#like not even in a superstition way I think they’re just weighted weird

[jackklinemybeloved]

I fr think Lou’s dice from leviathan are not balanced correctly. How do you roll five nat ones in one session, continue to roll poorly with them for years, and then finally they come through when you NEED to roll low and it comes up as ANOTHER nat 1.

sir I know you argued against dice superstition but I believe at this point you just straight up have defective dice.

[dathen]

Does Jon deny all the statements/the Supernatural ROUND EIGHT:  TMA 36-39

At last...the final installment I procrastinated on as I got caught up in my s2 relisten.  And the thrilling conclusion!!

- TMA 36 - Taken Ill:  “Another tale full of dead ends,” Jon says.  The lack of documentation and corroborating evidence for this one was notable even to Sasha, but Jon notes that “based on this statement, that’s not necessarily a point of incredulity.”  AND THEN!!  This entire last paragraph deserves attention!!

Still, there’s a lot here that puts me in mind of other statements. Something in the way Ms. Baxter talks about fear. I can’t help but be reminded of statement 0142302, how Jane Prentiss talks about her own fears. And the old man and his companion… who does that remind me of? If he wasn’t dead, I’d think it might have been Trevor –

Jon, is your academic detachment fleeing you again?  Did you forget that you’re supposed to be pretending not to believe these?  Look at you comparing the vibes of the statement to one you’ve already stated you believe (and for the correct entity too!), working off your gut feeling again!  Look at you making connections to statement-givers that it took me three listens to catch!  These are not the words of a dismissive researcher.  Conclusion:  Not dismissed, connected to other statements.

- TMA 37 - Burnt Offering:  Jon admits that there’s no evidence that would require that this incident is supernatural, but doesn’t go so far to say it isn’t.  Despite the lack of definitive corraborating support, Jon concludes shakily, “I have no idea what this means. I have no idea what any of this means. I’m...very tired.”  Conclusion:  Not dismissed.

- TMA 38 - Lost and Found:  The last statement of season 1!!  Here, Jon is clearly on the way to supporting it:  “Before I dig too deeply into the background of this statement, I feel I should mention something that puts much of it in a slightly different light.”  He then brings up the half-empty marriage license, then goes on to talk about Salesa as the source of many of the items in Artefact Storage--which he and his fellow professed-skeptic Sasha easily agree is full of genuinely supernatural items.  Conclusion:  Supported.

TMA 39 AND CONCLUSION

Throwing the rest under a cut as I tie it all together!

Let’s look at both Martin’s accusation and Jon’s response.

Martin: Why do you do that?

Jon:  Do what?

Martin:  Push the skeptic thing so hard?  I mean, it made sense at first, but now?  After everything we’ve seen, after everything you’ve read!  I hear you recording statements and you just dismiss them!  You tear them to pieces like they’re wasting your time, but half of the ‘rational’ explanations you give are actually more far-fetched than just accepting it was a...a ghost or something.  I mean for god’s sake, Jon, we’re literally hiding from some kind of worm…queen…thing, how-- how could you possibly still not believe?

“It made sense at first” is a very curious comment here.  If you look back over my past posts, Jon is more critical of the earlier statements, but Martin thought that approach made sense.  However, more recently, Martin feels Jon has gotten more vicious and more in denial.  There’s a few important things to note, here:

- As I noted in my previous entry in this series, Jon flat-out stated that he knew the “worm queen thing” was supernatural.  Apparently, Martin hasn’t listened to this statement, which in turn shows that Martin isn’t listening to 100% of Jon’s recordings.  

- Jon is also recording dozens of false statements.  Which--as time goes on--he is more and more sure they’re false.  As soon as something starts recording to the laptop, the “this is fake” sign starts flashing in Jon’s brain.  He’s trying to be kinder to Martin and not take his stress out on him, so imagine him unleashing all his stress and fear by ranting about the statements he knows are lies, or pranks, or superstitions, or “I think my weird neighbor is a cultist,” or “I had sleep paralysis but I’m pretty sure it was a demon,” or conspiracy theories...   Martin is hearing all of this!  Martin doesn’t have the Beholding instinct of feeling the weight of a god’s gaze on his back whenever a Real Statement is being read!  He’s hearing Jon snarl and snark about a good 98% of what they record, and it’s a matter of chance for whether he even listens to the 2% that were caught on tape--and that we hear in the show.

- Martin was really, really worked up about the Carlos Vittery statement.  Just like what happens with a lot of listeners, that one no doubt stood out in his mind as the #1 example of “Jon comes up with bullshit explanations to brush off stuff that is OBVIOUSLY weird” that would easily overshadow more rational follow-ups like “this person admitted to drinking heavily that night.”

So what is Jon confessing to?

Jon:  Of course I believe!  Of course I do.  Have you ever taken a look at the stuff we have in Artefact Storage?  That’s enough to convince anyone.  But...but even before that…  Why do you think I started working here?  It’s not exactly glamorous.  I have…  I’ve always believed in the supernatural.  Within reason.  I mean...I still think most of the statements down here aren’t real.  Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe thirty, forty that are…that go on tape.  Now, those, I believe, at least for the most part.

Martin:  Then why do you--

Jon:  Because I’m scared, Martin!  Because when I record these statements it feels…it feels like I’m being watched.  I… I lose myself, a bit.  And then when I come back, it’s like like if I admit there may be any truth to it, whatever’s watching will…know somehow.  The skepticism, feigning ignorance...  It just felt safer.

Here, Jon is repeating what we’ve seen the whole time: that he never said he doesn’t believe the supernatural, as we’ve seen from how up-front he is about the danger Leitner tomes pose, and how much effort he makes in the follow-up.  The difference is that after a certain point he knows which are and aren’t real right off the bat--

--but doesn’t admit it.  

It isn’t that he’s accusing them all of being fake, it’s that he KNOWS they’re true, but Hive is the only one where he admits “I know this is true because I can feel it.”  He’s feigning ignorance--pretending that he doesn’t know in his gut that those 2% are real.  That’s where the professional skepticism comes in, which genuinely is part of his job!  He’s relying on his skills as a researcher, using corroborating evidence and follow-up to verify the likelihood of a statement being a prank, a lie, a misunderstanding, or something genuinely paranormal.  

In reality, Jon feels the weight of those eyes on him the moment the tape recorder clicks on, and has to pretend he doesn’t know right away that it’s real.  

[zahra-kha]

Dear Diary 50

I’ve been incredibly busy going back and forth from Thavnair to Eorzea. I’ve so many things on my plate, from helping to keep the house in order to getting everything ready for Holi. Ameya’s opening will be the same weekend, and I’m very nervous. 

Quin came to visit after I spoke with my father about his request regarding the Garlemald refugees. Father already agreed to grant it, he just wanted to speak with Quin and he wanted to stress we could only have the land if we cleared it of the monsters that had made a home there. That home once belonged to my birth family. It’s considered haunted, I’m guessing because of what happened to my people. Probably just superstition.

I think I’ve lost weight, my clothes are really loose on me. I don’t think anyone’s noticed. I haven’t been skipping meals on purpose, I think I’ve just been too stressed and busy to think about it. I didn’t even realize until I got dressed the other day and realized my pants were slipping off. I’ve fixed some of my clothes that I wear more regularly.

Jasper brought up something interesting while we were out hiking about my sight. He thought maybe some special glasses could be made for me to help when I travel back and forth between Eorzea and Thavnair, or just in general. He asked me how I feel going back and forth since Eorzea’s a lot more....dense with aether? If I’m honest, it was really rough at first. I’ve adjusted better, but it’s still somewhat uncomfortable the first few days. Porting back and forth has left me taking a lot of headache and nausea medicine.

I’ve never talked to my parents about my situation because...I guess I didn’t want to stand out. Or maybe I was afraid people would have another reason to decide I was different from my family and use it against them. I don’t really know, it just felt like it wasn’t something I should share. But I feel bad now knowing that my friends and even associates know more about me than my own family.

I wrote a letter to my mother about it, and the next day she sent me a package through the moogles with four pairs of different glasses - two regular and two sunglasses.

She told me she knew about my ability - or she guessed I likely had it(she implied it was hereditary but didn’t elaborate, so Jasper’s guess was correct I think) - and had been waiting for cycles for me to confide in her about it. As a side project, every other cycle she’d improve on the formula for the glasses and set aside new pairs for me...just in case I’d ask. She told me she hoped with the glasses, I wouldn’t need the medicine anymore, and that she was happy I was finally comfortable enough to share my secret with her.

I sat in my room and cried for a while. I love my mother so, so much.

It’s weird when I wear them. Colors are incredibly dulled and I can’t really see people’s aura. Like, it’s there, but really muted. But it helps a lot.

And that’s all I want to say about our hike. Well, outside of the fact that I was happy to spend time with Jasper of course! But I don’t want to really go into things that were personal to him on here, even if I have feelings on it. That’s between us....and the elementals, I guess.

I haven’t heard from the creepy stalker guy, although I’m sure he was at my show. I wonder what he thought about my song. I know everyone told me I should play the game, but father is already putting that family on hold with their marriage request while trying to figure out what they’re up to - I don’t really feel I need to go out of my way to kiss his ass and get close to him. Right now, we’re just trying to get proof they’re being backed by who we think they’re being back by so we can move forward.

The Hearth saw a lot more people than ever before last night. It was a lot of fun, but something went down between Corina and Jude. He kept calling her a spy, and I’m not sure why he thought that’d be okay to do at a public establishment. He knows our rules are that everyone is welcome. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Ms. Maria doesn’t say anything, so maybe she doesn’t care? She’s weirdly laid back.

All I know is that I can’t allow that sort of behavior when he comes to work for me at Ameya. Should I get all the staff together prior to and go over my expectations? I’m a little worried. He’s my security, I don’t need him starting fights.

Still, it’s nice that people are having fun at the Hearth. It’s nice to have a place to relax at since we’re all over the place lately. Especially with the state the world is coming to.

I hope Quin’s doing okay. I just...I know this is hard for him. All of my friends from Garlemald. At least in this way, with the refugees, I can do something for them. They’re not imperial soldiers, some of them are fighting for the alliance, or are just civilians. They want to know if their families are safe. I’d want to know that too, in their shoes. Or, they’re just in shock. 

I don’t know. I feel like every time I turn around something new is coming up. I’m trying to keep a sense of normalcy around so people have something to turn to as a distraction. I want Ameya to be that. I just hope I can keep it up.

[purplecraze]

Fugo how do you think your life would be if you date each member of your little group you have like in different timelines

“uh...mmm. It's a bit weird to think of it like that. I love them a lot, but not in the way how I'd want to date them, I think... doubt any of them would really be up for it, either. Mun has-....” He stares at Umi for a while, looking like he could have known she'd go haywhire over romance talk. “....-a lot. To say about it, though. The floor is yours...”

(ooooooohhhhh!!!! *screams of the rooftops* OOOOOOOOHHHH!!! welcome to golden territory!! FugoXeveryone, oh hell yeah!! (just doing the canons for now))

Bucciarati Bucciarati and Fugo would be an absolute power team, they’d be communicating in a way that’s bringing up speculations on whether they’re actually telepathic. They just naturally feel what the other needs at the moment. Long private strategy sessions, spinning around each other and closing in, that end up in shy hand-holding and kissing. Bucciarati always waits for Fugo to initiate it, to be sure he's fine and ready for it. He's very careful with him. Bucciarati knows how to handle Fugo’s self-destructive tendencies well, without making him feel less or like he’s a trouble to his elder. The problem with them though, is that Fugo would put Bucciarati on too much of a pedestal and would lose sight of Bucciarati’s weaknesses. And that’s not a topic Bucciarati would address. But it would take a toll on their relationship without a doubt. In turn, Fugo would brood in silence over how super social Bucciarati is. He’d easily feel neglected. And there’s the hurdle of transferring from high admiration to equal lovers. will there ever come a time where they’ll be on first name basis? probably not... The one time, Fugo muttered ‘Bruno’ in a small voice and Bucciarati replied with ‘yes, Pannacotta?’ it was just so horribly awkward, it never happened again, EVER. Would it last? Yes. But only in the sense that neither would admit on giving up. they both would be running into complications on it, it wouldn’t make them very happy, but they'd be content enough.

Abbacchio This would work well. Fugo is one of the few Abba can hold a decent conversation with. Fugo wouldn’t condemn him for the saltmine coming loose once they get to deep conversations. Abbacchio isn’t exactly booksmart, so he can’t always keep up with ‘what’s this brat spewing on about now?’, but he loves to just sit and listen to Fugo going on and on about this tidbit of historical knowledge he found. Abbacchio is the best person to handle Fugo’s tantrums. ‘no, not now, think with your head *slap against the back of Fugo’s head*’, his tactic is diversion. just force Fugo to completely focus on something different and the topic of his anger will evaporate. Fugo would bring out the caring side of Abbacchio, without it turning absolutely one sided. Fugo would hear Abbacchio out on his troubles too, without getting pushy on it. he does, however, tend to say a bit too much. he won’t catch on to the moments where he’s supposed to just shut up and hold the other. Would it last? no, not at all. the very instant the both of them get too comfortable, they’ll be like ‘okay, this lasted long enough, let’s not.’ because why would you NOT destroy happiness with your own two hands, in stead of waiting for it to crash and burn??

Mista Oh geez, this would be one hot mess of a dumpster fire! It’s a ride Fugo NEVER AGREED to be in, but that doesn’t mean it’s not enjoyable. Mista just drags him along like a puppy, saying ‘c’mon, we’re going to have a great time!’ Mista would show him off. everyone needs to know this beauty is his ✨boyfriend✨. even though Mista tends to be flirty, he is super loyal to him. the moment Fugo would as much as make a sound over Mista talking to someone, he’d be like ‘don’t be mad Pannacotta, you know I only have eyes for you~’ It’s wild and intense and overwhelming. Fugo would not quite come to his right in it and it would get kind of suffocating for him on the long run. Guido doesn’t know how to respect boundaries either. Fugo would start fights, one-sidedly, a lot. both in words and fists. Mista wouldn’t easily be taken aback on any of it, though. Almost patronizing, he’d reply like ‘okay well, you do you...’ and take very little of the criticism. Then there’s the entire tetraphobia matter. Fugo would often lose his patience on it. But he’d also try his hardest to be helpful on it. He would look up on the phobia, it’s origin and how to deal with it. He would tell him it’s not an uncommon superstition and throw the theory behind it. Mista doesn’t usually get it. But when Mista’s having anxiety over it, Fugo doesn’t question its bizarrity and searches for ways to snap him out of it by making the topic either 3 or 5. usually 3. because destroying stuff is easy. Would it last? not a chance. Fugo gets mean on break-up. in particularly heated arguments, he’d be the kind of petty asshole who would take every book, text, dictionary around the house and HIGHLIGHT 4 letter words. ALL OF THEM They’re in the type of relationship that goes horribly wrong after a month, but they forgot that happened like half a year later and try again, failing miserably once, twice, 10 times more.

Giorno His relationship with Giorno is a strange one. The events of Man in the Mirror had Fugo starstruck and he thought very fondly of him since. But it came to crash and burn down when he found that he was the mastermind behind usurping the boss. Fugo loathes himself for the decision he made at that day, but a large part of that hate is to prevent himself from blaming either Bucciarati or Giorno. Because he knows Giorno is dangerous if he wants to. All the more as his new boss. At the end of Purple Haze Feedback, they have a very beautiful conversation and Fugo swears loyalty to him. It was the only way for him to move on after everything that happened. But they were also very sincere and shared memories that others wouldn't understand. He's also the only one who ever called him Giogio. They connect well and Fugo is very reliable. Giorno trusts him blindly and appreciates his criticism. Over time Fugo will grow bolder and says what's on his mind, knowing Giogio will take his shit and filter it well enough. Any initiative will have to come from Giorno's side, though. Fugo often feels like it's not his place to do so. But I don't think Fugo would ever forget that it had been Giorno who initiated the plan that had led to his friends' deaths. Forgive, yes absolutely. But not forget. Would it last? 50/50. there are 2 outcomes: they either spend the rest of their lives together, or Fugo ends up killing him. And I think Giorno would have peace with that.

Narancia Oh geez, where do I even start? They're not perfect, not at all. They fight and argue and it's led to many MANY bruises on both sides. But that's just how they are and if you'd ask either of them, they would be ready to die for the other without a shred of doubt at any given time. As much as they fight, there's also a lot of adoration from both sides. Fugo doesn't even have to try, to see stars of admiration in Narancia's eyes. It fills him with pride and makes him feel so good about himself. Narancia needs to work hard for Fugo's approval. but because of that, it makes actually getting it so much worth it. Both of them get horribly giddy on impressing the other.  A new dance, a fun date plan, a mastermind prank. The most important part for both of them is their honesty. Narancia knows that Fugo would never lie to him or hide the truth, like how his father and old friends had. And Fugo can trust that he can say whatever he want, even without filter. They can both rest assured that no matter how big their fights are, the day ends with kissing either way. A part of Fugo wants to better himself for the other's sake, but it weights him down as well, thinking he's not good enough. Narancia isn't the brightest, but his abundance of empathy and sincerity knows how to hit Fugo just right into believing he's good as he is for today. And if not that, Nara reminds him that he's not a saint either. They’d find happiness in a lot of little things. getting to snuggle for 5 more minutes, welcoming the other home, cooking for the other, singing along to the radio, doing the dishes. all those mundane moments are really precious to them. Would it last? Definitely. They'd have some bumpy rides, but neither of them could ever get bored of the other.

Trish The start of their relationship would be so incredibly AWKWARD. They both have no clue what to say and Fugo feels hella uncomfortable. But bit by bit, they start to warm up to one another. Fugo wouldn't want to involve her in any more mafia business. But for Trish, that week together is a fond and priceless memory. She'd want to know what went through his mind when he was left behind. And both of them would want to apologize. Want to start anew. And would want to get to really REALLY know one another. Fugo's anger is just..... it doesn't exist around Trish. She is super calm and soothing and just knows how to convey a certain energy to him which puts him at ease. Both of them don't like to be touched, so they're very careful with one another, asking permission, asking if the other is alright. They both really love music and share their favorite songs. She sings them as he plays the piano. And when the shyness slowly melts away, they both find that the other is super fun to be with. Dumb jokes, running jokes, ironic quoting, shitty puns. They both hadn't ever expected the other to be so entertaining. They learn new things on one another every day. And they try to improve, learn new skills. Trish would want to pick up on baking, Fugo would pick up on girls' fashion, doing her hair or her nails. Would it last? Yes, I think it would. They need time to heal and feel at ease, but I think they could really find peace and a new life in one another. I think Fugo could even come to love her enough to pop the question~)

[welllpthisishappening]

Pace of Play

She can’t believe she’s never noticed it before. Because, honestly, Emma can’t even come up with a number to try and calculate how often she’s watched Killian step into the batters box. And that’s the thing. He never really steps out, either. It's a weird approach, but that could be the subheadline for their lives at this point and she’s mostly concerned with the power behind that swing. 

—-

Word Count: Like 3.4K Rating: Teen, but with kissing!  AN: This is solely for and because of @distant-rose​ who deserves every bit of baseball fic I have ever written and all the good things in any known universe. And speaking of universes. This is set in that Yankees one where Emma and Killian secretly date because David also plays for the Red Sox. If you’re so inclined to read more:

Batting a Thousand (the original one) || Puppy Love (the one where they get a puppy) || The One Where They Elope || The One Where Killian and David Take the Rivalry Too Far

Let’s go Yankees. 

—

“Is it weird that he does that?”

Emma makes a noise — barely more than a passing acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the field because Killian is up to bat and she’d lost feeling in her left foot at some point. She’s twisted at an awkward angle, legs draped over the suite seats in front of her, but she absolutely, positively cannot move.

On pain of death.

Or baseball superstition.

They’ve got to win this game. They can’t go down by two in the series. Not with the way they’ve been hitting and they need to hit better and Emma genuinely cannot remember the last time she took a deep breath.

She fiddles with the ring on her left hand.

And the ring hanging around her neck. It’s some sort of weird pattern, the weight of Mary Margaret’s gaze boring into the back of her head and David had started pacing at some point in the fourth inning.

“He’s swinging half a second too late,” David announces, which only leads to Emma nearly strangling herself. Mary Margaret has to lean over to untangle her fingers.

“Thank you, player not currently competing in the postseason,” Emma mutters.

“Ah, that’s mean.”

“And,” Mary Margaret adds, “it’s not like David would be hitting in this series anyway. Plus—“

“Mary Margaret, if you tell me that David could really add something to the Yankees starting rotation right now, I may actually scream,” Emma warns. Elsa moves her hand over her mouth.

Her laugh is still very loud.

“Ok, that’s not what I was going to say at all—it’s not, seriously stop glaring at the field, it’s freaking me out.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she’s definitely glaring at the field and she cannot fathom a world where this game doesn’t end with a win and the season doesn’t end with another title and they got married, in the middle of the season, in secret. There are rules about happily ever after.

And sports emotions.

He’s definitely swinging half a second too late.

“See,” David mutters.

Emma grits her teeth. “I am not in the mood for I told you so, right now.”

“I mean, I didn’t say that.”

“Technically,” Elsa amends. She’s stood up as well, a hand pushing on David’s chest when he threatens to wear out the carpet in the suite. “And is no one going to answer my question? Because I know I know nothing about this painfully long sport—“

“—It is the sixth inning,” Emma interrupts.

“We’ve been here for hours, seriously. How often can you change pitchers?”

“Bring it up to Rob Manfred,” David says. Elsa swats at his shoulder that time. “Three-batter minimum for relievers. No more specialists. Pace of play.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

Emma mumbles a curse under her breath, ignoring the growing ache that’s circling around her knee and, somehow, the side of her hip. Killian rocks back on his heels in the box, hardly unbending his knees, even when he swings the bat in front of him, and Emma is dimly aware that Elsa is still talking. She’s not listening. She’s staring. Watching, really. Intently.

“Em, seriously are you listening to your brother and whatever tongues he’s started speaking in?”

“Nah, not at all.”

Elsa clicks her tongue in reproach. It doesn’t matter — Killian’s already digging his toes into the dirt again, quick taps of the bat on the front and back of the plate and—

“Seriously, why does no one else bat like this?”

Emma may growl. Although she’s not sure if that’s because Killian’s just fouled off a ball in the dirt or because Elsa isn’t making any sense, but it really may just be because of the pins and needles stretching into her calf and she snaps her jaw no less than a dozen times.

They’re pumping the live broadcast into the suite — more words Emma hasn’t really been paying attention to, what with the swirling nerves in the pit of her stomach and her heart’s apparent determination to linger in the very center of her throat.

“You know that’s not true,” Mary Margaret mumbles, finally getting Emma to pull her gaze away from home plate.

“What?”

“You cannot have an even count. That’s not how numbers work.”

Elsa sighs. “If you guys are going to keep not making sense, then I’m going to leave. Also, I totally saw Emma and Killian making out before the start of the game.”

David sounds like he’s dying.

“Oh my God,” Emma sighs. “We are married.”

She enunciates every letter of each word — as if that will make them more official or remind the world that she deserves good things and drama-free wins and, maybe, a few home runs over the short right field porch with impressive exit velocity.

“An even count does not make sense,” Mary Margaret repeats, as if they simply hadn’t heard her before. Maybe Emma can find another suite to watch the rest of the game in.

It probably wouldn’t be that hard.

Everyone at the Stadium knows her now, quick smiles whenever she’s downstairs and the security guy at Gate 4 has started waving at her, a muttered Mrs. Jones that never fails to make her heart clench and do several metaphorical somersaults in quick succession.

Killian hits a fly ball over the third base line.

And Emma slumps further into her seat. Her knee does not appreciate it at all.

“How does an even count not make sense, babe?” David asks, all placating and somehow even more married than Emma keeps reminding him that she also is.

“People say even counts on, you know, 1-1 or 2-2, but that doesn’t make sense. A 2-2 count still has more room for balls than strikes. Ergo—“

“—Oh good word,” Elsa laughs.

Mary Margaret winks. Emma’s never really noticed how high Killian’s elbow gets when he settles into his stance. He doesn’t move the bat that much, but Emma swears she can’t practically taste the energy on her tongue, which is either the most disgusting or most romantic thing she’s ever thought and—

Killian fouls another ball off.

“Battling,” David mumbles. She definitely growls that time. It hurts her throat.

He grins.

And Killian never actually steps out of the box — even when the Houston pitcher moves off the rubber, glancing at the inside of his hat for brand-new signs. David’s mumbling something that sounds like I hate when I have to do that, but Emma’s started to realize what Elsa meant.

She’s right.

Killian Jones does not bat like anyone else on the Yankees roster. Maybe even the entire MLB.

That sounds a little dramatic, though. Emma can’t get that dramatic until they win the pennant.

They’re totally going to win the pennant.

He lines his feet up again, the side of his cleat nearly brushing the back of the box, which only makes it obvious how far apart his legs move, that same distinct bend to his knees and a ridiculously high elbow and he kicks his foot out slightly when he swings.

Emma knows. As soon as the ball cracks off the bat.

She jumps up — somehow, without also managing to dislocate several joints at the same time — the ring around her neck flying up and nearly smacking her in the nose. And Emma isn’t sure what noise she makes per se, but it leaves Elsa giggling and Mary Margaret casting furtive glances at David and neither one of those matter when the ball keeps going.

Going, going, gone.

Directly into right center field.

Emma’s jumping, which probably isn’t great considering she can’t really feel any part of her left leg anymore, but Killian’s jogging around he bases and she can see his mouth move, David’s continued stream of commentary echoing between her ears.

“It’s honestly offensive how easy his swing is,” he grumbles. “Where does he even get that kind of power?”

“The making out,” Elsa responds, like it’s obvious. Emma almost chokes on her tongue.

Killian’s rounding third — a quick glance into the Astros dugout and a smile that might be half the reason Emma keeps toying with the ring on her left hand. Possibly like sixty-seven percent. Batting a thousand, or whatever.

She’s too excited to remember appropriate baseball cliches.

He glances up when he steps on home, and she knows he can’t actually see into the team suite, but it’s still exceptionally nice to think about and her heart does half a dozen front flips at that.

And there’s more game — pitches that Emma is certain raise her blood pressure and swings and misses and it’s still a save situation, so she starts pacing at some point too, but then they’re playing New York, New York and Killian’s answering questions on a post-game report and Emma’s standing in the tunnel downstairs and she absolute, positively runs.

It’s impossibly dramatic.

Especially in Game Four.

She hears Killian’s laugh before she actually looks at his face, arms around her waist and her face buried in the curve of his shoulder. He tightens his hold, only one of her feet staying on the ground.

Emma kisses wherever she can reach, which isn’t really saying much what with the awkward angle of her neck, but Killian doesn’t seem to mind, dragging his own lips over the side of her jaw.

Someone whistles.

It’s definitely Will.

“Should hit more home runs,” Killian mumbles, and it’s testament to postseason adrenaline that he doesn’t drop her when Emma starts to laugh as well.

Will might be gagging now.

Emma hums. “Something you might want to take into consideration.”

“That so?”

“I mean—I could not jump you post if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“No, no, I never once said that. Did you yell very loudly, Swan?”

“I think you’re fishing for compliments.”

“Absolutely.”

She might giggle. It’s absurd. She can’t get over the angle of his elbow when he bats. “God, that’s so stupid.”

“It’s strange, I’m not getting that compliment vibe anymore, love.”

“I yelled very loudly, scandalized my brother and I’ve got a question for you.”

Killian leans back, head nearly colliding with a wall covered in blue and white paint and the team name in enormous letters. As if they aren’t all constantly aware of where they are. History, or something. “About?”

“Well, Elsa actually brought it up, but—“

“—Jones,” a voice calls from the clubhouse, and Killian groans far louder than he should. Emma isn’t sure if that’s because of the voice or the only slightly accidental way she rolls her hips against him.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters.

“You’ve still got media.”

“I’m going to shower first.”

“They’ve got deadlines, babe.”

“I’m going to shower first,” Killian repeats. “Then I will answer questions, get ice, get a car and—“ He trails a finger up the back of her spine, making Emma twist in his hold while her teeth find her lower lip. Her breath hitches. And that smile is as different from the one he flashed in-game as it is possible for one smile to be, not quite triumphant, but maybe a little determined and she assumes she moves first.

If only because he’s still smiling when her mouth crashes into his.

Killian pulls her tighter against his chest, backing up even more so he’s got something to rest his weight on and neither one of them acknowledges the now very-clearly annoyed clubhouse voice. He tilts his head instead, mouth opening against Emma’s and tongue swiping across the lip she’d been toying with.

His hand works its way under her shirt, the same number he’d been wearing and Emma arches into the touch almost immediately. It leave hers hips canted up again, a move that is not even remotely appropriate for the bowels of Yankee Stadium, and she can only imagine that George Steinbrenner is getting dangerously close to rising from his grave and chastising them for conduct detrimental to the team.

Emma’s arms shift, fingers pushing into Killian’s hair and that only gets him to groan again, but then she’s ghosting over the side of a clean-shaven face and he has to shave every morning.

Her heart is in almost perpetuate state of upheaval.

It’s the best goddamn thing in the world.

“I’ve got to go, love,” Killian murmurs, mostly into her mouth. Also nice. Better than nice. She’s going to look up the projected distance of that home run in the Uber home.

“I really yelled ridiculously loud.”

“I’ve got no doubt. I’ll see you at home, ok?”

Emma nods — a few more quick and slightly stolen kisses, which is an almost appropriate baseball joke. Kind of. No one really steals bases anymore.

And she’s got every intention of waiting up. She does. She’s got plans and questions about batting stances, but the corner of the couch is surprisingly comfortable and the sudden lack of postseason adrenaline rushing through her leaves her questionably exhausted with eyes that refuse to watch another loop of SportsCenter.

Emma jolts up when she hears the front door close, a lock clicking behind him and one side of Killian’s mouth tugs up when he walks into the room.

She’s still wearing her shirt.

And not much else.

“That seems like cheating,” he says softly, crouching in front of the couch. She’s thinking about his knees again.

“All hail the conquering hero or whatever.”

“Is this my welcoming committee, then?”

“Something like that,” Emma laughs, pushing up and Killian moves between her legs as soon as her feet find their way back to the floor. “Did you scandalize any journalists?”

“Nah, that’s not really my game.”

“Just hitting home runs.”

“Made the Top Ten.”

“No shit.”

Killian chuckles, nosing at Emma’s cheek. “You’ve got ESPN on, Swan. Did you not see?”

“I mean I saw the real thing, so—“

“—Ah, yeah, that is true. You can’t be very comfortable.”

“It’s going ok.”

“That so?”

She nods again — suddenly finding it difficult to respond when his eyes do that impossibly blue thing, dark with something close to want, and he can’t seem to decide where to look. His gaze snaps from hers down to the ring that’s fallen back over her shirt and the one on her hand and at some point in the last few months, he’s started brushing his thumb underneath it with an almost alarming regularity. Like, for good luck or something.

Baseball players are the weirdest.

“What did you want to ask me before?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you had a question,” Killian says. “What about?”

“Oh, oh, yeah—your elbow.”

He blinks. It’s an oddly satisfying response, and Killian nearly falls over when Emma stands up, gaze shifting again to the distinct lack of pants she’s got on. She can see the tip of his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“Like I said, El brought it up—“

“—I’d really you rather didn’t talk about Elsa when there’s so much of your leg on display.”

“Leg, singular?”

“Swan.”

She sticks her tongue out, but that only leads to an even bluer blue and she’s got to stop thinking about the way his knees bend. Maybe she’s the weird one. “Ok, ok, just—why do you bat like you do?”

“Are we on the record?”

“I mean no— because obviously I know how you bat—do not look at me like that.” He smirks, pulling his lips behind his teeth and sitting down. It’s ridiculous, his legs pulled up against his chest and his chin resting on an upturned palm. “I could probably reenact your stance in my sleep.”

“That so?”

“I will kick you.”

“I’ve got to play tomorrow,” Killian counters. “Something about prime agility at the hot corner.”

“You don’t ever come out of the batters box.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s super weird. I mean—other guys call time like twenty-six times and—“

“—No ump is letting anyone call time twenty-six times.”

She rolls her eyes, but Killian appears to have been counting on that and Emma has started bobbing on the balls of her feet. “Take my exaggerated point for what it is. All I’m saying is, you never leave the box. Other guys do. Every single pitch. They take practice swings or they refit their gloves and—“

“—I don’t always wear gloves.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Where did my elbow fit into this, exactly?”

“It’s so high up when you bat,” Emma exclaims. The projected distance of that home run was four-hundred and twenty-six feet. Eventually she will blame this tirade on that.

Killian nods, tapping his fingers on the side of Emma’s ankle until she stills. “Yeah, that’s a whole thing. It’s, uh—well, the elbow is high, so I’ve got more momentum when I swing. Physics and all that. Helps with your hips too. And the wide stance.”

“So you can stay behind the ball.”

“And you acted like you didn’t know why I did it.”

“Nah,” Emma objects, “I get why you’re doing it. I just—well, El was talking about you staying in the box and—“

“—Mind games.”

“Wait, what?”

“Mind games,” Killian repeats with a shrug. “You’re right. Almost every other batter moves around between pitches, but when I first started playing there wasn’t a ton of time to do that. I—well, Liam used to toss me batting practice and it was always kind of in between everything else we were doing and so I never thought about stepping out of the box because I was cutting into my own practice time.”

Emma presses her lips together, something different than the usual gymnastics taking place in her stomach. It’s a little softer, quieter and even more comfortable. Like their couch. But in a way that sounds nicer than that.

“And now,” Killian continues, “it drives opposing pitchers insane. Your brother, especially. He hates when I don’t step out. Because then he’s got to get back into his windup quicker.”

“You’re toying with them.”

“A little. Pace of play, you know.”

Emma laughs, absent-mindedly moving her hands like she’s swinging an invisible bat over her head. It’s admittedly a little weird as far as flirting goes, but she figures the playoffs afford for these kind of moments. And Killian doesn’t move quickly when he stands, Emma’s eyes lingering on his mouth longer than they probably should, just steps into her space and twists her against his chest and—

“Lift your elbow up a bit, love.”

“This is a cliche.”

“We’re not actually on a field, I think that sets us apart.”

She scoffs, twisting her hips. That time is on purpose. Killian groans, head dropping to her shoulder so he can nip at the bit of skin there. “You were the one who said you could reenact my stance in your sleep,” he points out.

“Well, it’s distinct.”

Killian hums, and there’s this absolutely delightful thrum in Emma’s veins — wide awake and ready to flirt. She kicks her feet out, one then the other, like she’s tapping her toes with the bat. She pushes down the visor of an invisible helmet, squaring up to a home plate that isn’t there, rocks her weight from side to side.

“I can’t believe you remembered the visor thing,” Killian mutters. “You know, Swan, I think you might be stalking me.”

“Don’t act like you’re not into it.”

“Your elbow is still too low.”

“Does this not hurt your shoulder?”

“You get used to it.” Emma grumbles, but lifts her elbow up anyway, an angle her normal, human body is not used to bending at. “Now,” Killian mutters, dropping his mouth just behind her ear, “kick your front leg out, snap your hips forward and—“

Emma swings.

Which is only a little absurd, considering they’re standing in their living room and she’s definitely heard this start to SportsCenter three times already, but they won and that’s got to count for something.

Several things.

Everything.

“Straight shot into the bleachers,” Killian says.

“Right or left?”

“Batters choice.”

“I always think it’s more impressive when you can pull one.”

He spins her — that same look from before growing more pronounced and still just as attractive as ever. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Agreed,” Killian nods, and Emma isn’t really sure how they ever get into their bedroom, but there’s probably a postseason excuses and home runs and her shirt spends most of the night in the hallway.

Emma picks it up the next morning, coffee already brewing and the SportsCenter theme obvious and she lets her legs drape over Killian’s when they both watch the number one play.

[kingdomhearts-rewrittenarchive]

I need some Isa fluff. Sorry if this was already done, but how would he react if his SO offered him a Paopu fruit?

if they offered it to him too soon then he would reject them, and depending on their reaction to it, he might even straight up break up with them

if they offered it to him as a joke, he might take it as such and laugh or jokingly agree, but if it wasn’t presented in a nice way, he would be really hurt bc that essentially says that they don’t take their relationship with him seriously

if they offered it to him as a consolation or comfort thing, he could react with anger or by just confessing his love for them which is my personal favorite headcanon and why i wrote a scenario under the cute to go along with it

It had been Lea’s idea to travel to the Destiny Islands for a little vacation. Everyone was in agreement that, for as much as they loved Twilight Town, they wanted something a little different. And seeing Riku, Sora and Kairi wasn’t going to hurt them either.

As far as you were aware, everything was fine for the better part of the day. Everyone was having fun playing in the water, and there wasn’t a quiet moment to be found. Maybe that was the problem. Not long ago, a couple of hours before sunset, you realized that Isa was nowhere to be found and, thinking back to the day, you hadn’t seen him in quite a few hours.

You admit, you panicked a little, because it was unusual for him to just pop smoke like that. Usually, he would just let you or someone know if he needed a little solitude, but he knew better than to disappear without a word. The first, and last, time he had tried it, Lea nearly got arrested for disturbing the peace in his panicked search for Isa.

That being said, Lea was too preoccupied to notice Isa missing this time. Hell, you hadn’t even noticed for who knew how long, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty, even if disappearing without a trace was a specialty of his. You decided that you were going to look for him, but you were going to do it alone. There was no real need to upset Lea; the island wasn’t that big and Isa couldn’t have left the island without the rest of you.

It took the better part of an hour before you finally did find him, though. He was on the direct opposite side of the island, hidden in a copse of trees atop a cliff, hidden from the direct light of the setting sun. You had passed it by at least twice before realizing that you could actually get in there, and were surprised when he was actually in there.

“You jerk,” were the first words out of your mouth when you saw him, sitting as calm and pretty as could be on the worn rock perched near the cliff edge. Clearly someone knew that the view was gorgeous and had managed to position it just perfectly for sitting and relaxing. He had to have heard you stumbling around out there and hadn’t said a word to alert you to his presence. “You could have said something. I’ve been looking for you for at least an hour.”

He snorted, glaring at you before turning back to face the ocean. “Only an hour? I’ve been gone for at least five.” He sounded unusually petulant, and his mouth was set in a hard line, giving him a sour expression.

Okay, that was weird. Was it your imagination, or did he sound hurt that it took you “so long” to find him? In fact, he sounded almost sullen.

“Isa?” you asked, taking a seat next to him. You took his hand in yours, locking your fingers together and just gazing at him. His mouth was twisting, like he was biting his tongue, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he started talking.

True to form, it only took a minute before he was spilling, and you couldn’t tell if it was more sadness or anger in his words.

“Everyone else is so happy together. They all went through so much together, they saved the worlds together. Hell, even Hayner, Pence, and Olette helped. And it shows. I just feel so out of place.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and he wouldn’t look at you, not even a glance from the corner of his eye. “I don’t belong with them, not after what I did to all of them. I don’t deserve to be happy.”

You pursed your lips, turning to face the ocean, watching a wave roll up and break against a rock protruding from the surface of the water. He had told you some time ago that he was part of the group that had caused all the chaos, and had even gone back to them after his defeat at Sora’s hands, but it wasn’t something that you had actually talked about. Sometimes, he got into a funk of sorts, and you knew that it always had something to do with his past, but this didn’t feel the same. He had never acted like he didn’t want to be with you or the others, and had definitely never expressed such a negative sentiment before. It worried you that he was hiding just how badly it effected him on a daily basis, and you would have to address that later.

For now, you had this to deal with. “Isa, I know that’s how you feel, and I don’t want to diminish that, but the other’s already know what you did. You did it too them. Don’t you think if they were holding it against you, you would know it?”

He snorted again, a cross between annoyed and amused. “They’re all just too nice to push me out. They think I wasn’t myself. But it was me, _____. I can still feel it, sometimes, trying to rear back up. It’s easier to push it down now, but sometimes... I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you.” There, he’d said it. It had been sitting in his heart for so long that it felt like a weight was lifted physically from his shoulders, even as a new fear replaced it. But the new one, the one that feared you wouldn’t know how to handle his, admittedly deep, well of issues was easier to handle, if only because now you at least knew.

Your silence stretched out, and he couldn’t find words to ease you, even though everything in him screamed to console you, to lie and say he wouldn’t, he would never, that he was strong enough to reign it in, because he couldn’t be sure of that. And it wasn’t fair to you to claim that.

After what seemed like forever, you stood up, letting go of his hand. Fear lanced through him, a steady diatribe of negative words building up in his head as he watched you turn towards to the hidden opening of the grove. Then you turned back, a warm, if not quite tight, smile on your face and promised to be right back. And then you were gone.

The sun seemed to be so much brighter, the air so much warmer outside of the dense cluster of trees and, as much as your mind tried to attribute it to the conversation, you were beholden to no such ideas. An idea you were willing to give into, though, was a much better one, a legend you had been told by the natives about a certain star-shaped fruit that only grew on the islands. They were in abundance here, and it didn’t take you long to find one. It was heavier than you imagined it to be, bigger too, and surprisingly it did make an impact on your return back to Isa.

By the time you made it, the sun was nearly gone and you were out of breath. Isa was staring at you, sitting in the same spot you had left him, and you had the feeling that he had been watching the path the whole time, waiting for you to appear again.

Skepticism swept across his face when he caught sight of the fruit in your hands, followed by confusion. “What is that?”

“Oh, the others didn’t tell you about these?” you asked, looking down at the bright yellow star in your hands. He hadn’t been around when you were told, but you had assumed someone would tell him, given how popular the legend was here. You blushed a little as you sat down next to him, close enough that your thighs touched and you could feel the warmth radiation off of him. It had sounded cute in your head, but the idea of explaining it was less appealing. “The islanders have a superstition about these. They’re called paopu fruits, and supposedly if two people share them, their destinies will be bound together. They’ll always find their way back to each other.”

You could see Isa’s eyes widen, flick to your face for just a second, before they landed back on the fruit. He took it from your hands gingerly, as if he was afraid it would bite him, and examined it, like he was looking from some sign of magic in it. He set it down in his lap, still just staring at it without a word, and you half-expected him to start laughing and reject it.

But to your surprise, he sounded almost hopeful as he asked, “Do you want to share it with me?”

Without a word, you took the fruit back and split it as evenly as you could down the middle, handing him half and without hesitation taking a bite out of the other. Wonder filled his eyes, and they never left yours as he took a bite from the center. The both of you waited a few seconds for a sense that something had changed, for magic to swirl around you, for something. The seconds turned into minutes and...nothing.

Your lips twitched before spreading into a grin, and then you started laughing. “Well, that was anticlimactic. I don’t know what I was expecting but...” you said, looking down at the piece in your hands. It still looked like just a regular piece of fruit. “Well, at least it tasted good.”

Isa chuckled as well, but he was still staring at you in awe. You had been willing, with no hesitation whatsoever, to tie your destiny with his. His sense of worth had never been tied to what other people thought of him, but as he sat there and watched you laugh, it made him realize that you, of everyone, treated him the most normal. The others never meant to, but they always made him feel like he was outside of their little bubble of friendship, like he was only ever included because he was there, like he was an afterthought and could disappear without notice. When you appeared and weaseled your way into his heart, he had been reluctant to let it go any further, afraid that you were going to turn on him when everything came to light.

But you hadn’t. You had taken him by the hand and brought him into the fold, made him feel like he could belong.

Warmth towards you filled his chest, and he took the fruit from your hands and flung them into the water far below.

“Isa?” you said, watching him turn back towards you. Your hands were sticky from the fruit juice, as were his, but it didn’t seem to deter him as he pulled you up from the rock and into his chest.

His voice was a deep rumble and full of wonder when he said, “Thank you, _____. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but thank you.”

All you had time to do was squeak as his lips covered yours, warm and sticky and sweet. Your eyes fluttered closed and you wrapped your arms around his neck, preventing him from moving back as you opened your mouth to his. It was bliss in it’s purest form and you never wanted it to stop.

But from a distance, you heard the sounds of your names being called, and started to pull back.

“Not yet,” Isa said, keeping you pressed close. “It’ll take them a minute to find us. Let’s just stay here for a while longer.”

jesus christ this is so long now askdhfa;j i’ve no idea how it got so out of hand? somehow it’s 2k words??? well enjoy the fluff anyway lol

[sidgenoheatwave-blog]

Heat Wave Prompts 2019

Heat Wave 2018 Prompts

Note: You can use prompts from this or previous years, or choose not to use one at all! Prompts are meant as inspiration only.

Caught in the rain

Victory sex

Double cream pie

Oral fixation

“Secret” relationship

No tan lines

Secretly a virgin

Touch-starved Sid

Consolation

Private island

Humiliation kink

Popsicles

Tool belt

Rope bondage

Exhibitionists

Love at first sight

Soulbond sex

Dream thieves

Mermaids and weird genitalia

Sex rituals at center ice

Dracula’s castle

Just fucking machines, being overwhelmed and a good dose of overstimulation

Accidental pregnancy/didn't realize he could get pregnant

Sid decides to take a year off to have a baby, and wants Geno to be the father

Werewolves and scent kink

Werewolf au. Every team has an alpha. The Pens have two.

The Road to El Dorado

Met at friends’ wedding

A forward forward and an amenable photographer for ESPN’s The Body Issue

Porn Stars au: Sid is really good at playing the fake virgin

Nipple play! Geno loving on Sid’s nips

Sid has extremely sensitive nipples and can come just from having them played with

Voyeur and exhibitionist neighbors

Rival sex, Geno is a Flyer and Sid is a Penguin. Enemies to lovers, with secret romance and angst

First time blowjobs - sloppy, messy, and explorative

Sid is being bullied by a new coach or new player on the team. He tries to hide it because he's ashamed. Geno finds out and saves the day.

Sweat kink, cause you know Sid likes to marinate after games

Sid's been cursed and Geno has to fuck it out of him

They warned me Satan would be attractive

Testing out the pool/hot-tub Sid has just built

"I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit." - Henry Miller

Sid’s not often into sex, but man is he into Geno.

Emperor and his most favored consort

Favorite couple on a porn site

Animal traits: penguins court by giving each other small rocks

Sid's a tentacle monster, and Geno is very into it

Double penetration: can be with toys, with fingers, or with straight up dick

Mpreg, Sid wants a baby SO badly

Dressing room hook up at a department store

Detective and homme fatale

Secret agent AU, Sid is the honeypot trap for Geno

Pulled over by “Officer Geno”

Someone's got a shapeshifting dick.

Accidental soulbonding, they have to fuck to settle the bond

Geno has a magic dick

Naked except for the jewelry.

Geno’s frat boy look

Feelings happen to demisexual!Sid after knowing Geno for years and years

A bet on how far they can get during roadies in team outings without getting caught

The boys make a bet on who can fuck the longest without coming and try to get the other to lose 😌

One of them is cursed and the only thing that will break it is getting pregnant

Overstimulation with lots of sex tears and sensitivity

Some no holds bar, compleatly unrealistic, exhibition fucking. Everybody sees and they LIKE IT

Phone sex with needy sid

Zach and Miri Make a Porno au

Team soulbonds are normal and triggered through sex

Sex magic to break a scoring slump

Dom/sub relationship that turns serious and loving later

Friends with benefits

AU, sex worker!Sid, Geno is the cop who has to keep arresting / rescuing him

Pilot/frequent flyer

Knotting in Geno’s heat nest

Sid claim biting Geno during heat. The scar is messy. Multiple bites.

Scent marking without realising it, and scent marking on purpose

They're both alphas and one REALLY likes to get knotted

Alpha Sid mounts omega Geno in the lockerroom and it’s MESSY

Alphas aren't supposed to be able to bond to each other, but they bond anyway (accidentally or on purpose)

Geno hooks up with Sid between relationships. Sid doesn’t mind. neither does Geno, until suddenly he does.

Wolfbrother au (A Companion to Wolves - Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette) where Evgeni and his wolfsister go into heat.

Werewolves taking a mate and wanting to fuck in the snow after running all night under the moon

Genderswap Geno shaving Sid’s legs, his hands on her thighs and Sid watching him bite his lip in concentration.

Rule 63, for both. College or pro teammates, a lot of competitive bets for sex/use of toys

Mermaid!Sid with gold under his nails, under his scales, and Evgeni who is forced to hunt him.

Sid’s sex superstitions. They are crazy and hot but should not be encouraged. Too bad Geno doesn’t care. He just wants to win games!

Sid has to give Geno a creampie before every home game: it's a superstition

Sid is a swan turned human, and he could easily break bones as he could accept Geno as a mate.

Geno gets cloned (accidental magic?). Obviously they both want to fuck Sid and neither of them is going to give way to the other.

Private plane banging, in those tight, white dress shirts from the video

On the plane - Geno wears one of those vibrating plugs that Sid controls on his phone - does he come in his pants? Or can he hold out till Sid fucks him.

Sid finally manages "Russia with Geno", but since Moscow is having a literal heat wave right now, he's not coping too well and around the apartment he's wearing as little as possible, all damp and dewy and curls. Geno's losing his mind over it.

Assassin!/escort! au. They both think the other works in the same field as them. They both keep hooking up after blowing/blowing up clients.

Geno is secretary or assistant to a friendly, wealthy, but suspiciously evasive businessman!Sid. They have an awkward friendship (note: Sid must secretly be a thief but he doesn’t tell Geno at first because he wants to protect him) (second note: Sid must also be in love with Geno) (third note: after a few months of this Geno become a thief too)

Young, hot Pope (either Sid or Geno) and his devoted cardinal, fucking on holy ground/under the Sistine Chapel ceiling. maybe now, maybe set in the past, maybe the Renaissance.

Soul bond dream sex. Knowing theres a mate out there bc you feel them from the moment they're born and you dream of their successes and losses. You share when they have sex dreams and what happens when you finally meet?

The story behind that gif of Geno publicly nut-tapping Sid during shirts off our backs(?) Dom claiming his territory or bratty Sub making sure he's going to get punished later?

As captain, Sid always has to be in control, carrying the weight of endless responsibilities. He longs to relinquish control briefly, but doesn't feel he is allowed, doesn't even know how to formulate the question. Geno figures out the problem and is up to the job.

During on-ice scrums, Geno always comes charging to the rescue whenever someone takes liberties with Sid. After many years of this, Sid and Geno finally come to terms with what it means.

Sid is arranged to marry the Crown Prince of Russia. Then the Prince breaks the long engagement to secretly marry someone else. War looks like it may break out. To save face, the Russian Royal family ask their lowly cousin Evgeni, to marry Sid. Or maybe seduce him, so the Canadian's can't sue for breach of promise.

As long as Geno has known Sid, he has a gold collar of thorns around his neck. Then one season Geno returns from Russia to find it gone. In its space is the pale length of Sid's neck. Geno knows he shouldn't look, shouldn't even think about it - about Sid... but he can't stop. Maybe D/s au, maybe some mythological au, maybe a magic au, whatever.

Geno likes to wear perfume sometimes (think Flowerbomb by Vikor and Rolf, maybe Bloom by Gucci), and Sidney likes the scent of Evgeni’s skin.

Monster fucking, but think “A monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.” — Ocean Vuong, from “A Letter To My Mother That She Will Never Read”, published in The New Yorker.

Sid/Geno/Anna:

Sid and Anna taking turns fucking Geno with a strap-on 👀

Anna is ovulating and Sid and Geno lovingly and jokingly compete who gets to impregnate her which (of course) means a lot of sex in general

Sid/Geno/Anna scenario where they kind of have a cuckolding/"cheating" thing where Anna fucks one of them and tells the other one about it in great detail to satisfy his humilitation kink. Could also involve filming during sex to show the other partner. Author's choice who loves the humiliation, though it could also be a scenario where she does it to both of them.

[travelling-in-packs]

Trenches.

Rinlouh opened his eyes, all three giving off a hazy glow. The darkness of his room, a cave, gave him a sense of security in the depths of the ocean. The water around him suddenly warmed, the hydrothermal vent spewing gunk and hot water from the corner of his room. Rinlouh sighed, knowing he would have to go out and either hunt or eat, his loud sisters surrounding him. His gills fluttered, and he let himself float, rolling over and swimming out of the cave entrance, into the dark coral and prismarine-lit rock extensions.

    Rinlouh touched a bright prismarine stone, letting it rest on his fingers and closing his third eye, his other two adjusting. He dropped it at the call of his father, Renlough, and swam toward the sounds.

    “Rinlouh, you’re up late! You’re lucky that the neighbors hunted for us today, or we’d be starving,” Lianou, his mother, flashed with her eyes. She always had that belief that Rinlouh was the best hunter in the sea. Percy opened his third eye, dimming the light to say something with the flashing, like morse, but Renlough stopped him.

    “We could put a lobster in your room again. That woke you up!” Renlough’s gills fluttered as all of his eyes flashed, laughing.

    Rinlouh ignored them, taking a fish from the pile and swiftly gutting it with his sharp teeth, chewing and flicking the small bones or scales out. Lianou shook her head in disgust, taking her own and gently slicing it, then eating pieces out with a sharp piece of dead coral.

    “Teeth are for hunting,” Lianou angrily scolded, turning away from her ‘barbarian’ of a son.

    Rinlouh laughed softly, eating the rest of the food slowly, with his own piece of coral. Of course, he could tell by the noise of water that his sisters, all three, had joined them. Reyanai, for whatever demented reason, sat next to Percy and chewed loudly, as older sisters do. He tried to nudge her away, to no avail.

    “Mom! Rin touched me with his weird hands!” Reyanai flashed brightly, grabbing Rinlouh’s hand and flailing it to get Lianou’s attention. Lianou rolled her three eyes, throwing a fish at Reyanai, who caught it with her teeth.

    “Reyanai, quit being rude to your little brother. He doesn’t look that different,” Lianou flashed, glaring at Reyanai.

    “Hey, not my fault his dad was one of those” Reyanai flashed, before Renlough promptly covered her eyes, blocking the light and the words from escaping.

    Rinlouh looked at his mother, his eyes wide, flashing dimly, “My dad was.. What?”

    Lianou quickly responded, “Nothing dear, she’s just--” a pause-- “joking.”

    Renlough shook his head “Lia, he’s much older, he can handle it. 68 seasons is more than old enough to know.”

    Rinlouh stayed silent, and his mother gazed ahead, clearly pondering the decision at hand.

    “Fine,” Lianou flashed, her eyes dim, “Come to the surface. I’ll tell you, away from your sisters.” She’d begun to swim away, and Rinlouh followed, anxious as ever. As they left, Lianou shot a look at Reyanai, giving her a mom-glare that could and would kill. As they got closer to the light, Rinlouh became more comfortable, the surface having been a safe place for him, both in the past and the present.

    As they drew closer to the surface, they both closed their third eyes, the light being too much for their sensitive pupils. The sun beat onto the water, proving that the flashing wouldn’t work. They had to dig up their linguistic skills from the back of their minds, from what the landstalkers would utter.

“I know it’s a shock. But hear me out, alright?” Lianou spoke, her voice raspy from saltwater and disuse, “after your sister was born, her father left me, and I was very sad. Much like you, I came to the surface for comfort and then I saw a boat. There was only one landstalker on the boat, and he didn’t look armed. He said his name was Oscar Pendleton, and he seemed... Calm. People usually panic when they see us, but he believed I was pretty. He called me a ‘Mermaid.’”

    “So... what does this have to do with me?” Rinlouh asked, getting frustrated.

    Lianou looked up, at the pink and orange sky, watching the ‘sun’, as she called it, dip under the waves, “Well, I fell in love with him, and a while later, I was pregnant with you. I told Oscar, and he was proud of you; but he couldn’t stay for any longer. He said he’d been out for three ‘months’, which I assume is about a season. He had to leave but... Then I found Renlough, and he understood... He was prepared to help me take care of you.”

    Rinlouh panicked, his gills flaring slightly, “What? You mean- what? Does that mean I’m not allowed back home? I’m not ready! Mom..” He stared at his mom, and she shook her head in response.

    “Of course you’re allowed home, honey! It just means that you’re different. Oscar would have loved you if he could. He wanted to name you ‘Percy,’ because in their mythology, ‘Perseus’ was a strong landstalker. I think,” she chuckled weakly, trying to add humor to their situation.

    It worked, because Percy smiled very slightly, then asked, “Can I go see him?”

    Lianou paused, then nodded, “‘Florida’ is where he said he lived. But please, don’t be rash. It’s hot on land. And very dry. You’ll need to be careful about people, too. They don’t know what you are. It’s dangerous, my little guppy… You’re not even fully grown.”

    “I don’t have to wait until I’m full grown, right? Besides, it’s my right to know him,” Rinlouh glared against the fading sunlight.

    Lianou shook her head, trying to make her tone as calming as she can, “No. I want you to wait. I don’t want you going to the surface based on a rash decision.”

    Rinlouh made a sound similar to a growl, like the creaking sounds dolphins make.

    “Do not give me that tone, Rinlouh. You should think about this. Who knows what they could do to you up there! Few of our kind have gone, and only one has returned. You know what happened to him,” Lianou stated, trying to seem strong, even if her voice was wavering and she showed signs of nervousness for her only son.

    “He went blind, yeah. Nobody understood his crazy ramblings. He suffocated on water. He was-- older, mom… It wasn’t caused by what happened on land, he probably just stared at the light,” Rinlouh hissed, clearly hiding his shock with anger.

    Lianou sighed, shaking her head, “I know I can’t stop you. But, please, take some time and calm down; alright?”

    Rinlouh’s only answer was to turn and swim into a current, then float through the water. Lianou stared for only a moment, but ultimately chose to go back, and wait for her son to come to his senses.

    Once Rinlouh did come back, he was calm. He’d spent his time in a cave, and his skin was rehydrating from being above water for so long. The glow in his eyes was dull, but he’d forgiven his mother, and chose to wait and decide when he was ready. Even if it took many seasons.

    Rinlouh awoke with a start, the dark of his cave contrasted against a bright red lobster, its claw clamped down on his calf. He screeched at it and, by instinct, shot down to bite it. He kicked away its limp body and floated to a small cave opening, burying the dead lobster down into the sand, along with 6 of its brethren, also deceased. They were effective alarm clocks.

    Reyanai swam in and crossed her arms, “You killed another one? They’re gonna go extinct, Perc!”

    Rinlouh shook his head, “No, they aren’t. And for the last time, don’t call me that!”

    “You let mom call you Perc!”

    “Percy! And that’s because she’s mom, not Rey.”

    “Whatever. Dad wanted you,” Reyanai flashed brightly, then swam away, taking the turn to the main area of their underwater city.

    Rinlouh took his time getting to Renlough, still tired and dazed from Rey’s vicious way of flashing.

    “Percy,” Lianou waved to him, catching his attention before continuing, “Come quickly! Renlough found something!”

    Percy swam to her, then let her pull him into a current, and they got pushed along through the water. Lianou held him close, excitement bubbling off of her. When they got to a dense kelp forest, they pushed away from the current and swam to a small clearing.

    Lianou led him silently to where Renlough, his “father” sat, studying a weight from a net a few tuni away. Rinlouh didn’t understand, since they tended to avoid all nets, in or out of use. Renlough looked at him and gave him a smile, soft and understanding.

    His mother tapped him on the shoulder, then flashed, “Percy, it’s one of Oscar’s nets, from his boat. It wasn’t here yesterday, it’s new. Your father is back.”

    Oscar Pendleton watched the waves, slapping against his ship’s hull, quiet music playing from somewhere in the cabin. The net he’d dropped had been cut, and sank impossibly deep into the midnight blue of the sea. The moon reflected off the water, and Leo glared at him from the night sky. He didn’t care for sleeping, not this far out to sea, and not at this time of year. It was much too dangerous for a sailor to not have a watchful eye.

    The occasional sea life swam around him, avoiding his boat. Superstition had built up in his name. Dolphins were the only ones who knew why they were avoiding the Huntress. The curious ones would make sounds at him, but be ushered away quickly. Sharks would get close enough to bump the boat, but swim away quickly, in fear of the tales.

    Oscar didn’t mind the creatures, they weren’t what he was there for. He was here for the mermaids, as he called them. They were curious creatures, and the stigma around the Huntress hadn’t yet reached the trench. As Oscar waited, eyes scanning the soft blue waves, he pondered giving up. It wouldn’t have been the first failed trip, nor would it be the last.

    The only way he knew the mermaids had come was the disgruntled splashing coming from his starboard side. He walked over and helped her up, giving his best sailor smile. Her eyes flashed, a strange language of morse code the mermaids have. When he shook his head, she started speaking, her throat moving strangely and her voice scratchy.

    “Oscar, it’s mou, Lianou! Ma olen namereno toi! I’m so elited!” She grinned, sharp teeth glistening, her blue skin shining in the moonlight.

    “Of course I know it’s you, Lianou. Do you remember the hand speech I taught you? I can only slightly understand you,” he explained, to which she looked at her webbed hands and nodded. Sign language was the one way he could communicate with the mermaids, their mixed dialect and horrible pronunciation making speech impossible.

    “You! I am so happy you here,” she signed, her grammar was off but he couldn’t blame her. Sixteen years was a long time, but with how well she was still doing, Oscar was sure she practiced.

    “I’m glad to see you too, Lia. How have you been?” Oscar signed back, tilting his head for emphasis.

    “Well! And your son is alive! I brought him,” Lianou signed quickly, grinning. Oscar stared at her in disbelief, but he didn’t distrust her. He knew that she wouldn’t lie about anything, and he vaguely remembered her talking of a baby the last time they’d met. He was just shocked that it survived.

    “Please, let me meet him, Lia,” he signed in response, his eyes searching the water for the other mer-creature. Lianou turned and dove into the water, and appeared again around ten minutes later, with what he presumed was his hybrid child.

    The hybrid looked shy, his third eye closed despite the humidity, and his gaze averted. He was taller, and much paler than the rest of his species, and his eyes were smaller. His hands had much less webbing, along with his feet, and the webbing on his sides was completely missing. His long hair was in streaks of light and midnight blue, with some dusty orange hairs highlighting. Many of his features showed Oscar to be the father, such as his nose and body shape. Most of his features, however, were a strange mix of human and huperus.

    “This is Percy! He looks so much like you! I named him after your funny stories,” she signed, holding the hybrid, “Percy” in place. Percy appeared uncomfortable, but Oscar knew he was also nervous, and curious. The mer-creatures always gave away their emotions very easily.

    Percy opened his third eye and tried flashing at Oscar, to which he raised an eyebrow. Lianou turned to him and flashed her eyes at him, explaining that she would translate his words for him. He flashed his sequence again, and Lianou nodded.

    “Him says hello! And that he has waited a long time to see you,” Lianou signed, clearly very excited.

    “Well, I say hello back. I’m glad to finally see my beautiful son,” Oscar signed back, to which Lianou gurgled and flashed his words to Percy. The hybrid seemed to blush, his bluish skin gaining a slight purple tint at the cheeks and ears, and what appeared to be random freckles glowing. Oscar smiled at him, and he bashfully smiled back. Percy flashed again at Lianou, and she translated once more.

    “Oscar, Percy wants to spend time with you. He wants to go home with you in the Togethered States. He will be good. He has wanted this for many seasons,” she blinked her eyes, as if trying to sweeten the deal, and convince Oscar. Of course, Oscar Pendleton was a kind man to her. So he quickly nodded, smiling. Lianou squealed, and by observing her reaction, the hybrid became excited as well. Percy sprung up and wrapped Oscar in a hug.

    Oscar hugged back and lightly patted Percy on the back. When they pulled apart, Percy stepped back and hugged his mother.

    “I will return him at the next summer solstice, if I don’t get caught up in work. Then, we will decide if he stays with me or returns to the sea. Alright?” Oscar asked Lianou. The sky began to streak with a deep purple, telling that dawn was upon them.

    “Yes. We will be back soon. Percy must goodbye everyone,” Lia smiled one last time before turning and diving in the sea. Percy gave one last hug to Oscar, two of his eyes wet with tears. His son dove into the ocean after Lianou, and they both disappeared as the scarlet and crimson colors of the sun tainted the skies.

[queenoftheblackpuddlexoxo]

Best Friends Will Fight Ghosts (or exes) For You, Part Two

(So... I have an actual story in mind it seems....)

Chris had questions, and if that wasn’t the understatement of the century he didn’t know what was.

  The vans had been weird, though they’d at least parked in a way that still allowed him access to the driveway. He’d stayed outside a few minutes, trying to decide if they were a sign something had gone amiss - visions of Anatole and how Salem had been just after the breakup dancing in his head - but Bluebelle wasn’t barking and he could hear Salem talking through the living room window, so he’d headed cautiously inside.

  Bluebelle was not only quiet but seemed perfectly happy, lying between two large, unfamiliar dogs… one of which seemed to be wearing glasses.

  Weirder and weirder. He stepped into the living room and froze, taking in the odd assortment of people scattered across the furniture and floor. None of them looked like anyone he knew, and in fact they hardly even looked like they all belonged to the same group to begin with - an eclectic group he'd be unlikely to associate with each other or his sister if he saw them separately.

  Not that that was a problem in itself, of course, and he did want Salem to have a few more trustworthy friends. He just thought he would have heard something about it before they all turned up in the house.

  (Was one of them a skeleton? He was pretty sure that was a skeleton.)

  So he had questions all right, ranging from ‘who are these people’ to ‘why didn't you tell me we were having company‘ to ‘are there oysters on that pizza’. Chris stepped into the living room, blurting out the first question that he could wrestle into a full sentence.

  “Why is there a skeleton in my chair?”

  They all looked up; somehow the skeleton looked sheepish, scratching absently at the back of his skull as he stood.

  “Er - sorry. Here, I’ll sit over--Arthur, scoot over.”

  The man the skeleton was addressing obliged, the two of them squishing together between the couch and the vacated chair; it didn't make the situation any less bewildering, but Chris felt a little more in control as he settled into the recliner.

  “Thanks. Salem...?”

  “You remember Vivi and Velma, right?” Salem was almost nonchalant as she handed him a slice of pizza (not the oyster one, thankfully), for all the world as if this sort of thing happened regularly. Chris nodded as he took the food; he'd chatted with the two girls himself, and deemed the comfortable camaraderie that had cropped up between them and his sister to be exactly what Salem needed. “Well… I told them about what was going on, and they decided to come and help.”

  “Right.” He couldn't help glancing at the skeleton again, and found that he now looked like a perfectly ordinary (if very large) young man.

  With black sclera and faintly glowing irises. No big deal.

  “Their groups are both used to looking into things like this,” Salem continued. “So they're gonna see what they can find.”

  “Whether it's a real ghost or a hoax, we'll get to the bottom of this,” Velma said.

  “And if it's a hoax we'll punt the guy into the sun!” Vivi added, raising her fists. “Not that I'm ruling out the possibility of having to punt a ghost either.”

  “I see,” Chris said slowly. He was relieved to hear Vivi and Velma giving more or less equal weight to the idea of ‘real’ or ‘hoax’; he was loathe to imply that Salem's perception might not be what she thought it was, but a balanced approach hadn't occurred to him.

  For one thing, he hadn't been prepared to entertain the idea of an actual ghost until he found one in his easy chair.

  “Okay. Sure. I appreciate that. So… what’s the plan?”

  ***

  The plan, as it turned out, seemed to mainly be ‘stake out the house and see what happens’. As full dark fell the consolidated group was scattered around the premises: all four girls in Salem’s room, Chris and Fred in Chris’ room, Arthur and Lewis in their van and Shaggy and Scooby in theirs, and Mystery moving between the groups with Bluebelle either trotting at his heels or lounging with Salem. Arthur had produced a set of walkie talkies to distribute, deeming it more practical than trying to keep in touch via cellphone, and they all settled in to wait with only the occasional radio chatter to break the heavy silence of autumn night.

  “Okay guys, vote.” Vivi’s voice crackled over the walkie talkies slightly after midnight. “Mercy Brown: Vampire or victim?”

  “Victim of what? Another vampire?” Fred asked a moment later.

  “No, Fred, victim of superstition and hysteria over poorly-understood illness,” Velma said. “New England vampire panic?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Have we encountered vampires?” Daphne asked. “Like actual? I think I’d remember that, but it all runs together.”

  “Do we like… need to talk about vampires right now?” Shaggy whined.

  “We have,” Arthur said over Shaggy. “On vacation in New Orleans, because we can never, ever catch a break.”

  “Man I know that feeling. It’s like this stuff looks for us. But seriously if you guys are gonna talk about vampires Scoob and I are turning our radio off.”

  “Shaggy, don’t you dare.” Lewis paused a moment. “Anyway the vampire tour guide was a really nice guy. I still have the antique map he gave us.”

  “Like dude, no offense, but I’m pretty sure the devil himself would mind his manners if you did that fwooshy skull face thing.”

  “No no, I was alive then.”

  “Plus we’ve run into things that don’t mind their manners even with the fwooshy thing,” Vivi added. Shaggy gave a warbling groan.

  “Don’t tell me that. I feel like… three percent safer with a fwooshy skull ghost on the team.”

  “Only three?” Lewis asked, voice wavering between amused and offended.

  “Like sorry man, I’m way too familiar with the odds to be any more optimistic.”

  “It’s okay Lew, I feel a full seventy-eight percent safer with you around,” Arthur said. “Anyway if we’re voting, I’m putting in a ‘possible vampire but meant no harm’ with addendum that I don’t want to go hunt vampires in New England. Or anywhere else.”

  “I think it would be fun,” Salem said. “I mean - not necessarily just hunting vampires, but the way paranormal fear ties into criminal proceedings in that region and era is really fascinating! Anyway, I like that Mercy inspired Lucy but I would need to see the evidence.”

  “Thank you, Salem.” Velma’s voice came through slightly louder; she’d picked up their walkie talkie. “So Vivi and Arthur vote vampire, Salem and I vote victim--”

  “Wait, hold on. I’m abstaining until evidence, that’s all.”

  “I think,” Chris said, “that from what I’ve heard it’ll be a real vampire if Vivi’s crew goes and a fake one if Velma’s does. You guys are like Schroedinger’s Supernatural out there.”

  There was a general murmur at this, with Salem’s voice rising over it after a moment.

  “So… what’ll happen with everyone together?”

  “I don’t know, but I am with Arthur. I am not going vampire hunting! And I know somehow you’re gonna drag me anyway, but I want it like… written down and on record that--”

  Shaggy’s voice cut off in an electronic screech.

  “...Shag?” Fred asked cautiously after a moment. “Scoob?”

  No reply.

  “Lewis, Arthur, can you see anything?” Vivi asked. Her voice had gone both sharp with interest and slightly uneasy, the idea of a hunt taking over; she took the walkie talkie from Velma, all four girls huddling over it.

  “No,” Arthur said, a tremor in his own voice. “They moved the Mystery Machine to the back so we could see more.”

  “Hang on,” Lewis said, “I’ll go up to the roof for a look.”

  There was a long silence, the groups in Salem and Chris’ rooms huddled over the walkie talkie with bated breath.

  “I don’t see anything,” Lewis said after a moment. “The van’s still there. Back doors open. I don’t see Shaggy or--”

  Arthur’s shriek echoed through the line. Seconds later the light of Lewis’  ghost fire blazed through the windows, fading after a moment and leaving only the dark and silence.

  Vivi and Salem were first on their feet, rushing for the front door with Daphne and Velma close behind and Chris and Fred crowding after them. Outside, Lewis was standing atop the Mystery Skulls van, still in skeleton form and still managing to look angry and bewildered. There was no sign of Arthur or Shaggy, but Mystery and Bluebelle came running up the street a moment later and nearly collided with Scooby as he came racing from the back yard; Scooby immediately dropped to the pavement and cowered under Mystery, who bore this patiently as he spoke.

  “I didn’t see anything. But Bluebelle might have, and we chased it. I can pick up a trail.”

  “Then we’re going,” Salem said. Chris frowned, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  “Salem, I don’t know if--”

  “I’m going, Chris,” she said firmly, in a no-nonsense tone she rarely used these days, had reserved for emergencies all their lives, and he nodded. She nodded back, and turned to Mystery. “Show us the way.”

  Nothing was going to happen to her friends. Not on her watch, and not for her sake.

[rndyounghowze]

Susan Cinoman’s “Period Piece” Draws First Blood With 36 Storytellers and 12 Performers

@periodpieceplay Gave us a wide range of stories on a topic that is usually just seen as “lady problems” @susancinoman @kcdirector

By Dana and Ricky Young-Howze

Los Angeles, California

Venmo: @rndyounghowze

Review 224

We were prepared to let this night of short plays about periods pass us by. Period Piece conceived by Susan Cinoman was a hot commodity with a rolling list of performers every night that spanned the space of three weekends. Try as we might we couldn’t get permission to the first or the third nights. Then we got an invite from Kristina Wong, one of the performers in the show, who came through for us right at the buzzer. While we didn’t get to see all three weeks we came in with certain expectations. None of those expectations came out with us after the show. This team of theatre artists led by Director Karen Carpenter went on to wow us in every single way. Let’s start from the beginning...

Better Than Elephant Dung

By: Jacquelyn Reingold

Reingold set the tone by having a super tampon to start the night. Geneva Carr is someone who has been on our radar for a bit and the way she made the character both relatable and funny was a real feat. It makes me laugh even now to think that the one thing that The Man of Steel can’t handle is the thought of period blood. It served to highlight the frailty of toxic masculinity in a fun way.

Cramps Services

By: Maria Elena Rodriguez

This was the first time we saw Kristina Wong acting in a show that wasn’t hers and it was so fun! It showed the kind of range and comedic talent that makes her one of our favorites. The play highlights the fierce dedication and technical knowledge needed to supply every person that menstruates with the products they need to just get by. This is usually a world that is invisible to the cis males of this planet. I love the way they lifted the veil. Using the backdrop of buying for craft services was genius. The hierarchy of chips to pads is something I wasn’t ready for.

Prayers To Menstruatia

By Destry Spielberg

One can often define their period by things that they can’t do. Can’t wear what you want, can’t go out where you want, the pain! It was really great to find a writer that was willing to put these things in the context of a new found freedom. Finally able to go out during the pandemic then hit by the period gods. However if feeling powerful and beautiful is embraced nothing can stop you. Destry explores the things that have been gained at the end of the pandemic and it is more than water weight.

Waiting on Womanhood

By: Ngozi Anyanwu

I really resonated with this one. Bleeding must mean death. If it doesn’t you must at least be punished in some way by the patriarchal system. The part I really resonate with is that being a woman means being watched with all these eyes on you. Candace Boahene gave us a remarkable performance that packed a lot of heart into a very small space. Ngozi created a scene that gave us the perspective of another culture in the capsule of a young student wondering about the future. Growing up could prevent her from doing and being all this young girl could be. It was important to put in to context periods globally.

Day 22

By Rhiana Yazzie

Kimberly Guerrero is very funny yet very frank in this piece. Not many people see their period as their friend. For some people it may be their oldest friend. No matter what you think you definitely do notice when it’s missing. Thanks to Yazzie for shining a light on how hyper aware people who menstruate are about any and all things period.

Way More Scary

By: Nicole Lynn Evans

Add this to one of the subjects that we didn’t think were going to be covered during the evening. Ricky’s mom is in a chair and was raised to be very proactive and proud about periods. This was very familiar and very cathartic and honest. Nicole Lynn Evans spared nothing from her straight and to the point take on the issue. When we talk equality and rights our disabled people often get left behind. Periods add another layer to that. We need to be open and honest about periods and disability to make change.

Zooey Deschanel Wants To Save The Cows, And I Want To Know Why My Abdomen Hurts

By: Jaimie Jarrett

We loved seeing a trans period moment. Jaimie Jarrett was killing us with lines like “trans is just a fun way to misspell trauma”. As two beings that fall under the trans umbrella we really appreciated it. In fact we were really expecting a lot of “bleeding equals female” in the night. I’m so happy that this show went out there and got the perspective of all people who menstruate and talked about the PTSD and the physical and mental toll dealing with this can have on them, on us.

Glorify! (the messy parts)

By: Christina Anderson

Sometimes plays need to bring up chicken dung to get their story across. Adriane Lenox took us wonderfully from rescuing a wedding dress from period blood (that’s a horror story and a half) to bringing us a charming story about throwing crap. We love seeing Black female professionals onstage and we are so grateful to have seen her.

A Really Good Lubricant

By Lally Katz

Now all of us know that sex and periods are fabled far and wide to be mutually exclusive. Others think you have to make a mess to make it any fun. Carissa Kosta sold this monologue of a woman walking that knife edge of not wanting to disappoint a potential lover but also really wanting him to leave. The part that gave Ricky chills up their spine was Kosta saying “thank God” at the end. The last thirty seconds of the play told the entire story. It was really one of the strongest of the night.

Flash Of An Eye

By Elaine Romero

Ricky has known some gymnasts and thinks that they are the most serious athletes alive. Carmen Carrera struck all of the notes you get from a gymnastics coach: dead serious, brutally honest, but also supportive. Romero painted us a great picture of a world that showed us the dark side of what most people call a dainty world. Stuff like using Tampons to keep uniforms clean, describing the massive changes going on in young athlete’s bodies, and even addressing the superstitions of their parents show that this is a different and crazy world than what we see on ESPN.

Interview With A Punk Goddess

(A fable 4 bloody sisters everywhere)

By Caridad Svich

I had no idea what a punk goddess is before but now I’m wondering where I can sign up. Caridad Svich made being a bloody beautiful monster seem so cool! Lauren Patten nailed the piece. You have a woman in a job interview which should be one of the worst places to get a period. Instead she flips the script and becomes a powerful being who tells people what she wants and that they’re going to give it. Amazing writing.

All The Shades Of Red: 13, 35, 45, 46

By Sarah Ruhl

We can’t even begin to tell you anything about miscarriages. We don’t even have the vocabulary and the language to talk about it. Sarah Ruhl pulled back the curtain on this dark and intimate world. Jessica Hecht was the perfect person to act as our handhold through the different moments of a life and how periods fell into it. Sarah Ruhl showed how our lives can be marked by these weird red milestones, the toll they can take on us, and how we look on the other side.

It’s a shame that we still need to have a feminist equality conversation around how humans bleed. That fact that this is a touchy subject for some, intimately personal for others, and a thing to be reviled by the patriarchy in the twenty-first century is atrocious. We’re so glad that these artists came together as one to address all the different intricacies around this issue. Every piece of this night was unique and different. In our experience it has been rare where we see a showcase with each piece centered around a theme and it does not hit the same monotone note every time. I was expecting a lot of “I am bleeding hear me roar” but it wasn’t that. In fact it hit a lot of different notes. We were so afraid that it would not encompass the whole spectrum of people who menstruate and it did. We were so shocked and relieved. Here’s to a show about periods and blood exceeding our expectations.

Check the Project Out For Yourself Here

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[taz-writes]

Feilan’s Worldbuilding: The Autumness Festival

Feilan has a few major holidays (Nafiesse/New Year’s, Lantern Week, etc), but I think the regional days are much more interesting! The Tsi have a unique festival called Autumness, which occurs around the autumn equinox and is a product of some unique Tsi traditions. 

The Tsi are a mining tribe whose wealth and importance comes directly from trade. Traditionally, winter is spent at home, working in the mines and spending time with family. In the spring, once the rivers unfreeze and become navigable, the gems and minerals from the mines are sent downstream and loaded into sea ships, to be taken across the ocean and traded for valuable foreign goods from places like Amarad and the Irkatzi enclaves. (Skyships have strict weight limits, you can’t just fill them with rocks and expect to have a safe flight). 

The sailors will stay gone in the summer, and return around the time of the fall equinox with foreign goods and big stories to tell! Naturally, there’s a pretty big party when they get back. Autumness traditions involve weird fusion cuisine and telling tall tales. It’s also the traditional time to crown new Tsi rulers, who are often given fancy coronation gifts from overseas. 

The iconic Autumness snacks are cookies, made from expensive imported wheat flour and flavored with things like citrus and tropical fruits brought straight from the trade ships. The climate in Tsi territory is cold and not too great for farming, so fancy fruit like lemons and oranges are hot commodities. Also look out for foreign spices mixed with traditional Weird Tsi Foods like venison, unicorn steaks, snakeflesh, and mountain lion. 

Autumness is tied very closely with another Tsi holiday, the Farewell Festival, which is more lowkey and celebrated in spring when the traders leave. This is exemplified by one of the cutest Autumness/Farewell traditions: model houses! 

In spring when the sailors left, it became tradition for people to give their loved ones tiny carved houses--usually miniature models of their own home. These houses are good luck charms and reminders of one’s family. Superstition goes that as long as a traveler keeps their farewell charms close at hand, then they’ll always find their way home, no matter how long the journey. If you lose the charm, though, then you may not make it back as planned! You guard that little model house with your life. Many adventurers would have whole piles of houses, given to them by lovers and family and friends. When the traders return in fall, they put all the houses on display, to prove that they kept them safe! These displays can be super elaborate, with little paper roads and mini trees and everything. Each year, they’d be given new houses, which join the old ones in the display (you only have to carry around the new ones though! unless you’re emotionally attached). 

Over time, the nature of this tradition shifted from “give good luck charm to keep traveler safe,” and became “give friends and family cute little houses, which they’ll show off and make fancy in the fall.” Tiny house charms are a general lucky charm, and they’re popular symbols in Tsi territory. If you go to a shitty tourist gift shop in Tsi territory you’ll find dozens of these generic cheaply made “lucky houses” being sold to visitors. No self-respecting native Tsi would buy a premade house charm, though. Half the point is in the act of making them! It shows the recipient that you care! 

Farewell houses can range from thumbnail-sized to an inch or two across. They’re usually meticulously decorated, with tons of detail and sometimes little magical additions! Some people even enchant them so that the windows will light up and teeny-tiny “people” move around inside. There’s an elaborate symbolic language based around the details added to these houses--certain flowers in the windowsills mean love or friendship or family, different types of shutters can represent how well you know the person, stuff like that. You can encode some very specific messages into these things. They’re a common way for shy people to express feelings towards someone. Have a crush but can’t admit it? Make them a farewell house with peonies and tulips at the door. Or something, I’m still working out Feian flower symbolism. 

Autumness’s week-long festival features big displays in the public market square, as well as lots of public musical events. Each year, the Tsi royal family commissions a musical drama for the festival, which is performed right in front of the Tsi Tree. These are usually romantic comedies. Most other major Tsi cities and settlements will also commission shows. Storytelling competitions are held, in which competitors vie to see who can improvise the most gripping tale of heroic glory. Prizes come in the form of baked goods and bragging rights. There’s always a copious amount of alcohol involved. Public drunkenness is normally a big, BIG social taboo in Tsi culture. You might go to a bar but you don’t have more than one alcoholic drink there, oh no, you save that for private gatherings at home with close friends. This is the one time of the year when it’s sort of “allowed,” otherwise it’s like running around naked in the streets. Naturally, this results in the entire population of the tribe getting wasted at once, and the country just kinda shuts down for a while until it stops. 

Every once in a while, Autumness sets the stage for the infamous Tsi ritual called the Bear Pageant. In this most ancient tradition, the sitting ruler of the Tsi tribe strips down to nothing but a loincloth, chugs a massive amount of beer, and wrestles a bear empty-handed in the central square of the Citadel. The bear is traditionally dressed up in a silly outfit, and it may or may not have been fed drugs to make it less dangerous, depending on how much nerve a given noble has. Afterwards, the triumphant ruler will strut around and shout exaggerated boasts about their physical prowess, looks, and Leaderly Skill. This is just as important to the tradition as the bear-wrestling. Every Tsi ruler in the last thousand years has done this, including Doriel, who has participated exactly four times. If a member of another tribe starts calling the Tsi “wild barbarians,” there is a 99% chance they’re referring to the bear pageant. It’s pretty infamous. The Tsi don’t see anything unusual about it. 

[storyunrelated]

Proper Schooling - Houses

The idea with Olivia is for her to come across as salty and exasperated.

The idea for Andrew is for him to come across as monotone and dead inside.

Smoking features, as I wanted some fantastical drugs - like in that shitty thing I did, Breadbasket - and as opposed to popping pills or shooting up, smoking gives Olivia something to do with her hands.

Which is super-useful in a non-visual medium.

-

“Andrew?”

“Hmm?”

“What the hell are these?”

Olivia was holding a carton she’d found in one of the many, many disused rooms in Wrackit Block. On the front of the carton was a proud, bold Bowport Wood crest complete with a motto that Olivia could not understand and did not care about. It looked to have been written in Latin by someone who did not know any Latin.

“Why are there cigarettes in a school? I mean, I can guess why they’d be here - fuckin’ kids love smoking - but these are, like, officially marked and everything,” she said, turning the box over in her hands and giving it a rattle. From the sounds of things it was about halfway full. “Probably bootleg or something…” She mumbled, though the appeal of bootleg, school-branded cigarettes was beyond her, like most things in Bowport Wood.

“No, those are officially distributed. Not cigarettes, either. Sonamburettes,” Andrew said. Olivia looked up from the box at him hoping against hope that he was just pulling her leg. Looking at him, it was impossible to tell. Not for the first time time Olivia reckoned that Andrew could make a fortune playing poker.

“Sonamburettes,” she said, holding the box. His expression remained unchanged. “Fucking honestly? That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve heard in two hours. Tell me you’re joking.”

He shook his head.

“That is what they are called. Their use is not official condoned but they have a place in Bowport Wood culture. They operate by shunting tiredness and the need for sleep across all possible versions of the person smoking them.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“You smoke them and you do not feel tired, instead all other possible versions of you across all possible versions of the world feel a tiny bit tired instead.”

Olivia stared down at the box again, this time with a sense of awe.

“For real?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“How come I’ve never heard of anything like this before?”

“Because they are illegal outside of Bowport Wood. And inside it, actually. Just no-one enforces it here.”

“That sounds great,” she said, marveling at the carton.. Then she blinked. “Wait. These are officially distributed - by the school - but they’re also illegal in the school?”

Andrew nodded.

“The departments involved do not talk to each other.”

“No shit.”

An idea was forming in Olivia’s head and even though she knew it was  bad one she couldn't make it go away. Every sensible lesson she’d learnt in life was telling her no but her urge to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted was rising.

“You, uh - you reckon these are still good to go?”

“They are said to last a long time,” Andrew said, unhelpfully. Olivia flipped the box a few times.

“The place I found ‘em was dusty but the box wasn’t so I figure someone must have come in here and just left them,” she said. She hoped this was true. Certainly, it sounded convincing when she said it out loud.

“Plausible,” Andrew said.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try just one, right?”

“It might. It might not.”

Olivia glared at him.

“Why would you even bother saying that?” She asked, flipping the lid at last and opening up the already-ripped foil within to fish one out to have a look. To all appearances they were just cigarettes, though with the filter tipped in an offensively electric blue. She gave the one in her hand a sniff but it didn’t really smell of anything at all. Did make her feel oddly off-balance for a split second, to her surprise. She sniffed again and the same thing happened.

“Weird,” she muttered, biting the bullet and putting the thing between her lips before giving Andrew a significant look that he managed to successfully interpret.

Andrew, naturally, had a light and passed it over to Olivia. She squinted at it.

“‘For valiant and commendable service’?” She read.

“It is not mine,” he said. Olivia wasn’t going to press the issue. Flicking the thing open and sheltering the tip of the sonamuberrete with her free hand she got it lit, calling on her illicit behind-the-bike-sheds experience and then handing the lighter back.

“These aren’t going to have some horrible side-effect are they? Not setting myself up for some inventive and excruciating death years from now? No tobacco in these?” She asked after an experimental puff, letting the thing now dangle from her fingers.

“No tobacco. There have been no studies conducted that show side-effects relating to the active ingredients.”

Olivia regarded the quietly smoking stick. What a bad example she was setting for herself. She’d have words with herself later.

“Well that’s reassuring,” she said, shrugging and taking another drag. Problems were things future-Olivia had to worry about anyway. Present-Olivia was the one feeling less tired with every puff and finding the feeling surprisingly wonderful. They were definitely, tangibly working. Even her imagination wasn’t powerful enough to make her feel more awake. She looked at the thing again only this time with amazement.

“Holy crap they actually work. I feel pretty good.”

“They are popular.”

“I can see why! Any other illegal, dimension-abusing drugs they got going around here?”

“Several. I could get you a pamphlet.”

“If you have the time, please.”

She was only half-joking.

Casting around for somewhere to sit she pulled over the nearest, most-intact chair and flopped onto it. The chair held her weight which was reassuring. Rocking back, she  put her feet up onto a desk and put her hands behind her head, puffing and feeling very pleased with herself.

“Are we doing anything today or what?” She asked.

“No. I had planned on using today to further inform you about Bowport Wood, to better prepare you.”

“Thrilling. Sounds like a plan. What’s on the lesson plan for today then, chief?”

Andrew took a step back and banged his fist on the wall. A chunk of the ceiling collapsed and a flipchart fell from the room above, landing perfectly and wobbling only briefly before settling into place. Andrew gave it a quick dust before turning back to Olivia who was still wafting bits of drifting masonry away from her face.

“I will now explain to you the school houses, said Andrew,” said Andrew. He pulled a book from somewhere inside his jacket but wasn’t looking at it. Olivia blinked at him in confusion for a moment before figuring out what it was he was talking about. That he had actually said ‘said Andrew’ had thrown her.

“Oh right. Houses. Like, for sports day and shit. Not like, you know. Buildings. I get it.”

“Yes and no. Some of the houses I am about to tell you about did start out as formal School Houses, but some also did not. Think of these more as power blocs. Entities within the larger framework of the school who wield a certain level of material influence. Quasi-official and unofficial.”

Olivia rubbed her face. She was regretting asking him what the plan was for the day.

“What?” She asked through her fingers.

Andrew did not stop to explain what he’d meant meant. Instead, he flipped a page in the book with his thumb and continued not to look at it.

“The most prominent house you should consider is the Van Reuymans,” he said, producing a marker and writing out ‘Van Reuymans’ on the flipchart. He circled it for emphasis.

“Okay,” Olivia said, face still in her hands. “What’s their deal?”

“In broad terms, the Van Reuymans provide biological material for the school.”

Olivia grimaced. Nothing involved ‘biological material’ was ever a good time.

“That sounds incredibly dubious. Could you maybe give me an example?”

“Rip Van Reuyman - the head of the house by default - produces the organs and control interfaces that go into the Prefects. There are also Van Reuyman organ banks for those pupils that need them but most prefer synthetic replacements, largely down to superstition. Van Reuyman house also supplies Bowport Wood with drudges.”

Olivia winced from the splatter of information being directed her way.

“Drudges?” She asked. Prefects she could imagine, though why they’d need outside sources for organs was something she felt best left alone for now. There was probably a reason. Maybe even a good one.

“You will have seen drudges already. They attend to the tasks that are required for the everyday maintenance and running of the school. Cooking in the main canteens, upkeep of the grounds, running of the fusion furnaces and so on.”

‘Upkeep of the grounds’ was stretching it given the state of the place and the way almost all the plants had long-since died. Lawns should not, for example, be grey. But Olivia had indeed seen one or two drudges doing watering the lawns all the same and also hitting trees with sticks which she supposed counted as gardening of a sort. She hadn’t known what they were called at the time, but drudges seemed to fit.

“Oh yeah, the little dudes in the black rubber? With the pipes?”

“Those. Yes.”

“Must get hot under all that,”

“Undoubtedly. Van Reuymans also constitute their own class of pupil, as Rip Van Reuyman has many sons. Most of his sons are common sons and are unremarkable. They do not do much. He has a group of favoured sons, however, who are afforded a certain level of fatherly affection and modification. All van Reuymans should be avoided as they are - quote - ‘bastards’.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else Andrew was going to say. Olivia took a drag and rocked her chair backwards and forwards a few times as she mulled over what she’d just learnt, wondering how cool she looked

“Alright. Let me just go over this. Rip Van Reuyman: important guy who runs the Van Reuyman house which churns out...meat that gets shoved into Prefects and little dudes who do the gardening?”

“So to speak, yes.”

“And also he has lots of regular sons?”

“Hundreds, yes.”

“And a few special sons?”

“Less than hundreds and modified, yes.”

“And I should do my best to avoid all of them because they’re all deeply unpleasant?”

“Bastards, yes.”

Puff puff. Rock rock.

A week ago Olivia had been worried about somehow wearing her trousers backwards for a whole day. Now she was learning about this. Things moved quickly.

“Good. Great. Glad I got that sorted. Carry on,” she said, waving a regal hand. Andrew did as he was told.

He ran through a good two dozen such houses. They started out sounding fairly important and properly organised like the Ven Reuymans and the Technologista (who actually made the rest of the Prefects, apparently) and other august bodies which provided actual, tangible services to the school before the list quickly descended into describing loose conglomerations of pupils who were joined together by their love of being ‘assertive’ or who ‘held a passion for the gathering of knowledge’ and it was at that point Olivia’s patience ran out.

“You’re making this shit up,” she said, waving her arms in naked frustration. Andrew, who by now was running out of space on the flipchart, looked at her blankly.

“I am not.”

“There’s seriously a large enough gathering pupils who hold ‘a passion for the gathering of knowledge’ that they’ve become a distinct entity?”

Andrew nodded.

“And they’re recognised as a distinct entity?”

He nodded again.

“And do they get anything done? Does anyone listen to them?”

“Whether they feel they get anything done is up to them. As they are not an officially recognised school house or part of the administration no-one listens to them, no.”

“So what the fuck is the point?”

He looked at his chart again, as though it might contain an answer to this question. It did not, so he looked back at Olivia again none the wiser.

“I am unsure that there is a point. Having a point does not appear to be the point, from what I have read on the subject. Being with others who share similar interests was a recurring stated motivation. People do not typically like being put into boxes. However, they are more than willing to get into a box that they feel themselves is a comfortable fit. Rather like cats,” Andrew said.

Olivia mouthed the word ‘what’ at him, too tired now for words. Andrew continued:

“People want to belong. So they find a place that they feel looks like they will fit into. Then they go into this place. This place has other people like them. They now belong. Hence houses.”

“Oh. I get it. I think?” Olivia said, cocking her head at him. He shrugged.

“I do not really get it, personally. These gatherings seem unnecessary and arbitrary to me. But people do seem to work better around like-minded peers. For whatever reason.”

This was not the part that Olivia had not got, but then again she and Andrew were clearly coming at this from two completely different angles. She found the concept of arbitrary groupings of pupils coming together and acting important when they weren’t to be a bit pointless. Andrew plainly had difficulty with the concept of why anyone would want to spend time with anyone else in the first place. She felt it best to just let it slide for now.

“So these little ones down here are kind of like...clubs. And houses run from big-dick important ones that can actually get results down to bunches of people who just want to hang out with other people like them to give their lives some structure and purpose,” Olivia said, sweeping her hand from the top to the bottom of Andrew’s crowded flipchart. He looked over his writing again to see if he’d missed anything but apparently he hadn’t.

“If you like,” he said.

“Well that’s how I’m going to hold it in my head.”

Already Olivia was putting together a clearer picture of how Bowport Wood operated. It wasn’t a prettier picture, but it was less confused than it had been when she’d woken up that day and she counted that as a win. The idea that someone - anyone - could exercise some control over the place seemed laughable, but at the same time strangely comforting.

If there were people who made things happen then that meant that things could happen, ergo you could make them happen yourself, too. The world wasn’t quite as scary when you realised that, she felt.

Finishing the sonamburette she stubbed out what remained of it on a nearby desktop and flicked it out through a hole in the wall where presumably there’d once been a window. She felt wide awake now, though in a way that was new and oddly euphoric. Idly, she wondered how all the other potential hers across all the other potential worlds were doing. Alright, hopefully.

“This place starts to make a kind of sense,” she said, standing up and straightening herself out. Andrew bobbed his head.

“As you say.”

[curlyshepards]

tim headcanons: fucking long ass edition im so sorry

again this is under a read more so @ mobile users....im sorry

What does their bedroom look like?

he shares a room with curly, so it looks like a tornado ripped through the room and only destroyed curly's half. his is nice and neat

Do they have any daily rituals?

this isnt really daily, but if he wakes up really early or comes home super later (like early hours of the morning) he'll most likely see his mom in the kitchen and they'll sit at the table and talk until someone else comes in. its the only time she acts like herself & not hanging off their stepdad and tim cherishes those times!!! but he never tells anyone abt their conversations

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

i can see him going to a gym every now and then, but mostly bc his buddy works there. they'd lift weights and goof around so hes not rlly into working out, he knows to stay fit tho

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

it depends on who was in the kitchen. if it was his stepdad he'd just leave the house and go out for dinner because he avoids him as much as he can. if it was angie he'd get her to make him something, but if it was his mom then he'd ask if shes eaten anything and would probably end up making somethin for the both of them

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

hes SUPER organized. like with everything. it drives him insane that curly's such a slob

Eating habits and sample daily menu

for breakfast he usually just has coffee. but he gets fast food a lot (no one knows how he stays in such good shape) but if he doesnt go out to eat he'll just get food from his friends houses

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

he loves to play pool and card games!! he tries to avoid wasting time though, he always feels like theres something he could be doing to give his gang more power & respect

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

again i dont know what this means but every now and then he will indulge in a big ass chocolate milkshake and no one can stop him

Makeup?

just like curly he is all for makeup sex

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

nope none

Intellectual pursuits?

he's actually really smart, and if he wanted to then he could have gone off to college. he's always loved leading his gang tho so that is his main priority

Favorite book genre?

the only thing he ever reads is the newspaper (their stepdad usually steals it after he reads it and they never see it again, so tim always makes sure to take the comic section out and save it for curly)

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

hes straight but he doesnt really care about people sexual orientations. ya like who ya like and it doesnt affect him

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

he has that big ass scar on his face, so there's that. hes also SLIGHTLY allergic to cat fur

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

biggest: buy a new leather jacket that DOESNT have rips in the sleeves smallest: get their house cleaned up bc all the beer bottles and broken glass on the floor is starting to give him a headache

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

biggest: officially lead the toughest gang in tulsa

smallest: get curly and angela through high school

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

basically just t-shirts and jeans. he rolls the sleeves of his shirts up and he keeps a comb in his back left pocket. he might be wearing a leather jacket, but he'll probably just have it slung over his shoulder

Favorite beverage?

coke

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

his gang and how to make it better. it literally consumes his mind. he probably thinks abt curly too & if he'll ever be tough enough to be his second in command. tim really wants him to but deep down he knows that curly just isn't like him

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

tim got REALLY sick when his dad took him fishing when he was young. he puked all into the lake and they ended up not catching any fish the whole weekend (which tims dad jokingly blamed on him) it was embarrassing at the time but eventually they were able to laugh it off

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

turn ons: hickeys, confidence, tight jeans

turn offs: he hates clingy and it will definitely end up driving him away if a girl tries to lock him down

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

a mean game of tic tac toe that probably incorporated gambling

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

very organized!! its how hes so successful in leading his gang. he knows how to keep things in order and he plans things out

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

he was very dedicated to graduating high school (mostly out of spite that no one thought he would do it) but he never really cared about his classes. he did what he had to do and then got out of there

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

still a gang leader, hopefully more respected. (can we talk abt how tim sees himself as still living and curly has just kinda accepted that he probably wont be.,,...no.,,,,.....ok)

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

once again his life revolves around his gang. he doesnt see it not working out, so he doesnt plan for anything else

What is their biggest regret?

he has two ok: one is not going on that last fishing trip with his dad. he'd gives almost anything to spend that one weekend with him again. the other is not being hard enough on curly and not toughening him up as much as he could have. he knows his brother is tough, but hes also got a soft side and tim hates it bc he knows it'll ruin his brother

Who do they see as their best friend?

his second in command, danny!!! theyve been friends since elementary school and hes the one guy tim can always fall back on

Their worst enemy?

the leader of the river kings most likely. they're his gangs biggest threat

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

he'd definitely be the one to fix the problem, even tho he most likely didnt cause it. he'd be calm about it though and just kinda move on

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

if it were angela, curly, or his mom dying he'd lose it in anger. i dont see him as sulking or mourning over their death, he'd just get super angry and destructive

Most prized possession?

his dads old fishing hat !! he keeps it tucked away in his closet, but he never wears it

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

he doesnt care about them since he never really had them growing up

Concept of home and family?

tim is very family oriented and would do almost anything to protect them (except his stepdad, but tim doesnt consider him family. and half the time hes protecting his siblings and mom from their stepdad anyway)

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

VERY private. he doesnt share anything too personal bc he doesnt wanna give someone the power of having something to hold against him

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

he loves movies and could watch them all day, but he'd end up feeling too unproductive

What makes them feel guilty?

nothing he literally has 0 feelings

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

analytical by far !!! he likes to think of the long term effects on a decision

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

type a

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

relaxing with his friends. while he loves leading a gang he still likes to just chill w the guys like they did in high school. it reminds him of better times

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

superiority complex for sure. in his eyes he is The Best

How misanthropic are they?

its not that he doesnt like humankind, its just the rich people. they look down on him so he does the same. he could get along easily with other greasers as long as theyre not in a gang and threatening his streets

Hobbies?

cards, pool, drinking

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

he graduated high school! he values self education more though bc he's taught himself everything he needs to know to be successful

Religion?

atheist i guess. i dont think he believes in god but he also just doesnt think about it

Superstitions or views on the occult?

not superstitious at all

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

deeds. words are pointless to him bc he knows most people will think he's just bluffing

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

he would never.,,,...but i guess if he did it'd be with someone who could calm him down. in his eyes the whole world revolves around the gang, so they'd have to make him see that theres more to life than that. i can see him falling for someone innocent and kind and non judgemental. opposites attract u know

How do they express love?

very weird and awkward ways.....like he doesnt really know what hes doing (because he doesnt) he'd give mumbled compliments and hold your hand only if you're in private and try to take you somewhere nice but hes dressed too poorly and so people look at him and he gets annoyed and yall end up leaving but hey its the thought that counts right

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

he fights very smoothly. he moves quickly and thats always his advantage

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

nope. he thinks he's invincible

[lazy-day-blues]

1, 2, 5, 17, 23, 31, 41, 44, 47 for Elle? :D

HOO BOY

1: What does their bedroom look like?overall - any place where elle is crashing for an extended period of times ends up with sentimental stuff strewn everywhere. elle collects mementos almost obsessively, like she’s trying to make up for the lifetime she doesn’t remember. she’s also not very organized. that’s not to say she’s messy, but she isn’t very good at keeping things orderly. 

fallout: new vegas - elle’s Home is the lucky 38 presidential suite, and it’s where she brings all of her friends/found family to stay with her if they want to. as a result, the suite is kind of… chaotic. that’s a LOT of roommates. and because elle is elle, the master bed (her bed) is always open for whoever wants to crash there as long as they understand they’re going to be dealing with elle cuddles. people sleep wherever. and, of course, elle has mementos everywhere.

fallout 4 - pre-war - nate was actively messy, compared to elle just kind of being disorganized. the only reason why their house was in any way clean and orderly is because of codsworth, LOL. there was a lot of “hey codsworth, where’s the [blank]?” there were also a lot of photographs everywhere, because elle went kind of nuts with trying to record every little thing she saw.

post-war - as of right now, elle hasn’t settled down anywhere yet. she keeps tossing up temporary crash pads, scarcely decorated, and then moving on. she really likes taffington boathouse, and that’s her favorite crash pad right now, but i’m having problems getting navmeshing to work well with snappy houses she’s on the move so often that she still can’t really claim that as hers.

2: Do they have any daily rituals?journaling - elle Obsessively, and i do mean Obsessively, keeps a journal. in fact, she keeps two journals. every night before she sleeps, she makes bullet points in her pip-boy of what happened, jotting down quotes (which she has a good memory for) and thoughts and events. every morning after she’s woken up, she writes everything out in detail in an old ass book. these things must Absolutely Happen, and if she misses out on one or both of those sessions, she kind of freaks out until she can find the time to make up for it

also, she absolutely MUST have her teddy bear micah to sleep with (see below)

5: Cleanliness habits (personal: workspace: etc.)we’ve talked about elle’s organization above and below, but cleanliness is something different

personal - um. hm. expect a lot of dirt/sand on elle and in her clothes at any given time. when she goes to diamond city and stays for any amount of time, she makes sure to clean up, but otherwise... “walk-the-wasteland-fuck” is her favorite kind of fashion. she tries to stay hygienic for health reasons?? but being like, scrubbed clean is not a high priority of hers... she does try to keep her armor and mementos up, though, so there’s that?

workspace - again, dirt and mess don’t really bother elle at all as long as it’s not threatening her health or the health of those around her... if she’s setting up somewhere to cook, or fix up her armor or weapons, then she just puts stuff down where she thinks of at the time so things get cluttered fast. if she thinks someone is gonna use the space she was in when she’s done, she’ll clean up the grease/whatever a bit, otherwise ............. she’ll leave it for the ambiguous Later

17: Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dressfashion style - elle LOVES pre-war fashion!! she loves! long dresses! she loves floral print! she... doesn’t love high heels, she much prefers boots, even if they don’t match the rest of her outfit. but she really likes the pretty, delicate-looking things. she loves lace, and in fnv, i use a mod to give her a lacey fingerless glove. but she isn’t comfortable in slinky/sexy fashion... she just feels too self-conscious and feels like her clothes are prettier than she is

armor style - elle favors maneuverability so she likes light armor. she also REALLY likes the whole Ranger look. she likes leather, she likes gas masks, she likes combat armor, she likes long coats. most of the time, though, she’ll pass up a helmet in favor of a wide-brimmed pre-war hat/worn fedora (but she does also like the militia hat because it feels Western and that’s an #aesthetic she deeply appreciates)

rituals - you can tell when elle means fucking Business when she puts on her ranger helmet

23: How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?as mentioned above, elle isn’t generally very organized. she just doesn’t think about it when she tosses something in a box. the most organized she ever gets is in her lists for her pip-boy. she may know that she has six 10mm pistols, but fuck if she’s entirely certain where she put them

the other thing she’s organized with is emergency supplies in her pack. she keeps stimpaks in an easily accessible pocket, for example, and extra ammo in another. her organization happens on a kind of As Needed kind of basis… as a result, she can always find the shit she needs to find when she desperately needs it. but if she’s trying to pack before a big trip or something? “hey guys, have you seen my sniper rifle?”

31: Most prized possession?oh god. uh. i feel like this is going to be a toss up between:a light shining in darkness - a gift from joshua, the first person who elle fell in love with and someone who means a lot to hermicah - the teddy bear she had with her when she was dug out of the ground, which used to belong to her father (though she didn’t know that for the longest time), and the courier duster - from ulysses, who also means so much to her, and he made it for her when he still hated her, and there’s so much MEANING and. it just means a lot to her

in fallout 4, maccready’s little toy soldier and the coat and hat ellie and nick gave her also hold special meaning for her, but so far, there isn’t anything that has the same weight as the stuff from fnv. nate’s dog tags come close, though

41: Hobbies?sewing Ugly stuffed animals - she’s not very good at making her own patterns or following existing ones, so while she can stitch together patches for clothes or whatever… when she tries to make stuffed animals… y i k e speople watching - she’s fascinated by People, and she likes Stories About People, so… yeah, people watching is a thing for herreading - everything. she just likes Learning things, and she can learn fairly fast given the opportunity (though she doesnt always retain stuff like Science)listening to the radio - you can tell when she’s relaxed or in a good mood because the radio is always onexploring - she’s restless and has this big Thing about wanting to touch new things and make new memoriesphotography/scrapbooking - see above, but also add in “trying to record her memories so if she ever gets amnesia again…”

44: Superstitions or views on the occult?new superstitions/occult things, elle automatically takes the outlook of “idk could be legit.” there have just been too many weird ass things that she’s been through for her to be like, “NAW THAT CAN’T BE REAL.” she always takes the approach of “whatever someone says is happening is probably actually happening.” she knows she has NO room to judge because “take drugs, kill a bear” happened to her. think tanks happened to her. ghouls flying to the moon happened to her. time travel and cryo freezing happened to her. she doesnt know what is and isnt in the realm of possibility any more

47: How do they express love?EVERY WAY. … not joking. uh. elle is just so very touchy feely, and she would 100% be down with platonic smooches if she thought they’d be welcome/if she wasn’t so damn shy and afraid of being misconstrued. she loves cuddles. she loves giving gifts. she loves taking care of people. she is completely unafraid of straight up telling you. it is BLATANTLY OBVIOUS when elle cares about you in a personal way because by god she goes out of her way to make sure you know

tbh she can be kind of stifling in that way, if someone likes space. and while if elle knows that she’s willing to GIVE you that space, she still. wants to make it very clear how much she cares. and while she also tries to be careful to not just, dump that shit on someone she’s still getting to know, she can still go from acquaintances to DUMPING AFFECTION ON YOU in no time flat if she’s not careful. (so it’s probably a good thing elle is very nervous about doing something to make people not want to be around her)

[bsides-of-roygbiv]

the conductor man and his strings:

i think that the levels of my consciousness are being connected with silver strings controlled by a medium sized man in a white room. he’s got on a train conductor outfit and his feet seem a little too small for his body. when he was a baby, his parents promised to make him a priest, but it’s kinda like sitting in grey pools waiting for yellow, waiting for greens and blues but we’re here and we’re only feeling light drizzles and the continuance has yet to continue (thank you, very much). they told of his undecided start sides and his inability to grandly evade hilltops and mountain sides, falling all over the place and yelling all the while his mouth yelling straight to heaven. so in the white room he sits, a string tied to each finger, the conductor has stepped into the conductors room and is ready to conduct today (please, sit down). so the following ballet (routine) occurs and you must pay very close attention with your eyes fixed and your lips sealed tight and understand that the seriousness of these moving (movement) parts hold gravity in your palms and bend your knees (remember to lift from your core). understand (the under of standing). begin:

left pinky 3 inches towards the sky. inhale sharply and feel the ability ten thousand feet in the air, soaring you through the streets and carrying you deep into the ocean. I think that i was born here, i think i was small here, i think i was, i think i was, i think i. the illumination of your cells will cause stretching in places previously unstretchable. the carefully coordinated sublimation leaves you asleep in the sunset and awake just in time for the weird dead-day, dead-light, dead—sun lightening kind of thing that occurs.

right middle finger towards the underworld and this kind of light is so filling, i’m so full, i am. bathing and drenching, pouring through the window, by the way it’s the window, just as i, with my inability to hum, reach the peaks of my self sustained valleys (ohhhhhh). it’s incredible to watch the past destructions from the front row; didn’t you know my dad paid lots of money for this spot? the repetition of habitual evils now lands me here, and so hear i sit, unable to construct the necessary construction (wednesday, 6:45).

right thumb 3 inches to the left, three times, tris tris tris, the ending lies in the threes and my i’s aren’t lining up so good, all out of place, all filled with clutter, all filled (how did i get here?), i’m filled, i’m full. don’t ever step on the crack of the side walk because you’ll find your bike chain in twenty pieces all spread out over the sidewalk 15 feet in front of you (that’s right).

left index finger taps middle finger four times (sideways movement). the silence is boring holes in me and i have no room left for air expanding in dualities (two directions) and i’m feeling more and more useless as the days continue hurtling me towards the inevitable/i forgot how to breathe so long in this darkness.

right ring finger touches right thumb firmly but light enough to know the difference. i thought that i was light enough for it, i’m engulfed in your skin and i can’t tell whose limbs are whose. this unfortunate silence has got me imagining the insides of your thighs and your sighs, all the while what is swirling above me has got the shallow breaths and is covered in pink and white and i couldn’t tell the difference if i/you tried but all i know is it burns, it burns, it burns and i’ve gotta fucking go (you’ve gotta fuck me).

left middle finger finger up to the sky eight times, my superstitions are three double backs times a few unsuccessful back flips equalling some begging in a bungalow, the wrong kind though, fat tears all running down my face. so my face feels really strange having been touched by all ten fingers (digits) leaving behind dna (the traces of) wiped across my own galaxies, we fell there and we’ll never get up.

right pinky finger circles once counter clockwise but the hands are ticking so slowly and it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve got, all webbed up in the new day/ it’s sunday, it’s the special day, the sun is out today and it makes the plants breathe, did you know. 24 steps across tile (straight, left, sharp right) advancements have been reached today and the sun told me so, i swear, we talked in the night and nobody else can ever know.

left ring finger taps palm twice I sold some things and so continues the contemplation of continuation, dancing through my skull sitting in traffic maybe i’m longing for the trees and all the emptiness and all the nothingness forcing the filling of my vacuum with 800 rotations a minute (ow, my legs can’t handle any more), please don’t bend my legs back like that cuz i keep seeing our scene from the hidden camera in the corner and i’m seeing it again in mexican restaurants and i’m whispering this/our tragedy into different ears, but still the secrets all ours all locked up tight, more inside of me than inside of you—your ability for pouring (the pouring out, of you) has me jealous and wondrous at the same time and so now I’ll miss the marveling at your excellence, I forgot how to play hopscotch and how to double dutch but i’d bet a hundred bucks you’d relearn me and reteach me re-forgive me but there’s too much too forgive, there’s too much god here + i can’t do this anymore

left thumb curls (hurls) downwards, i’ve dried up on the beach showing in my hands on my feet but keeping moisture on the rest, zigzag lines on blacktop and perceptions of alterations with 5”3 men i’m so ashamed i barely even know my own name spinning into different dimensions, the realities i’m finding past three are skating me to just after 5 illuminated and destroyed by yellow skies, but did you ever notice that it gets light right before the sun goes down. these moments are defined by strict and few coincidences mesmerizing evening time and the left corners of my mind/brain/consciousness//i thought there was one more avocado left, but i thought and maybe i didn’t my brain matter keeps trailing behind me.

right index finger points straight out ahead but i feel sick, gripping like a vice, the vice gripped me, i tried to grip but reality wasn’t in the spaces between chalk and skin so no grip was to occur on tuesday 7ish at night and the sky’s pink but i can’t find any water proof watches. so time is moving in seven thousand directions but all hurling me towards my gripping, all the while tripping over all the traffic cones, i forgot what it was like to feel four years passed and uncontrollable watering is occurring but the gardens are still dead, they’re still dead but the blooming is occurring straight out of my hips pouring the sunshine downwards towards the sideways white but only on the upside, right in time for a little down play. it’s 4pm and i’ve got some downtime to shrivel in the backyard with all of my imaginary misgivings, she said my brain is beautiful but i can’t cry any more and the uselessness of my queries won’t end stopping up all of my pores, the fibers and threads refuse to align in straight checkerboards always missing one or the other

the conductor man has finished his conducting and you may return with your two feet planted firmly in the earth and your 33 vertebrae stacked lugubriously on top of on another (there, they will return. the admittance of this weight (this seriousness) is going to leave you with your arms stretched tight behind you and you eyes astounding wide open wide stretched straight to the lord himself. the conductor man has finished his conducting and you can go home, now. (please).