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hansolmates · 5 years

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vernon; blossomed (m)

feat. tattoo artist!vern x flower shop fem!reader based on nonnie’s big brain

genre/warnings: flangst, lang, wild generalizations of how tattooing works, gratuitous love for side characters, mild drinking, phineas and ferb references, mild foreplay

word count: 12k

Vernon called you his Rose.

Not exactly his Rose, because you were definitely not anyone’s property and he wanted to give you nothing but your full autonomy, but it’s because he’s never had the chance to ask for your real name.

But when he first spotted you in the little lavender and honey colored flower shop across the street, you were tending to the rose bushes at the front entrance. You were cutting roses and you didn’t look utterly graceful, in fact you stabbed yourself more than once with the thorns. He couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed when your co-worker had to hand you a new bandage every minute.

He decided then that he liked you, even if it’s not wholly sexual or romantic, he liked you.

Or maybe he just liked the idea of you, the way you’d lounge around in the canopy swing with your boots tucked under the seat, fluffy yellow socks wiggling out in the sun. Sometimes you’d read a book, sometimes for well over an hour. He liked how you soaked up the heat and created your own little world, happily unproductive.

It was only a seven meter walk from the flower shop to the tattoo parlor, but the view from his front window required zero walking distance and a sure-fire lack of ever bumping into you.

“Vernie’s got a crush on the Flower Girl,” Yoongi sing-songed, chugging along a box full of random-ass materials that Vernon was supposed to clean in the morning.

Vernon scowled, and swatted away the older one’s hand when it dived in front of his face.

Yoongi whistled like he was an old-time animation, singing the day away. “Vernie’s stalking his crush.”

“I’m not stalking,” Vernon snapped, swiveling around in his rolling chair. “that involves shit like literally following her around, photography, I dunno, being a weirdo?”

“You definitely qualify for one of those.” Yoongi replied tartly, and he fought the urge to grin when Vernon finally turned back to the window, only to narrowly miss your form. The swing was now unoccupied, the only thing remnant were your working boots lined up against the entrance. “It’s been what, two weeks? Just ask her out already.”

“You think I would’ve done that by now if there wasn’t a reason why?“

Soooo you were dating someone. Some super tall, super handsome guy would stroll up to the flower shop every morning, coffee in hand. Before you’d take your proffered coffee, he’d pucker his lips for a good-morning kiss in repayment. Vernon looked back to Yoongi, who was staring right back at him and confirming his suspicions that yes he was being a fucking weirdo for paying attention to things like that.

Yoongi pressed his lips together, puffing his cheeks out in slight irritation. “So you’re stalking a taken girl,” he whistled lowly, “should I regret hiring you?”

“Not funny.”

“As repayment for effectively creeping me out,” The older one slipped his hand into his electric yellow windbreaker to twirl Vernon a ring of keys. “You’re closin’ up for tonight.”

The brunette’s jaw dropped to his lap, and he got up from his spot by the window. “What? What happened to Minghao?”

“Sick,” Yoongi shrugged.

Closing up meant that Vernon had to stay until 12AM, at the very least. The area was off a college town and that meant a lot of young lucrative artists would stop by pretty late, hence the closing time. Usually Yoongi and Minghao were the night owls, but tonight Minghao was supposed to fly solo because Yoongi landed a last-minute recording gig. “C’mon, can I at least close early?” Vernon whined, “it’s summer. No one’s here.”

“What, ya gotta date or something?” Yoongi smirked, swinging the entrance open. Halfway out the door, he added loftily, “don’t forget to water Patricia. It’s been two weeks.”

The door slammed and Vernon was left alone. He spared a glance at the window, only to see that your boots were now gone from the patio and only one light was on in the shop. Vernon turned to his company for the night, their jade succulent, aptly named Patricia Planty.

With Patricia Planty watered and a stomach full of Wendy’s nuggets in his body, Vernon busied himself up for a grueling five hours. Thankfully he brought in his laptop, as if he were expecting Yoongi to pull a fast one on him tonight. He drew some random things on his tablet: rockets, stars, the occasional squirrel, and roses. When he was tired of drawing, he’d blast the speakers off the joint and mess around with some of his music programming. When he was tired of doing both, he’d vegetate on the couch and read Reddit articles.

It was past eleven when the first customer of the night stumbled in. Vernon fought the urge to groan, putting down the pen of his tablet on a particularly intricate constellation.

“We’re closed!” He yelled through the office door. A white lie, but who would know?

“Google said you were open until 12!” A voice yelled back, sounding slightly strained.

Crap. Vernon lowered the volume and pushed away the swivel chair, swinging the office door open. With a rough clear of his throat and hoping not to look like too much of a jerk, he faced his customer, “Welcome to Nu ABO—”

It was you. Cheeks ruddied, and your eyes glassed with a fresh glaze of tears. Your lower lip worried into a wobbly frown. Vernon’s Reebok’s glued to the concrete of the parlor, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The smell of mulch and a mixture of flowers penetrated his nostrils, but it did nothing to distract the utter hurt etched on your face.

“Um, hey,” his voice was gentle, yet unsure. “What are you doing here?”

You just looked at him, incredulous. Vernon could have sworn he saw your left eyebrow twitch. Of course, you’ve never met him in your entire life, yet Vernon felt like he knew you since the beginning of your summer work. “Gettin’ a tattoo.” You replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, rubbing away a stray tear.

He didn’t want to say it, but Vernon sighed and reasoned, “But it’s just that, ya kinda look—”

You brushed past him, going straight into the artist room and plopping on the worn leather chair meant for customers. It was still high up because Vernon was cleaning the underside of the metal, so you had to do a little hop to get on. “I don’t care what kind of design. I looked up your Yelp online and everything looked pretty good.” And you then proceeded to unbutton the top of your blouse.

“Holy shit,” he bounded over to you, grappling his fingers between your shirt before you could undo the rest of it. His breath was probably hot and heavy, compared to yours which was fresh from the cool summer air. Your faces were so close, closer than he ever fathomed. He didn’t think you two would meet this early in the year, as he was emotionally preparing to visit your flower shop at the end of the month, making up some spiel on how he needed to purchase real roses to replicate a commission. Not now. Now was a spontaneous episode, where he was trying to refasten your shirt and ignore the petal pink lace of your bra baiting his eyes.

When he sensed that you would in fact, stop taking your shirt off, he backed up. “It’s just that, after eleven we don’t really apply tattoos. We just take consultations.” He tried to sound defeated, rubbing the back of his neck. Again, another lie. But Vernon wasn’t about to ink you on the spot, especially when you looked like this.

“Is it because I’m upset?” You cried, “because I assure you, I’m in the right mind!”

He winced, lolling his head back and forth. “That’s debatable.”

You frowned, “C’mon, I have money. Just do me this one solid.”

“What? No, you don’t even know what you want!” Vernon was exasperated. Not that he imagined the first time meeting you would be a walk in the park, but at the same time he wasn’t expecting to argue with you.

"Don’t you want to be part of my spontaneous young life? Give me a tattoo that I’ll think about with my children 30 years from now?” He would laugh if you didn’t look like you were crying a river ten minutes ago. “As long as it’s not a tramp stamp, because I don’t think I can pull that off—"

"Did you break up with your boyfriend or something?” Vernon blurted out before he could regret it.

Your face morphed into something Vernon couldn’t understand. Pain, for sure. But a sort of relief knowing that you didn’t have to hide it. “Damn,” you give him a tired smile, “does the whole town know or something?"

You cried again. This time, Vernon reacted quicker. Pulling out a Wendy’s napkin from his flannel pocket, he proffered it to you. He was thankful you didn’t question whether it was clean or not (it was!) and you proceeded to cover your snot and tears all over it.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You sniffled and blew a particularly large chunk of snot before you shook your head.

"Do you… want fries?” He gestured to the small table in the room, which had some leftover fries from his combo. “I can heat ‘em up in the microwave."

Due to the fact that you ran out of tissue room, you rubbed your face with the entirety of your sleeve. You peeked out mid-rub, and replied with a soft, "hell yeah I do."

His heart twitched. Even betwixt your teary expression, you were so freakin’ cute. He shuffled back to the office, nuking the leftovers in the microwave until they were piping hot. Vernon waited a bit for them to get cool, and fiddled with the music so a soft R&B playlist bounced off the walls. He couldn’t believe you were here. Scratch that, he could, because you were bound to run into him one day due to pure proximity.

But he didn’t imagine you’d be plopped in his artist room at 11:32, bleary eyed and shoving potatoes in your mouth.

Vernon busied himself with his phone, and typed a hasty you wouldn’t believe what just happened… to the employee group chat.

[June 11, 11:33PM]

Bo$$ man: dont tell me u put aluminum in the microwave AGAIN

Hao hao: the chinese mafia came for me, didnt they? good thing I called out

Jeonghan is a prick: use your resources! sharp items are everywhere :) emergency money is under Patricia’s table

Bernie: tf is wrong w all of you

Bernie: SHES HEREEEEEE

"M'sorry,” you mumbled with a mouthful of fries, breaking Vernon from his mid-text crisis. He felt his phone buzzing like hell as he shoved it in his pocket, but ignored it for the sake of you. Your previous high of emotions has long worn off, and now you were looking a little embarrassed as you fixed your gaze on the empty container of fries. Your face is blotchy and red, and you’re especially puffy due to the salt you just consumed. “I should go home."

He didn’t want to be intrusive, but the look on your face showed it was clear that you didn’t want to go home just yet. Drumming his fingers against the metal table, he casually suggested, "Why don’t I do your back?"

You looked at him like he was crazy. "You still wanna tattoo me? After I cried like an idiot and ate your fries?"

"You’re not an idiot for being upset. And I offered you my fries.” He pulled out an ink canister, and a thin needle. “This is temporary ink we use to practice, or for customers who wanna test out the look. Lasts one to two weeks. And y'know, it’s a nice distraction."

You looked skeptical, unsure of his kindness. "Why my back?"

He shrugged, "It’s the biggest canvas. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to look at it."

Still, you’re not convinced. There was something strange about him, something almost too sweet. While your schema may be marred by television and movies, the man in front of you didn’t seem like he quite fit into this little shack. He’s full of color, in his eyes and in his stature, his words clean and pure as he tries to soothe your aching heart. And as much as you tried not to check him out, you spotted no tattoos on any viewable part of his body.

"And it’s kind of cathartic, really.” He watched your lips quirk up in a smile at the word usage. Not only sweet, but probably smart. Your first smile all night. Cheeks effortlessly heated, he continued, “you kinda just let go into the feeling. And it’s always fun to not know what’s been drawn until the very end."

You’re curious. There’s excitement in your vision as he gestured to the available cot, inviting you. "Alright. Ink me up."

Vernon grinned, and started preparing the workspace. Handing you a medical gown, he quickly shuffled away to prepare the ink and needles. He didn’t really work with the clients as deeply as this, he was really just a glorified secretary that took care of the consultation. While he washed his hands, he heard the faint rustle of fabric, definitely your shirt and bra. He turned up the temperature of the water, acutely aware of how hot his hands were getting.

"Um,” your voice is muffled from being pressed up against the cot, your face presumably propped with pillows. “So are you Yoongi?"

"Nah, I’m Vernon.” He wheeled over a cart full of supplies, the metal clanging against the concrete. “’M usually the guy who wipes the sweat off his brow."

You hummed your own name in response, resting your cheek in the plushness of the cotton pillow. There’s a number of sounds paired with the R&B in the background. The smack of Vernon putting on gloves, the click of the needles and the slickness of the balm Vernon has applied on your back. His touch was warm, as his palm crescents across your back to soothe the balm into your skin. He then wiped it down with a paper towel until your skin was smooth and dry.

"Any ideas yet?” He asked, and from the corner of your eye you see him switch out a needle for a new ink pen.

“Maybe, stars?” Your voice is muffled against the cushions, as you’re hugging them close to your body. “And maybe something inspired by Spiderman? I liked that new one with Miles, he’s a cool one."

You could hear the smile in his voice, "I liked that one, too."

You stuff your own smile in your pillow, how embarrassing could it be that this stranger can make you feel better so fast? Mingyu would be groveling if he saw you now, topless, letting a man ink you up in however way he wished. "Will it hurt?"

He chuckled at that, "Nah. The ink will sit on top and sink in, I barely have to apply any pressure. Just relax."

Under the discretion of Vernon, who offered you fries and liked Spiderman, you relaxed. The first stroke of the needle and you were a goner. You closed your eyes and let him do his thing, You couldn’t tell what exactly was going on through his mind as he was painting your back, but you could tell his art was rather cacophonous: stiff pokes here and there, smooth strokes, and wide breaths of ink staining your back. The ink melted into your skin, bonding to your cells under Vernon’s careful control.

It was almost 1AM when he finished. He tapped your back, urging you up. Tired, and slightly dazed, you sat up. You realized a little too late that you’re only wearing a thin hospital gown, the straps having fallen midway through the process. The air was cool against your skin.

Vernon totally would’ve gotten a complete view of your sideboob if he wasn’t blushing like a maniac and looking away, and you respected that. His arm is punched out, fisting your button down. You hastily snatched it away, and turned around in order to look decent.

“The ink won’t show up fully for another six hours, so until then let me know how you like it.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled gratefully as you do the last button of your blouse, and pulled out your phone. “Do you accept Venmo or Cashapp?”

“Oh, yeah.” He accepted the proffered device, and put in the necessary charges.

Once he gave back your phone, you added a sizable tip to the price he typed up. “The time really flew by,” you noted the time on the corner of your phone, 1:07. “It was really, an experience like you said.”

He shrugged, and threw you an easy smile. “I try.”

"Can I get a real tattoo from you someday? Y'know, when I’m ready?"

"Ah, no. I’m not really under the apprenticeship.” He looked bashful when he said it, as if he were caught doing something wrong. “I just work here for the part time money. I do art on the side, though.”

You had the urge to ask what he doesn’t do on the side, but it was late and you were probably holding up the poor guy for your trivial questions. “Regardless, I’m still thankful it was you that did this for me.”

In three strides, he opened the small door for you. “My pleasure. Have a good night. Or, morning. Or if you’re one of those people who don’t consider it morning unless it’s light out, then good night?”

“Good night,” you giggled, “get home safely.”

“You too.”

The screen door slammed shut behind you, along with the main door. Your car is parked in the grass patching of the flower shop. You jogged over, and the summer air made you shiver, your back still raw and warm under Vernon’s touch.

You couldn’t wait until the flower shop closed.

If Wonwoo noticed that you moved the porch swing relative to the placement of Nu ABO, he hasn’t brought it up. You weren’t spying on Vernon, no. But your skin was starting to itch with curiosity and in your haste to leave last night, you didn’t even ask what he designed on your back.

“Are you stalking the tattoo guy?”

Despite the voice being petal soft, you flinched. Assistant Manager Joshua Hong with a bouquet of boat lilies, was accusing you of stalking. His Converse tapped rhythmically against the wood paneling, looking down at you like a guilty child.

“What?” you floundered, waving around the florist magazine in your hands. “Josh, I’m studying! And the sun was in my face so I moved the swing.”

“You’re studying,” Joshua flickered his eyes to the run down shack across the road. “The tattoo guy?”

“I already said I wasn’t!”

“Then you’re telling me you spent all last night doing that,” he reached over to tug at your starched work collar, “all by yourself?”

Your hand flew to your neck, as if you were trying to hide Vernon’s hard work. “I just wanna see what he did, all right? And I’m trying to be very patient until closing because if Wonwoo sees me going there,” you jerked a head none-too-gracefully at the direction of the parlor, “he’s gonna tell you-know-who.”

Joshua frowned, because he already knew. After all, he stayed in the back room with you all last night, wiping away your tears. “Well, whoever did it is truly an artist,” he said genuinely, “it’s beautiful.”

Joshua finally left you alone, and you suddenly felt emptier than before. Sure, the breakup with Mingyu was conventionally bad, but why were you so conflicted with your feelings? You didn’t want Mingyu to know you were hanging out with other guys, but you wanted to let go of him. Maybe you were trying too hard too fast.

But Vernon made everything so, so easy.

No, you are not letting him be a rebound. The inner conflict in your head was giving you a massive headache, you couldn’t tell if the vibes you were feeling last night were because of the recent breakup or just an authentic spark.

The storm door shuttered boldly, and you jumped. Wonwoo stepped out, and gave you a weird look. “You alright?”

“Me? Yeah, fine.” You gripped the collar of your shirt and pretended to fasten the buttons.

He was unconvinced, either that or the pinched look he was sporting was an indicator of a bad day. “Listen, I know things are gonna be weird because my best friend is your, y’know,” he trailed off, painfully trudging through this conversation as easily as trudging through quicksand. “He’s gonna stop by a couple more times during the week, doing me a few errands. So if you wanna take the week off, recalibrate before the the month ends, just let me know. ”

“Won, please,” you wanted this to end, “we don’t have to talk about this, alright?”

He awkwardly twirled around his car keys. “Alright.” As simple as that, he threw himself in his sedan and drove off, dirt brushing the pavement.

You glared at the dust cloud until his car was far from your sights, the mustard color blinding your vision. “Honestly,” you said to yourself, finally hopping off your swing into the direction of the shack, “he thinks I’m five and never experienced heartbreak.”

“Welcome to Nu ABO!” this voice was different, and you slowed your steps. It doesn’t quite have the husk that Vernon’s voice held, but definitely matched the energy. The boy stepped out, and his eyes sparkled in recognition. “Flower Girll,” he said to himself, and you suddenly felt like you got caught, “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

"We haven’t,” you replied warily at the pet name, “where’s Vernon?"

"Oh, he’s around.” The guy waved noncommittally to the air in the room, crouching his head to look down at you. He stuffed his hands in his black overalls, which covered a painfully bright rainbow tye-dye tee. “Curious to see Vern’s ink though. He’s only ever done small stuff.”

“I thought he wasn’t an apprentice.”

He flicked his wrist around to show you a beautiful line of Chinese calligraphy. "Keep the secret between us, ‘kay?” He winked.

“Minghao, leave her alone.” Vernon stepped out of the small bathroom hidden in the artist room, a white towel behind his neck. You took in his disheveled appearance. His face was red from washing his face, and he wore the same clothes from yesterday. “Hey.” He said.

“Hi,” you replied, “did you sleep here last night?"

"Uh, yeah.” Vernon rubbed at his neck again, and stuffed the towel in his backpack. “I usually do the morning and afternoon shifts, I covered for this guy last night,” he jabbed his fist in Minghao’s shoulder, “but still had to do my day shift.”

“So,” Minghao rocked back and forth in his boots, “why are you here?”

You suddenly felt self-conscious, and gripped your phone between your two palms. A little part of you was disappointed that Vernon was not alone, but another part of you was relieved. It helped slow down the pace of your feelings (feelings?) that was heading in a direction you were not anticipating. “I wanted to say thank you again for last night.” You coughed, and Minghao grinned wider at your explanation. “And I was wondering if you could take a picture of my back? I haven’t had a chance to look at it.”

He beamed, and you could tell he was happy that you wanted to document his work. “Oh, of course! I completely forgot last night.”

Vernon moved to grab your phone, but Minghao swiped a hand in front of him. “Can I take your photo?” He asked you, although the look in his eyes said that you didn’t have much of a choice.

Your cheeks burned at the sudden intrusion. “Huh?”

“I mean, have you seen this guy’s Insta?” Minghao scoffed, albeit playfully as Vernon mirrored your flush.

“What are you talking about?” Vernon exclaimed, thoroughly insulted, “my profile is tastefully abstract.”

“It looks like it was tastefully done by a three year old.” Minghao pulled out his iPhone, and adjusted the filters. “I’m doing you a favor here, Flower Girl.”

You looked warily at Vernon, who slumped in defeat, “If you’re going for that e-girl vibe, I guess Hao’s a better photographer.”

“Better than your pictures coming out blurry.” Minghao shot back, holding the camera to your face. “There’s no light in here,” Minghao glared at the singular window in their tiny studio, the sill decorated with a single jade succulent. “Got any ideas?"

Vernon shrugged, "You said I have the taste of a three year old, so."

With Wonwoo gone for the day, you realized that you did have an idea of where you could take a tasteful picture. The thrill excited and terrified you. You only wanted a simple picture to see what it looked like, but Minghao looked as equally as excited to see your ink. Maybe it was the fact that the art was fleeting or that Vernon was really that talented, but it encouraged you to offer the setting up.

"I think our greenhouse has plenty of light,” you gestured out the studio’s only window, which was in perfect view of the flower shop. “We should be closing up soon, so it’s free."

Minghao nodded approvingly, "We can try."

And with a hasty "be back @ 4:20!” sign taped on the front door to Nu ABO, the three of them walked across the street to the greenhouse.

You went in first, nearly bumping into Joshua who was bent over, pot in hand.

“Hey Josh,” you grabbed the keys from the front desk, “borrowing the greenhouse."

"Hey Josh,” Minghao and Vernon mimicked, who found it amusing that you just brushed by without an introduction.

You rolled your eyes, hearing them exchange pleasantries and bro fists. The plexiglass doors to the greenhouse unlocked with a turn of your key, the smell of heat and grassy rain hitting your nostrils. Joshua placed the pot somewhere, following suit as the boys were right behind you.

“Awesome,” Minghao exhaled, stepping further into the greenhouse. It was a small one, but comfortable enough for a couple patrons to browse around. “I’m gonna move around some plants if that’s okay, I gotta vision.”

Joshua looked a little frazzled watching Minghao talk to himself and start moving the settings around (“The hydrangeas don’t go there, are you crazy?”) and started helping Minghao move the pots and placements around. You and Vernon hung around the entrance, giggling to yourselves.

You tried to bump his shoulder, which didn’t even reach his. “So, what’s your Insta handle?”

He quirked his brows at that, “Why, so you can judge my aesthetic too?”

“No,” you replied, faking your shock. “I would never insult your taste!”

With a roll of his eyes he said, “Speaking of taste, since your shift is over and my shift is over,” Vernon rocked back and forth on his feet. “Wanna grab a bite?”

Something’s fluttering in your stomach, and you stomp it down. It’s an innocent invite, yes. Unfortunately it was not-so-innocent in your twisted mind knowing that you are still fresh from a breakup, yet your backed is marked with Vernon’s work. “You must be tired though,” you tried to reason, “you should get some rest, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Not a bother,” he said immediately, “besides, I wanna ask you something.”

That got you curious. Before you had a chance to ask, Minghao was ushering you over, telling you to stand in front of a bundle of orchids. They’ve bloomed a Canary yellow, encasing you in a golden ring of flowers overlooking the terrace. The new friend has gestured for you to undo your shirt and he turned away in respect. It’s different with an audience and an expectation. You made haste to undo the buttons of your blouse, then your bra, throwing it aside. You felt the warm, moist air kiss your back, and you heard a low whistle coming from Minghao.

“Beautiful,” Minghao exhaled, “Vern, you’ve outdone yourself."

Beautiful. Vernon made you beautiful.

Your body was simmering, and you could do nothing as you let Minghao photograph you. You focused your eyes on a puddle dripping from a faucet in front of you, counting the seconds between each droplet.

“And, done.”

You shoved on your clothes, and felt extra awkward as you fumbled to reach for the straps of your bra. You nearly slipped on the puddle as you walked back to the boys, who were busy over Minghao’s shoulder.

“Super awesome,” Minghao handed you the phone brightly, “so much texture and feeling.”

The screen showed a halo of foliage that surrounded your bare back, blush orchids kissing the frame with color. Your work shirt bundled under your hips, and fell under your elbows to reveal a city sky. You were breathless, zooming in to capture every detail of the ink. A navy sky, blanketing buildings across your back in a diagonal, splaying from the bottom right to the top left. On the bottom, skyscrapers reaching for the stars.

If you zoomed in enough, you could tell that the stars were shaped like roses.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said thank you in the past two days,” you started, causing Vernon to grin widely. “But thank you, I’ve never felt so beautiful.”

Vernon scoffed, “I didn’t do anything, I’ve only enhanced your beauty. That’s our shtick.”

You handed Minghao back your phone and thanked him. He then rushed off, saying he had to stay at the parlor since Yoongi was coming soon. Immediately, Joshua began putting back the plants in their rightful places. You and Vernon followed suit, starting with the smaller ones.

“So,” Vernon picked up a tray of succulents, “are we still on for dinner?”

Wide-eyed Joshua crept in-between the foliage, laughably appearing under a series of hanging plants like a madman. “Dinner?” he asked, looking between you two.

“Yeah man,” Vernon reached to pull Joshua away from the plants, “wanna come?”

Simultaneously disappointed and relieved, you let out a subconscious exhale. Joshua was coming, which meant that there would be no possibility for feeling weird (or catching feels), being awkward or fighting any oncoming feelings with Vernon.

"On Thursdays there’s this really good half-off sushi deal by my place. We can take out and eat at my apartment?” Joshua’s kindness was palpable at the offering of his home, and the both of you smiled gratefully.

Not more than two hours later, the three of you are bundled away in Joshua’s two-room, empty boxes of carryout stacked high. The television was playing reruns of Full House, the only source of light in the dim space.

“Are you gonna go home soon?” Vernon asked, and turned his head to the corner of the room. Joshua is cuddled up in the single couch, tucked in a wearable blanket with the armholes.

You shrugged, “I dunno. Usually I crash here for sushi nights,” you patted the couch lovingly, “This is my second bed.”

Vernon chuckled, tucking his feet under his thighs. It made him look impossibly small in comparison to how tall and lanky he actually was.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Vernon looked between his legs, as if he were trying to piece his words together. “Long story short, I got waitlisted at my top graduate school option,” he then pulled up his phone, revealing the picture of your back that was taken that afternoon, “but I was thinking that if I made a portfolio of this kind of art, it would really tip my application over the edge. Originally I was thinking of just sending my usual art, but it just popped in my head today while we were doing it.” He looked up through his eyelashes, wisps of copper looking expectantly at you. “If you’re comfortable with it, would you be my canvas?”

“Live art,” you surmised, “honestly, I’m honored that you would want me to be a part of something so big. You think I’m that good?”

No, you weren’t doubting Vernon’s art one bit. The fact that your back would be out on display for a bunch of strangers was unnerving, to say the least.

“Are you kidding?” Vernon zoomed out of the image, revealing the curve of your back and the generation of life reflected in the greenhouse. “This is wicked. You’re stunning. We’d make a great team!”

You felt your body heat at the statement. His presence was almost too refreshing, and you wanted to return the favor of helping you out last night.

“Lucky for you,” you shot a quick text to Wonwoo, “I’ve planned to take this week off.”

Over the course of the week Vernon wanted to do an artistic timeline of sorts, adding and retouching the already existing ink on your back until the canvas was full. It felt fulfilling, letting yourself become a vessel of success for someone. The following day, Vernon shot you a text revealing his portfolio, and said how excited he was to see you.

You met in the shack after his shift, and Vernon let you into the office and locked the door. You can hear the rap being played in the artist room where Minghao and Yoongi were working with a client.

The artist was muttering to himself as he invited you to sit at the couch. Something about whether he wanted to start from the “top-down” or “bottom-up.” Instead of contributing to his madness, you turned away from him and started shedding your shirt. Today was a plain cotton shirt, and you shucked it off and balled it in your arms.

No less than five seconds was Vernon’s hands on your back, and despite the warmth radiating from his fingertips, you couldn’t help but shiver. Vernon had explained that while he did a large portion of your back the first time, there was still room for growth and he wanted your back filled by the end of the week.

“Do you mind if I,” his hand hovered over your bra.

You shook your head, and with his thumb and forefinger he flicked off both your bra straps with ease. Your hands flooded themselves in the fabric of your t-shirt, which silently accepted your death grip.

“Sorry, do you feel weird?” He definitely sensed your lack of vocality, and put one strap back in case.

“I’m fine,” your voice is light, what else could you say?

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and resumed his work.

You opt to take in the sounds. Minghao laughed about something in the other room, coupled with the zing of the needle. The music pulled to a stop and boomeranged back into a smoother arrangement.

“I think we’ll start from the bottom-up and build from there,” he then placed his hands around your waist, poking at the dive between your waist and your bottom.

There’s an unmistakable heat that pooled within you, which caused you to wring your shirt harder. It was going to be a long week.

By Wednesday, he was in your apartment, working on the sides of your waist. The day after every session, Vernon would take a picture of yesterday’s work and show it to you. A gummy grin would always take over his face, either proud of himself or happy that you loved the new addition.

Despite the fact that the only thing covering your body was a thin gown medical taken from the shop, every pore of your body felt unbelievably hot. You really shouldn’t be mixing alcohol on a Wednesday night, but Vernon was excited that he was halfway done with the project and it was time to be “poppin’ bottles.”

You felt a little drowsy as a result of that, but nothing terrible. Like he said, the feeling was cathartic.

“Aren’t you drunk too?” you murmured into your navy blue whale plush, “what if you accidentally stab me?”

Vernon laughed, and it shook the couch. You couldn’t see his face as he sat on the floor, getting in the crevices of your skin. He poked at your skin a little harder than usual, as if he were testing the possibility. “That’d still take a lot of strength.”

“You’d be surprised,” you sighed, “those little sticks florists use to keep the babies upright? Flat as a thumb and I still manage to impale tomatoes with them.” He doesn’t respond to that, and you’re left drowning in your own answer. You wondered if he truly thought you were a crazy tomato-killer, or was concentrated on detailing a particular patch of skin. “Can I tell you a secret?” you blurted, “honestly, I think flowers are beautiful, but I really hate working at the florist. The only reason I’m doing it is because Joshua really needed the help and he knew I wasn’t going to do shit until my city job starts in September.”

“Huh,” Vernon stopped, resting the heel of his hand on your back. “That’s funny. Explains all the cursing when you’re cutting roses outside.”

“You’ve watched me outside?” you grinned into your cushion, “creepy much?”

“Do you wanna know a secret?” Vernon blurted, evading your question with one of his own, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since you came by in May.”

You tensed, and if Vernon noticed, he didn’t react. He kept on doing his business, marking your back with baby’s breath. It had to be the alcohol talking. If he drank at all, you couldn’t even tell because you couldn’t get up and he was strikingly coherent. All this time, and you didn’t even notice?

“You don’t have to answer,” he said, as if he knew you were strung speechless. “I just, wanted to say it. We’re cool.”

And you agreed, pretending to fall asleep.

Friday was around the corner before you knew it, and Vernon wanted to photograph the final piece where it all started. The greenhouse was devoid of human life at the crack of dawn, unless you counted Joshua who was asleep on the counter because he was the only one with a key that knew of your recent escapades with Vernon.

Vernon was just as tired as you are, but he was adamant about having the photo taken at dawn, as the first picture was taken in the late day. There was some contrived symbolism attached to it that you didn’t really understand, but you trusted his vision. Besides, your panda eyes wouldn’t be revealed in the photo, so you could master the art of sleeping upright while he took photos.

“Alright,” Vernon set up his camera. He was dressed in a university zip up and matching sweatpants, like he just rolled out of bed. “Everything’s set up, whenever you’re ready.”

Likewise with you, and you pulled off your hoodie, not bothering with a bra. Despite the fact that the room was temperature controlled, the cold morning air still managed to worm its way to your bare top. You quickly rubbed down your gooseflesh with your palms.

You two engaged in a comfortable silence as you tested out your poses and he adjusted his frame. After a couple of practice shots, the air seemed calmer.

“Cold?” Vernon asked casually.

“Anything that isn’t under the sheets of my bed is cold as hell,” you muttered, trailing your fingers delicately across your waist.

“That’s a nice pose,” Vernon said to himself, “we’re almost done. Then you can go to bed for the rest of your day. Unless you’re down for breakfast?"

You two still haven’t spoken about his little confession the other day, but in all honesty there was no reason to bring it up. Your lives were going in different directions, and you knew Vernon deserved more than a halfhearted summer fling.

"I think I’m down for bed and breakfast,” you replied wryly.

“Smart girl,” Vernon chuckled, “can you change your pose for me? Like, pretend that you’re stretching.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, so you ended up flexing your arms in different directions.

“No, we’re not doing yoga.” He let his camera swing around his neck as he rushed over to you. The sun was a soft white, the antithesis of golden hour as you two rushed to make the magic happen. He grabbed your arms from behind, twisting the left wris in an unusual angle.

"Ah, Vernon!” You jerked around to face him, now fully awake. “I’m not a Barbie doll, you can’t just move me like that."

Vernon doesn’t respond. He let go of you as soon as you screamed, eyes blown wide and pupils a thick black. His stare is frozen to yours, and his hand is in mid-air, a centimeter away from your bare breasts.

"Oh,” you said, “did I whack you with my boob when I turned?"

"Yeah, you boobed me.” Vernon looked afraid to stare anywhere but your face. “I’m so sorry."

"It’s okay,” you bit the inside of your lip, “I don’t mind if you touch me there."

Now, Vernon looked terrified.

It’s been a long week. A long, surreal week. You wanted to tell Vernon about your conflicted feelings, you wanted to ask about his little crush, and what on earth did he find appealing about you. You wanted to tell him how much you trusted him with your body, and how you wanted him to do more to you than just ink.

It’s then, the gaping boy shook himself together. His hands encircled your neck, haloing at the finishing piece of his work, an echelon moon. Vernon’s fingers trailed to cup your face, and you felt your whole body warm in anticipation. Patient, you waited for his carmine eyes to flutter shut, and you smiled, finally closing yours—

"The fuck is this?"

In an instant, the air was sucked out of you like a blackhole, and Vernon immediately shielded you, throwing his jacket across you like a towel.

"Mingyu,” you said shakily, clutching the cotton coat tighter around your form.

It’s then that a no-longer bleary-eyed Joshua stumbled into the greenhouse, seconds too late.

Mingyu threw down the sack of fertilizer he hauled on his back, black dirt smattering the floor. “Its been barely a week and you’re fucking someone in the greenhouse, of all places?” Mingyu was angry, plain and simple. “I thought we agreed on a break."

"You agreed on a break,” your thighs were numb from leaning on them, but Vernon’s hand on your back encouraged you to get on your feet. “I agreed that two years was too long to wait."

"And who are you?” Mingyu squinted his eyes at Vernon.

“He’s none of your business,” you stepped in front of him, tugging his hoodie closer around your frame.

Mingyu’s face fell in realization, and he looked between you two with forlornness that made your stomach churn. “C’mon baby,” your nails embedded themselves in your palm at the jab, “can we go outside and talk about this?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice was paper thin, but loud enough for Mingyu to hear across the room, “I’d prefer you leave us alone, and do not talk to me ever again.”

It took all your composure to turn around, and you glared a hole into Vernon’s chest. You felt your body bleed goosebumps around your arms and legs, not out of weather, but out of anxiety. You hugged yourself to shut the prickly feeling down. You heard Joshua do the only helpful thing this morning and it’s his soft utterances that finally pulled Mingyu out of the greenhouse. ,

What’s left is the drip of the hose, and the two of you, unmoved.

Thankful for the silence, you looked up at your companion, who was speechless. Vernon’s lower lip was puckered out slightly, face contorted as if to say I’m sorry, that kinda sucked. The tell-tale signs of emotional overload began to prick at your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you wiped your face. Since when did you start crying? “I’m so sorry that I let all of this happen, and I let myself let this happen, and I’m such a mess and I’ve been trying to hide it all this time, but I’m selfish and I just wanted to see what would turn out of it.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Vernon tried to lighten up the mood, and offered you an easy smile and reached for a hug.

“I’m sorry because I don’t know if I like you or not!” you outburst, and pushed him out of arm’s reach. “I feel so fucking guilty I just got out of a relationship and I can’t tell if I like you or I like your attention, honestly. And it isn’t fair because you’re just so sweet and kind and easy to love. Either way at the end of the summer I’m moving into the city for my full-time job. And I, I, I don’t know!”

Vernon forced his way into your space, barely a foot apart. He didn’t touch you, but his warmth still emanated from the jacket you were wearing. He didn’t seem upset, then again you were probably upset enough for the both of you.

“Hey, I offered to do your back because I knew you needed a distraction,” Vernon said softly, “no strings attached, ever. You do you, right? Focus on yourself.”

You wished he was mean about this. It would’ve made it easier. “What if this is the last time we talk? What if I want to ignore you for the rest of the summer?” you murmured, already knowing you. should enjoy these final moments.

“We’ll live,” he shrugged, and finally broke the space between you. His lips planted themselves between your forehead, melting away the lines that marred your brows apart, “and we’ll heal.”

The city was daring. The city was unforgiving.

You tugged your scarf closer around your neck, which constricted your airflow but also prevented any possible windchill from slicing your neck. In your other hand you were hauling a week’s worth of work in a luggage that had once packed your things in August and sent you to this very career path.

As much as you loved your new life, you wished things would be a little more boundless. The box of your workspace, the box of the elevator, and the box of your goshiwon apartment were starting to feel particularly stifling this weekend.

It was Friday (or FriYay, as your co-workers dubbed) and that meant a weekend vegging out with a comfort meal and a new movie. There was a Burger King and a Gongcha under your apartment complex, both calling your name.

Boba and burgers, the perfect way to end a week.

You munched on your fries as you scanned the Gongcha menu, craving something sweet to contrast with your salty meal.

It is then a low, sultry whisper sauntered in your direction (in a Gongcha, with children) and you almost choked on your fry. “I would know that back anywhere,” the offender drawled.

What a strange pick-up line. The paper bag crinkled in your grip, and you turn around to see a familiar perky face in a scarlet Adidas tracksuit. Of all the places, he was here.

“Hey, Flower Girl.” Minghao greeted, wiggling his fingers in a wave. He was on a tall stool, long legs splayed out and a cup of oolong milk tea hung lazily in his grip. His cup was at least 50% ice, and he was shaking the cup like a rattle every ten seconds.

“Normally, people would start with a simple hello,” you replied wryly, ushering him over to wait with you in line.

“Normally,” Minghao shrugged, and slipped an arm around your shoulders as if you were long lost friends, “how have you been doing? Planting gardens for the spring?”

“Please,” you scoffed. To Joshua and Wonwoo’s chagrin, you’ve forgotten a lot since the summer. “I can’t even make a corsage anymore, my brain’s on overload. What about you?”

It looked like he was waiting for you to ask that. You barely got your order in before he started spitting out his story. “Didn’t you hear?” Obviously you didn’t, and he didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Two letters. RM.” Again, nothing. “The RM? The hottest rapper in Korea? Anyway, he was one of our clients in August—he got a sick design of a koala and an alpaca, cooler than you think—and gave us a massive tip on his Instagram story. We were famous overnight! We were getting crazy clients left and right—fuckin’ Sana wanted a little heart on her sternum, hottest thing.”

“So you were able to relocate the parlor to the city?”

“The big push was when Yoongi dropped RM his demo,” he shook his cup furiously, ice clanging, as if he never got tired of this story. “Like, I didn’t even know they were texting! I’ve been running the parlor mostly, I’ve always wanted to live in the city, but RM funded a lot of it and is helping Yoongi make his mix.”

In the back of your head, the question of an aspiring grad student was niggling in your brain, but you pushed it down. “So, if Yoongi’s working on his demo and you’re supposed to be running the parlor, why aren’t you there now?” you asked.

He stared at you as if it were the most obvious choice. “Because I’m here, drinking boba with you.” Minghao then grabbed your finished drink from the employee’s hand, ushering you out the door. “And now you’re going to follow me, because my break was over fifteen minutes ago.”

“What?”

“I have your boba,” he’s already out the door, waving your precious beverage like a fish to its line. “Hurry up, now I’m sixteen minutes late!”

You groaned, lugging your suitcase full of work and now cold french fries back into the freezing weather. The wheels of your suitcase are cracking in exhaustion, mirroring yours. You just wanted your damn milk tea, hot fries, and a Netflix catch-up. What was the point of following Minghao to Nu ABO, when there was no reason to be there other than …

“Oof!” your face slammed into Minghao’s back. The light was red. “Did Vernon move here too?”

“Duh, who else would be covering for me?”

“You’re trying to set me up!” You cried in betrayal, jabbing him in chest with your finger. “Y'know what, I’m just going to get another boba. You keep that.”

You two glared at each other. Minghao looked relentless, ignoring whoever was bumping into him on the streets. His eyes suddenly glinted to your rolling luggage, and he snatched it from your grip, running into the streets.

“Can’t replace your work, right?” He laughed, forcing you to chase him down the block.

You felt sweat start to develop on your back, contrasting with the icy weather. Your work blazer and pinstripe loafers were not suited for vigorous activity. Minghao has an unfair advantage, being tall and athletic, and you had just finished half a bag of Burger King. Damn him.

Minghao stopped in front of a sunken in building, with stairs leading downwards to a neon-lit parlor with the name glittering in electric periwinkle font. Flustered, you gasp at the cold air, finally able to stop. Despite having lost your breath ten meters ago, you managed to tell Minghao you’re proud that they have a real parlor.

Your heart was beating in your ears, and you can’t tell whether it was because you haven’t worked out in months, or because Vernon was behind that door.

Minghao dumped your luggage behind the reception area, and went straight into the artist room. This new parlor was much bigger, so when Minghao disappeared into a hallway he was out of your sight. You wait around, letting yourself sink into the familiar hip hop playlist. There are pictures littering the walls, all covered with a clean black frame. You see Yoongi and the supposed RM, sporting his koala and alpaca ink (which actually did look sick) and some photos of Minghao’s work, all of his designs being simultaneously colorful and graceful.

It’s then in the epicenter of this wall is a long black frame that cut across the horizon, seven images of a woman with flowers and stars inking her back.

Your back.

“Beautiful, right? I’m sure it takes you back.” Minghao was over your shoulder, flicking his fingers between the photos. “Lots of customers have requested these designs. He never makes them the same way, though.”

Instead of answering, you followed Minghao down the hallway and into the artist room. Vernon had just finished with a client. Poking in head first, you saw him ticking off protocol off a printed list, speaking concisely. The client was listening intently, and you see he has an arm sleeve with peonies. It’s then he noticed Minghao intruding once more, and frowned.

“Dude, you got milk tea without me?” Vernon said, affronted.

“Ya didn’t ask.” Minghao vigorously shook the ice in your tea like a baby rattle.

“You didn’t mention it, therefore I couldn’t have asked.”

“You’re so smart, Hannie,” he beamed at him like a proud parent complimenting his son, “that’s why he’s going to grad school.”

You let yourself in fully, and you felt shy as Vernon’s lips parted slightly upon realizing who his second guest was.

“Hey,” Vernon exhaled, and gave you a small smile. He looked happy, content. As handsome as ever, he ran a gloved hand through his hair, soft curls bouncing as he shifted around the parting. “This is uh, a surprise.” his eyes flickered to Minghao, who held his arms out in a passive shrug. “A good one to end the week.”

“Hi,” you bit your lip, feeling shy, “so, you decided to get certified and you’re going to grad school? I missed out on a lot.”

“That’s okay, we got time.” Vernon assured, “besides the fact that I got a project due tomorrow morning that I’ve barely started, and then I have a field trip I gotta go to on Sunday—”

Before it could drag on any longer, Minghao hacked out a very loud, and very fake cough. You broke out of the rêve, and muttered a “gimmie that” before snatching your precious bubble tea out of Minghao’s hand.

Vernon mirrored the cough, more out of embarrassment than annoyance. “Lemme finish up with this client, yeah?” And he jerked his head back to the patient, going on about safety.

Minghao led you out of the room, whispering a “you’re welcome” in your ear that taunted you for the rest of the night.

Vernon finished at 5, just like he did back in the little shack at university square. He came out in a 2XL neon green hoodie, leading the client out the door and telling him to “take it easy”. As soon as the client’s gone, he comes over to you. You’re still staring at your pictures, as if you couldn’t believe that you were on display, looking like a tasteful nude model.

“Hi again,” he said, dusting the imaginary dirt off his pants.

“Hi,” you replied, feeling tingly at the sound of his voice. Did you really miss him that much?

"Um, is it cool if I hug you?"

It certainly has been awhile. You nodded, unsure if you could form a coherent response because you could tell Vernon was blushing and he was being too damn adorable for you to handle.

Upon permission, he brightened. The warmth of his cotton hoodie enveloped you like the way hot chocolate feels after a cold day. You breathed in his scent, realizing how much you missed the scent of fresh laundry, especially on him.

"How are you?” He asked casually.

“Uh, m'okay.” You answered softly, “a little cold nowadays."

He hugged you tighter in response. With one more squeeze he let himself go, but kept you at an arm’s length. "Wanna get dinner?"

You looked at him funny, "didn’t you say you had a project due tomorrow morning that you haven’t started?"

Without missing a beat he altered, "Wanna get takeout? I’ll do work and eat while,” his eyes darted to your luggage, “you do work?"

While you wanted to say that it was Friday (FriYay!) and you weren’t planning to open Pandora’s Box until Sunday night, you obliged and followed him to his place.

On the way over, Vernon got his well-needed milk tea (and your second round) with two matching cartons of jajangmyeon. You trailed behind him rather than next to him, due to the fact that he was also lugging a Joshua-sized canvas on his back. In fear of being knocked out or ruining his work, you settled for walking a meter apart.

Vernon lived on the second floor of his complex. You imagined a sizable one-room similar to your goshiwon, but you’re in awe when you see a fully furnished living room and kitchen. You smiled at the singular jade plant decorating the windowsill, one you remembered as Patricia Planty one session months ago. The hardwood was so shiny you could see your reflection in them. Kicking off your shoes, you stumbled over the kitchen countertop, reveling at the onyx granite.

"I’ve never seen this much granite in my entire life!” You cried, spreading your hands over the cool rock. It was so well polished, you could see your reflection. He was certainly living the high life this year.

Vernon shook his head, setting the take out down and pulling out the containers. “It’s RM’s old place. I rent it out with the guys."

"God, this is ten times better than my place! Your kitchen is bigger than my apartment!"

He flicked your bowl of jajangmyeon over to your side of the countertop, the sauce and noodles premixed for you. "Eat up, babe.” He stuffed a radish in his mouth, now working to mix his own noodles, “we got a lotta catchin’ up to do."

Whether it was your hunger or the casual use of the word "babe”, you abandoned the granite for now and did as told.

An hour later, you’re flipping through their mounted TV, taking full advantage of their Disney+ subscription as Vernon is laying on the floor.

“I thought you were working,” you chastised, letting yourself sink further into their couch. It was like resting on a big, fluffy marshmallow. You never wanted to leave.

Vernon is splayed out like a starfish, papers and watercolors spread around him. His large body stood out against the white linoleum floor, his neon green hoodie reflecting on the shiny surface. “I am.” he replied blandly, “I’m waiting for lightning to hit me with a burst of inspiration."

"Grad school’s biting you in the butt?"

"Big time."

Another bout of silence hit the two of you, and it was surprisingly nice. You finally started to notice that Vernon is picking up some art utensils and is doodling something. (He still is on the floor and hasn’t sat up properly, but progress is progress.)

It felt oddly domestic, but you didn’t mind. There was no need to ask about the past, Kim Mingyu, or any other silly drama you two entrapped yourselves into last summer. What mattered now was the warmth of each other’s presence on this chilly night.

Your eyes are heavy and fighting against the long day, and before you know it, you’re asleep just as Rapunzel escapes Gothel’s tower.

You haven’t awoken to the morning sun in a long, long time. While the notion sounded awfully depressing (because it was), you really didn’t have much of a choice because the goshiwon was closet sized, and closets had no windows. But today, the sun blasted you, forcing you up. This was accompanied by the the tell-tale sounds of breakfast, which was weird because you only ever ate cold food in your room, because there was zero ventilation. The scent of dark roast muddled your senses, forcing you awake. You twitched at the sudden stench, and snapped your back straight. Were your walls always this pristine white?

"Didn’t know you were this early in the game, Flower Girl."

You never went home. While Vernon was long gone and probably off presenting some haphazard art, Minghao and Yoongi (for the first time, in the flesh!) were watching you from their marbled island, while you rubbed the crusties out of your eyes. "Usually, encroaching on a significant other’s apartment is reserved for the 5th or 6th date.” Minghao teased, waving his Nutella toast in your face.

“Oh, shut up,” you glared at Yoongi, who was slowly chewing on his own toast. There’s was black spark in his eyes, like he’s relishing on whatever has unfolded. “And you, you. I know this is the first time we’ve met and you haven’t said a word. But shut up too. Your thoughts are awfully loud.”

You’re embarrassed, and you pull up your hands to mediate your fired cheeks. Instead of your palms, you feel worn cotton dabbing at your face. You wiggled your fingers under the neon green hoodie. Vernon put on his clothes for you to wear. You were in a very uncompromising position, and his roommates were reveling every second of it.

Yoongi shrugged, throwing you a flippant grin. “Whatever you say, Flower Girl.”

Contact emerged in the form of texts and images. You wondered how Vernon managed to keep things casual in light of how sudden your meeting was, but you relished in the way things fell naturally.

[February 19, 2:10PM]

Vern: Is this still your number

Vern: If so, here’s what i submitted for my project

Vern: IMG.934

Vern: if not, pls enjoy this picture of a pink platypus. the medium was watercolor nd if you’re curious, i got the idea from sunsets and phineas and ferb. Enjoy your day

You: hey look, there’s perry

Vern: nice

Vern: wait, this doesn’t confirm if ur u or a stranger

Vern: are u just a perry enthusiast

Vern: evidence pls

[February 19th, 6:08PM]

You: IMG.48

[February 20th, 12:22AM]

Vern: ooh

Vern: look cute in my hoodie

You’ve toggled with the idea of just cutting straight through the bush and asking him out the next time you see him in person. A little part of you liked the chase, however. That feeling where you’re tugging between friendship and something more, and you can’t help but feel like you’re fifteen everytime his name popped up in your messages. You self-dubbed it the-honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase.

[February 27, 5:34PM]

Vern: what are you up to

You: it’s hour 32. I’ve been under the covers and have survived solely on celery and honey-butter chips. currently binging all netflix comedies. debating on whether to send for help otherwise i may never get up

Vern: that’s the spirit

By the time two weeks passed, you felt confident enough to ride off the mutually weird text messages and constant contact to meet with him. By then, you’re knees deep in the honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase. You’re languidly floating in that river, hoping you’re not rushing it by agitating the waters.

[March 8th, 10:10PM]

You: hey

You: you up?

Vern: nah. mastered the art of sleep textin

You: just wanted to ask if you could help me pick out a tatt that would fit me

You: if you were available. I’ve heard from the mullet-monster that you’re a hot commodity drowning in appts and deadlines

Vern: wait forreal?

Vern: i can pencil u in. tomorrow night @11?

You: so soon? What happened to being busy

Vern: not for u. Already have an idea in mind

By the time you arrived Saturday night, Minghao was slapping your back across the door, gabbing on about a “major banger” they were missing uptown. He looked the part, the only person you knew that could fill out an all-studded denim fit. Like a disco ball at a rodeo. He barely said good-bye before he hopped in a Lyft, cheering for freedom.

You poked your head into the artist room, and saw Vernon playing on his phone. His fist dug into his cheek, carob pupils glazed over. You almost felt bad for wanting his attention this late.

“You usually do the day shift,” you commented quietly, holding up a bag with two milk teas in hand.

Vernon looked up, illuminating in a half-smile. “Y’know me, always covering. Just for the hour though, this shouldn’t take long since we’re just looking at ideas.”

He slapped a hand on the client chair. This one was much better than the cot they had in their shack. This one was pure leather and gleamed high quality. You placed your drinks on the countertop and eagerly bounced onto the seat. “Comfy,” you murmured, and wriggled your sneaker-clad feet.

“Good,” there’s a sharp snap from the plastic seal and Vernon is sipping into his milk tea seconds after you put it down. He’s chewing on a particularly large gulp, gnawing on pearls like no one’s business. With his rolling chair, he slid over to you, seamlessly reaching for your wrist.

If he noticed that you’re wearing a particular neon item, he doesn’t comment. He turned on the overhead lamp, letting a soft white light bathe your form. When he finally spoke, he chanted your name in a sing-song, tapping your wrist in beat. It’s as if he were envisioning the color blooming on your skin.

You let him do his thing, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery. You see pictures of his friends, some of his family, and digital art. He scrolled slower at the myriad of images: a colorful orca, lavender constellations, and budding roses.

You were seeing a lot of flowers nowadays, with the burgeoning of spring and the recent ending of Valentine’s. It’s only now that you notice how apparent the theme is throughout the parlor, particularly in Vernon’s affinity.

“Why don’t you call me it?” you asked softly, peering over his form to see him mulled over a picture of periwinkle lupines.

“Huh,” he’s distracted, and has now swiped back to the colorful orca image.

“Flower Girl,” you uttered, “they call me that, but you don’t.”

Vernon clicked his phone down, the lupines flicked away. He peered at you through his lashes, the white overhead making his eyes appreciably bright. “Before I knew your name,” he started slow, making faces to himself as if he were debating on whether to tell you, “I’d call you Rose. You were always by the rose bush planted outside the shop.”

“Avoiding work,” you crinkled your nose, however relished in the endearment, “being named after a rose is too big a compliment.”

He snorted, “That’s what they said. Hence, Flower Girl was born,” he’s easy about it, but now he’s put his phone down and is rubbing circles in your wrist. You wonder if he felt how clammy your palms were getting from the minute intimacy.

“You know what flower I’d compare to you?” you asked, “freesias.”

“And what do those mean?”

“Thoughtfulness,” the pad of his thumb still lingered on your skin, his grip painfully apparent. “And renewal.”

“Why renewal?”

“Because,” you swallowed, “you make me feel renewed. And this time I’m sure it’s because it’s you.”

Vernon looked like he wanted to smile, trying so very hard not to embarass you whilst you poured your heart out with delicacy. His coral lips were tucked in a thin line, teeth biting at his lower lip. Drop by drop, he was going to accept that dew with as much care as possible. “Only me,” he inquired, pressing into your pulse.

Your mouth was sand dry. “Uh-huh.” You exhaled a breath long clutched in your throat, hot air fanning into Vernon’s face. He paid no mind, and (to no avail) was still trying to hold in his smile. “You’re dimples are showing,” you whined, poking the little dip in his cheeks with your free hand. “Use your words.”

“Like?” he elongated, playing dumb. You supposed you earned his brand of torture, after all, seven months is a long time to make up for.

“Like how we want the same thing?” you tried.

“How do you know I want what you want?” he feigned, furrowing his thick brows. Acting could’ve been another career possibility for him, portrayed by the way his eyes were blown with confusion, his mouth parted like a kitten.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Forget words!” you broke, nearly shaking from the nerves.

It’s then that Vernon finally gave you a concrete response. His grip on your wrist was near painful as he eagerly tugged you closer, kissing you. There’s enthusiasm in every action from the way he pulled you closer, large hands melding to cup your cheeks. A little part of you is both breathless and invigorated at the energy stinging the room, and you can barely keep up until Vernon spilled kisses down your neck.

He threw up the armrest holding him back, tucking his knee between your legs as he lapped you up, kissing you fully. The chair was much too small for the both of you, his large body pressing you further into the cushions.

He sat up a bit, bumping his head on the lamp. He paid no mind. “By the way, I like you, too.” Vernon puttered cheekily, rubbing his scalp. Just as swiftly, he latches onto your neck and sucks at a sensitive spot. You can feel his teeth showing from the smile in his kisses. His thumbs rubbed lazily over your jaw, enjoying the feel of your soft skin under his rough palms.

“Really,” you exhaled, relaxing against the headrest as Vernon’s wandering hands traveled lower. “Had no idea.”

“But I’m happy,” Vernon is fumbly and sweet, mumbling in the crook of your neck while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your sweatpants, “happy you’ve healed, and happy for us.”

He’s excited, almost too excited. The space between you two was warm, the lamp beating under your skin, awakening something between you two that was left behind that summer. It’s as if winter left him dormant, and you were the fresh flower waiting to be bloomed under his touch.

“Are you always,” you gasped, two fingers already worming their way inside your panties, “talkative at this part?”

“Not if you wanna talk,” and the ever-zealous Vernon Chwe gets to work, sticking out his tongue in surprise when he finds that you’re already drenched. “Shit, you’re so beautiful,” he holds onto that word dearly, and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to hold you like this,” he reached for your delicious bud, and you felt your senses flower into pleasure.

He makes a noise, low in his throat as he watched you melt against the seat. “I like you like this,” he said thickly, his voice matching the slick sounds emitting from yourself. “Comfy, relaxed. You always looked so stuffy in those work suits,” you feel wholly undeserving of this worship, as he licked a long strip from your collarbone to your neck, “would love to help you chill out a lil’ more.”

A whine bubbled from the back of your throat, your eyes rolling shamelessly as you feel the pads of his fingers working circles between your folds. “Ah, I’ve—I’ve fantasized about this,” you confessed, “every time you’d ink my back. At one point we just stopped covering myself with those stupidly thin gowns. All you had to do was turn around.” Vernon blinked rapidly, mental pictures ticked like film in his pupils. His hands stuttered across your slick, inserting two fingers between your folds as you continued. His pace was slow, yet purposeful as he made sure you felt him with every thrust. Rings adorned his fingers, and the cool sensation surprised you. You shivered in pleasure. “Mm, I’ve imagined us kinda like this in that little shack, hard against the cot overlooking the shop,”

“Dirty,” he said, as if recalling the weather.

“And ah—wondering what kind of tattoos you have,” and in your haze you reached for him, your hand gripping firm at his gunmetal belt buckle. You tucked your fingers between the button of his light wash jeans, palming the telltale signs of something hard, “please? You’ve done too much for me, lemme return the favor.”

“Not now,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “you can guess my ink on our way home.”

“Wha?“ You’re dazed, feeling warm with affection and drowned in the moment. You feel his fingers, slowly pumping out of its rhythm and resting on your thigh. You groaned at the premature end, his shiny digits resting on your fleece sweats.

“They’ll kill me, this is new leather,” Vernon said, “and now we can afford security cameras, which are so small even I can’t find them.”

“Unbelievable,” you laughed. You’re not frustrated, only endeared.

“Besides, I’d rather have our first time somewhere private. Undisturbed,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, "somewhere where there’s lots of granite."

You melted, pulling at his collar to pepper kisses on his nose. The mention of coming home to his pretty kitchen was icing on the cake. "You know how much I love your granite."

(After your granite fantasy was fulfilled, you spent the rest of the weekend huddled in Vernon’s room. You’re living off take out and mutually satisfied with the unhealthy means. When you’re not eating or watching movies, the two of you are drafting your first piece.

Freesias and pink roses.)

(His tattoo was also very cute.)

#vernon #vernon fic #seventeen fic #seventeen smut #vernon smut #vernon fluff #seventeen fluff #vernon fanfic #hansol vernon chwe #seventeen scenarios #kpop #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #blossomed

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years

Text

Calm & Conversations

A JSE Fanfic

Okay so my schedule for uploading fics may be a bit wonky for the next while. I’m not sure how to fit writing in with my classes this semester, so I’m just improvising as I go. But I’ve got this! It’s really just a bunch of scenes that need to happen before the next story, but it was nice to write again. We check in on Laurens and Schneep (yknow I’m just now realizing how big a deal the non-septic characters are to this story), Marvin tells Chase something important, there’s a flashback with JJ, and Anti is being a plotting dick as usual. Have fun guys dsjdfkdfjk

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

Laurens knocked on the office door, hearing a soft “come in” in response. She took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, stepping inside. It had been a while since she’d been inside. And now that Dr. Newson had been suspended as director of the hospital, she had to get a read on her replacement. But this wasn’t something she could just avoid, so she stepped inside.

“Ah, Rya, good to see you!” The woman sitting at the desk immediately stood up. “I heard you returned to Silver Hills, but I guess you’ve been too busy for me to see you.”

“Oh, hi Dr. Fells.” Laurens nodded, friendly. “Y-yeah, it’s been a while.”

“It has! And please, call me Becca.” Fells smiled cheerfully. “How have you been? Well, I suppose that’s a superfluous question. Your cast says as much.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s uh...been an ordeal.” Laurens adjusted her sling. “Anyway, I uh...I came in to ask for a day off. Actually, I need it off.”

“Oh, of course.” Fells rummaged around in the desk, pulling out a form and a pen. “You know, you could have filled out a request. We have it online now.”

“I know, but this is important, so I, um, didn’t want to risk it,” Laurens explained. “I have to, uh, testify. In court. On the thirty-first.”

“Oh dear, well then you’ll definitely need the whole day off,” Fells said, filling out the form. “But you should tell your patient, too.”

“Yeah, I was planning on it.” Laurens wasn’t sure how into detail she would go. After all, the court case was all about Newson and her abuse of power, which could be a sensitive topic for Schneep. She’d try to be vague. As that thought crossed her mind, it slowly dawned on her that she was more involved in this case than she’d ever been before. Perhaps that was a bad thing. But she couldn’t leave it now.

“Great.” Fells finished writing, and looked up to smile at Laurens. “If you need anything else, please let me know. I understand that Newson got too involved in your work, and I’d hate to be like that, but I’m here to help!”

“Thanks, Becca.” Laurens coughed awkwardly. “I’ll, uh...see you later. Bye.”

“Goodbye, Rya!”

With that done, Laurens headed down to Schneep’s room, as usual. And as usual, she met Oliver outside, made some small talk, and then went in.

Schneep was laying on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. When Laurens and Oliver walked in, he immediately grabbed the small contact mirror she’d given him yesterday, and checked their reflections in it. Seemingly satisfied, he sat up straight.

“Hi Schneep,” Laurens said, taking a seat. “How are you?”

“Well, I am fine, I suppose.” Schneep shrugged. “Nothing much has changed. Which is a good thing, I think.”

“Yes, I think it is.” She hesitated, then continued on. “So I have good news and bad news.”

Schneep immediately tensed. “Bad news?”

“Do you want that one first?”

“Well, it depends on what it is.”

“It’s not too bad, I think,” Laurens said. “I just won’t be able to have our session on the thirty-first.”

“Oh. Alright.” Schneep exhaled, clearly relieved. “And how far away is that?”

“Six days. You’re okay with this? Or would you rather have someone else substitute for me?”

“Ah, your substitutes never work,” Schneep dismissed. “The last one was an asshole.”

“Newson? Well...yeah,” Laurens admitted.

“Besides, we already talk with each other almost every day. It is fine.” Schneep shrugged. “What is the good news?”

“Ah, right.” Laurens smiled. “Well, we might be able to move you back to your old room! The one with less restrictions. And it’s possible that I may be able to get you any clothing that was confiscated.” She still didn’t understand why Newson did that. Well. actually, she did.

Schneep’s face lit up. “Oh, that would be wonderful! What changed?”

“Well, the new medication seems to be working,” Laurens said. “And you said last time that the techniques I suggested were helping, too. So I think I can convince our new director that you’re not a risk case. Or at least, not as much as your file has you marked as.”

Schneep winced. “I do remember doing some...questionable things when first arriving here.”

“It’s understandable, you were lashing out,” Laurens said reassuringly.

“Still...” Schneep wrapped his arms around himself. “I remember that one orderly who I hurt, and I feel...well, bad, of course, and because of that, I do worry.”

“Theresa has made a full recovery, don’t worry,” Laurens said. “And if you’d like, today we can work on some ways to manage anger and stress.”

“That sounds good, thank you.” Schneep nodded.

“Alright, we’ll start with that.”

——————

“This is weird.” Marvin shifts awkwardly on his seat, leaning onto the side of the hospital bed. “He’s just staring into nothing.”

“Hey, I thought you didn’t like eye contact anyway,” Chase pointed out, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Well, yeah, but it’s weird when it’s Jack,” Marvin explained.

Marvin hadn’t had a chance to see Jack in a while. Or, actually, he’d just been forgetting to. So Chase had offered to bring him along on a visit, to make sure he did. Marvin had agreed, and now here they were, Chase in one chair at the side of the bed, Marvin in another on the opposite side.

“Is it wrong to say it’s kind of creepy?” Marvin asked reluctantly.

“What? Open eyes?”

“It’s not necessarily the open eyes, so much as it’s that he’s not moving at all other than that,” Marvin said. “I...wasn’t supposed to say that, was I? That was one of those things?”

“No, it’s fine, it makes sense,” Chase reassured him. “I get it.” He grabs one of Jack’s hands. “Y’know, he’s been moving a little bit recently. Sometimes he, like, squeezes your hand. He probably doesn’t mean to, but it’s nice. And it’s progress.”

“Involuntary twitching is progress?” Marvin asked.

“Yeah, cause he couldn’t move at all before.” Chase’s fingers ran across the back of Jack’s hand. He’d always been pale, but after being in the hospital for over a year, he was practically paper white. “I mean, it’s still pretty bad. He’s a seven on that scale I told you about.”

“Fast improvement, though, so that’s good.” Marvin adjusted his position, scooting the chair closer before leaning onto the bed again. “Do you think he can hear us?”

“I dunno,” Chase said, shrugging. “They always say people in comas might hear people, but that could be just a myth. Maybe we should ask someone who’s actually been in a coma and woke up.”

“Someone probably did a Reddit question like that.”

“Oh, for sure.”

They fell silent for a moment. Marvin traced the line on the heart monitor with his eyes. “So...how have the kids been?”

“Pretty good, far as I can tell. They started reception in August, y’know.” Chase laughed a bit. “Y’know, I still think kindergarten is a better term.”

“Ah yes, the child garden.” Marvin chuckled a little as well. “Y’know you didn’t have to enroll them if you didn’t want to. I never went to reception, and I turned out fine.”

“Do they even have reception or kindergarten in Ireland?”

“...not exactly, but that’s besides the point. It’s more about the age, I’m trying to say I didn’t go to school until I was six. Grandmam always said I was too nervous to go.”

“Can’t imagine you being nervous,” Chase muttered. “Well, Sophie and Nick are ready. They can be wild kids, but at their age, who wouldn’t be? They’re still very good listeners. Nick has a good memory, and Sophie can, like, figure out puzzles pretty quickly. They’re fine.” He looked up at Marvin. “What about you? Anything interesting going on in your life?”

“Well, there’s still the case I told you about,” Marvin said.

“Oh yeah, that. Did you tell JJ about the hearing on Halloween?”

“Yeah.” Marvin’s expression fell. “It’s shitty timing, but I can still stop by his flat for birthday stuff after it’s all done. Or he can watch me on TV. Because apparently they’re gonna televise this, you hear that?”

“Whoa, really?” Chase asked, surprised.

“Yeah, apparently Schneep’s case is a big deal.” Marvin ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, we wouldn’t have known that. JJ didn’t know Schneep before, you hate watching the news, and I wasn’t even in the country.”

“We missed everything,” Chase agreed. Part of him still felt bad about that. Maybe it would’ve been reassuring to know Schneep didn’t exactly disappear. Or maybe it would’ve been worse, since by all accounts, it looked like Schneep was actually a serial killer. But Chase pushes aside these thoughts for now. He actually wanted to ask Marvin something, now that the subject came up. “So, uh, are you ready to tell us why you suddenly went to Ireland? If it’s okay?”

Marvin didn’t say anything for a while. He just continued running his fingers through his hair. After much too long, he took a deep breath. “Yeah, fine. I mean, JJ isn’t here, but I can tell him later. Or, actually...maybe it would be better to show you.”

“Show me?” Chase repeated. “What do you mean?”

Marcin sat up straight and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up.

“Whoa, hey, dude! What if someone walks in?!” Chase leaned back.

“Just look.”

Though confused, Chase did so. But that only made him even more confused. “Are those...scars?”

There were three long, raised scars on Marvin’s torso, one on his chest and two on his stomach. Marvin quickly lowered his shirt again. “Yeah.” He folded his arms. “That’s why I left.”

“What?” Chase’s mind spun, working hard to come up with an explanation. “You got attacked or something? Why?”

Marvin took a deep breath, already looking tired. “Okay, so this is gonna be a long story. Y’know the boutique I worked for?”

“Yeah.”

“So I found out that place wasn’t exactly what it seemed.” Marvin hesitated, then blurted it out. “It was actually a front for an underground crime ring.”

Chase’s first impulse was to laugh. He tried to bite it back, but a quiet snrk escaped.

“What? It’s the truth,” Marvin said defensively.

“No, I’m not saying it’s not,” Chase hurried to say. “Not saying you’re lying. It’s just...you said it so straight, and it sounds so absurd.”

“Y’know what sounds absurd? The fact that Schneep and Jackie got kidnapped by a serial killer who turned out to be the brother of a guy we met just a few months later.”

“Fair point.” Chase coughed into his elbow to get rid of any leftover laughter. “Anyway, how do you know that? Or is this just a theory?”

“A gaaaame theory,” Marvin said.

“Dude, c’mon.”

“Sorry, habit.” Marvin paused, gathering his thoughts. “Well, I worked there for a while before I figured it out. I’m guessing that some of the staff was in on it, but not all of them. But things started seeming weird after a while, compared to other jobs I’ve had. Odd hours. Shifty management. And some customers would ask for something very specific that we didn’t actually stock, and when I brought it up to my manager, they always said they’d handle it personally. So I got suspicious, and I started investigating.”

“Marv, you could’ve asked Jackie for help,” Chase said, shaking his head. “He’s literally a private investigator.”

“Okay, yeah, but this was after he disappeared,” Marvin explained.”So I had to do it on my own. Besides, I might not have asked anyway, he’s a bit, uh...” He flapped his hand in the air, looking for the words. “Surprisingly a goody-two-shoes about it. But the point is, I did it myself. And when I snooped into a new shipment we just received, I found a hidden compartment with some guns inside.”

“Oh, jeez.” Chase’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, exactly.” Marvin nodded. “I left quickly, but as luck would have it, I ran into one of the management coming out of the back room. I guess they must’ve figured out what I saw, because a lot of people were acting really weird around me after that.” Marvin exhaled deeply. “And so, when I was walking home one night, this guy ambushed me and stabbed me.”

“Dude, holy shit!” Chase gasped.

“Imagine how I felt!” Marvin shouted. “I got fucking stabbed! I thought I was gonna die in the middle of the fucking street!” He pressed his hand to his chest, right over the scar, as he took control of his breathing. I was so fucking scared, he signed shakily.

“God, Marvin, I’m so sorry,” Chase said softly.

Marvin smiled a bit. Well, thanks. Obviously, I didn’t die, but I’m pretty sure that’s just because of luck. I went into shock for a bit, and the guy stabbing me probably thought I was losing consciousness and left. I was bleeding a lot, I’m not sure how I managed to stand up. But I did, and I walked all the way home.

“Bro, call an ambulance!”

I would’ve, but I thought that if people saw an ambulance in the area they would figure I survived, and try again. So I walked home, used all the bandages from that emergency super-thorough medical kit Schneep gave me, and passed out immediately after that. I woke up the next morning, still all dizzy, and knew I had to leave.

“Oh my god...” Chase could only shake his head. “I’m guessing you didn’t tell us because you didn’t want us involved in this?”

Marvin nodded. “Yeah...I mean, I didn’t even really want to be involved, I just wanted to find out what was happening. Guess I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Chase laughed a bit, but it quickly faded. “So...you’re back now ‘cause you think it’s over?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Marvin shrugged. “I mean, I couldn’t stay with my grandma forever. I’m pretty sure the people who tried to kill me all think I’m dead. But still. I’m a bit nervous about getting another job.”

“Hey, understandable. But I’m sure it’ll be—” Chase gasped.

“What?” Marvin asked, slightly alarmed.

“Nothing, he just—just squeezed my hand.” Chase looked down at Jack. Of course, Jack still wasn’t looking at him. He knew the squeezing probably wasn’t intentional, but he couldn’t help from assigning meaning to it. “Maybe he wants to reassure you.”

“Maybe. Well, thanks, Jack.” Marvin patted Jack’s other hand. “Wonder what you’d think of all of this.”

“Well, we can ask him when he wakes up,” Chase said, putting a cheerful note in his voice. “He’d probably be like ‘what the fuck? Why am I friends with you crazy people?’”

Marvin laughed. “Ah, we love you, Jack. Even JJ likes you, even though you’ve never met. We’ve told him so many good things.”

Chase nodded, falling quiet. Things were insane lately, but at least there was the silver lining of Jack getting better. Hopefully, everything else would also improve with time.

——————

Jameson opened the curtains and peered out his living room window. His eyes scanned the street below, but saw nothing. Still not satisfied, he pulled them shut.

There hadn’t been any sign of that stalker he’d seen a few days ago, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He’d explained the situation to his boss, Mr. Patterson, and he’d let him take the week off for safety. So JJ had spent all his time in his apartment, reading and playing a lot of Minecraft. He knew this couldn’t last forever. But maybe it could last until his birthday.

Speaking of which...JJ checked his text messages really quick. The most recent exchange was with Marvin, where he explained the whole deal with the court case. It was good that this would be finished, but JJ couldn’t lie, he’d been looking forward to a birthday get-together with Marvin and Chase. Nothing too big, of course, but he was expecting both of them to be there at the same time. Unfortunately, that would now be impossible. The court case was going to last all day, so Marvin was only available in the evening. But then Chase couldn’t be there, since he was doing Halloween things with his kids at that time.

JJ sighed, and closed his messages. Well, even if the two of them came over at different times, they could have some fun. JJ headed over to the kitchen to make some tea, trying to come up with activities they could do together.

He’d never had friends over for a birthday before. Well, when he was a kid he would invite his classmates over a couple times. But not many responded, and even as a kid, he felt like the ones who did were only doing so out of pity for “the weird boy who couldn’t talk right.” Not to mention that a couple foster families wouldn’t actually let anyone come over.

Actually, when was the last time he’d spent his birthday with someone? It must have been a while...

——————

“No, absolutely not.”

Are you serious?! Jameson signed angrily. It’s just an amusement park! We’ve gone to plenty before!

Aneirin didn’t even turn to look at him as he spoke, focusing on cleaning the dishes from dinner. Jameson was on his blind side, staring at the glass eye. “Yes, but we’ve always gone together. I wouldn’t mind that, but I can’t go tonight. I’m...busy.”

Jameson wasn’t sure he wanted to know what ‘busy’ meant. Judging from the ‘business’ JJ had been involved in in the past, it would probably end up with a dead body and cash changing hands. The thought made him sick, so he moved on. I’m not eight years old, Aneirin, I’m turning twenty-two. I don’t need your permission.

“Well...you sort of do,” Anti said slowly, only glancing at Jameson long enough to take in the signs. “Or at least, you need me to drive you, which I won’t.”

I wouldn’t need you to drive me if I knew how to drive.

“Well, you’ve never really shown any interest, you know?”

Jameson growled. It was no use arguing that of course he’d shown interest, it was Anti who never showed any interest in teaching or paying for lessons. No use in saying any of that, Anti would just ignore it or twist it back on him. Can you give me bus money, then?

“What? No! You’re not taking the bus all the way out of town. Anything could happen.” Aneirin turned off the sink water and picked up a towel, wiping down the plates. “Especially with things being...the way they are lately.”

The way they are? JJ repeated, confused.

“Things on my end,” Anti says cryptically. “You could get hurt. I don’t want you out where it’s dangerous.”

Of course. Aneirin was always concerned about danger. Jameson was never sure if that danger was real or just an excuse, but the possibility of it being real was enough to make him back off...usually. What if I called a friend to come with me to the park?

Anti immediately looked over at him. “What friend? Where’d you meet someone?”

It’s a hypothetical question, JJ signed, reluctant to admit he didn’t really know anyone despite living in the area for six years. He supposed that was what happened when you didn’t have a job to meet people and your older brother was a mercenary who’d scare off anyone you met by chance. What if I did that?

“But...but I’ll be away all night,” Aneirin stammered, suddenly hurt. “Would you really want to celebrate without...no, that’s selfish, I know it.” He laughed. “I guess I just expected family to stick together for birthdays. I mean, I always clear my day up for you, which isn’t easy.”

But you didn’t clear your schedule for my day, Jameson signed, expression blank.

“I did! But this is an emergency. I’ll be here until nightfall, and I got a cake and everything so we could have dessert together.” Aneirin smiled softly. “We can go to the park tomorrow, or the day after. For now, I...I got you a present. I mean, that’s what you’re supposed to do, but...” He looked down. “Well...nevermind. I guess I couldn’t stop you if you wanted to leave right now.”

After a long pause, JJ sighed. Anti really was too good at this. And it wasn’t like he could sneak out and go there on his own, anyway. First, he didn’t know where Anti kept the cash or his credit card, and second, Anti had installed security cameras around the house a few months ago, making that impossible even if Jameson could find bus money. Alright, I suppose we could go there some other time, he signed.

Aneirin’s expression lit up. He leaped forward and wrapped Jameson in a tight hug. “Oh, thank you, Jamie. You’re so sweet. I love you.”

Jameson pulled back a bit. Love you, too, he signed.

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t say it?” Aneirin ruffled JJ’s hair, ignoring the way he immediately fixed it. “I think something like that needs to be said.”

A pit of dread opened up in Jameson’s stomach, but he knew he had to go through with it, or Anti would keep bugging him until he did. “Luh...luhf y-oo. Annn.”

“There we are. Now, how about I go get that cake?”

——————

JJ snapped out of the memory with a shudder. It had been a while. And he’d been glad of that at first. But then he met Chase, Marvin, and Jackie, and realized that quality time wasn’t supposed to be difficult and end with him always giving up what he wanted. Well, he was still working on that. It made up a lot of his discussions with his therapist.

But that wasn’t the point. The point was that he was actually looking forward to his birthday, for once. He was sure it would be fun, even if he met up with Chase and Marvin separately instead of together.

He realized that he’d been standing there, spacing out, for a while, and the water for his tea was already boiling. He hurried to take the kettle off, and busied himself with the next steps. It was only a few days until his birthday. Things would be alright.

——————

Jackie was asleep. Anti could see him from where he was standing in the bedroom doorway. Idly, he recognized that being in that position for so long was probably doing some damage to Jackie’s body, but he didn’t care enough to move him somewhere else. It wasn’t like there was that much room in the apartment anyway.

Of course, that would start to be a problem when more people started to join him. Anti was already working on getting a second safe house, but it might take a few more days.

He slowly closed the bedroom door, leaving it open just a crack. There wasn’t that much in the room, just a bed, a dresser, and a desk with a chair. Anti sat down, and picked up his phone from where he’d left it on the desk. He flipped through the photos he’d taken a few days ago. The address of Jameson’s apartment building was clearly visible. He hadn’t been back there since that day. It wouldn’t do to be spotted, and therefore put JJ or others on their guard. No, they had to lower their defenses. And when the time was right, Anti would swoop in. He was already developing a plan.

His phone vibrated, and a notification appeared at the top. Looked like someone had a job offering for him. Anti clicked on it, reading quickly through the proposal. It wasn’t anything special. Just a target he didn’t know, without any special qualifications. Someone just wanted someone else dead and didn’t want to do it themselves.

“Think over it,” he decided, switching off his phone. There wasn’t a rush.

So, while he was here...Anti glanced over at the small turquoise notebook on the corner of the desk. After a bit, he picked it up and started scanning the handwritten pages. Always fascinating to read a professional’s take on someone’s mind. Though the analysis wasn’t the most important thing in the book.

Anti chuckled to himself, and flipped to the back. The keycard was still safely tucked close to the spine, in between the pages. Right where he left it. Right where he found it, when he’d decided to snatch the notebook from Marvin Maher’s house. And given the contents of the notebook, there could be only one door that this would unlock.

He glanced at a calendar hanging on the wall. It would happen soon. He just had to work out the wrinkles in his plan. Smiling to himself, Anti returned to his reading, silently plotting out the next few days.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #dr schneeplestein #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

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spookyboogie3 · 4 years

Text

MY FAVORITE AH MOMENTS W/O R*an H*yw**d

Also keep in mind some of these moments i picked Bitch Face r*an may have been present for but this aint about his stupid ass.

The straw bit on Off Topic

Fiona and Trevor’s “Look at us” “Look at us” “Look at us” in TTT

Drunk Jeremy inhaling helium, followed by Jack and Trevor on Off Topic

“Krusty KrAYAYAB!!!” TTT

Jeremy trying to slam his face through a table, followed by Michael doing the same thing

“my god…… the munchdew” “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” Minecraft: Skyfactory

Actually all of Simple Farmer Geoff from Skyfactory

Whatever those sounds were that Jack was making in the beginning of GTA video

Alfredo screaming as he continues to fall down a steep tube in a GTA race

DESTROYING THEIR OFFICE DEAR LORD

“How did he drown though?” “UNDERWATER, MATT!”

Anytime Fiona starts to RAGE in TTT (bonus if others join in)

The time Gav was the phantom in TTT and he kept dying and being brought back and Jack spitting water and then trying to catch it

Alfredo’s Magoo moments in Minecraft

Geoff laughing in the background of a video hes not in

Lindsay fucking around with Chef Mike on Harecore Minigolf

Lindsay fucking around in general

Gavin and Fiona playing Animal Crossing and laughing at the stupidest shit

The Fish Tempura incident on Wheel of Fortune

Lindsay’s reasoning for why her and Michael should have 4 kids

Geoff’s fucking ad reads (my favorite is 23&Me)

The whole thing during Push the Button where everyone especially Michael gets mad at Fiona because she said the best candy to get while trick or treating was lollipops

Matt’s fucking desk in the corner of the room

Anytime Millie is in a video

Everyone falling off the pink ladder during TTT and dying repeatedly because of it

Alfredo “the two-time champ” Diaz dying very early in YDYD 3

Gavin and Michael fucking up almost every game they play on Play Pals

RAY OR NO and then RAY OR NAY on Off Topic

Reddit Roasts Geoff

Gavin asking if someone could kill 20 cows with their bare hands and the proceeding so say he could rip out a cow’s veins by reaching into its neck

Ify’s narration during Let’s Roll Ave Caesar

The internet losing its shit when Jeremy shaved his head years ago

“We need a knife” Gavin comes back with a hammer

Griffin chain sawing the Off Topic table up

“How do I put the boat in the water??” “Right click you animal”

As of 2020, 8 years of playing Minecraft, certain people still do not know how to play the basics of this fucking game.

Honestly it took over 200 episodes for some of them to figure out how the compass worked. You know after they decided that the sun was setting in the wrong direction. (this was in 2016??)

Flynt coal still is a joke they make

So is Day 2

Whatever happened in that GTA lets play where someone called a mugger or a hit on someone and the game glitched and 50 guys showed up and lined up on the street below from where they were playing

Anytime Gavin gets mugged, it’s an old running gag but it’s a classic

The time a mugger fucking started driving the fire truck away after mugging Gavin with Michael and Jeremy still in the truck thinking the other is driving and it takes them like 2 minutes to realize what happened while Gavin’s yelling “come back”

They got a water jug and immediately started water boarding each other

“It pinged and went dingle”

“Hey Trey-Boi” “Hey Gay-Boi” Immediately realizes what he has said

Jeremy’s website puns

(OLD) Ray jerking off in the corner during a let’s play

(OLD) the world in Minecraft never loading and everyone screaming about as Geoff says its fine for him

Jeremy’s “I AM MONSTER TRUCK”

Jack taking AH to Disney……in Minecraft

On Twitter, Gavin asked about recommendations for a computer mouse and Fiona starts sending him pictures of actual mice.

“Its not ghey, if its on the moon”

Literally anything Fiona does as Po

Jeremy saying the heterosexual flag is boring

UNO THE MOVIE!

Geoff fucking cackling the whole time.

“here’s looking at you kid”

the video was almost 3 hours long

“you know what my favorite color is? blue” “oh really? You know what my favorite hand is? Yours

They all want it to end but no one wants to lose and so they fuck each other and that prolongs the game. Also they put on more rules, so they just keep getting more cards if they don’t have a card to match the previous

Alfredo saying he won’t participate in ghost hunter because he knows what happens to people of color in horror movies

Fiona walking in on Off Topic with a protein shake and Gavin asks if shes drinking milk and she says without missing a beat “ah no that’s cum” and everyone laughed not expecting the answer

(OLD) “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER” *falls in hole*

(OLD) Ray and Gav running in a panel dressed as X-Ray and Vav and Ray running the whole way around the room before he got to the stage

Duck taping Jeremy to the wall

(OLD) All of Minecraft Episode 3 Plan G (This was the very first AH video I watch and why I know who they are)

Geoff and Gav creating Achievement City and giving everyone houses just to prank Jack into burning house down with lava.

Ray’s house is a dirt block with no furniture and single torch

Geoff’s giant ass house next to Ray’s tiny house

Jack tries to destroy everything with lava throughout the episode

“lets be honest, I realistically didn’t lose anything”

Michael stealing art from Gav’s house “NOO! I want nice things”

The sign to Michael’s says “Awaiting Approval, Awaiting Approval, Awaiting Approval” he runs into house and say “I’m home”

Ray also steals this sign at some point

Plan G – The failsafe.

“Oh whats this? Is this a button? Whats this? (pushes button) Yeah it was a button”

“Did you push the button?”

“Yeah”

“okay”

“wh-what does it do?”

“uh…”

Cue Achievement City beginning to explode as Michael starts screaming

Rays reaction “NO, MY SHITTY HOUSE JUST GOT EVEN SHITTIER!”

Not something funny but something VERY IMPORTANT. AH admitting that they all fucked up and how shitty their behavior was when dealing with harassment in the fanbase. People were racist, sexist, homophobic, misogynistic, and just downright horrible to a lot of the employees at RT and AH. This came up after Mica Burton left the company and talked about it publicly and how nothing was done about it. Fiona who also experiences these same things, along with Lindsay and other employees, but Fiona took the charge on the Off Topic talking about people can’t continue to get away with that behavior. She got to sound off her feelings to a group of white men who all respected her and LISTENED to what was saying and how she felt. She cried; Geoff cried. They all want to do more, so this doesn’t happen in the future and they’re not tolerating the racist and horrible comments. AH taking a mature moment to talk about how they failed to stop these comments and Geoff was right when he said the company has a long way to go.

Outside of AH each member has more to them than just all of the comedy and laughs and dumb shit they do

Geoff helped found Roosterteeth and Achievement Hunter. He has a beautiful daughter in Millie who is awesome in her own right. He’s a recovering alcoholic. Currently doing F**k Face podcasts. Was in the fucking army. Takes accountability for every mistake he makes.

Jack also helped start Achievement Hunter. He does so much work for charity. His twitter is full of things to help people go vote. He’s like the dad to AH, especially Fiona. He’s happily married to his wife Caiti.

Michael was an electrician and has a lot of handy man experience. He made a few videos online about him raging at games and that got the attention of RT. He’s currently married to Lindsay who he met because of RT. They have two kids together.

Gavin is an expert at high speed filmmaking and know how use and edit footage from a slow-motion camera. He has worked on actual films. One of the creators of the Slow Mo Guys. Worked his ass off to get to work for RT. Currently dating model and cosplayer Meg Turney

Lindsay flips between being the mom of the group and a complete chaos queen and we all love her for it. She started as an editor for the RT podcast and then AH stuff. She is an incredible voice actor, most known for Ruby Rose (RWBY), Space Kid (Camp Camp), Hilda (Xray & Vav) just to name a few. She also has a degree in finance

Jeremy started as a fan who made videos on the community page. He took over Ray’s place after Ray left to do Twitch full time. He is a self-published author and a skilled rapper and singer. He’s currently married to his wife, Kat.

Matt also started as a fan making videos on the community page. He actually interacted and made stuff for the guys in really early Minecraft episodes. Seriously this guy is like king of Minecraft. He has a degree in electrical engineering. He also has pretty decent singing voice.

Trevor is THE BOSS. Has a degree in aero-space engineering and is getting paid to babysit AH. Currently dating Barbara Dunkelman, RTs queen of puns.

Alfredo worked at IGN before RT and is a well-known streamer. He is the best when it comes to first person shooter games. He and Trevor look so similar.

Fiona. Po. Her majesty. Host of This Just Internet. A Twitch streamer. Baby of the bunch. Grew up in Europe. Her and Gav act like a pair of siblings. She has stated and showed time and time again she will fight for people to have safe spaces for anyone who needs them.

Ify, our new guy. He is wonderful and I want to stay forever. He’s a comedian, a writer, and an actor. Co hosts F-ing Around with Fiona. Has his own film podcast, Who Shot Ya? I look forward to more content with him in it, cause everything he’s been in so far has been great.

Were all hurting but well make it through this

We have all these wonderful moments and a lot more that I didn’t list and this incredible team of personalities with their own accomplishments and achievements. Not to mention old team members who were also great additions and the entire crew behind the scenes editing and making videos look the best that they can.

Here’s to Achievement Hunter and to this community. We need to be here for each other in times like these.

@theonyxranger gave me the idea for this based on their own post they made about the fans giving their favorite moments without bitch face and there were just too many. Oop.

#Achievement Hunter #Jack Pattillo #Gavin Free #geoff ramsey #michael jones #lindsay jones #alfredo diaz #trevor collins #fiona nova #jeremy dooley #matt bragg #ify nwadiwe #roosterteeth #yes im calling him bitch face now

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

Invisible Blue

Summary: Ethan finds something a bit bigger while he’s spying on Damien. Much bigger than he planned on finding.

A/N: This is a hell of a long post, but I didn’t know how to cut it so here it is. This also contains two different asks from some anons. Hope you guys enjoy.

Ethan was honestly getting a little fatigued. Normally day to day, it was alright, he exchanged with Chase to keep an eye on Damien so that Ethan could get a break. He did simple patrol routes for the simple reason that Ethan had to make sure he was seen in costume so no one would think he was spying on the Mayor.

Marvin and Chase didn’t report that Damien was acting different or suspicious.

Ethan was really ready to stop watching Damien today because the mayor just worked, took a lunch break, and worked way too much, leaving often with his work with him when he went home.

If he was guilty of anything it was being a workaholic with barely a social life.

Today, Ethan considered leaving early, just because it was a slow day and he was already having a bad day. So while Damien was out to lunch, Ethan rushed out to grab a sandwich and was sitting in his chair in the corner just eating it and occasionally glancing at his phone. He had his brain halfway into whatever reddit post he was reading, and half concentrating on not choking to death on the burger in his mouth when he heard the doorknob being angrily turned as Damien stormed in.

Ethan’s reflexes were the only thing stopping him from being instantly found out, as he threw his own power over him and his stuff to make him invisible.

Damien was angry, he was clearly pissed and screaming into his phone, “What is wrong with you?”

Ethan was carefully taking his burger out of mouth and trying to keep his movements slow and eventually as still as possible so he could save the energy to keep the invisibility up as long as possible.

“Well, why did you call me now, are you somehow dying? You know I’m at work!” Damien shouted into the phone.

Whatever response he got, he clearly didn’t like it, because he still looked pissed and Ethan didn’t think he had ever seen Damien even close to this level of anger.

Damien glared at his phone, and Ethan could hear what he thought was a phone ringing somewhere in the distance. But Damien pulled the phone away from his ear to take a breath. “You have the five seconds it takes for me to walk up and close my door, to get Illy.”

The Mayor took an audibly deep breath, “If I see you in my office, I will put an axe through your chest and carve your heart out, am I understood?”

He didn’t even wait for the answer, almost dropping his black phone on the desk and stomping over to the door, muttering under his breath. Ethan only caught part of as Damien stomped past, “Dammit, William, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes.”

Damien paused at the door, looking a bit pained, he took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face, taking his time to close the door and walk back to his desk. After settling back into his seat, he picked up the phone, “Yes.”

Relief seemed to flood over his body, “Finally, how bad is it?

As Damien was talking as Ethan slowly started to clean up, trying to be as slow as possible to avoid making noise.

“How much damage are we talking? His usual amount?” Damien asked as Ethan was finishing up his burger and pocketing the trash from it.

“I’m supposed to going to a benefit gala tonight in my tux, I can drop by briefly and calm him down, but I need you to take care of Bim and make sure he doesn’t break anything either.”

At Bim’s name, the name of the lead suspect in a series of suspicious disappearances of co-eds and transients, just stunned and terrified Ethan. The invisible hero had been trying to quietly fold up the wrapper his burger had come with, and after years of working quietly to where Jackie had to concentrate to pick him up he was more than confident that he was quiet. But heard that name made his hand reflexively clench and a loud and clear crinkling sound quietly punctuated Damien’s sentence.

Damien froze, eyes darting around, he looked in the corner Ethan was in several times, and one of those times he seemed to be staring directly into Ethan’s eyes two seconds too long to be comfortable.

Finally Damien said, “I’ll have to call you back, there’s something in my office.”

Damien hung up the instant he finished the last word and looked around the room, standing up. He didn’t call out and Ethan felt unnerved and wondered if he should just come out of hiding and try and pass his nervous shock off.

After about a minute Damien straightened up his desk a bit, and then left the room. Ethan was quick to try and follow him to the parking lot but only got to the parking lot before in record time he lost Damien, rounding the corner and someone else almost slammed into Ethan and he had to duck out of the way and he heard the door front open and close and Ethan could see him after that.

Ethan made a quick call to Logan but he didn’t pick up so he had to step out and call Jackie who promised to get someone to the gala. They made sure to have a set of ear pieces they could use to communicate with each other.

Then he quickly finished cleaning up and just didn’t come back, not wanting to tip Damien off again.

Ethan and Roman arrived at the museum where they were hosting the gala in costume, early to help with the security detail.

“Be still my heart, what wonders of Apollo and the Muses above!” Roman gasped at one of the paintings.

The museum director walked out of his office, smiling but looking a bit nervous, “Always so great to have our city’s finest here for the gala. I take it you both are patrons of the arts?”

“Of course, Prince Creativity at your service,” Roman gestured to himself, then gestured to Ethan, “This is my esteemed colleague: Blank.”

“We would have come without the masks but no one would have recognized us,” Ethan tried to joke.

The man let out a little fake laugh, “Pardon me, I have one of the museum backers in a meeting, I’ll have to talk with the two of you after the event starts.”

“Oh, don’t let us keep you,” Roman insisted, “we’re just here to admire the artwork, I may walk off with something if my friends don’t stop me.”

“Thought that was Logic’s job?” Ethan smiled even though it couldn’t be seen very well under his mask. “Well don’t let us keep you, we’ll just walk around until the gala starts.”

He smiled and left and nothing too important happened, the gala began and they soon found Damien amongst the crowd. Their evening up until that point had been filled with talking with people and Roman geeking out with other artists over their sculptures, paintings; and Roman was quite excited about a woman who had sculptured what looked like a handbag out of clay that looked so realistic Ethan thought someone had just left on a pedestal. During the conversation, Roman noticed Damien. The mayor was standing talking to another woman but during the conversation he noticed Roman and Ethan standing there.

She walked off, and Ethan thought he might be imagining it, but Damien seemed to be watching them a little more closely. He smiled as they walked over, “Well, what a pleasant surprise.”

“As if I would miss such a fantastic venue,” Roman smiled. “I was made for this scene.”

“I suppose I should have expected to see you then,” Damien apologized.

Ethan was looking around the room, mostly out of habit, Mark and Jack had drilled it into Ethan’s head to survey the room to see if a villain was sneaking in or if there was anyone causing trouble, and after what had happened to Robbie it was insisted that he find a way out to get out of a dangerous situation.

So he was looking around and watched the direction heading towards the stairwell. Ethan wouldn’t have paid any extra attention but the direction was frequently talking to a person following close behind and the man looked scared, nervously glancing back at the man following him.

Quickly turning to Roman, Ethan signaled to him, acting like he was itching his ear. “Be back, guys.”

“If you fight ninjas, call for backup,” Roman told him. “I don’t want to be left out of the fun.”

Ethan headed off in the direction of the bathrooms, and the instant he was out of sight, he turned invisible and headed back to the direction he’d seen the director sped walked off into. By luck or just because of how fast he’d reacted, Ethan was able to catch up to the director and his guest, and something about the person, and after watching this strangely familiar person for a while he was following the two down into the first basement of the museum.

“I do hope this will be a short walk,” the familiar stranger said.

“The service elevator will take you all the way down to the service elevator,” the man promised, turning the key into a slot on the elevator panel. “No stops, no interruptions.

Ethan watched the situation for a bit, it was all kinds of shifty and he didn’t like it, but Ethan and Roman were here to spy on Damien. But something didn’t sit right with him about this. And either way he was going to get chewed out. He could almost see Amy’s face when he would have to give his report of this mission. Maybe he could give it to J.J or Patton, they usually weren’t so tight fisted on what he did.

Quietly Ethan weighed his options, lamenting that regardless of the fact he’d more than earned his right as an official hero, most of the team tended to baby him. Hell it seemed like the whole city wanted to baby him.

While he thought about what to do, the elevator finally arrived and opened. The director said, “Give Dark my regards.”

Ethan moved without thinking, slipping into the large service elevator, once he was inside he crammed himself to the back and whispered into his earpiece, “Hey, Princey, keep your eyes on the Mayor, I’m following a network member.”

“Ill advised,” the enforcer dismissed coldly, looking down at his watch, getting into the elevator. He was getting more and more familiar to Ethan, his sharp and angular features and dark black square glasses. “It would be a waste of his time and mine. Remember your payment, I’d like to be able to have this month’s ledgers done on time.”

“What?” Roman’s voice crackled over the earpiece and Ethan huddled further away from the enforcer. “On your own? You’re not supposed to do that.”

The elevator closed and slowly began to descend.

“I’m not an apprentice anymore, I know what I’m doing,” Ethan whispered and his eyes seemed to focus in and see through whatever illusion was around him and finally caught why the enforcer looked so familiar.

“Logan?” Ethan asked in surprise, much louder than he should have. Ethan covered his mouth and froze as Logan snapped his head to look at Ethan’s direction and the invisible hero kept absolutely still, making sure he stayed invisible.

Logan was looking around, suspicious, and clearly not believing he’d just hallucinated his own name being called out in an almost empty elevator.

He was slowly lifting his hands up to his lapel of his immaculate suit coat when the elevator grinded to a sudden halt and the lights began to flash, all the buttons lighting up as laughter began echo off the metal walls.

“Hello Four Eyes,” a scratchy voice echoed off the walls.

Ethan’s invisibility almost flickered a bit in surprise but braced himself for a fight. Logan seemed to calm down significantly. He just watched as a mass of tentacles and spikes shot out at him. Logan had been standing almost a foot-and-a-half from the elevator door and didn’t even flinch as he was attacked.

The invisible hero almost jumped in to save him but realized that Logan wasn’t being touched and he was just staring at the creature as if it was throwing feathers at him.

“Ah, greetings Anti, how has your day been?” Logan adjusted his glasses.

“Oh, cone on, I had yeh!” Anti materialized out of the button panels, coming out of the tentacles.

Logan was scanning over his suit again, “I do have to admit, I was a little perturbed when you called my name, I was not aware Dark had confided it to you.”

“That horsearse don’t tell me shite,” Anti spat. “It was probably Wil fishing in waters he’s not welcome. I thought he knew yer Aro ass was off the market.”

“No, I would recognize his voice,” Logan answered, looking away as he murmured to himself, finger resting against his lips and his brow furrowed in concentration. “It was probably Dark, he is the only person I can think of who would know my name. I must talk to him about using it in public, it’s quite dangerous and risky. He must be in a good mood today.”

Then Logan looked at Anti again and nonchalantly asked, “Do you mind removing yourself from the panel, I have a meeting to get to and Dark will not continue to be in a good mood if I am late.”

Anti had just been staring at Logan and at his request the glitch demon just started laughing. He did, however, pull himself out of the elevator and punched it before it continued its descent. He laughed as if Logan was the funniest thing in the world. “Do yeh think if I bugged Dark enough he’d let me pick yah apart and watch yeh break. I bet even yeh have a point where yah fookin’ fall apart.”

Logan only blinked, as if the glitch demon wasn’t threatening him. He adjusted his glasses in the Logan-like way Ethan had always seen him do. There was something in Logan’s eyes that looked inhuman. As if the person Ethan had known for years wasn’t there and Logan’s body was being piloted around by some demon.

Which wasn’t completely unlikely given the crazy, messed up world Ethan lived in.

“While highly improbable,” Logan answered while Ethan was having a crisis, “the likelihood is not 0.”

Anti was quiet for a second before cackling again, still floating in midair. “Wonder if I could clone you and get the same person.”

“Impossible,” Logan answered, reaching a wooden door, “you cannot perfectly duplicate another person.”

“Shame,” Anti commented, still smiling and the elevator door opened, Ethan followed them out into a room with a couple boxes all with serial numbers and labels. There was what looked like a large office on the other side of the room.

“Hey if you wanted to get a guy you like to annoy a birthday gift, what would it be?” Anti asked.

“I don’t think I am the one you should outsource gift ideas to,” Logan cautioned.

Anti kicked open the door the instant Logan had it open enough not to destroy the frame. “We’re home.”

Inside Ed Edgar had been napping in a chair leaned up against the wall and grunting in panic when the door was kicked open, pulling his gun out and almost shooting Anti before recognizing who it was and lowering it.

“Hey Eddy boy,” Anti grinned. “Guess who got an invite.”

“Hey dipshit,” Ed Edgar spat out at Anti before tipping his hat at Logan. “Howdy, Sanders, I see yah haven’t died yet?”

Their argument and the fact Anti had kicked the door open when Logan probably would have closed it behind him, made it easy for Ethan to sneak in.

Logan walked off to the side of the room, three ledgers stacked up on a small desk.“If you were commenting on my state of existence, I don’t know how I could have given you the impression my life was at stake.”

Ed stared at him, pointing at him, “Yer smart mouth is gonna get yer teeth kicked in, an’ that’s what worries me.”

“Your concern is noted,” Logan not even looking up from the books. “Hopefully Dark will be in a better mood than he has been in the past few weeks, otherwise this will only be more bad news.”

“The only news is good news,” Wil patted Logan’s shoulder, suddenly appearing at his side.

“Statistically untrue,” Logan corrected, pointedly staring at Wilford’s hand and when he was slow to move it, Logan brushed it off.

“Someone seems to be in a sour-dour mood of their own,” Wilford gave a full, toothy smile.

“I merely do not appreciate you putting your hand on my person,” Logan reminded. “You historically have very promiscuous behavior and rarely understand someone turning you down. I am not interested in earning my employer’s ire because of a misunderstanding.”

Wilford laughed, “I knew you’d be fun.”

To Logan’s mounting ire, Wil roughly patted him on the back, “I’m glad Darky hasn’t run you off.”

“I am paid far too much, and leaving now would end in a rather painful and drawn out death,” Logan huffed out, looking Wilford dead in the eye.

The madman let out a booming laugh, “What a card that Dark.”

Wilford’s smile got wider as he sat on the desk, ignoring Logan’s glare. “Why there was this time down in Florence where there was this lovely Parisian magician I was seeing and Dark threatened to cut his fingers off.”

“That was because I caught you two having sex on my desk.”

The voice that spoke wasn’t Dark’s usual scratchy, deep tenor. It was higher pitched and sounded feminine. The echoey ringing was the same though.

Logan almost jumped out of his chair, and Ethan saw someone in short black hair, Dark’s red echo around her and in an immaculate suit.

“Celine,” Wil uttered, saying her name like it enchanted and enraptured him.

She sighed and sat down in the chair. Ethan got his first good look at Celine. He was surprised at how much she looked like Damien . . . and even scarier how much she looked like Dark.

“Ma’am,” Edgar stood up and took off his hat, bowing his head slightly. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Great,” Anti rolled his eyes. “The fun police is here.”

“Nice to see you too Anti,” she replied in an equally barbed tone. “Are you going to be useful here or just a waste of my time?”

“Ugh,” Anti groaned. “I’ll see myself out a’fore ye get even less fun. Tell yer other half he’s a dipshit.”

“Tell him yourself,” the woman replied. “As you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

“Yeah, making Wil suck ye off,” Anti muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” She barked.

“Ye heard me!” Anti tore a hole into the Void and vanished, he flipped her off as he left.

“Now you can’t talk to a lady like that,” Wilford snapped at Anti as he left, even leaning into the Void to finish berating him.

“Leave it Wil,” Celine told him and Wil pouted as he watched the Void close.

She snapped her fingers and a chair appeared from the Void, jolting into place beside her, a bright pink and yellow wood chair with a large mustache carved at the top of the backboard.

Then the door closed and Ethan distinctively claustrophobic while he was trying to keep his mind clear of thoughts Wil could read.

Wil flopped down in the chair. Celine patted him on the arm, saying, “Don’t worry he’s just upset I don’t let him walk all over me like he does with my brother.”

“How is the old bean?” Wil asked, “haven’t seen him in ages.”

“He’s fine dear, he’s just keeping a couple stiff shirts upstairs,” Celine dismissed. Then she turned to Logan and she smiled. “Well, well, you have turned into quite the useful little bookworm. So do you know who I am?”

It was Logan’s turn to smile, “Yes, I would recognize you anywhere. Do you have a specific name you wish to go by, Ma’am?”

She hummed, ignoring Wil who was inching towards her and clearly salty about not being the center of attention, but she gave that sticky sweet smile reminding Ethan of Dark when he was being especially sadistic. “I think for you, Madam Celine will work just fine, you rarely see the outside of your office and I am planning a new debut of sorts.”

Logan nodded, “Very well, Madam, I took the liberty of checking over the books again, and regrettably there is bad news.”

“When is there very good news these days?” She groaned, she leaned her hand over to trace around Wil’s face. “Sweetie, if you can’t be patient and behave, I’m going to kick you out of the room.”

Wil smiled, “Oh I can behave.”

“After,” She pushed him away, “Ed, Logan, reports, I don’t have all night to play charades.”

“Well the feds have been doing a lot more snooping about the old Downwich orphanage for one, and they’re getting nosy,” Ed began, “it’s just taken them a couple months to make any progress.”

Celine thought for a bit, Wil just shrugged and commented, “None of the kids are minors anyways.”

She glared at Wil, grabbing him by the collar, “Did you forget the heroes have someone who can control time on their side?”

“They do?” Wil smiled. “That’s a neat trick.”

Celine’s eye began to twitch and the fierce ringing that usually accompanied Dark pitched up. “Wil, if I lose them because you chose to play games instead of taking this seriously, I will carve out your heart and feed it to you.”

Wil kept quiet at that.

“Ma’am, if you would allow me to make a suggestion,” Logan spoke up and Celine looked over at him.

“We should cut all ties with these sites,” Logan proposed. “They are becoming too dangerous to manage.”

“That’d cut mah supply at the ankles,” Ed snapped,

“If it puts the whole network at risk then your supply should be disallowed,” Logan commented in a dry but firm tone.

“What do you know about risk?” Edgar threatened, “you stay in an office all day.”

“Edgar, you strike him, and I’ll start removing fingers,” Celine threatened. “Logan has a point, distance has to be put between us and the sites, immediately. I want all their records destroyed. They never existed.”

“We can do that,” Ed promised, “how do you want me to handle Yanc’s paperwork, he’s already in a hot mess.”

“I don’t care,” she spat angry, “take care of it.”

“I can run a cost analysis for how to handle the situation without creating too much suspicion,” Logan offered, adjusting his glasses again. “It wouldn’t do to act without an informed decision.”

“That would be best,” Celine agreed.

“I can have those reports on your desk by the end of the week,” Logan promised. “The sooner we can make a decision, the better we can prepare for the consequences.”

“Another thing,” Celine added. “I don’t think I was clear to you in our last conversation. I want Brody moved up. He has top priority.”

Ethan got an uncomfortable tightening in his chest at hearing Chase’s name so casually thrown around.

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, “Might I ask why?”

“His unpredictable bravery mixed with his gift has the ability to turn the tide of a fight,” Celine corrected firmly. “Even if he is more than a little dim.”

Logan was quiet for a little bit, straightening his glasses, “If you are this certain about the threat he poses, then I will make him a priority target.”

“Oh no,” Celine smiled. “Not that list, the other one. The same one I put the others onto.”

Logan paused, sounding confused, “Very well.”

The office door opened and Illinois in a nice tweed suit and glasses walked in, he was carrying his hat, under his arm was a package. Celine smiled at him and Ethan took his change to escape, slowly heading for the door. He made it to the other side and hid behind the wall.

“Hello sweetie, how’s the gala?” Celine to him.

“Oh it’s going great,” Illinois announced as Ethan began to make his way slowly and carefully back to the elevator, Logan seemed to be in more than friendly company and anything else he learned wasn’t important if he was dead. Once he was at the elevator, he sighed in relief when he saw it had a button to go back up and didn’t need a key.

“Charming,” Ethan whispered into his ear piece.

“Sweet Aunt Jemima,” Roman sounded panicked. “I have been trying to find you everywhere.”

“Coming back up,” Ethan promised, and hit the button.

“Back up,” Roman repeated in confusion, “where are you?”

The elevator dinged as it opened and Ethan froze, looking back at the room as he backed up into the elevator and hit the third floor to avoid being on the same floor as the elevator had first come down from. When it closed without investigation, Ethan made a sigh of relief but didn’t turn visible yet, he was tired but not out of trouble yet.

“Do you still have eyes on the Mayor?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, he’s been fine, talking, laughing,” Roman answered.

The elevator opened and Ethan stepped out, ducking into a room that didn’t have people inside, so he turned tangible. “Coming down from the third floor, where are you right now because we need to leave and fast.”

“Wait a second, what about Logan?” Roman asked as Ethan began to head for the first exit he could find. “You said his name and then went radio dark. Shoot, I lost him.”

“The Mayor?” Ethan stopped on the stairs. “Leave Logic, he’ll fine.”

“Just get out, we’ll talk, late—” Ethan kept going, and stopped when he rounded a corner in the twisting staircase and saw Damien at the bottom of the staircase, hands resting on the pommel of his cane and a smile on his face. Ethan immediately pressed a button on his wrist watch and sent a silent alarm for back up to his location. “Mr. Mayor, how are you?”

Damien smiled. “Oh, I’m doing well, I just was a little worried, you walked off and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for the last half-hour.”

“Has it been that long?” Ethan let out a nervous chuckle. “Lost track of time, I guess.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a smile that reminded Ethan of Celine. “You were in my office.”

“Depends on the day, I’ve been to your office before loads of times,” Ethan said.

The Mayor took one step up the stairs and Ethan took a matching one back up, “Then let me clarify: this afternoon you were spying on me in my office, I caught you around lunch time and you didn’t come back when I tore the room apart later.”

Another step up, another retreating one from Ethan.

“Why?” Damien asked, his smile growing into something else as they took another step. “Am I under investigation for something?”

“Uh,” Ethan stalled, forced to take another step.

“Crank!” Roman yelled and Ethan felt relief as Roman stood at the bottom of the stairs. Damien looked back at Roman.

“Stay out of my office or bring smarter back up,” Damien threatened and headed up the stairs, moving past Ethan without laying a finger on him.

“Are you—” Roman began but Ethan thudded down the stairs and ran for the exit.

“No, come on,” Ethan didn’t let up until he was outside and saw Jackie heading towards the door.

“Anyone hurt?” Jackie demanded.

“No, we need to get back to base, we’re being watched,” Ethan told him.

Despite Ethan’s warning, they weren’t attacked and there was no sign of being followed. Mark and Iplier were waiting for them, Mark looking relieved when Ethan came in looking unharmed.

“What happened?” Mark demanded.

“The Mayor and his sister are working with Dark,” Ethan accused, “they might even be his hosts. I saw Celine acting like she was Dark and no one even seemed to blink at that.”

“At the museum?” Mark demanded.

“No it was in some underground office underneath the museum, it looked like it was a place they shipped stuff out from,” Ethan explained. “Worse of all Logan was there talking to him and Wilford, he wasn’t in a mask and he was in this really nice suit.”

“Why would Logan be working with those shifty shadlings?” Roman huffed, insulted. “Maybe it was an illusion?”

“We’ll deal with the Logan problem when he comes into the base tomorrow,” Mark sidelined. “You said you two saw Dark possessing Celine? How? Dark’s never taken a Host before.”

“That’d make him no longer the exception ta the rule,” Jackie cut in. “Every other demon we’ve fought with has either worked with a host before or is using one.”

“It’s only two demons,” Mark reminded.

“No, remember that time Marv got possessed by an undead witch, she was technically a demon,” Jack corrected.

“In any definition, the heroes have it wrong,” the host announced himself, walking into the room.

“Really?” Mark asked. “Which part, the fact we have to replace another mayor or the fact Dark is taking hosts?”

“The Host doesn’t see the city’s current mayor leaving his post for the foreseeable future,” the Host denied, whispering into his cupped hand as a lack piece of paper folded itself into existence and it looked like a spindly paper person. “As for the Entity, he is not what he or she seems.”

“Who cares what he is?” Mark reminded sharply. “Dark has the keys to the city.”

Jackie drew his hand over his face, “Shit, how many identities does that asshole know?”

“Chase’s, Celine, or Dark, she mentioned him as “a priority target” or something,” Ethan said. “I’ve never told him mine.”

“Chase goes over ta talk wit’ the mayor e’ery week,” Jack groaned. “I’ll talk wit’ him. Mark let’s see if that asshole is anymore arrestable if he looks human.”

Jackie ran off and Mark turned to Ethan, “You are never to go off like that alone again.”

Ethan glared at Mark, “I am twenty-three, I’m not a baby. You go up against Dark and a group of his goons alone all the time.”

“I can be slammed against a wall at sixty miles an hour and not get hurt,” Mark reminded. “I don’t want to attend another funeral, especially if it’s for someone else who went into Dark’s territory with no back up and then got themselves thrown into a blender.”

“My powers are perfect for spying and you’re not letting me use it,” Ethan felt frustrated, taking his mask off. “Come on, I’m not an apprentice anymore.”

Mark took a deep breath, clearly not liking the situation, but he turned to the Host, “Hey Host.”

“Yes,” Host answered prematurely. “It would be the Host’s honor.”

Mark pointed at Ethan, “I want you to get so good I can’t find you when you start pulling pranks.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Ethan smiled, excited, he started to slink out, turning invisible halfway through his sentence. “I’ll be so stealthy that no one will see me.”

Mark rolled his eyes, “You can’t be a good spy if you keep running your mouth.”

“I was never here,” Ethan said to him, next to Mark’s shoulder.

“You’re not making me feel good about this,” Mark told him.

“Where am I?” Ethan asked, making his voice sound ghostly.

“A mistake was made,” Mark just shook his head smiling, “clearly.”

Ethan joked around for a bit before he and Mark eventually went home, Roman already off trying to track Logan down.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Crankgameplays #Markiplier #Thomas Sanders #Darkiplier #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Wilford Warfstache #Ed Edgar #Darkstache #Wilford x Celine #what is their ship name cause I can't figure it #spying secret identity #heroes are a bit overprotective of Ethan #but they have a good reason and Ethan's not making it easy for them

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everydayanth · 5 years

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Let’s talk about talking about politics! Yay! Everyone’s favorite!

Over the past few weeks/months/years, I have had this strange insider seat to a bunch of criminal justice/poly sci professionals (as in, they get paid as professors or scientists or compliance officers, etc.) as they talk about politics and get angry at the general public for our lack of understanding, without having the patience to teach or explain.

Two problems: 1. the ivory tower issue of watching and not actively engaging in the social part of social science, but as their friend, I will note much of this comes from burnout through negative engagement and attacks; 2. expecting others to have had an adequate education to even know many of these tools exist in order to discuss things beyond our average public school education that cuts out Fridays and makes random half days because we can’t afford teachers or textbooks.

As an awkward observer, here are some things I never talked about in school, despite having a better political/civil/economics education included in my curriculum than many of my friends:

1. When we vote for someone, we are voting on a trend in politics. Not as a result, but a direction to move, and most voters vote for the candidate who is closest to their current values already, rather than following the trend of voting for who would move policy to match their needs.

2. Our values change far more than we think they do and they almost always align with a problem we require a solution to or a fear we would like to stabilize or go away, such as property taxes. Because we need to trust the person to solve our problems, especially if we are projecting large fears, candidates who are most likable. We don’t like to stir the pot, we just want it to go where we want, fighting for something is exhausting for everyone.

3. We consider political agendas to be moral agendas but do not agree on obligations. Many feel powerless, others are powerless, we talk about responsibility, but without acknowledging those first two things, it sounds more like blame. We also imagine many things to be wishful thinking that are enacted successfully elsewhere and fail to understand or use logical reasoning to really discuss issues. Anything will be an experiment because the US is so huge, but it is a scalable experiment working in other places, often we don’t understand that until we’re abroad and sick.

4. We’re not sure how to translate policy, and our country was built by and for lawyers. There are very little areas where we agree as a society on black/white right/wrong, and in many ways that’s good, but when it comes to discussing policy, it can be very confusing.

To account for these aspects, people use charts and grids. Much like personality tests, these are useful for creating a foundation upon which to debate and discuss, but are ultimately made by humans in order to generalize and will have errors and discrepancies. But the political spectrum has rarely been the single line most of us were taught. Instead, it is often a grid used to navigate the direction and preference of trends. Most people are much more moderate than they think, but have problems that need cooperative solutions, like the water crisis and fires on the west coast, disaster relief in the south, crop failure in the midwest, and ticks and diseases in the northeast. We all have huge problems and some areas are insulated from them for now, but they will come. How we navigate and demand solutions for those problems is what creates policy and the policies we agree with because of our value is what dictates our vote.

So here’s some charts that human people made to talk about these things with and they have helped ground a lot of engaging conversations with people as I watch them argue but not get angry, because there’s a visual thing to talk around. Those kinds of tools should be everywhere.

The political compass:

via Wikipedia: political spectrum

^A generalization of what different areas might look like. I’ve seen so many versions of this, but I liked the way this one because it gave me a better understanding of words I’m more familiar with and where they fall within the broad concepts. I couldn’t find the source.

^ Here is another one from Google that took me to a shady site, so I didn’t link it, but the goal is to just be familiar with the different ways people structuralize and use definitions and terms to divide them up, in the end, the general understanding is all that matters, and our goal is to be functional, for the government to be usable by the people. Hamilton, the musical, was/is so important for many reasons, but one of the big ones is that it reminded us that this fight of trends and moving around the board has been going on since the very first election of a president to America. It’s always about one group pulling another, creating a tug-of-war that keeps us near the middle, hopefully.

This is a graph showing the individual party ideologies of past presidents by a site called Fact Myth. It is showing the party split between individuals and while we could argue and speculate about accuracies and meanings, whether a president was pushed to make a decision as a person, etc. in the end, they represent the will of the people and the trends we with to follow to solve problems at the time.

^An outline someone made of 2020 candidates on Reddit that has been going around for a while. Jake showed this to me and while he was perfectly receptive to me saying that yeah, but a person made this and they can have agendas and just put people places, he also had some really great points on how Americans often think we’re moderates, but what we perceive to be in the middle is often skewed by capitalism. That’s not to say it’s bad, simply that if we’re talking trends and problems and solutions, we have to understand where we are on the real scale, not just our own. We will also tend to vote for those who are closest to us, rather than moving in the direction of us, so, say someone sits right where Ryan is, Ryan drops out; now, despite their personal political preference being on the edge of the middle moderate square, they move to Biden rather than Warren or Sanders because Biden is closer to their original place, even if, coming from Trump, moving to Warren/Sanders would pull the political trend back toward their moderate preference.

Not everyone does this, obviously, but I’m fascinated by how our individual personalities affect how we decide politics. Are you a “next best thing” kind of person? Are you a “obsess relentlessly until it’s done” kind of person? Are you a “don’t fix it if it ain’t broke? Or what about “out of sight out of mind, doesn’t bother me, I don’t care” kind of person? So many of the ways we solve our daily problems are reflected in the ways we move our own political affiliations during voting times. I just think that’s interesting because I’m a social science nerd though.

A friend from Brown who is much older than us (also a social science nerd <3) pointed out that she grew up with such antagonizing propaganda during the cold war and beginnings of technological boom and peak oil, and it all said the same thing, anything outside the blue is morally wrong and heavily corrupt. I thought that was an interesting point about exposure and remembering past problems, how voting ages overlap to find new solutions or rely on old ones, and what it would cost us to see American politics on a global scale.

^This is a global scale of values (not politics) from the wikipedia page on political spectrums, and I thought it tied into the conversation in interesting ways, especially when we look at American generation differences in individualism and social cooperation and how they are viewed by each other to both be equally negative. There’s a whole world of solutions and different ways things our done, but we’ve been taught from birth that some are bad and others are exceptions and ours is good.

Vox has an interesting tool to figure out where abouts you would lie on the compass. I think debating it with others is a better way, since it’s a primarily relative scale (unless you prefer those structuralist ones, but keep in mind that it’s a preference, not a requirement). But I thought I’d include it for those who may not have access to that kind of conversation.

In the end, consider your morals and how they are different from your current values, and how your current values are affected by your current problems, and how you want the world to look, how you want trends to move, and how your biases of experience or ignorance might play a role in that. I honestly didn’t really think about healthcare until I was in Ireland and saw how simple an alternative was and how freeing it felt. My parents can’t even imagine it (and they are of the class who should most desire those changes), they don’t have enough of a base knowledge to understand how it works, it’s electricity after gaslamps.

Anyway, just thought I’d share some of those tools. As a skeptical person, I want to remind everyone that these are tools, not documented facts, and fighting about where people are on the graph and where we might be is part of how we come to conclusions about rights and wants and solutions and needs and what we actually value. Most of us, in the end, value comfort and hope, and we vote for the people we think provide that to us. The problem often lies in people misunderstanding their own comfort and relying on ignorance rather than hope. I found these graphs useful in grounding my talks with overwhelming professionals and finding some semblance of peace in what I wanted to hope for and I hope maybe for some of you they can provide that as well. ❤️

If, like me, you reached your 20s and realized a gaping hole in your education, I also recommend the Crash Course series on US Politics. It helped me understand a lot of things that were skimmed over in textbooks or left as multiple choice answers on a standardized test. Politics are a series of solutions to the problems we face as a social group, and knowing how to talk about them completely changed my own feelings of helplessness when communicating to others.

#politics #political spectrum #political compass #education #american politics #voting #policy #society #sociology #anthropology #discussion #education access #crash course

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adlexegam · 4 years

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please tell me, am i in the wrong?

so basically i decided to join here cause i at least know my post wont get removed here. i tried posting my story on reddit’s AITA but my post kept getting removed because on their posts you cant post about abuse. so fuck it, here i am, hoping for someone other than my bf and myself to tell me im not wrong. context:i decided to invite my boyfriend over without telling my parents, i did it max 5 times. i was 16 at the time and he was 18. i got caught and my punishment was to get my phone taken away, my number cancelled, im no longer allowed to drive a car or get my license, im only allowed one friend, im not allowed my laptop anymore, im no longer allowed outside without constant supervision, cameras were installed in and out of the house, and just about every day since december of 2019 ive been getting told how disgusting i am for wanting to be with a n****r (my bf’s half puerto rican half white, i’m half hispanic and half white too), how if he was white he would have come to the front door and shook my parent’s hands and asked for permission to date their daughter, how im a dirty n****r lover who will get pregnant from him and have to slave away to take care of our half breed mistakes, how if i stay with him he’ll sell my body on the streets for money, how if i have sex with him ill get every std on the plant, all that 50′s bullshit. ive gotten pregnancy tested (im celibate), drug tested (mom claims she smelled weed in my room, so he’s a dirty n****r drug dealer apparently forcing me to do drugs, guess what i am against drugs since i know itll change my brain chemistry and i have weak lungs),and std tested (still celibate). for the first few months after they found out i was allowed my laptop at home to do homework, and only allowed my phone during school. one day i got home and i got greeted to the fact that i no longer have a laptop and now have to use the house computer to do all my work at home. of course i got mad because for months ive been doing everything they wanted, and suddenly im being punished for being suspiciously good? my mom got on top of me and fought me to take off my backpack to take my airpods too, left my phone on the kitchen table. i grabbed my phone and locked myself in my room. she found out i took my phone, and once i unlocked the door i held my phone above my head so we can just talk. instead she got on top of me and started scratching me and all over my arms to get to my phone. i dropped it from the pain of the scratches on my arms. earlier that same day i was getting ready for school with my laptop open, camera taped over, looking for any school assignments i missed. my mom unlocked my door and saw my nude body getting ready with my laptop open, and just went back to the kitchen table and told my dad how much of a slut i am and how im posting my nude body on the internet. i quickly put on clothes and came up to her yelling how im just getting ready for school and how theres tape over the camera. i even told her to look at the laptop, the only thing open was google classroom. my dad got up and started yelling at me for being a slut and for talking back. for once i finally got tired of being yelled at, i finally stood up for myself. he punched me in the face and when my mom got in between to defend me (she caused the whole situation), his swings went back in on her stomach. i screamed dont hit my mother and tried to push her off him, he used the oppurtunity to grab my shoulder by my uniform and punch me in the shoulder. everything was a blur after that. my mother drove me to school and yelled how i shouldnt have been a whore on the internet. i fought back. before i got to school i yelled “please, just fuck off”. this is important later, because she used me saying that as the excuse for her getting on top of me and scratching me and ripping my backpack off my back. because i swore at her. it was okay. but here’s the important part. he hit me in front of the camera. i knew the police would ignore the emotional abuse ive been getting for my entire life. i got my physical evidence. finally, after 16 years, i had my evidence. i told my boyfriend what happened, and we agreed to meet after school the next day and call the police. i wanted to be emancipated, since my parents adamantly agreed that i (apparently) only wanted to be emancipated because my ‘poor street rat n****r boyfriend’ was manipulating me into it. ive been dreaming of this day since i was 8, when i realized what ive been told wasnt normal. they showed up on the corner of where i called. i told the policemen what happened to me the day before. they asked if i had any scars or bruises. i said no, he didnt punch me hard enough to get a bruise the next day, and my mother didnt scratch me hard enough to get scars. they knew what would happen if they gave me physical evidence. after i said that, the policeman interrogating me asked me something that will stay with me until the day i die. “he never really hit you, did he?” i began crying and saying yes! yes he did! i have video footage to prove it! we have cameras in the house! it happened right in front of the cameras! more questions ensued, and i was brought to the police station while my boyfriend waited at a local coffeeshop for me to finally be free from the abuse. at first i was scared, but the cops calmed me down. i told them everything. all my memories spilled from my mouth like water from the niagra falls. everything came rushing out, my fears, my forgotten memories i forced into my box of never to be remembered, the times before i feared for my life, the times i knew something wasnt right. i told them everything from the bottom of my heart. they listened and asked all the right questions.(if you want to know what happened to me and what i told them, ill post them in a future post if anyone cares) one of the officers, the only one with melanin skin and a father to a beautiful girl, expressively felt sick from my stories, from my life. not even he could understand why, as a father, why any parent would find it right to do to me what they did. he was my favourite police officer, he was the kindest and the only one who really wanted me to feel comfortable. he talked to me on the level of a person, not a child. eventually cps came and he told me to tell her everything too. i did. she asked where i wanted to go if i got emancipated. i said to live with my boyfriend, his family is willing to take me in and once i get a job ill pay minimal rent so i can be free. she said ‘no, you cant live with a minor.’ i said he’s not a minor, he’s 18. she said ‘oh, then yeah you definetly cant live with him’ she said if i wanted to leave i would be put into a women’s shelter since i was too old to be adopted/put into foster care. she said i would be r*ped if i was put in there. she said i should just take it until im 18, then ill be fine. she said that there were no scars or bruises, so it wasnt that bad. (this part is blurry, the more i remember it the more the memories overlap, im sorry for any confusion) the police interrogated my parents. they believed every word they said. my mother used whitepages as a source to prove how my boyfriend lied about his name. my mother used our hours long calls to prove how im obviously being manipulated to lie. she said how im just a liar, as my father said, a pathological liar. they had no cause to me being a pathological liar, i was just born that way. i was lying to get into my manipulative boyfriend’s arms for my body to be used by him and his friends. i was obviously being manipulated, why would i want to leave my loving parents arms? i was obviously doing this just out of anger of getting my laptop and phone taken away, obviously. its not like they EVER did anything wrong to me, they were just teaching me to grow up a mature adult, ready for the world. they would never put their hands on me. the police never looked at the cameras. they never questioned me again. i was a liar. at home the child protective services lady said my room quote ‘ranked of weed’. i have never done weed. my boyfriend has never done weed in my room. at the station they said they couldnt find a record of my boyfriend. i later found out that, even after he gave them his social security number, they still questioned his existence. at the station they told my parents they couldnt find his record (he has none, hes never committed a crime). at home a therapist came. to my knowledge, my boyfriend was never real (no record) and i would still have to be at home. i wanted to die. the therapist said she wanted to take me to a mental hospital. my mom was there and consented. my dad later came home, yelled at me in front of the therapist. she said im suicidal, with his consent she would call her supervisor to take me to the local mental hospital. he consented. while she called her supervisor from across the kitchen, he said: “she wants to kill herself? fuck if i care, she can drown herself in a river for all i care” i sat there shocked. the mental hospital was a blur. once i got home i got my phone taken away too. my only communication would be from the 10+ year old computer we have in the kitchen. facing out so anyone that walks by can see what im doing. one of the cameras is watching me at all times, but is positioned so that it cant see what i am doing. once i got home i used our kindle fire. i logged into discord on incognito mode. i asked him to send me his birth certificate. was he even real? was i even real? was our late nights of cuddling nothing? were the walks in the park nothing? were the ‘i love you’s nothing? did meeting his family from an hour long train ride mean nothing? were the chinese food dates nothing? were the confessions of our embarassing secrets nothing? were the times we had non-vaginal sex and laughed in the middle from how silly we were being mean nothing? were the times we had tiffs and talked it out mean nothing? did he save me from my ex-abusive partner just to use me? were the times we layed down next to each other with the only covering being my blanket, staring at each other in wonder of how lucky each of us were, was that nothing? when we spent hours telling each other our entire life stories, was he lying? did the times he called my body the most beautiful thing he ever has seen, the times he’s said he didnt think he’d ever fall in love again from his ex, was that a lie? he sent his birth certificate. it was real. his birth date his name it was all real. he told me what happened to him. i told him what happened to me. he apologized for it going the way it did. i apologized for doubting him. child protective services sent a therapist me and my mother had to meet with weekly. 2 hours, 10 times. it lasted until the first weeks of quarantine. me and him are still in the same love we’ve has since before he found out how truly insane my parents are. the only reason we’ve ever gotten into fights is from how much he wants me to run away (before you say ‘ok maybe the parents were right, he sounds manipulative’, no, he only says that after every time something else happens at home and how he has to cope with the fact that im okay with being abused since its my normal. he wants me to run away from the abuse, not just so we can see each other again, so i wont be hurt anymore). he’s still the man i want to marry, the man i want to call mine and for him to call me his. we get scared the other might get tired of the waiting and just decide to leave for someone each other’s family would like. we talk through it. we know we can wait. i know i can take it until im 18. he knows he’ll be prepared to take me in once im 18. we know we can take the late nights awake, missing each other. we can take it because this isnt puppy love. this isnt purely passionate love. he wants me to be safe, and i want to finally be free. so you’re up to this point and you’re probably thinking one of three things: jesus christ can this lady capitalize anything?? or holy FUCK this is long it better be good or why did she title her post that? first of all, i do what a want nehenehenehneh second of all, whoever reads this needs the full context before i ask my question third of all, because of what happened a couple of days ago. a month ago my dad passed from covid-19. ive become the housewife while my mother has taken over the family business and my brother does the grass once a month. my mother still cooks, but i clean the dishes and fold laundry every day and vaccuum the whole house twice a week. a letter came in the other day stating how our child protective services case is now closed. they never found signs of physical abuse or neglect. my mother reminded me for the infinitieth time how stupid i am for getting manipulated. how much of a dirty n*****r lover i am. how i will never be anything without her. then she brought my father into this i started the situation, which made him depressed. he was depressed, so he couldnt fight off the virus. because he couldnt fight off the virus, he died. she blamed me for killing my father she blamed me for my father for deciding to go out every day without a mask for my father deciding to put in his eyedrops in an insanitary environment she blamed me it was my fault i knew i was leaving when im 18 i knew i wanted to tell my mother at least a month before i left that i was leaving but now theres no going back once im 18, im gone im never turning back i will never be treated like this or talked down like this ever again but who will clean? who will vaccuum? who will make sure the house is organized? do i stay? can i even go? i just dont know anymore should i go? and well, what i started this post with, please tell me, am i in the wrong? for planning on leaving when im 18? to finish this post, i just want to say a few things. dont tell me to call the police or child protective services.i already did. they believed my abusive parents and told them how they can protect themselves against me, since i was the one who started all this. plus, look at the fucking news. no fucking wonder they believed my parents. my boyfriend looks hispanic and i look white. no fucking wonder they believed my parents. fuck cops. not all cops are bad, but no cop should fucking gun down people for their race. no person should be judged from some racist person saying “oh im fearing for my life” and the person in question is black/a poc and is doing fucking nothing. they believed my fucking abusive parents because they threw my bf under the bus as bait and the police went for it. dont come after my family. all that will do is make everything worse for me. my mother can’t even look at a poc without claiming they’re related to my boyfriend and are going to follow her to kill her. dont do anything to me. just please answer my question. please just tell me if im in the right or if im in the wrong. i know this is abuse. i know whats happening to me is wrong. but i know i can take it. i know i can survive. i will survive and achieve my dream of becoming a doctor. i will be my own person. i am me

#numb #mental illness #abuse #trauma #sad #sadness #abusive #hurt #depression #acab #amitheasshole #aita #deep #emotionalabuse

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the-accidentals · 4 years

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Chapter 1

Laura walked in through the door of her shoddy apartment, the lights flickering on as she slumped down on her stained sofa, she wanted to order takeaway but knew she didn't have the money, life was way to expensive and this week had been a pile of horse shit if any one had been, her car was in the garage after it broke down a couple days ago, the bill was so high she would need to not eat for a month. Before getting off shift today she had seen a family of five burn, only 2 getting out alive, a baby and the father. She tried to not let her job get to her but fighting fires was the easiest part, watching the families as they realise that not everyone made it is the worst, you can feel the guilt in the air. We are trained to move on, you can't take every death personally or it kills you from the inside but whenever i see a family torn apart so abruptly the worry stays on my heart, seeing happy families destroyed was definitely the worst part of her job but laura still loved the job and everyone struggles with it so she just tries to leave the worry at work,but today it followed her home, there was just something about today, the fire had started in the oldests room, probably faulty electrics, she was barely out of primary school, just starting to think she was a grown up, it had already killed the middle kid by the time anyone realised and the mother just breathed in to much smoke, it was come and go for a bit but in the end she didn't even make it to the hospital. A happy family reduced to two, a morning father and a 2 month old girl, how she survived I don't know. All that innocence and such young lives torn away so quickly.

Laura stood up shaking her head, it's not good to stay focused on the bad things, noodles and beer and an early night and she can sort everything else out in the morning.She has parents she can beg for money,they won't be happy but they wont let her starve,she just wishes she didn't have to call. For tonight she resigned herself to the sofa with a bottle of cheap beer and some veg noodles, strolling through the internet. Eventually the sun was long gone and the shame came creeping back, she was sitting here running from her responsibilities with beer, noodles and a blanket around her, just trying to hide away on the internet, she was a grown woman, an adult. She closed down reddit and opened her emails, this was an adult thing, she could clear her inbox. Ad,ad,ad,scam,ad,ad, important thing she should of replied too, she was trying to be grown up but that was slightly too grown up, ad, bank statement, don't want to look at that, oh nice easy one, the unit chief is trying to set up a quiz night, he needs to know when i'm free, i can do that. After a couple minutes of checking her calendar, which was embarrassingly empty she had formed an adult but chill response. There! She had been an adult, she had written an email and deleted a few more. She scanned over the rest hoping they could wait a few more days until a quiet moment at work, one caught her eye, an email from a trial company, she did a couple of studies a few years back to get some extra cash and extra cash was just what she needed, she looked into it, it was a medical study looking into a mental health drug, they needed people with diagnosed mental illness so she knew she would fit right in. Drug trials were not her thing but the pay was pretty good, two injections a week, £50 each, it lasted 12 months but you could leave whenever, just under £5,000 for the whole year, she probably wouldn't hang on that long but long enough that she could fix her beat up honda and still eat. Honestly how could she resist? The testing facility was a 15 minute walk away from the fire station as well. Fuck me if was perefect, no nagging from anyone about “being an adult” and “looking after your finances”. Laura finally went to bed that night, slightly tipsy, exhausted but slightly less stressed.

Laura had 2 days until she got paid and she had her first appointment for the trial today, it was a rolling study so there was no set start date. She had promised steve, the mechanic down the road, that he would get paid the bill as soon as she got paid so that he would carry on working with no money upfront, to be honest he totally owned lorna one, she had set him up with an ex of hers about a year back and she had never seen him happier. She walked up to a little privately owned clinic that she had never noticed before, it was smart but felt way to clinical, the lights were so bright it burnt and like all of these places the smell of cleaner was so strong you could taste it, she popped her phone into the pocket of her oversized jacket as she came to the front desk, the lady at the desk looked he up and down, I suppose she didn't really look like she belonged, it didn't look like a cheap sort of place.” hi i'm here for the trial, umm laura burmwell” laura muttered into the ground,she hated reception staff, they always seemed super judgy and this lady was no different, she tapped away at her screen for a few very awkward moments and sighed, pointing me to a section of chairs near the back. Pulling her earphones out she landed in a seat.

“Dont worry she wasn't very nice to me either” a voice chucked next to her, a small grinning woman sat there tapping on her phone, laura smiled back, she was gorgeous, long black hair down to her waist, out shining laura’s dirty blonde mess any day.

“ I’m glad she doesn't just hate me” Lorna joked, internally panicking. Why is such a cute woman actually talking to me? She suddenly felt amazingly underdressed, she was sat next to a stunning women who was clearly ready to go to work in a nice yellow dress and a jacket and she is there look like a gay hobo, hair up in yesterdays bun and a t shirt that has dinosaurs on it, at she is wearing smartish jeans. “I’m laura, are you here for the study?” she smiled.

“Preet, yeah, i'm hoping they can cure the fuckery going on in my head before the end of it” she chuckled but I could see the blush forming over her skin as she processed what she had said, Laura just snorted, tapping her leg on the linoleum floor, trying to think of something to say, her mind in overdrive.

“ nervous?” Preet questioned.

“i just haven't been in a drug trial for years, what if I grow four heads or something?” She joked, Preet actually burst out laughing, tears starting to form in her eyes, which got Laura laughing too, they just sat there trying to hide there laughter from the rest of the very serious looking members of the waiting room, finally after about 5 minutes they both calmed down enough to speak, laughter still glistening in their eyes.

“ but seriously these drugs will of been tested for years before it gets to these sorts of tests, its perfectly safe, they are just proving it and checking out side effects, im sure you wont grow any more heads.” At that moment Preets name was called over the speaker system, Secretly both of them were hoping they had been forgotten about so they could sit here and chat all day but neither of them said it.

“See you later Laura” Preet called as she picked up her stuff and started to follow the now waiting nurse.

Lorna went back to her music, trying to pull a stupid grin off her face.

1941- September 5th

I walked into surgery, on the bench was the patient, a young soldier, barley 19. He was burning up. Nurse Weber was standing there, trying to cool him down while setting up. He had a gun wound that was starting to get infected and the bullet had yet been removed. We set to work, removing infected tissue and finding bits of the shattered bullet but further we got the more futile it became, he kept losing blood and nothing we could do would keep his temperature down, he was pretty much dead in front of us. The nurse looked up, exhaustion in every wrinkle in her face, defeat in her eyes, im sure she had been on duty when he came on, over 10 hours earlier. With an air of defect I started sawing him up, giving him a dose of penicillin and covering the wound with gauze. I doubt he would make the night but we had tried. I removed my bloodied gloves and left. Hoping to be able to rest now. My eyes started over at the dying children and men who fill the halls. when will the war end, when will the suffering stop, have not enough died for the righteous cause? I started towards the boards, I was still on duty for another few days before I could head home. As i passed through the corridors i passed a officer asking about his son, every has someone fighting in this war to end all wars, he came to a halt in front of me desperately asking for his sons conduction, i had treated him when he first got brought in, he was going to make it but he no longer had a left leg, a bomb had hit near trench and had impaled his leg. As he quickly dismissed me, relief clear on his face, you could clearly see the shine on his Swastika pin. “Heil Hitler” I murmured as he marched away into the chaos

This is the first part of a longer story and my first time doing any serious writing, any advice welcome! I know it isn't perfect but I tried so I hope you enjoy it xx

#Story #Oc #Superpower #author #Writing #Part 1 #The accidentals

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wuzzybear · 4 years

Text

The Accidentals- A bad fucking week. part 1

A group of broke adults join a medical trial hoping for some easy cash but instead get a lot more than what they wanted. There is something bad at play and they need to work it out if they ever want to be normal, not that they were normal before.

Laura walked in through the door of her shoddy apartment, the lights flickering on as she slumped down on her stained sofa, she wanted to order takeaway but knew she didn't have the money, life was way to expensive and this week had been a pile of horse shit if any one had been, her car was in the garage after it broke down a couple days ago, the bill was so high she would need to not eat for a month. Before getting off shift today she had seen a family of five burn, only 2 getting out alive, a baby and the father. She tried to not let her job get to her but fighting fires was the easiest part, watching the families as they realise that not everyone made it is the worst, you can feel the guilt in the air. We are trained to move on, you can't take every death personally or it kills you from the inside but whenever i see a family torn apart so abruptly the worry stays on my heart, seeing happy families destroyed was definitely the worst part of her job but laura still loved the job and everyone struggles with it so she just tries to leave the worry at work,but today it followed her home, there was just something about today, the fire had started in the oldest’s room, probably faulty electrics, she was barely out of primary school, just starting to think she was a grown up, it had already killed the middle kid by the time anyone realised and the mother just breathed in to much smoke, it was come and go for a bit but in the end she didn't even make it to the hospital. A happy family reduced to two, a morning father and a 2 month old girl, how she survived I don't know. All that innocence and such young lives torn away so quickly.

Laura stood up shaking her head, it's not good to stay focused on the bad things, noodles and beer and an early night and she can sort everything else out in the morning.She has parents she can beg for money,they won't be happy but they wont let her starve,she just wishes she didn't have to call. For tonight she resigned herself to the sofa with a bottle of cheap beer and some veg noodles, strolling through the internet. Eventually the sun was long gone and the shame came creeping back, she was sitting here running from her responsibilities with beer, noodles and a blanket around her, just trying to hide away on the internet, she was a grown woman, an adult. She closed down Reddit and opened her emails, this was an adult thing, she could clear her inbox. Ad,ad,ad,scam,ad,ad, important thing she should of replied too, she was trying to be grown up but that was slightly too grown up, ad, bank statement, don't want to look at that, oh nice easy one, the unit chief is trying to set up a quiz night, he needs to know when i'm free, i can do that. After a couple minutes of checking her calendar, which was embarrassingly empty she had formed an adult but chill response. There! She had been an adult, she had written an email and deleted a few more. She scanned over the rest hoping they could wait a few more days until a quiet moment at work, one caught her eye, an email from a trial company, she did a couple of studies a few years back to get some extra cash and extra cash was just what she needed, she looked into it, it was a medical study looking into a mental health drug, they needed people with diagnosed mental illness so she knew she would fit right in. Drug trials were not her thing but the pay was pretty good, two injections a week, £50 each, it lasted 12 months but you could leave whenever, just under £5,000 for the whole year, she probably wouldn't hang on that long but long enough that she could fix her beat up Honda and still eat. Honestly how could she resist? The testing facility was a 15 minute walk away from the fire station as well. Fuck me if was perfect, no nagging from anyone about “being an adult” and “looking after your finances”. Laura finally went to bed that night, slightly tipsy, exhausted but slightly less stressed.

Laura had 2 days until she got paid and she had her first appointment for the trial today, it was a rolling study so there was no set start date. She had promised Steve, the mechanic down the road, that he would get paid the bill as soon as she got paid so that he would carry on working with no money upfront, to be honest he totally owned Laura one, she had set him up with an ex of hers about a year back and she had never seen him happier. She walked up to a little privately owned clinic that she had never noticed before, it was smart but felt way to clinical, the lights were so bright it burnt and like all of these places the smell of cleaner was so strong you could taste it, she popped her phone into the pocket of her oversized jacket as she came to the front desk, the lady at the desk looked he up and down, I suppose she didn't really look like she belonged, it didn't look like a cheap sort of place.” hi i'm here for the trial, umm.. Laura Burmwell” Laura muttered into the ground,she hated reception staff, they always seemed super judgy and this lady was no different, she tapped away at her screen for a few very awkward moments and sighed, pointing me to a section of chairs near the back. Pulling her earphones out she landed in a seat.

“Don’t worry she wasn't very nice to me either” a voice chucked next to her, a small grinning woman sat there tapping on her phone, Laura smiled back, she was gorgeous, long black hair down to her waist, out shining Laura's dirty blonde mess any day.

“I’m glad she doesn't just hate me” Lorna joked, internally panicking. Why is such a cute woman actually talking to me? She suddenly felt amazingly under dressed, she was sat next to a stunning women who was clearly ready to go to work in a nice yellow dress and a jacket and she is there look like a gay hobo, hair up in yesterdays bun and a t shirt that has dinosaurs on it, at she is wearing smartish jeans. “I’m Laura, are you here for the study?” she smiled.

“Nervous?” Preet questioned.

“ but seriously these drugs will of been tested for years before it gets to these sorts of tests, its perfectly safe, they are just proving it and checking out side effects, I’m sure you wont grow any more heads.” At that moment Preet’s name was called over the speaker system, Secretly both of them were hoping they had been forgotten about so they could sit here and chat all day but neither of them said it.

“See you later Laura” Preet called as she picked up her stuff and started to follow the now waiting nurse.

Lorna went back to her music, trying to pull a stupid grin off her face.

1941- September 5th

I walked into surgery, on the bench was the patient, a young soldier, barley 19. He was burning up. Nurse Weber was standing there, trying to cool him down while setting up. He had a gun wound that was starting to get infected and the bullet had yet been removed. We set to work, removing infected tissue and finding bits of the shattered bullet but further we got the more futile it became, he kept losing blood and nothing we could do would keep his temperature down, he was pretty much dead in front of us. The nurse looked up, exhaustion in every wrinkle in her face, defeat in her eyes, I’m sure she had been on duty when he came on, over 10 hours earlier. With an air of defect I started sawing him up, giving him a dose of penicillin and covering the wound with gauze. I doubt he would make the night but we had tried. I removed my bloodied gloves and left. Hoping to be able to rest now. My eyes started over at the dying children and men who fill the halls. when will the war end, when will the suffering stop, have not enough died for the righteous cause? I started towards the boards, I was still on duty for another few days before I could head home. As i passed through the corridors i passed a officer asking about his son, every has someone fighting in this war to end all wars, he came to a halt in front of me desperately asking for his sons condition, i had treated him when he first got brought in, he was going to make it but he no longer had a left leg, a bomb had hit near trench and had impaled his leg. As he quickly dismissed me, relief clear on his face, you could clearly see the shine on his Swastika pin. “Heil Hitler” I murmured as he marched away into the chaos.

This is my first attempt writing, please tell me how to improve! this is the first part of a longer story.

#original writing #story #germany #nazi #lgbt #powers #mental health #writing #Lesbian

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uberrapidash · 4 years

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This is a post I made on Facebook, but I’m also putting it here since I can tag it and find it again later.

Hey, guys.

This post is somewhat self-reflection, processing, and validation, and somewhat PSA-ish/FYI-ish since I am posting it online.

Mental health is nuts. It affects everything. I took an Adderall this morning for the first time in over a month and a half, and it changes everything. I know I have shared about how Adderall changes everything for me before, but this time is different in some important ways because of the circumstances.

At some point during the spring semester this year, I began seeing a new PCP and a new psychiatrist, since I'm in a new city and actually have health insurance. I was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 29, this year. It was like a dream come true, because it was so incredibly validating, but also because I thought I would be able to get all the help I needed because I had this Very Important Answer now.

However, that was not the case. Upon diagnosis, I asked the psychiatrist if there were any support groups or resources that I could access to learn about my newly-confirmed Neuro-Divergent Brain™. She said she didn't know of any. So I have been learning about how my brain works through Youtube videos, Reddit posts, and the experiences that other people share with me.

At the same time that this was happening, I continued searching for answers about my ongoing mysterious health problems. One of the FIRST things that my PCP jumped on was to tell me, in clear terms, repeatedly, that I needed to ask my psychiatrist about putting me on something for "psychological pain." What she means by this is that she thinks that my body pain happens because of something going on in my brain, or that my brain is heightening normal aches and pains for some reason. And so I began taking Cymbalta (prescribed by the psych). This was later in the semester by now.

After being on the Cymbalta for about a month, I could no longer take my Adderall - I found that any time I took Adderall, I became extremely anxious, would physically shake and feel ill, and it was just all around a bad time. (Adderall is not a drug that you need to keep in your system - you can start it and stop it at any time. Cymbalta is one of those drugs that has to build up in your system. It takes like a minimum of two weeks to even start seeing how it affects you.) There was clearly something going on between the two drugs, so the clear choice was to not take the Adderall while I got in touch with the psych.

Now, at this time, I did not have an appointment set up with the psychiatrist, because she wanted to go two whole months before seeing me again (which seems like a really bad idea considering that I was still new on the Cymbalta... it baffled me when she told me that and I was not happy with it). So I made a mental note that I needed to make an appointment ASAP because this wasn't working.

Except... It's now July, and I still have not made an appointment. I have run out of Cymbalta and cannot get a refill because it needs to go through the doc. And I am in this situation because that's just how low-functioning I have been since starting the Cymbalta.

I needed to have been closely monitored. I needed to have frequent appointments. And when I didn't pick up the phone or return the calls to the psych's office, they should have kept calling me.This is the nature of mental illness. It controls everything. Your brain controls everything you do. I need someone to be assigned to my case to make sure that my life isn't falling apart, especially when I've been given new meds. I'm not the only one. And this isn't my first time going through something like this. The entire mental health field needs a lot of work.

Anyway... I haven't had Cymbalta in a few days, and I took Adderall today for the first time in a while. It's like putting glasses on. It's like an enormous heavy fog has been lifted. It's like I have been pulled out of a pool of molasses.

So... I am now capable of making that appointment, which I actually needed months ago. How fucked up is that?

__________

This is what it's like to be on the wrong meds, or to be unmedicated:

Every day for over a month, I have woken up every morning thinking about all of the really important things that needed doing, but as if I were chained to a pole or being held hostage in a cage, I could not do them. I was so sick that I had thoughts of telling Aaron that I needed help doing these things, but I couldn't even communicate it to him. That might sound impossible to someone who has never experienced any sort of mental illness or brain fog or executive dysfunction, but I and millions of other people are crying out about how so very real it is.

Today, after starting to gain some separation from the Cymbalta and after taking an Adderall, here are some things that have been different that I wasn't able to do before:

- I told Aaron basically the above paragraph ^^^ (Contrast: remaining silent on these problems... not communicating my plight at all whatsoever)

- I reached out to two (2) dear friends because I wanted to know how they are doing (Contrast: not reaching out to the people I love, ever)

- I drink water when I notice thirst (Contrast: becoming so thirsty that it's too distracting to ignore, getting a headache, increased body aches)

- I changed clothes once I recognized that what I was wearing was too warm (Contrast: suffering for hours until I felt sick from being too hot and couldn't do anything else, until doing something to alleviate that suffering)

- easily and efficiently gave my body breakfast (Contrast: not eating anything until I feel sick/am extremely physically weak)

- nearly automatically cleaned up after lunch (Contrast: leaving the mess until it's in the way at a later time)

- easily and efficiently picked up some dishes and trash in the apartment (Contrast: seeing dishes/trash, thinking "I want to clean that up/put that away," and not being able to make my body do the thing)

- not running into things when I walk around, being able to carry objects easily, and being able to efficiently pick up and put down multiple items without much effort. AKA - better motor control

- scheduled a time to go grocery shopping today (and I'm going to make a grocery list and meal plan after I'm done typing this) (Contrast: another day without having gone grocery shopping, another day of fast food)

The list goes on and will continue to go on...

__________

Shame on my PCP for pushing on the "psychological pain" thing instead of doing more to actually discover what is wrong with my body. Shame on me for seeing that red flag, but going along with it anyway. I feel like I'm constantly torn between wanting to trust medical professionals, who have had years and years of education and practice, and wanting to fight them. I thought I was in good hands. But add this onto the list of stuff that quickly built up with that doctor... I won't be seeing her again.

#personal #medical #adult adhd #mental health #adhd

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shirlleycoyle · 5 years

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The Fleshlight Is a Portal to the Future of Sex

“It’s quite possible someone’s having sex with me right now and I don’t even know it,” adult performer and director Stoya told me.

Her vulva is for sale on the internet and in stores. Or rather, a rubbery, lifelike mold of her vulva is, in the form of a Fleshlight. The outside of it looks almost exactly like her actual body. The inside is a labyrinth of corkscrew shapes, nodules, and ridges. It’s dubbed “The Destroya,” a name that, nine years after the product launched, still makes her laugh.

Fleshlight manufacturer Interactive Lifeforms LLC has sold more than 75,000 Destroyas and more than 15 million Fleshlights total since the company started 20 years ago. It averages around 20,000 retail orders every month, according to a spokesperson for the company.

At around 1.63 pounds each, that’s nearly 24.5 million pounds of fucktoy floating around, taking up space in closets, nightstands, and under beds around the world.

The Fleshlight is an artifact of the sexually adventurous, technologically innovative 90s, but it’s become the face—and lips, and anus, and lips—of the male sex toy industry. The fact that a disembodied vulva and vaginal canal to jerk off into exists in 2019, the era of #MeToo and grabbed pussies and tabloid uproar over sex robots, shows the often contradictory intersection of sex and technology.

On one hand, the Fleshlight is a portal to new forms of sexual openness, allowing people, even those who think of themselves as heterosexual men, to engage in sex that moves away from old notions of gender and the biological body in general. On the other, the Fleshlight is also the reduction of a person to a replica of their reproductive organs. But 21 years since its inception, Fleshlight, the people who use them, and sex toy experts are realizing that maybe people don’t need an exact replica of a vulva or anus to get off. Sex toys are increasingly taking on more abstract, functional forms, and the future of the Fleshlight and toys like it may rely less on using replicas of disembodied genitals.

Today, the Fleshlight is polarizing even for the people who use it. No matter your opinion of the ubiquitous brand, it’s made an undeniable mark on human sexuality and the world.

Hundreds of years from now, if sentient life still exists on Earth, when archeologists dig up the still-intact bits and pieces of plastic casings containing rubberized genitalia, what will they think of the Fleshlight? Will it be considered an antiquated representation of how society literally objectified and commodifed sexual pleasure, or a turning point in the normalization of sex toys for all people, and our first step into a world where technology is an inseparable part of sex?

The answer, according to people who make them, use them, and are them, is both.

WHAT MAKES A FLESHLIGHT

The original Fleshlight model consists of a 10-inch plastic tube casing with a soft sleeve inside. You stick an erect dick (plus some water-based lube) into one end, grip ridges on the outside of the casing, and stroke the penis inside of the sleeve. You fuck the tube, come in the tube, then (ideally promptly) unscrew the whole apparatus and rinse it out with water (soap could degrade the material) and dry it.

Earliest archived version of Fleshlight.com, captured May 1998

Why the Fleshlight exists is a complicated story that’s become seminal sex toy lore. If the many interviews given by the company’s founder Steve Shubin are to be believed, the Fleshlight was born from his desire to get off while his spouse was pregnant.

In the late 90s Shubin, a former member of the Los Angeles Police Department’s SWAT team, and his wife Kathy were expecting twins. Both in their 40s, the couple was advised by doctors that because of their age and the fact Kathy was having two babies, the pregnancy was high-risk. He claims they were told not to have sex again until after the baby was born.

“I asked my wife ‘would you think I was a pervert if I told you there was something that I could use, sexually?'” Shubin told Wired in 2008. “But the adult store had only junk. Just crap. I thought, I can make something better, and took $50,000 of our savings to start working on it.”

Image from the 1997 patent filing for a “discrete sperm collection” device.

Shubin’s first patent filing, in 1995, was for a “female functional mannequin,” a hard sex doll torso. He called his next invention, which boiled the whole doll down to just the genitals, a “device for discreet sperm collection.” The proto-Fleshlight.

This version of the Fleshlight was pretty similar to what we see on the market today. But the description Shubin laid out in the 1997 patent filing was much more clinical. The product was framed as useful for sperm banks or doctors’ offices.

It also predicted some of the embarrassment many men feel from tucking a sex toy away in their own homes:

While my [sex doll] patent succeeds admirably in fulfilling the objects of that invention, it has several characteristics that prevent it from universal acceptance. When the torso mannequin is used in sperm banks, doctor’s offices, and other public facilities, it is sometimes intimidating to the patient being treated or may have an adverse effect upon the patient’s sexual desire and ability to deposit sperm. […] When the device of my patent is used in the home, or by those who find such a mannequin to be positive in nature, there is the concern that others will still find the object during a casual visit to the home.

The earliest version of Fleshlight.com that’s archived online, captured in 1998, shows a company attempting to carve a path as the first widely-accepted male sex toy by characterizing it as a requirement of virility, manliness, and insatiable sex drive. From an archive of Fleshlight’s “Our Philosophy” page circa May 1998:

The need for sexual gratification is as present and as powerful in a man as it is in the stallion. But where the stallion has no ability to wait, relentlessly pursuing his desire until he is satisfied or restrained, man has the ability to control his desires through fantasy… That release has to be done in a responsible way or we risk our relationships, expose ourselves to disease, take a chance with unwanted pregnancy, or even, in extreme cases, break the law.

The market, and we as a species, were primed for this thing to succeed. Hallie Lieberman, sex historian and author of Buzz: The Stimulating History of the Sex Toy, told me that artificial vaginas and sleeves date as far back as the 1600s—the first being Japanese masturbators made from tortoiseshell and velvet, she said. Artificial vaginas were sold in the U.S. as early as the late 1800s, she said, and Doc Johnson debuted the “pocket pal” in the late 1970s. Pocket pals look a lot like Fleshlights without the hard case around them (therefore, like long fleshy sandworms), and the labias themselves are a lot more realistic-looking compared to Fleshlights’ more smooth, almost cartoonish aesthetic.

Doc Johnson’s “Pocket Pal,” as seen for sale on Amazon.

When Fleshlight hit the market in the late 1990s, sex toys marketed to male customers still mostly consisted of “pocket pussies,” “those disembodied, often clunky looking artificial vaginas—sometimes with fake pubic hair,” Lynn Comella, associate professor of gender and sexuality studies at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas and author of Vibrator Nation, told me. “They were really kind of gross looking and for years, many women-friendly retailers, such as Good Vibrations, refused to carry them because they felt that displaying disembodied female body parts didn’t fit with their women-friendly vibe.” (San Francisco-based Good Vibrations became the first sex-positive, women-friendly sex shop in the U.S. in 1997.)

“Some Fleshlight designs actually depict women’s genitals beautifully, like a more commercialized version of a Georgia O’Keefe painting.”

Since time immemorial, men have been fucking whatever they can get their hands on, whether it be rubber gloves, toiler paper rolls, couch cushions, fruit, teddy bears, etc. A story about a Redditor who jerked off into a coconut, then later had his penis covered by maggots (he did it multiple times with the same coconut), has become treasured Reddit lore. There are also communities committed to exploring upscale DIY masturbators by refashioning Pringles cans, sponges, and building a better Fleshlight.

The Fleshlight arrived in a perfect pro-masturbation societal storm, Lieberman said: On the heels of the safe sex messaging of the 1980s AIDS crisis, in the midst of cultural landmarks like Seinfeld’s 1992 episode “The Contest” which grappled with masturbation both male and female, and as the White House forced Surgeon General Jocelyn Elders to resign in 1994 for suggesting masturbation should be taught in school. In the 90s, masturbation, for better or worse, was discussed more openly than ever.

Shubin couldn’t have happened into a better time to unveil a tasteful sex toy for penis-having people. But the Fleshlight founder’s reputation is controversial: he’s waxed nostalgic in interviews about his time as an aggressive LAPD cop, and the company’s Glassdoor reviews are generally abysmal.

In 2010, Stoya stopped by the Fleshlight headquarters in Austin, Texas before her mold was made, and described Shubin as a “mountain of a man” who normalized the absurdity that surrounded him.

“He was like, ‘We’re having a meetin’ about selling your vulva, in a can, in a box,'” she said. “It suddenly seems so reasonable and everyday when you’re talking, but you get back to regular life and it’s like, Ha, there are like 100,000 replicas of my pussy floating around.”

USER EXPERIENCES

When I went looking for Fleshlight users, nearly 200 people messaged me to voluntarily talk about their Fleshlight experiences.

“It felt a lot better than I thought it would, which kind of depressed me tbh,” one Fleshlight user told me. “Made me miss actual physical intimacy. Hence why I only used it like 5 times.”

I offered all of them anonymity in order to speak freely about their private, sexual experiences, and asked the ones who requested anonymity to explain why they didn’t want to be named. Almost all of them cited some element of social stigma or shame.

The overwhelming majority of these people were male-identifying. Many said they were lapsed Fleshlight or non-Fleshlight pocket pussy enthusiasts—guys who told me they’d been gifted a masturbation sleeve of some kind, years ago, or bought one on a whim, and used it once or twice before casting it aside again. Several cited the difficulty of cleaning the Fleshlight for why they don’t use it more.

At least three cited some hazing ritual in college, or sharing one pocket pussy with an entire group of male friends.

Several described feeling a sense of disgust with themselves after using it.

“Used it like 4 times, post nut clarity hit extra hard, & now it’s somewhere in my closet soaked in semen & dust,” said one person.

Almost everyone who spoke to me said the feeling of masturbating into a fake vagina is nothing like the real thing.

“They’re billed as lifelike, and they simply are not,” one said. “Of course! It’s a chunk of rubber at the end of the day. It’s not a bad thing, they feel good.”

A few men told me that they use Fleshlights due to physical disability, to increase stamina, or conditions that make it difficult for them to have sex otherwise. One said he bought his online when he was 22. Because he has cerebral palsy, finding sexual partners is difficult. A Fleshlight, he thought, would make imagining the experience more vivid.

“It was what I expected, but it was also more difficult to enjoy for me as my hand would cramp from using the plastic container thing it came with for extra suction,” he said. “As a disabled user, it allowed me the freedom and knowledge that sex toys were definitely for me! It helped me deal with some of the loneliness that I was experiencing.”

I also spoke with Dan Cooper, senior editor at Engadget, about his experience reviewing a Fleshlight Launch—the company’s digital product made with teledildonics company Kiiroo, that moves up and down on its own, in tandem with porn scenes. Cooper’s childhood phimosis (a condition that causes over-tightening of the foreskin) led to him needing a medical circumcision, which he said gave him limited sensitivity during sex or masturbation.

“Even as someone who thinks of themselves as sex-positive, I’ve always held the view that Fleshlights were a bit sad,” Cooper told me. “I’d assumed that they wouldn’t have worked with my broken genitals, but it was revelatory how effective (and fun) they are to use.”

A few wives and girlfriends told me why they bought their male partners Fleshlights as gifts. Their stories usually involved buying masturbators as a couple, to use while traveling or in long-distance relationships. Some said they were gifts to use during military deployments.

Karabella, a trans woman and porn performer, told me that she first encountered a Fleshlight in 2012, on her first big production shoot. “I’d never even heard of a ‘pocket pussy’ before, but [the director] pulled out a brand new one and handed it to me,” she said. “It wasn’t exactly inviting when I first slid into the butthole-shaped slit of cold silicone, so I initially started to lose my erection. However, as it began to warm up around me it was increasingly difficult to differentiate between it and real flesh.” Seven years later, using a Fleshlight has become a staple of her cam shows and performances.

HOW IT’S MADE

Beyond what’s publicly available on the Fleshlight website, specific details about the production of Fleshlights are a closely-guarded company secret. No one outside the company seems to know what the soft, skin-like material—trademarked as “Real Feel SuperSkin”—is made out of.

Kristen Kaye, Fleshlight’s Head of Business Development until late last month when she left the company, said that the material “is indeed proprietary.” She told me she believes it is biodegradable, and “made of natural materials, mostly.”

The closest I came to finding the secret recipe for SuperSkin was through the founder of FleshAssist.com, a website devoted to all things Fleshlight and masturbators. A 24-year old web developer who goes by the pseudonym John started FleshAssist in 2014 after years spent frequenting Fleshlight forums. He told me in an email that ever since buying his first name-brand Fleshlight at 20 years old, he was “hooked.”

John told me that SuperSkin, as far as he’s aware, is made from “amorphous polymers,” a mixture of PVC and silicone. It’s similar to CyberSkin, another type of thermoplastic faux-skin material used in lots of non-Fleshlight brand sex toys and dolls (but not patented, like SuperSkin).

“The trick with softer materials is that they will inevitably not feel as velvety or suede-y as harder silicone,” Emily Sauer, founder of sex wearable company Ohnut, told me. “So there is in the development of the product, there is a constant battle between, you know, does it feel too sticky? Does it feel gross in any way? There’s a very fine line.”

“The hand is just way easier. Boner. Hand. Done. It’s that simple.”

Micropores in the Fleshlight’s PVC make their “skin” more realistic to the touch, but also can never be fully, truly sterilized once it’s used. The top complaint I heard from all of the Fleshlight users I spoke to was that it’s too hard to clean to use regularly.

“That’s really gross to me that guys don’t even rinse them out right after, now I’m thinking about it,” Kaye said. “How hard it would be to clean…. If you were to let things dry in there, how disgusting that would be?”

After our call, I borrowed a friend’s (unused) Fleshlight to find out for myself. It’s relatively easy to unscrew the pieces and take apart, and there’s a hole in both ends of the removable soft sleeve to run water through it. As In Bed Magazine’s YouTube review notes, the most inconvenient part of cleaning is leaving it out to dry in the open long enough that you can safely store it without worrying about mold growing in a wet, airtight can—but not so long that your roommates or family stumble across a silicone worm with a vulva on the end of it.

“I think it just comes down to laziness, to be honest,” Kaye said about why people don’t regularly clean their Fleshlights.

According to my very informal online polling, she’s right.

“The biggest annoyance for me was the clean up,” Twitter user and self-proclaimed “vaginal aficionado” @BurlClooney said. Burl first heard about Fleshlight on an episode of Joe Rogan’s podcast, which had a partnership with the company from 2010 to around 2012, according to Rogan’s tweets at the time.

“Your semen goes down into a base at the bottom and you should really clean that shit immediately,” he said. “But, I usually just wanted to sleep right away and would leave it until the next day or I would forget until I next used it. It was absolutely fucking disgusting. The cum would turn a weird color and it was so gross to clean out then. However, I mainly stopped due to all the prep work. The hand is just way easier. Boner. Hand. Done. It’s that simple.”

BECOMING A ‘FLESHLIGHT GIRL’

Stoya told me she once fucked a man with a mold of her own silicone vagina.

“It was so like, bizarrely narcissistic, but kind of beautiful,” she said.

She’s featured in one of Fleshlight’s most popular product lines, the Fleshlight Girls. There are also Fleshlight Boys (anal molds), and Guys (dildos), all modeled after real porn performers’ anatomy. Fleshlight currently offers around 45 models of Fleshlight Girls, including Stoya, Riley Reid, Jessica Drake, and Kissa Sins.

“I was laughing and talking a lot, and they told me to be careful, because your asshole actually moves a little bit when you laugh.”

Becoming a Fleshlight Girl is a career goal for many in the industry. Kaye, who led the selection of Fleshlight models, told me that three or four years ago the performer’s popularity rank on Pornhub, for example, would have been a deciding factor. Now, she looks at a variety of metrics—social media following, engagement online, how entrepreneurial and invested they are in their own success.

As secretive as the SuperSkin material recipe is, the process of molding a real vulva into SuperSkin is kept even more tight-lipped.

Fleshlight Girl Elsa Jean told me that the process of getting her custom mold done involved going to the Fleshlight headquarters in Austin and having someone cast a mold of her vulva and anus. Fleshlight models’ genitalia are also photographed using a 3D camera, and the final mold is hand-sculpted by a professional artist to get the details as accurate as possible.

“For my butthole, I had to go into a doggy[-style position],” Jean said. “I was laughing and talking a lot, and they told me to be careful, because your asshole actually moves a little bit when you laugh.”

Once they’re finished making the silicone mold, the models are given the product to check out. When Stoya saw a Fleshlight modeled after her own anatomy for the first time, the first thing she did was text a handful of her former lovers a photo of the silicone vulva. They’d know, she reasoned, if it was realistically accurate. (They said it was.)

“It was a very like, holy shit moment,” Stoya said. “You feel a bit like an action figure.”

Models are paid in royalties instead of a flat fee. The more that sell, the more money they personally make. For Stoya, being recruited for a Fleshlight of her own was a springboard into independence in the adult industry. “It’s what’s enabled me to start independent porn companies like Zero Spaces,” she said. “It’s sold well enough that it gives me the extra resources to do creative things.”

“Having my vagina and butthole on sale for people is actually pretty amazing,” Jean said. “Believe it or not, it was one of my goals when I first started in the industry. It’s as close as they can get to having the real thing.”

The actual objectification—turning a woman’s body into an object—involved in making a custom Fleshlight has brought the company, and anatomically-correct masturbation sleeves generally, some criticism.

“I don’t think it’s objectifying,” Lieberman said. “In fact, I’d even say that some Fleshlight designs actually depict women’s genitals beautifully, like a more commercialized version of a Georgia O’Keefe painting.”

I asked Stoya how she feels about the objectification criticism, as someone who’s worked in the adult industry as an actor, director, writer and business owner. Is the idea that hundreds of men could be fucking “her” right now weird at all?

After all, hundreds of people could be jerking off to her porn right now, too—and isn’t that kind of the same? Not at all, she said.

“People like don’t give a fuck largely about who’s doing the fucking [in mainstream porn], who’s coming up with the fucking, but with a Fleshlight—someone has looked [for me],” she said. “And even if they don’t know who I am, or my work, or care who I am as a person? They’ve still chosen my vulva. And that’s qualitatively different.”

People choose the Stoya Fleshlight because they’ve seen her work, or read something she’s written, or even just read the description on the product page of her persona, she said—and liked what they saw enough to pay $79.95 to fantasize about fucking her.

“That feels really humanizing,” Stoya said. “Whereas seeing one of my videos pirated on Pornhub with a sentence in the description that says, ‘Don’t mention the performers name so she can’t find this and get this removed’? That’s really dehumanizing, and really separates you from your work. With the Fleshlight, it’s the opposite.”

THE STIGMA

As the woman charged with marketing a plastic pussy to the masses, Kaye had a big job. And a huge part of that job, she told me, is overcoming the stigma attached to masturbation sleeves, and the men who buy them. Kaye’s worked in the adult industry—in advertising, consulting, and marketing—for 13 years, but for the last three with Fleshlight, she’s made it her mission to drag that shame out from under men’s beds and bring masturbation tools into the light.

“Unfortunately, for men, there are stigmas attached to using a masturbation device… because for whatever reason, if a guy’s masturbating or talks about masturbating, it’s like they’re not getting laid,” she said.

“For cis-gendered males, revealing you have a fleshlight gives implications that you can’t ‘get a girl’ on your own, which inhibits the positive ramifications of using sex toys,” one anonymous user told me. “In reality, they can help people explore what satisfies them, and healthily masturbating can relieve stress or just clear one’s mind, at least in my experience.”

“I feel like a lot of men feel ashamed or embarrassed for using one, but when you’re having a dry spell or not getting laid often, it’s very beneficial,” Twitter user @g0dsparadise said. “I have given Fleshlights as gifts in the past, I have told my closest friends about it, and I am hoping that one day it becomes very common to own one just because this whole stigma is ridiculous to me.”

Some pointed out a percieved double standard between male and female-gendered sex toys. “There’s an interesting dichotomy,” Cooper said. He attributed it to women’s sex toys being seen as “luxurious” and respected, while men’s typically aren’t. “But it all drills back to the idea that we should somehow be ashamed of sex.”

FleshAssist founder John told me that while the stigma itself isn’t as bad as it used to be, it still exists.

“I saw a comment before that said something along the lines of ‘a dildo looks potent, it shows that a woman doesn’t need a man,’ making it a symbol of female independence and empowerment,” John said. “I think if we flip that around, and say ‘a man with a masturbator shows that he doesn’t need a woman’ it doesn’t have the same resonance at all.”

Liberman said that she has noticed this stigma, too—and that despite toys like Fleshlight in the mainstream, it hasn’t changed much. “I think that’s because men are supposed to be self-sufficient and not need additional tools to get off,” she said. “Their hands are supposed to be all they need.”

THE FUTURE OF FUCKTOYS

It’s possible that the Fleshlight and other toys like it are a decent oracle for the future of sex.

If the analog Fleshlight was a step toward destigmatizing male sex toys, its interactive, internet-connected iteration could help bring virtual reality sex to the mainstream.

Fleshlight’s Launch device syncs automatic, motorized movement with interactive porn content. It’s a Fleshlight sleeve inside a casing shaped and sized like a wine chiller that moves the sleeve up and down in rhythm with the porn it’s synced with.

Fleshlight isn’t the first sex toy to combine porn, virtual reality, and a connected device that syncs the two. Around the time the earliest adult-themed virtual reality films were revealed, in 2015, people started wondering if porn would be the thing to finally push VR into the mainstream.

Sex toys that interact with film and VR open new worlds of transcending what your physical, corporeally-limited body could experience. Companies like Camasutra exist today that scan real humans into avatars for fuckability in virtual worlds. There’s no limit to what you can embody, sexually, in these virtual environments.

“The porn and sex-toy industries have always led the way in technological innovation: from the electrification of the vibrator in the late 19th century to the early adoption of VHS by porn directors,” Lieberman said. “VR and the Fleshlight are just extensions of this trend that stretches back all the way to the printing press and erotic literature.”

She attributes this innovation to a need for something novel. Putting your dick inside a mechanized stroker-bot certainly is that, and Fleshlight, as it chases the interactive trend, knows it.

As our identities become more openly fluid and less binary, so do our toys. Ohnut, another wearable, doesn’t look like anything anatomical at all. Even the color, a pale jade, is meant to evoke a neutrality without being skin-like. Like Kaye, Ohnut’s founder Sauer also mentioned the concept of enhancement. “It’s not trying to replace skin. It’s not trying to replace a person or anything. It enhances,” she said.

Sauer points to Tenga, a Japanese company that’s been making disposable soft strokers and sleeves since 2005, as an example of where the industry could continue heading: Toward a less gendered, more pleasure-centered future of sex. One of their products, the Tenga Egg, is a handheld stroker shaped like a gummy, hollow egg, and they’re sold inside Easter egg-hunt-shaped packaging.

“They’re de-misogynizing the male masturbator,” Sauer said. “[Tenga products] are so delightful, but they’re just as dirty. They’re meant to be thrown away, but they come in really fun patterns. And what’s less masculine than a white egg?”

“I think that sex toys now are moving away from realism: the idea that a person would only want to masturbate with a replica of genitals is kind of going away,” Lieberman said. “People are more focused on both the utility of a device (does it give me an orgasm) and the design: they want something that looks beautiful.” She noted that the Eva II vibrator by Dame, and Unbound’s Bean and Squish are geometric—not dick or vulva-shaped.

Fleshlight is no exception to this trend. According to Kaye, the Fleshlight Turbo, a newer, non-anatomical sleeve, is creeping up in reviews. It looks nothing like human anatomy. It doesn’t even come in “skin” colors—only “Blue Ice” and “Copper.” (However, a helpful cross-section of the Turbo labels where you’re meant to imagine the lips, throat and tongue would be.)

Screenshot via Fleshlight.com

“I think marketing the other stuff—the stuff that’s not like, pardon my French, fucking a rubber pussy—that’s how we’ve transitioned our marketing approach,” Kaye said. “The exact replica of the genitalia? I think that’s kind of getting tired. I see that the younger people are more inclined to get the stuff that’s non-anatomical, that’s a little more discreet.”

“The idea that a person would only want to masturbate with a replica of genitals is kind of going away.”

“There’s more of an acknowledgement that many people don’t fit into the gender binary and our toys should reflect that,” Lieberman said. “I think that gender neutral sex toys are popular now because sex toys always reflect the culture of the time they’re created in; they reflect the current gender norms…. I think this shift in sex toy design to gender neutral reflects both a profit motive and a desire for inclusivity.”

For some companies, this might be an inclusivity effort, but for others, “it’s a response to the fact that inclusivity can be profitable,” Comella said. “A business that de-genders vibrators or ‘queers’ sex toys also expands its potential market reach by eliminating labels that don’t have to be there in the first place.”

But for those who still want the visual illusion of another person, Fleshlight isn’t going anywhere.

“That’s the thing to always keep in mind with the adult industry: It’s the business of fantasy,” Stoya said. “It’s like magic or professional wrestling. The audience who enjoys it comes in, ready to suspend their disbelief.”

Lieberman believes that lifelike sex toys impact our sexuality mostly for the good. If you want the feeling of fucking a penis or vagina or butthole without another person attached to it, that option is available to us, here in the future.

“I’m not sure that our society is that much different for having the Fleshlight in the world,” Lieberman said. “But our society is better when more people are having orgasms, and since Fleshlights provide orgasms, then our society is a bit happier thanks to the device.”

The Fleshlight Is a Portal to the Future of Sex syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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rydenstories · 6 years

Text

12 Children

It begins with the click and whir of a tape being played. Light buzzing for a moment. Finally, a young woman's voice speaks up.

"This is Dr. Tiffany Abshire with the children's emergency unit. It is currently 4:27 P.M. on August 2nd. This will serve as a personal log under these extreme circumstances, rather than typing it out. Only an hour ago, this department received a call from emergency services with warning that they would be bringing in a rather large number of children. We weren't given much information beyond that. Our staff prepared the entire emergency wing; transferring less serious cases up to another floor of the hospital. The children that arrived were not what we expected; malnourished looking, but not in terrible condition other than the dirt and grime on their school uniforms. Nurses have placed each child in their own individual room. There was also an adult woman with the children and while we assume this is the teacher, we cannot be sure until we can get someone from Psych at City Hospital. The woman is catatonic and unresponsive, seeming in the worst condition of the group. I will be joining Dr. Fieldsman in the initial interviews with these children, but we can't do much for them until we can contact the school and the parents."

The tape resumes that light, low buzziness that indicates a pause between recordings for about five seconds before the doctor picks up again.

"Dr. Abshire. It is now 5:30 PM and we haven't gotten anywhere with the children. We have no records for these patients and finding a way to reach their school has been challenging. The officer in charge of the case came and spoke with me shortly after the children arrived. He states that he was driving on a bridge that passes over the nearby lake when he spotted a rather large passenger boat out on the water. The children were desperately waving for attention, for rescue. Shortly afterward, 12 young students and their catholic school class monitor were pulled up onto the bridge from the boat, which apparently had died some days or even weeks ago. He didn't know much beyond that. He made a personal comment, something that always makes us feel a little more optimistic as doctors. "They seem like strong, resilient little kids. More hungry than anything else. I think they'll make it."

bzzzzzzz.

"Dr. Abshire. 6:30 PM. Dr. Fieldsman and I did a short round, just getting names and making sure the children were in stable condition. They all are in generally brave spirits, I don't think I've heard a single child cry for their parent. It's almost a little odd, but it has left our staff feeling at least optimistic about their overall health. As for everything else, well.... We're having a hard time identifying these children. No parents or local schools have reported children missing. The police are doing a nationwide search, but it will take a while. For now, Dr. Fieldsman and I are waiting for the green light to treat the children anyway. They could all use an IV drip to get their hydration levels back. I've also sent one of Fieldsman's techs to the cafeteria to bring back snacks for the children."

bzzzzz.

"This is Dr. Abshire and it is 7:43 PM. We got the go-ahead to treat the children at around 7. Fieldsman and I went around and explained to the children to the best of our ability, something we're not really used to as we normally deal mainly with the parent. It was surprisingly easy, though. Most of them didn't seem to mind, still more concerned with when they'd be given dinner. On a personal note, I felt a little horrible when they brought up food. We've been so concerned with identifying them even though feeding them would greatly improve their treatment. Strangely enough, though, Fieldsman's tech came back and passed out tiny bags of chips and cookies to the patients. They remained untouched when we did another round to check on their progress. As for their monitor, she still hasn't spoken. Someone is on their way from Psych and will hopefully be giving her the help she needs soon."

bzzzzzz.

"Dr. Abshire. 8:19 PM. Things have taken quite the turn as the children and monitor both have become incredibly agitated over the past some 30 minutes. She still wont speak, but the children are demanding food. We've reassured them that the hospital serves dinner soon and they'll be fed, but being children, they've become very impatient. It's understandable, but a few have already gone to the extreme of ripping out their IVs in anger. Psych send someone but being the oh so fantastic group of doctors they are, they could only come up with someone who can sedate their monitor. I guess they hope calming her down with bring her lucidity back."

bzzzzzzzzzz

"Dr. Abshire. 8:40 PM. The children were served dinner and all finally seemed quiet for about three minutes before trays of grilled cheese & tomato soup came flying from doors. One of the nurses that was in one of the rooms could be heard loudly chastising a child before we heard a large smack and cry of surprise. The nurse sprinted from the room in tears and shouted that the child had punched her before running off to the restroom to likely cry. From there came the sound of shouting from all 12 patient rooms. The children have protested that what they were given was not food, but we're not sure what they mean by that. Dr. Hayim clocked in around this time and organized a team of nurses and techs, which will attempt to calm the children, or at least prevent them from causing harm to themselves or others. Hayim says that if needed be, she isn't afraid to sedate them."

Bzzzzzz.

"Abshire. One of the children just bit a tech in his throat. He's not severely injured but he'll need to be moved to City Main for for it anyway. I personally tried to talk to their Monitor afterward. I got a first name; Amelia. Other than that though, the sedatives have her incoherent and unhelpful, although not for lack of trying. She mumbled and babbled and even tried to get out of the bed. Her assigned nurse settled her down and nearly as soon as her attention dropped, so did her consciousness. Dr. Hayim just put in a request to sedate all of the children to prevent further harm to any staff. Additionally, the nationwide search for a possible missing class of children has shockingly turned up nothing. It's quit puzzling; we see a lot of unwanted kids come through here over the years, but it doesn't seem plausible that a whole class of private school children would be so unloved that they weren't reported missing."

Bzzzzzzz.

"This is Dr. Abshire and the time is 10:30 PM. Normally, I'd be going home right around now. I just can't leave when I'm needed on a case so honestly baffling. I don't think I could sleep if I tried anyway. These kids have just gotten stranger and more aggressive. Chief of Medicine has refused to approve any sedatives, so we're pretty much all hands on deck down here. Fearing for the safety of our staff after two more techs were hit/bitten, we've pulled them from the rooms and have had no choice but to lock the children in until we can find space for them in safer quarters, the Psych wing. Until then, our staff hasn't much to do besides deal with other patients and watch the children through the tiny window of each door."

Bzzzzzzzzz

"Dr. Abshire. Staff is becoming increasingly worried as the children have turned their destructive, angry behavior onto themselves. Hitting, biting, scratching, throwing themselves into walls. Painting with their blood. Just screaming. Many of our techs and nurses have left, too afraid to deal with the situation any further. Fieldsman tried to slip out as well but Hayim stopped him with a swift slap in the face, accusing him of losing his compassion for sick children. I'm not sure what we're going to do next but...."

The voice on the tape trails off but the soft buzz didn't resume. Dr. Abshire's breathing can even still be heard as her attention is pulled away from the recorder, and to something else.

"Is that.... Amelia? Amelia?! Hey, what are you doing out of your room?!"

Bzzzzzzz.

Before any speaking starts, there is a lot more clear and distinct chaos in the background. Yelling and laughter. It all sounds very frightening although it begins to distance as Dr. Abshire's panting can be heard. There is the sound of a door closing and a little more shuffling around.

"This is Tiffany Abshire. I am hiding under my desk, in my office at City Children's. I'm so scared."

A pause.

"Amelia let the children out of their rooms. They went berserk. Within moments, the nurses station of the emergency wing became an absolute madhouse. I've never seen anything like it. Frail, sickly little children, coming at full grown adults with the strength of men. No. Not men. Monsters. I watched as two little girls dragged Dr. Fieldsman, one leg each, from one end of the hall to the other, playfully laughing and skipping as he bled from two very distinct bite marks on his neck. When they reached the end of the hallway, both screamed TAG before pouncing onto him again. I broke my eyes from that gruesome scene but they only locked onto another, and another, and another. I crouched down behind a toppled-over stretcher but it was almost immediately knocked into by Dr. Hayim, who was fighting off a bucktoothed seven year old with a stainless steel tray until Amelia got ahold of her. She actually said not so fast. She spoke with a fairly posh english accent that I didn't notice at all when she was mumbling at me earlier. With one swift motion of her hands, Hayim's neck was broken and her body dropped heavily to the floor. That's when Amelia's eyes locked with mine and I knew I had to run. It was over already anyway. Every adult there lay dead or dying on the floor, knelt over by hungry children who tore at them with teeth and nails."

Another pause.

"Oh god. I think they're coming."

Sure enough, tiny footfalls accompanied by an adult's approached at a frighteningly rapid pace in the background of the recording. Abshire is whimpering as the door slowly creaks open and another woman's voice, deep and very posh, is heard on the tape

"Just one more, darlings! We'll leave this wretched place and go home!”

Dissonant cheers come from three or four small voices.

There is another pause, and then indescribable screaming for only a moment before the tape cut out. There are no more recordings after this.

After listening to all of this, I put the recorder in the drawer of the desk that I had found it under. Upon being hired here at City Children's, I was excited to be a doctor making a difference in an emergency wing that I was told was recently abandoned by it's staff as some kind of "worker's strike." Since coming here, however, nobody seems to believe that story and now that I've heard this recording, I don't believe it either. I've since been looking around the hospital and while I've found a few things that are frightening, nothing has struck me more than a plaque with a photo that hangs in the middle of the emergency wing's nursing station. It's an award given to outstanding doctors and staff, with each staff member's name engraved on their own little gold plate. The photo is missing, but three standout names are there.

Dr. Kyle Fieldsman. Dr. Davina Hayim. Dr. Tiffany Abshire.

#mine #my story #creepypasta #creepy #nosleep

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songtoyou · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8: Wine Before Whiskey

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 2,827

Warnings: None

Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

A/N: I wanted Tommy and Rose to connect on a more personal level in this chapter. I wanted them to become comfortable with each other outside of the bedroom. I don’t want their relationship to be solely about sex.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars

Wine. A nice tall glass of wine. That is all Rose wanted to cap off the day. She decided not to respond to the text messages from her friends or mother. Rose was not in the mood to come up with some bullshit excuse for being photographed out with Tommy. Also, it was not their business, and she didn’t need to justify anything with an excuse.

With a glass of wine in hand, Rose sat on the couch in the living room with her feet up. As Rose flipped through the television, the front door opened and slammed shut.

When Rose saw Louis rush up the stairs, she called out to him, “Hey, Louis!” He ignored her. Sighing, Rose got up to follow her son upstairs.

“Louis,” she spoke through the door while knocking. “Is everything okay?” Still nothing. “Louis, honey, what is wrong? From the way you slammed the front door, you seem upset. Did something happen at school today?”

Louis opened his bedroom door to come face-to-face with his mother. “Did something happen at school today,” he said mockingly. “How about the fact that my mother was photographed out with a rumored gangster. Or the fact that some of my classmates are referring to you as one of Tommy Shelby’s whores. You know he has been rumored to date escorts mom. Did you not know when you first started seeing him? In fact, how did you even meet him in the first place?”

Shifting from one foot to the other, Rose looked down at the floor. She was too embarrassed to meet her son’s accusatory gaze. “All of that stuff, the rumors about Tommy, are just that, rumors.” Rose felt sick lying to her son. “And Tommy isn’t a gangster. He is a businessman.”

“That is not what I hear. There is a whole sub-Reddit about how he really earned his millions. I should show it to you. Maybe it would rethink your association with the man,” Louis rambled on. “How did you get introduced to him anyway? It isn’t like you both run in the same social circle.”

Rose sat down on the bed and drew her knees up. It was her way of buying time to formulate a believable response, or rather lie. Thankfully, she had already thought up different scenarios that would be the most believable.

“Do you remember that business trip I took with Linda back in March? It was to a conference up in Birmingham, the educators and practitioners conference,” she explained, which that part was actually the truth. She did go to a conference up north with her boss back in March. However, here comes the lie, “Well, Tommy was there as well. He just showed up unexpectedly. He wasn’t on the agenda, but he gave a speech, something about…I don’t know, I can’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention. But it was at one of the social networking gatherings where I ran into him. We talked most of the night. He asked for my number, which I gave him, not thinking he would actually call. But we have been in contact for a while. It was only recently that we have gone on dates.” Again, all lies. Rose started to feel sick. She could feel bile began to rise in her throat.

Sighing, Louis folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his desk. He still wasn’t looking at his mother. “It’s all weird. You never really dated. Or not date so out in the open before.”

“Is one of the reasons why you’re upset with me dating is because of dad? Are you still hoping your dad and I get together?” Rose asked, concerned about what he would say. She wished Louis weren’t so hung up on the idea of her and Nick ending up together. It was never going to happen.

He only shrugged. “Is it so wrong that a kid would want their parents to be together?”

There wasn’t much she could say to that concept. “How about we get pizza for dinner, okay,” she suggested hoping to move on from the subject.

“Fine. I got homework to finish up,” said Louis defeated. The look on his face broke Rose’s heart.

“Alight. I’ll tell you when the pizza arrives. The usual?” she asked.

“The usual,” replied Louis nonchalantly while opening his school books and notebooks.

Rose left his room and walked down the stairs. She hated herself at that moment.

While Rose waited for the pizzas to arrive, she decided to send a quick text to Tommy.

As Tommy sat at his desk looking over contracts, it would be another late night at the office; he received Rose’s text.

Rose: Tommy, we need to talk. Can I stop by your office around 3 PM tomorrow?

The message took him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting to hear from Rose or for her to ask to meet up with him.

Tommy: Yes, you can stop by. However, instead of 3:00, let’s meet at 4:00.

His reply back was his way of maintaining control. He found it rather amusing that Rose felt comfortable requesting, or rather ordering, Tommy for a meeting. Tommy was tempted to ask what the meeting would be about but didn’t really think too much of it.

If the meeting turned out to be fruitless, he could end with Rose bent over his desk and punish her for wasting his precious time. The thought was already getting him hard.

Leaning back in his chair, Tommy began to rub his hardness through his pants. Taking his cock out of his pants, he began to stroke back and forth. As Tommy continued to stroke, he only thought of Rose, which was unusual. Whenever Tommy was pleasuring himself alone, he would always think of Grace. He would picture his wife on her knees or bent over his desk or taking her up against the wall. It was always Grace.

But now, Tommy was picturing Rose. He saw her face clearly in his head. He imagined Rose under his desk pleasuring him with her mouth and hands. He wanted Rose bent over on his desk, taking her from behind, on the floor, the conference table, against the wall, and the floor. Tommy began to realize he wanted Rose all of the time.

At that thought. Tommy soon began to worry about why Rose asked for a meeting out of the blue. He began to wonder if she was regretting their arrangement due to being in the press. However, Tommy told Rose that being in the press was likely, and she appeared to understand that fact. No, something must have alarmed her. He would find out what it was. He would get it out of her one way or another. Tommy wasn’t going to let her go that easy.

Friday! The day Father Time preferred to drag on and on. The hours on the clock appeared to move slower and slower, Rose noted. She was at work catching up on what she missed yesterday morning. It was the usual task; looking over budgets, setting up meetings, working on meeting agendas, finishing up the minutes from past meetings, and making sure the office was stocked with supplies. It was the same thing every day. Nothing changed, and the more she stayed at the job, the more fed up she became. Rose knew she needed to get out there and look for a better job. One that matched the college degree that she worked hard to obtain. A job that paid well where she would no longer have to be an escort to make a living.

However, the money Tommy was offering to Rose was better than any standard 9 to 5 job could offer.

When 3:15 finally rolled around, Rose gathered her belongings and headed to meet Tommy.

“Ms. Turner!” someone shouted at her.

Thankfully, Rose knew that voice. She turned around to see Isaiah with a megawatt smile, waving her over to his car.

“Let me guess, Tommy sent you to deliver me to him?” Rose questioned sarcastically. “And I told you to call me Rose.”

“Yes, he did, and yes, you did. Come on, we don’t want to be late,” Isaiah answered and opened the passenger door for Rose. She got in the car.

“You saw my son take the car this morning and let Tommy know, huh?”

“Yep,” was all Isaiah said and began to drive out of the College’s parking lot.

With the way Isaiah drove, he managed to make it to the building that held Tommy’s office in half of the time. He smoothly moved the car around the building’s underground parking garage.

“Okay, we are here. You can take the elevator to Tommy’s office,” he instructed and told Rose which floor to select.

“Thank you, Isaiah. I appreciate it. I figure Tommy is going to ask you to take me home?”

“That is to be determined. He might want to take you home himself. Have a nice evening, Rose. Take care,” said Isaiah and waved goodbye.

She selected the floor instructed by Isaiah and waited. Tommy was on the building’s top floor, so the elevator continuously stopped and let people on and off. When the elevator finally reached her destination, the doors opened. Rose only saw a few people pass by. There was no one at the front desk, so she stood by and waited until someone showed up.

Looking at her phone, it read 3:50. She still had ten minutes to spare. “Rose, hi. How are you?” She turned to see Andrew walk towards her.

“Andrew, hi. I’m good. You?”

“Same. Can I get you some coffee or tea?” he asked. “Mr. Shelby is finishing up a call at the moment. Please, have a seat.”

“Okay. Water would actually be great, thanks.”

Andrew managed to get Rose’s water before Tommy emerged from his office. However, he was not alone. He was followed by a very tall and lanky man with a full beard and similar hairstyle to Tommy, but longer on top.

“Arthur, continue to keep me posted on Changretta,” Rose heard Tommy whisper but pretended not to hear anything. She made it look like she was too preoccupied with her phone to notice the two men not far from her.

“Esme is working on it, Tom. She is having trouble with a few firewalls, or whatever she called them, but assures she can crack ’em,” Arthur shared. “Said she would get a file on your desk by Monday.”

“Okay, good. That is good. I’ll talk to you later, brother,” Tommy responded, patting Arthur’s back.

Arthur said his goodbye and left for the elevators. Tommy turned towards Rose.

“Rose,” he spoke to get her attention. He motioned with his hand for her to follow him into the office.

Closing the door behind him, Tommy told Rose to take a seat.

“Your text seemed rather…urgent,” Tommy began as he poured himself a whiskey. He offered on to Rose, but she declined. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, well…no, not really. I…uh…I don’t really know…” Rose began but was having trouble forming the words. “I don’t really…oh my God, it’s my son. He isn’t too keen on the idea of me ‘dating’ you. He saw the pictures. Apparently, some of the kids at school were making fun of him because of them. I have friends asking questions. Even my mom saw them, and I don’t talk to her at all. Everything has gotten out of hand. I mean, I wasn’t quite expecting this kind of outcome. It is a lot to take.”

Gulping down the whiskey, Tommy proceeded to pour another one for himself and one for Rose.

“Drink,” he ordered, handing Rose the glass that held the amber color liquid, which she took and gulped it down. She placed the now empty glass on Tommy’s desk. “Feel better?”

“Not really. Can I ask you something? It is kind of a personal question, but I’m asking you for some advice,” Rose asked and continued when Tommy gave her the go-ahead to proceed. “You have a kid yourself, a son. When I originally agreed to our deal, I never fully thought of the consequences that could occur. I didn’t think of how it would affect my child. To put it blankly, he is upset that I’m with you. It’s all about his stupid dad and wanting us to be together. So my question to you is, how do you go about lying to your child?”

Once again, Rose caught Tommy completely off guard with her question. That was not what he was expecting. The fact that she had the audacity to bring up his son didn’t even bother him as it would if it were anyone else. He was craving a cigarette at the moment. “My son, Charlie, spends most of his time at boarding school. He is only home on holidays and special occasions. When I have my son with me, he only wants to spend time with his cousins or me. He never really gave my ‘relationship’ with Lizzie much thought. To him, she was only daddy’s friend. Plus, the observation skills of an eight-year-old doesn’t quite compare to the observation skills of a sixteen-year-old.”

Tommy had a point, Rose thought. She motioned to him if she could refill her glass of whiskey. With Tommy’s go-ahead, she got up and poured herself a drink. This time Rose took small and sat back down.

Taking in a deep breath, Rose mentioned, “You’re lucky. It is so much easier when your kid is younger. They don’t ask so many questions or notice things that don’t add up. You can tell them pretty much anything, and they’d believe you. But when your kid gets older, prepare yourself for the questions he will no doubt ask.”

She looked up when Tommy sighed. He was leaning in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Charlie turned eight back in February. He is beginning to ask me questions about his mother, like where she was from and if we can visit the town, how we met, what made me attracted to her, all that stuff. The one question that scares me…” Tommy began, but Rose could sense hesitation.

“He’s going to ask why did mummy have to die?” Rose finished for him. Tommy only nodded his head. “I don’t envy you on that part.”

Quite soon filled the office as Tommy and Rose sat in silence and sipping down whiskey. “Who was that guy that in here earlier?” Rose asked to kill the silence.

“That was my older brother, Arthur,” Tommy answered. “He and my younger brother, John, both own a couple of bars and clubs around England. They have been working on a new line of Peaky Blinders Vodka to go with our whiskey and gin brand.”

“You really dabble in everything, don’t you. Where do you go from here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should try my hand at politics, eh. An MP to go with my OBE” teased Tommy with an exceedingly rare boyish grin on his face. Rose noticed that Tommy’s smile was rather sweet and brightened his facial features. “Yeah, that is exactly what my family needs is me in politics.”

Rose softly scoffed, “I don’t think we need any more millionaires in politics, no offense.”

“No offense taken,” Tommy chuckled and downed his drink. He got up to grab his jacket and swung it on. He took Rose’s glass and finished it for her. “Come on, let’s go.”

Tommy grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled her up from the chair. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to dinner. We can talk more there,” Tommy proposed and guided Rose out of the office.

“I won’t be able to stay the night if that is what you were considering,” she stated while in the elevator.

“Not what I was considering,” uttered Tommy, honestly. He put his hands on Rose’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “Only dinner.”

“Only dinner?”

“Nothing more, nothing less,” Tommy replied, placing a soft kiss on Rose’s lips. He entwined his hand in Rose’s and walked her to his car.

He took Rose to Bar 61, London’s most famous Spanish tapas restaurant. When they were seated, Rose liked the relaxed and upbeat charm of the establishment. She was surprised that Tommy chose the place since it was more family-friendly rather than high-end/upscale. But the man before her was always full of surprises. They sat in a more secluded area of the restaurant where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Tommy ordered a bottle of wine for them to share. He raised his glass for a toast. “What are we toasting?” Rose asked with a smile.

“How about to good health and new friends,” Tommy suggested and clinked his glass with Rose’s.

“And to new adventures,” Rose added, now with a sly smile on her face.

“To new adventures,” Tommy repeated, and they clinked their glass again.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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