just... different than anything you’ve felt before. 

“You okay?” Johnny asks. “You’re so tight, baby. Relax for me. Relax. You’re doing so great.”

Just as he asks, you do. Johnny fills you up with his erection, and you bury your face in his shoulder to keep from crying out. 

Honestly, you’re not too sure about how to describe what happens next. Johnny rocks his hips forward, fitting so tightly inside you, and you crave the next orgasm. You wish you could feel him without the strange barrier of the condom, and you want to feel him cum inside you, fulfill that kink he’d told you about. A creampie. And anything else that he’s into.

It’s your first time. 

It’s nothing spectacular, just rather simple honestly, but it’s romantic and intimate and you love it because you’re doing it with Johnny. Having sex. Making love. 

Maybe it would have been better if you had an orgasm with Johnny inside of you, but you were mildly disappointed when that didn’t happen. He pushed in deep, sucking on your tongue as he filled the condom. His body was heavy and hot on yours, arms wrapped around you, feeling like a safe place.

You whine when he pulls out, making quick work of removing the condom, tying it off, dropping it over the edge of the bed. 

He slinks down between your legs, hitches your thighs over his shoulders, and before you can even ask Johnny what he’s doing, he’s licking between your legs, sucking your clit into his mouth, pressing his fingers inside you again.

Johnny licks and slurps, and you bite into your arm to keep from moaning too loudly as another orgasm rocks through you and you grind down against his face. He doesn’t let up, still licking you, fingering you, sucking at your clit through your orgasm and after until your body feels like it’s burning, the pleasure too much for you to handle any more.

You push at Johnny’s head and he backs off.

“I was right to call you sweet girl, sweet girl.” He sits up so you can see his face as he licks his lips. “Next time, I would love to have you sit on my face.”

“Next time,” You sigh, curling up on your side, rubbing your face into his pillow, trying to get comfortable. “Next time, for sure.” 

You yawn. 

“Just sleep, baby.” Johnny pets your hair, pulls the sheets up over you as he climbs off the bed. You start to whine, reaching for him, and Johnny just kisses your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

You close your eyes, and you’re asleep before Johnny comes back. 

But some amount of time later, you wake when the door of the room opens. You’re aware of Johnny in front of you, blocking the view of you from the door, and his arm is draped over your waist, your bodies pressed together. Johnny turns partially to look back over his shoulder to see Taeyong coming into their shared room.

You see Taeyong too, and the look on his face as he inhales, then says,

“It smells like ass in here, what have you been doing?” 

Johnny laughs, rolls back over and pulls you tighter against him without saying a word to Taeyong who just backs out of the room and doesn’t return for the rest of the night.

a/n: I know the actual smut here at the end was probably kinda a let down, and just know that I’m not really too happy with it either, but maybe I’ll come back and fix it some time to make it better.

Anyway, this was inspired by the request from an anon who requested a scenario of a very, very innocent reader for this anon’s birthday. Happy Birthday!! I hope that I remembered your birthday correctly, and I hope this is what you wanted! 

Also, this was inspired by a few other requests I’ve had recently, and I tried to fit as many in as well as I could. 

[serifsans]

Vladimir’s bulk is warm and comfortable in a way nothing else is. It’d probably be downright luxurious to curl up on his lap in his true form but if there’s anything Jean-Paul hates, it’s letting their boyfriend (boyfriend, he calls him, as if either of them aren’t anything but too damn old, as if they don’t think of him as their husband, even if they dare not say it lest that change something and ruin everything.) see them when they aren’t wearing human form. It’s embarrassing, like being caught wearing bell-bottoms before they cycle back into fashion. They’ll let Vladimir see them now when they’re skulking around wearing ratty bathrobes so old they’re now antiques but JP draws the line as letting him see that silly pink dog.

(Also, they figure that if the regulators ever decide to mind-wipe him, it’s probably better if he has less memories of an obviously alien form. Maybe it won’t completely fry his brain then. JP’s terrified of that. Of course, JP also knows that if they ever came for him, Vladimir’s taking as many regulators as possible with him before they could even get to his head. They’re terrified of that just as much.)

They see each other so infrequently anyway that there’s no point wasting it looking like anything but a dream: that is, if your idea of a dream is undersized, middle-aged, and dressed entirely in designer brands. Vladimir’s is, which is part of the reason they like him so much. Their volph form is not a dream. It’s silly and little and adorable when it’s not glitching and lagging. JP will take adorable but the silly part, no.

Jean-Paul has his shop and his commissions and a whole part of his life he doesn’t want to drag Vladimir into any more than he already has. Vladimir’s got his work and his family and a whole part of his life he doesn’t want to drag Jean-Paul (or Polly Jean or whatever other name they cycle though) into any more than he already has. They both have businesses that keep them very busy and also side-pieces that also keep them very busy, mostly because neither of them really like to address their emotions and mostly deal with them by throwing themselves at whatever distraction they can find. Always, always, there’s the looming threat that this cannot last, that it’ll end poorly, that they should just end this, but whenever they break up, they can’t stay apart too long until the fear comes for one of them again.

Anyway, the point? Jean-Paul’s living like a fucking king over there because he gets to wallow all over this man. Anyone who doesn’t get to cuddle him is missing out on one of the finer joys of life.

“Paulie, my sweet one, maybe you would like it more if you moved a little, yeah? Just a little. I love you as I love no other, you are my starshine, my heart, but your ass, it’s bony. My legs can only take so much. I am sorry, my love.”

Oh, okay, the man he loves is just cruelly abandoning him like a complete and utter monster. That’s how it is. Being JP is so hard. They make a big show of looking extremely sad as they scoot off his lap and curl up against his side instead, sighing extremely, extremely over-dramatically. Vladimir pets his hair and gives him a little kiss to make up for kicking him off of his lap. JP sighs even more sadly and when that doesn’t elicit the desired response, sighs even louder so Vladimir kisses him again.

Their ass isn’t that bony.

“I guess I might find it within my heart to forgive you for this cruel and utterly cutting insult,” they say. “But only because I am an extremely kind person. The best. I’m completely saintly, darling. That’s the truth of it.”

Vladimir chuckles, a low rumble.

“They will write poems to your kindness and generosity. They will not say that you called what’s-her-name horrible things for hours only because she did not say hello to you while walking down the street. I still think she did not see you. If she knew what you said, she would never talk to you agains even if she did see you.”

JP huffs.

“First of all, it was not for hours. Second of all, I was only being truthful. Third of all, she did it on purpose; don’t argue otherwise. Fourthly, she can snub me all she wants, I really do not give a fuck, the joke’s on her, I made out with her dear old dad in the 70s and he liked it, so hah. I hope no one shows up at her fucking garden party. I hope she gets kicked out of the country club. I hope she buys a pony and it doesn’t love her.”

“Okay, Paulie, you tart,” says Vladimir, laughter still in his voice. “You were very busy in the 70s. You must have never rested.”

“You know it.”

Maybe being kicked off Vladimir’s lap isn’t so bad. It means they can nestle up against him and rest their head on his stomach. He likes to run his fingers through their hair, especially since they decided to start wearing it long in this body. Anyone else doing it makes him feel like anxious lapdog with no control over who does and doesn’t pet him (or pull his tail or mess with his ears or poke him) but Vladimir does it and he feels like a person instead. He closes his eyes and though he never naps, JP really feels so comfortable right now he could doze off. Bears are fantastic. The world needs more of them. Actually, it needs more of them and it needs this one to last forever.

“Mm, completely unrelated to exploits of the past, but I made an account on a website. Thought you should know. Transparency. Communication. That sort of thing. It’s fun.”

God, they’re comfy. This is amazing. Their life really is so blessed. Thank you, universe.

“Paulie,” his boyfriend says with gentle exasperation in his voice. “You join these websites, you find someone that maybe you do not like, you say things that you know to be hurtful, the websites say that you cannot go to them anymore. You can’t keep doing this. There is a reason that I run the boutique’s social media and you, you, my heart, are allowed nowhere near. You are very spiteful and very rude. I know this and I love you.”

JP really can’t argue against this one because they’re running out of websites to be banned from. Even still, they roll their eyes and huff because how dare Vladimir call them out like this.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll behave. I’m really trying to be nicer, you know. It’s all so goddamn weird that I wouldn’t even understand how to insult these people if I tried, anyway. I don’t fucking get memes, darling. It’s all a bunch of bullshit people pretend is funny. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I am sorry you do not understand the Internet. It is a strange place. I will send you Russian memes instead and then maybe you will understand,” Vladimir says. “If you do not like the site, then maybe consider not being on it.”

“I didn’t say that. I just said that it doesn’t make sense. Darling, you know I really do think people should cater to my exact sense of taste at all times but even though they don’t, I still very graciously put up with it,” JP says. “It’s a website for fellow space fans. They’re all bound to be weird."

Vladimir’s hand in his hair stills.

“I do not need to know the details of what you say on your websites, I think maybe I do not even need to know what they are called, but be mindful of what you post. You do not know who could be reading. Do not mention me on it ever, please.  Be careful.”

The ever-present anxiety starts making itself known. It’s not that Vladimir himself makes them anxious because he’s a giant softie underneath the leather and gruff exterior and the fact that he will commit murder in an instant if it means protecting his loved ones. It’s just that sometimes JP very suddenly remembers how much they absolutely have to protect him at all costs and what it will be like to lose him if they can’t devise a way to keep him around forever.

“I’m sorry, Vladimir. I should’ve said something before I made an account. I’ll delete it. I just...you told me I can’t keep running away from others like me. Well, I can’t deal with them in real life. I just can’t. It’s just a website, I didn’t think things through, I don’t want to compromise your safety, I can-”

“Ah, ah, no, I am sorry, I think maybe I said things too harshly, do not worry, my darling. I trust you. Please, maybe it will be a good thing for you and then you will understand their memes. I only want you to be happy and safe. Just be careful, okay? And do not start fights with people.”

JP whines and buries their face against him.

“I really can delete it. I, I don’t always think things through. I wasn’t made for thinking.”

Vladimir decides the best course of action is to pull them back into his lap in hopes it’ll calm the anxious volph, except JP can’t even properly enjoy it because their brain (if they even have a brain because they honestly do not know.) goes from zero to one hundred in half a second and now they’re thinking about everything bad that could possibly happen because they joined a website for aliens.

“Hey, it’s okay, okay? Have fun on your alien dating site. Maybe you will sleep with a Nessie and it will change your life. Do not worry about me. Just be careful with yourself, okay? You do not protect that person enough.”

That’s enough for JP to momentarily break through the anxiety.

“It’s a blogging website, not a hookup website."

“Okay.”

...

“Paulie? Is the Loch Ness Monster real? Do you know her?”

“Darling, you know I never kiss and tell.”

“Is she real?”

“Fuck if I know but I’m certainly not swimming all the way over there to find out.”

[a-green-onion]

The He*archate vs Umberto Eco’s “Ur-Fascism”

ok it looks like I haven’t already done this, so! A lot of fictional Evil Empires use the visuals of fascism (iirc the Star Wars original trilogy did this), but not all of them follow through on making the Empire substantially fascist in ideology and practice. Machineries of Empire certainly has fascist visual components, with its regiments of black-shirted soldiers. Umberto Eco, a writer who grew up in Italy under Mussolini, wrote an essay about growing up under that regime and his ideas about key features of fascist and fascist-like movements (I’ll link it in a reblog, I don’t want Tumblr eating this post. I really recommend it, it’s very accessible and well-written). I want to see how much the he*archate correlates with these. It’s easy to get caught up in all the flashy space battles and gory exotic tortures, but YHL is very into military history, and that’s one reason his despotic regimes work so well--they’re taken from real life.

This is horribly incomplete because in my reread I’m only about halfway through Ninefox Gambit, but...I wanna Post.

An important note to start: Eco uses “fascism”, the name for Italian political movement, to refer to a variety of different totalitarian regimes and philosophies, because “fascism had no quintessence. Fascism was a fuzzy totalitarianism, a collage of different philosophical and political ideas, a beehive of contradictions.” Further, “Fascism became an all-purpose term because one can eliminate from a fascist regime one or more features, and it will still be recognizable as fascist.” Thus, the common characteristics he lists are not features of every fascist movement, and are often features of non-fascist repressive movements. The he*archate does not have all these features, but I think it makes sense to analyze it as a fascist empire.

Without further ado:

1. The cult of tradition, including syncretic occultism. “As a consequence, there can be no advancement of learning. Truth has been already spelled out once and for all, and we can only keep interpreting its obscure message” (Eco).

The he*archate does not do this. As I pointed out in an earlier post, there are no foundational religious beliefs behind the High Calendar. No holy texts, no prophets, just a way of life, a set of practices, and endless heresies.

2. Rejection of modernism. “Even though Nazism was proud of its industrial achievements, its praise of modernism was only the surface of an ideology based upon Blood and Earth (Blut und Boden)” (Eco).

I don’t think the he*archate does this? I might be forgetting something though, feel free to chime in.

3. Action for action’s sake. (Eco)

Kel Kel Kel Kel Kel.

4. Inability to tolerate analysis. “Disagreement is treason.” (Eco)

Yeah that’s precisely how the High Calendar functions.

5. “Ur-Fascism grows up and seeks for consensus by exploiting and exacerbating the natural fear of difference. The first appeal of a fascist or prematurely fascist movement is an appeal against the intruders.”

So, we don’t get to see much of the heptarchate in its earliest forms, and what we do see is in the third book, which I don’t remember super well. I think the he*archate does this, but it’s more obvious how in the context of Eco’s points 5 and 9.

6. “Derives from individual or social frustration” and features an “appeal to a frustrated middle class.”

Again, this talks more about how fascism begins than how it continues. The he*archate is an established, stable totalitarian empire, not a burgeoning movement (which is interesting because by rights this house of cards should have collapsed centuries ago). It would be interesting to look at how the hexarchate uses propaganda but uhhh iirc that’s mostly in the second and third books and I don’t remember them that well.

7. Nationalism, and the obsession with a plot, both as an outside and an inside threat. 

Reflected in how the heretics (an inside plot) are iirc assumed to be aligned with the Hafn (an outside threat). See also point 9.

8. “The followers must feel humiliated by the ostentatious wealth and force of their enemies. [...] However, the followers must be convinced that they can overwhelm the enemies. Thus, by a continuous shifting of rhetorical focus, the enemies are at the same time too strong and too weak. Fascist governments are condemned to lose wars because they are constitutionally incapable of objectively evaluating the force of the enemy.”

...I think the he*archate might win too many wars for this to be applicable?

9. “Pacifism is trafficking with the enemy [...] life is permanent warfare. This, however, brings about an Armageddon complex. Since enemies have to be defeated, there must be a final battle, after which the movement will have control of the world. But such a “final solution” implies a further era of peace, a Golden Age, which contradicts the principle of permanent war. No fascist leader has ever succeeded in solving this predicament.”

The he*archate absolutely does live in a state of permanent war, against heresy which is everywhere. The he*archate seems to have solved this predicament by achieving a placid, high standard of living for the majority of its citizenry, contingent upon those citizens’ complicity in the ritual torture of prisoners of this “war.” Thus, every citizen is both invested and involved in the fighting and encouraged to identify with its sacrifices, but also able to live in a true golden age. I’ve always thought about this aspect of the he*archate as in conversation with Ursula K. LeGuin’s short story “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” but that’s an essay for another day.

10. Contempt for the weak and popular elitism. “Every citizen belongs to the best people of the world, the members of the party are the best among the citizens, every citizen can (or ought to) become a member of the party. But there cannot be patricians without plebeians. In fact, the Leader, knowing that his power was not delegated to him democratically but was conquered by force, also knows that his force is based upon the weakness of the masses; they are so weak as to need and deserve a ruler. Since the group is hierarchically organized (according to a military model), every subordinate leader despises his own underlings, and each of them despises his inferiors. This reinforces the sense of mass elitism.”

This one isn’t an obvious component, but I think it’s present, especially looking at how the Kel talk about “crashhawks”. I’m going to keep a closer eye out for it as I reread.

Cheris is “un-Kel” because she cannot do this. One of the first things we see Cheris do is order her soldiers into a mildly heretical formation to keep them alive, and we see again and again how well she knows, respects, and cares for the people and servitors under her command. 

On the flip side, Kujen is able to become the system’s architect precisely because he despises his inferiors, and sees everyone as an inferior. As we learn in the third book, this does not come naturally to him, but inducing this state of mind in himself is necessary for his success.

11. “Everybody is educated to become a hero. [...] This cult of heroism is strictly linked with the cult of death. [...] In non-fascist societies, the lay public is told that death is unpleasant but must be faced with dignity; believers are told that it is the painful way to reach a supernatural happiness. By contrast, the Ur-Fascist hero craves heroic death, advertised as the best reward for a heroic life. The Ur-Fascist hero is impatient to die. In his impatience, he more frequently sends other people to death.”

Kel Kel Kel Kel.

12. “Machismo (which implies both disdain for women and intolerance and condemnation of nonstandard sexual habits, from chastity to homosexuality).”

The he*archate absolutely, emphatically does not do this. Plenty of gender equality, plenty of nonstandard sexual behavior. 

But! There is another component to point 12. “Since even sex is a difficult game to play, the Ur-Fascist hero tends to play with weapons—doing so becomes an ersatz phallic exercise.” This might be relevant to the commonness of dueling as a form of entertainment, both as a participant and a spectator sport? I don’t think dueling is particularly eroticized but it’s certainly linked to exchanges of power.

13. Selective populism. “In a democracy, the citizens have individual rights, but the citizens in their entirety have a political impact only from a quantitative point of view—one follows the decisions of the majority. For Ur-Fascism, however, individuals as individuals have no rights, and the People is conceived as a quality, a monolithic entity expressing the Common Will. Since no large quantity of human beings can have a common will, the Leader pretends to be their interpreter. Having lost their power of delegation, citizens do not act; they are only called on to play the role of the People. Thus the People is only a theatrical fiction.”

Not a strong theme in MoE, but arguably, this is how the calendar operates: on the Will of the People, carefully channeled by the appropriate authorities.

Also, not strictly relevant, but everyone needs to see this line: “There is in our future a TV or Internet populism, in which the emotional response of a selected group of citizens can be presented and accepted as the Voice of the People.” Hm.

14. Newspeak. “All the Nazi or Fascist schoolbooks made use of an impoverished vocabulary, and an elementary syntax, in order to limit the instruments for complex and critical reasoning. But we must be ready to identify other kinds of Newspeak, even if they take the apparently innocent form of a popular talk show.”

Again, I’d like to take another look at the propaganda that gets sent out in later books to talk about this properly! The Kel make heavy internal use of euphemisms, but that’s not quite the same thing.

***

Anyway, that was fun, and I hope everyone learned something about how fascism emerges! I encourage you to read the entire essay, chew on its ideas a bit, think about if they apply to other fictional words and to real life.