ed + his “oh my fucking god im gay” eyes appreciation post

stede’s version

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels: Part One

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and... the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader 

Warnings: Some cursing

Word count: 1,667

Authors Note: Here comes part one! I recommend reading the Introduction first if you haven’t 💜

Inspirational Music: Beat the Devil’s Tattoo by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

                                    - Part One -

Sleep did not come easily to you last night. You tossed and turned, worry about this cryptic meeting flooding your dreams and stirring you awake throughout the night. The lack of good sleep left you feeling hazy and distracted. So hazy that you didn’t see the uneven patch of sidewalk beneath your feet. Your hands shot out in front of you to catch yourself, the rough pavement scraping your palms.

You huffed as you stood up and brushed off your sore hands on your pants. Fucking sidewalk. You pass that patch of sidewalk every day and every day, you walk around it. But not today. Today has decided to be different.

Your keys jingled as you unlocked the back door to the shop, yawning with coffee in hand. It was going to be rough, staying here late tonight. After you opened the front curtains and switched on the lights, you reached behind the desk to turn the news on in the background while you readied the shop to open.

“Several Gotham city banks have been robbed within the last week. This string of robberies has left many dead on the scene at each location, all of whom are assumed to be accomplices, as reported by eye witnesses. If that wasn’t strange enough, all of them have been wearing clown masks,” you heard the GCN anchor say from your little tv.

What did he just say? You left the mannequin you were preparing to dress in the window and took long strides back to the desk.

“It is estimated that over sixty million dollars has been stolen thus far. Police have had few leads as their investigation continues but one man appears to be the driving force behind the robberies. Gotham PD has released this photo, captured by security cameras at Gotham National Bank just yesterday,” the anchor continued before an image flashed on the screen.

Your eyes widened and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of a man in ghostly white makeup with black around his eyes, a blood red smile over his lips and two jagged scars curling up from both corners of his mouth, staring straight at the camera.

“Nothing else is known about this man other than that he goes by the alias, ‘the Joker’, leaving a Joker playing card behind at many of the crime scenes. If you have any information on the man pictured, please contact the anonymous tip line listed at the bottom of your screen.”

You switched the tv off, a shiver running down your spine. That image was burned into your eyes, as clear as it was on the screen moments ago. You blinked a few times but it was still there, staring at you. The Joker. Those eyes just gazed straight through the screen and locked with yours. It was unsettling but you couldn’t help but feel something else. Overwhelming curiosity. Who was this guy? Why did he paint his face? Where did he even come from? This was the first you’d heard of him. Not to mention those scars. Flesh viciously sliced apart, torn clean through, leaving behind a macabre permanent smile. A strange feeling tugged at your stomach as you thought about the pain he must have felt. They were so… terrifying.

The sound of the door opening jolted you out of your trance as you jumped and whipped around to face the door.

“Oh, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you. Where do you want me to leave these?”

A delivery guy stood just inside the doorway with a handcart stacked with boxes. You shook your head and answered with an embarrassed smile, “It’s ok, I guess I’m a little jumpy today. You can leave them anywhere back there, thanks.”

You pointed toward the back room and he nodded on his way to drop them off. Shit, maybe you shouldn’t drink that coffee.

The afternoon crawled by at a frustratingly sluggish pace. The ticking of time made you impatient for the day to be done but simultaneously anxious about the very same idea. A particularly needy woman with perfume that burned your nose picked up an altered dress and a man looking to get his pants hemmed to fit his unfortunately short stature took up some of your time but it was still an hour before closing time. Your stomach fluttered for a second. Tonight it wasn’t really closing time. You decided to preoccupy yourself with a book you’d meaning to read, sitting down and leaning back in your chair, getting comfortable at the desk. Maybe you’d run out to grab a bite to eat soon.

Your eyelids flew open as you suddenly awoke with a start. The shop was dark. You scrambled from your chair to find the clock, grabbing it from the counter and turning it around. 9:40 pm.

Your heart started pounding in your chest, the meeting with your new mystery client was dangerously close. You cursed under your breath and rushed to close the front curtains, hoping to avoid anyone else trying to come in. It was a miracle you weren’t robbed in the first place.

Reality rushed over you and your hands started to shake with unease. Why were you so nervous? Well, this has never happened to you before. Men bringing you that much money ahead of time, in cash no less. Asking, no, telling you to stay open late for them. It was just weird. Weird in a way that made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. And now it was here.

A few deep breaths did something to calm your nerves a bit, at least until the hands on the clock reached 9:58. 

Headlights illuminated the maroon velvet curtains over the windows, sending your heart rate soaring once again. He’s here.

Suddenly, an urge to hide made your legs twitch as you stood in front of the desk but you resisted it, fighting to keep yourself from running to the back room. Your heart continued to pound and was joined by a shudder down your spine as you caught sight of two silhouettes, figures cast in shadow over the curtains that were moving toward the door.

You held your breath when the door opened. It was the bald man from yesterday. He made eye contact with you and blinked. You tensed up, waiting for him to say something, but instead he let go of the door to disappear back outside.

What?

Before you could react, the door opened again and a different man stepped into the shop.

You halted in place, staring at him. His hair was stringy and tinted green. His face. His face was covered with a layer of white paint, black smeared around his eyes, that devilish red smile that had been floating around in the back of your mind all day. It was him.

You couldn’t move. You willed your body to do something, anything other than stare at the man with the Glasgow smile in front of you. But that’s all you could do. Blood rushed in your ears as you stood there, trapped in your own body, for what felt like far too long.

He took a few steps toward you, thawing your muscles instantly for you to back up and bump into the desk, your eyes still on him.

“What’s the matter, hm? You look nervous. Is it the scars?” he spoke as he gestured toward his face.

His voice was peculiar. Somewhat high and nasally but deep and gravelly at the same time.

Your mouth opened to speak before you had any words in mind to say. “Uh, um. N-no. I, um, I just recognized you from the, the news,” you sputtered, trying not to visibly tremble.

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned as he replied, “Ahhh, little old me? Well I’m, uh, flatter-ed.”

The only thing you could do was nod as you continued to gaze wide-eyed at him, your hands gripping the edge of the desk behind you like a vice. The way he pronounced words was hypnotizing. They were spoken so deliberately, so carefully chosen.

“Well, as much as I’d love to continue with this, uh, ban-ter of ours, I believe you can make me a suit, yes?” he continued.

You suddenly stiffened to attention after his statement registered in your mind, your already hammering heart flipping uncomfortably in your chest.

“Oh, um, yes. Y-yes I can,” you managed to stutter.

He clapped his hands together, making you jump slightly. “Fan-tastic! Shall we?” he said enthusiastically, extending his arm out toward the mirrored area of the shop.

He waited a moment for you to move, only to watch you continue to stare like an antelope caught in a  lion’s gaze before flicking his tongue out over his scarred lip and sauntering over on his own.

Deep breaths. You took deep breaths, so quickly that they were making you nauseous. You had to try to relax. What if you made him angry? He’s killed people. What would he do if you messed up? It’s too late to back out. You swallowed hard against the lump growing in your throat. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this…

He started thumbing through the books of fabric swatches on the nearby table, scrutinizing each with his eyes and occasionally raising an eyebrow as you slowly approached with pins and needles buzzing in your hands. He suddenly flicked one of the books shut and raised his eyes to meet yours once again, making you stop in your tracks and hold back a gasp.

“Now, what do I call you, doll?” he asked, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

Your words tumbled out, responding all on their own, “Y/N.”

His gaze had captured you again and this time it was drawing you in. The room around you seemed to dissolve and all you could focus on were his spellbinding eyes.

“Y/N, call me Joker,” he purred.

                    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @paev 💜

you’d come over, right?

Ronan's world ended months ago, when the person he loved most left without a goodbye. And now, with the actual apocalypse on his doorstep, coping isn't coming easy.

Pynch. Angst. (With a happy ending. Ish.) ~3k words 

Sometimes you listen to sad pop songs and get inspired to burn down the entire world in the TRC/Dreamer Trilogy franchise just for the sole purpose of pynch reunion hugs. That’s normal, right? 

(note: this fic is unrelated to the plot of the Dreamer Trilogy, this apocalypse was not caused by Ronan Lynch)

AO3 link

                                      -------------------------

The earth vibrated beneath Ronan’s feet, and he knew he didn’t have much time. The goats were still in the fields and the pole barn was still open and his car was still parked in the driveway and none of that should have mattered. But during the goddamn apocalypse he didn’t know what to do, so he grabbed two pygmy goats by the horns and dragged them towards the second barn, trying not to look at the blood red sky or the smoke coming from the east. They kicked viciously and shrieked in fear, chilling Ronan to the bone. While he knew it wouldn’t do them any good, the barn would not save them from the impending doom raining down on them, he chucked them in the pen with the rest of them and ran back to the fields for more.

He was alone. Opal was in Lindenmere right now, which might be safer, maybe, and Declan and Matthew were in D.C. He hadn’t heard from them in days, so for all he knew they could already be—

He grabbed more goats.

The air crackled with an electric charge that could have meant an oncoming thunderstorm, because of course there’d be a storm, and Ronan hastened his wrangling, feeling the goats’ animal terror almost more strongly than his own. The least he could do was get them inside. It was better than nothing. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck despite the cold wind whipping around him, and he grabbed the last goat, a small thing frozen in petrified fear. He gathered her in his arms and wished he could do more to help. Murmuring words of encouragement to a fucking goat, he ran back to the second barn and put her with the others, locking the metal pin on their enclosure and looking at them for what was probably the last time before running back outside.

After shutting up the pole barn (it would do them no good) Ronan raced towards his car. There was no point to any of this, but the panic igniting his nerves was causing his mind to do stupid shit, like desperately saving goats or refusing to leave his father’s car in the driveway when ground was shaking as badly as it was. He could barely stay on his feet as he tried to navigate the crushed gravel path to the car. He needed to get it into the garage, then everything would be in its place when the ground finally split, or the lighting struck, or the sulfurous smell of fire finally approached the house. His life would end full of regrets, things he could never hope to change now, but the least he could do was move the damn car.

He ripped open the driver’s side door and slammed it closed. It was quieter inside, without the reedy screeching of the wind, and somehow that made it worse. If the sky wasn’t pulsing like a punctured artery he could almost convince himself that this wasn’t happening. That Ronan was tumbling into this car with another body, hot and heady with lust and laughing when he hit his head on the visor like he always did. Ronan had spent months trying to forget rolling down blue coveralls and the smell of gasoline mixed with sweat, but what is certain death without painful flashbacks? He threw the car into reverse and let them play out, knowing that it would be the last time.

The painfully attractive snickering as he tried to pull legs from oil-stained pantlegs, the “What’re you doin’ down there? I thought you were good at this” because the asshole loved making fun of him and loved torturing him with his Henrietta accent in the worst possible moments. Car sex is something that should never be allowed outside of movies; there’s no room and it hurts your neck and your stupid boyfriend will spend the next three months poking fun at you for wanting it before leaving in the dead of night for Harvard and never coming back.

Not the most eloquent of goodbyes, but it wasn’t the most eloquent of fights that caused him to leave either. Selfishness is what it came down to, from both of them, like it always did. When you can’t see why something so unimportant to you could mean the world to someone else, how could you possibly expect a relationship like that to last?

Something under the car bumped and Ronan gripped the gearshift tighter. Maybe he didn’t have time for regrets right now.

Jesus fucking Christ, for all the time he spent dreaming this place into fantastical perfection, he never bothered to put an automatic opener on the garage door. Ronan tore out of the car and grabbed at the tiny handle at the bottom of the garage door and pulled. Nothing.

The key. The goddamned key. It was back in the house.

He was sprinting again, to the farmhouse this time, tripping over his own feet when the ground pitched and shifted. What normally looked like an idyllic country home now looked marred with horror. The earthquakes had shattered two of the windows. The wind had ripped away at the shutters that he didn’t even bother to close. The swelling storm clouds gathering behind it in the distance were coming closer. He wished he would have paid more attention to how the house looked before this. Ronan Lynch, known for his attention and care in the details, for dreaming up perfect facsimiles of objects beyond anything the human mind could comprehend, had never given proper attention to the way the front door of his childhood house looked in the light of the golden sun, and he regretted it now as the sky painted his house a dismal burgundy, the sun long gone in favor of a crime scene.

The house was dark, not that he expected any different. The power was the first thing to go, the first sign of the end of times. Because of course electricity is the thing people cared about most. They dismissed the shaking ground along no perceivable fault line just fine, rolled their eyes as twisters ripped their way through the most populated metropolitan areas, but when the blackout happened it’s like everyone knew.

If Ronan could dream up power for the whole world to get back on its feet again, he would’ve. But all he had instead was this: a dreamt phone with unlimited battery life that was just about as useful as a normal fucking flashlight. He unlocked the screen for the millionth time and wished that a call would come through, a text, anything, but it remained miserably silent. No power equaled no working towers. Not that he’d be getting any calls regardless. He’d burned too many bridges for goodbyes at this point.

He turned on the flashlight feature and swung the beam of light around the living room, searching for the key to the garage. A loud BANG caused him to flinch instinctively. Debris was hitting the siding on the house. God, he hadn’t even shut the door to the BMW before coming here. It could be smashed to bits now for all he knew. This was pointless. But it was all Ronan had, so he searched for the stupid key. He scraped furniture legs on the hardwood floor and ripped cushions from couches, a human disaster blowing through before anything outside could wreak havoc on this place. It made sense that the final moments he had in here would be destruction. Lynches were best at that.

The outside world howled away, and Ronan wished for one more moment of peaceful quiet. He missed this place at its most serene, right before sunrise when he was gearing up for chores in the Barns. He missed the morning coffee, pressed shoulder to shoulder kitchen, the “there’s a Starbucks in town, you know” and the “yours is better” conversations whispered as they gazed out the window and watched the steam rise from the fields. That could have meant “I can’t afford Starbucks coffee” but Ronan always took it to mean “I can’t afford to miss out on mornings with you,” whether that was the intention or not.

But even that couldn’t last, not with Lynch Destruction running through his veins, proud and true. Soon morning coffee turned to shouting matches over dinner. “Your dreams are what make you special” became “You have to face reality, Ronan,” and that just wasn’t a problem he could fix with another dreamt gift. So he didn’t fix it. His father taught him to hit where it would hurt the most, and without laying a single finger on that perfect head he dealt the finishing blow.

“For someone so worldly you don’t seem to have a hard time mooching off of me,” he’d parsed evenly, knowing that a controlled tone would mean more than a shout. And it did. The headlights of the shitbox shined through their bedroom window as it backed out of the driveway for the final time that night, and Ronan watched it leave without a word.

Another bang, quieter this time, came from the front door, startling Ronan. Maybe the twisters would take him out before the fires could. Maybe his house would collapse before he could see the sky open up and lightning rain down. Trying to pinpoint when it was going to end was almost worse than the actual ending, in a way. He knew that better than most.

The door bang ed again, and the flashlight beam finally illuminated the garage key, dangling from a Harvard lanyard, of all fucking things, hung on a hook in the kitchen. If he got the car in the garage, everything would be fine. Then he could die peacefully amongst the rubble, knowing he had checked off his final inane task on his apocalypse to-do list.

He ripped open the front door, keys in hand, and almost ran straight into Adam Parrish, hand raised like he was going to continue politely knocking even as the world crashed down around him.

“Parrish?” Ronan asked, skidding almost cartoonishly to a stop. This wasn’t real. Of all the unreal things that had happened today, Adam Parrish standing on his front porch was the unreal-est.

His colorless hair was whipped into a frenzied mess from the aggressive gales. His faded Harvard sweatshirt was mucked and ripped. And his face. Ronan never thought he’d see it again, and here it was in front of him, expression bleak and desperate and just as shocked to see Ronan as Ronan was to see him.

“What are you—” was all he could utter before Adam was crushing Ronan to him, pulling him into a hug that cracked all his ribs, squeezed and splattered his heart. He had no words because he had no air, and Ronan decided he didn’t need it. Oxygen was pointless if it meant leaving Adam’s arms.

“I saw the BMW,” Adam said breathlessly in his ear. “You left the doors open and the house looked so fucking dark and I thought—I thought maybe you’d already—that I wasn’t fast enough—”

He pulled back and gripped Ronan’s face in his hands, the motion rough in execution when it probably should have been tender. It had been months. They were both out of practice with gentleness. But Ronan forgave him. He forgave him he forgave him he forgave him for every bad thing he had ever done.

“What are you doing here?” Ronan asked, still breathless, still marveling at the hands that held him and the eyes cutting through him.

Adam let out a surprised laugh. Of all things, he laughed, still holding onto Ronan’s cheeks tighter than he would have months ago, back when he still called Ronan sweetheart , before he called him fucking asshole and left him behind. They were horrible to each other, but Ronan forgave him for it all. He wanted to wrap that laugh around him like a blanket to stave off the oncoming doom.

“Have you seen what’s going on outside?” Adam said, still laughing.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Ronan said stupidly. His mind was still reeling from Adam’s presence, his heart drunk on the feeling of his calloused hands.

“Traffic was a fucking nightmare,” Adam said, and it began to sink in that amidst the chaos of, well, everything, Adam was here. He’d come back.

“Parrish,” he said. “Adam. Why—”

“Are you stupid?” Adam interrupted. Not cruelly, but angry all of a sudden, laughter gone. It seemed it was finally sinking in for him too. He was looking at the ruined Barns around them like this mess was all Ronan’s fault. “God, Ronan, you didn’t even close the shutters. Are you even taking this seriously? Do you see what’s happening? If I’d come any later you could have already been dead , do you get that?”

“Why, though?” Ronan asked. “Why did you even come all this way?”

The smell of smoke was getting stronger. The fires. He’d cleared away as much of the brush as he could around the farm, but the wind could easily carry the embers to the house. Ronan hoped the world could wait one more goddamn minute before killing him. One more minute to hear this answer.

Half of him expected another fight. They were good at that. Their friendship was built on fights so he didn’t know why he’d expected their relationship to be any different. It was all they did at the end of it, the real end of the world, the one that ended with the screen door slamming shut in the middle of the night and one half of their bed sitting vacant.

But the other half of him expected sarcasm. I left my last will and testament here and didn’t want to die without my affairs in order. They never did feelings right. If everything wasn’t wrapped up in five layers of bullshit and jokes then it wasn’t worth saying at all. The sky was falling and the fires were closing in on The Barns and Adam Parrish was impossibly here, so it only made sense for Ronan’s life to end with one final punchline.

But Adam didn’t say anything. He took his hands from Ronan’s face and brought them to his waist, thumbs resting on his hip bones delicately. His freckled face looked wrecked with an emotion that Ronan couldn’t place, but the sight of it made him want to cry.

“I had to.”

He closed his eyes when Adam kissed him, the hearth in his chest flickering with warmth for the first time since Ronan made the decision not to go after Adam that night. He let himself be kissed like they were 18 and still madly in love. Like they had actually been meant for each other. Like he was worth coming back to.

The crack of thunder made them flinch.

“We should go inside,” Adam whispered against Ronan’s lips. Ronan could have told him that the feeble walls weren’t going to protect them. The end wasn’t far off now, whatever that end may be, and the farmhouse protected them just as much as the now goat-less field could have. But he didn’t. He pulled Adam into the house, and wrapped his arms around him, breathing in the scent of him and wishing that the apocalypse wasn’t the only thing that could bring them back together. I love you could have fixed this. Or, even better, I’m sorry.

But this was good, too. Adam’s hands roved up and down Ronan’s body as his tongue traced his bottom lip, and Ronan imagined what would have been. If he had been smarter, if he had been kinder, if he had been less stubborn and had run after Adam that night. If he had taken the keys from his hands and told him that he’d work harder to be more understanding.  To rely less on dreams and more on the concrete. He’d tell Adam that he didn’t mean any of that shit he’d said, that he had never said anything more untrue. It would have all led to this, probably.

He could have gone on kissing Adam until the world ended (a few more minutes give or take), but there was something else he wanted to do. Slowly untangling himself from Adam, he led him by the hand to the kitchen, guiding himself through the house one last time by touch. The fingertips of his left hand grazed over wooden chairs and countertops while the fingers of his right entwined with Adam’s, warm and solid. When Adam saw him begin stoking the wood stove, he let out that surprised laugh again, bewilderment in his voice.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we don’t have a lot of time,” he said to Ronan. The wind was a monster outside, tearing down trees and threatening to rip the siding right off the house. Ronan ignored it.

“We have a little time.”

Something that had been knocked askew inside of him for months had finally settled back into place, and he wasn’t afraid anymore. Adam watched as he poured water into a tin kettle and placed it on the stove, the light reflecting in his eyes. It would be the last time he would do this, the last time he would do anything, probably, and he wanted the last thing on his apocalypse to-do list to matter. So Ronan pulled Adam’s favorite mug from the cabinet above the sink, the one that could have been smashed by the earthquakes or Ronan’s own anger but had survived despite the potential destruction of this house. He threw a few filters on top of the pot and looked to Adam, waiting for him to take the cue to search the pantry for the dark roast they both liked. Adam smirked at him as he passed the can of grounds to him, an expression that Ronan should have taken the time to appreciate before, when he had the time.

Ronan took the kettle from the fire and let a stream of hot water soak the grounds suspended above the pot in the shittiest version of pour-over coffee in the world. But none of that mattered after he’d finally given Adam his mug. He watched Adam breathe it in before taking a drink.

“This really is better than Starbucks, you know,” Adam said after a moment, mug still held close to his face.

Ronan barked out a laugh that almost drowned out the whistling of the wind outside. A long sip from his own mug told Ronan that the coffee tasted just as awful as it always had, but the smell of it masked the smoke from outside, and Adam’s smile masked just about every other bad thing in the entire stupid world. So Ronan sidled up beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder, and let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of enjoying coffee with the person he loved one last time. The pole barn was probably gone by now, the BMW blown halfway across the state, but Ronan had this. Adam snaked an arm around his shoulders and Ronan let out a shaking breath.

He had this.

Ronan had Adam.

IMBOLC was so MAGICAL!! Oh my goodness!!

It's a bit of a long story and I don't want to leave out too many details but I am so glad it all turned out more than ok!! I did not have enough time to put everything together easily and I had to whip up a ritual last minute and I was staying at a coworker’s BOUGIE apartment that is BEAUTIFUL and Ideal for an Imbolc setting (the color scheme is like all white, gray and cream with TALL ceilings, Huge french windows, fluffy white carpets, fireplaces I could put white pillar candles in, long sheer white curtains, you get the point lol) but literally I had a witch gathering party at his place while he was away and I had to make it look like nothing. ever. happened.. the next morning.

I bought these string candle-lights which everyone was laughing at how in theme it was but I strung some across window sills and over the fireplace that I've stuffed white pillar candles in. I stuck tea lights everywhere and found some silvery tealights at a corner shop that were "spa scented" which sounds weird but!! They smelled fantastic and made the space feel calmer. I topped those with sage leaves. I used vanilla incense sticks and this other scent called 'Divine' (that stamford masala incense brand you might see at every spiritual shop) that really elevated the space and made it feel calm and angelic. The whole apartment felt very angelic, light, white and fluffy. On their large screen TV I made a visual playlist on youtube of timelapse videos of nature thawing into spring and frost melting or flowers sprouting from the ground. I played a lot of winter meditative tracts and purifying binural beats.

I pulled strings to get out of work early so I could run to my coworkers place, feed his cats, and get to cooking!! I made a spread of cheese, (mostly brie), coconut cheese, cheese infused crackers and poppyseed crackers, black sable grapes and blueberries that I sprinkled silver bonbons in.

I prepared 3 tonics as a welcome drink that my witch friends could choose from to what potion will aid them for the seeds they are sowing and the cycles to come. They were syrups that were agave based and infused with herbs overnight. There was one for clarity to know what steps to take to achieve goals and that was an infusion of sage, juniper berries and rosemary. There was one for inspiration and sudden muse or creativity to help complete projects and that one was an infusion of valerian root, chamomile, blue poppyseeds and caraway seeds. (Seeds were also symbolic in this one lol), then lastly there was one for inner fire and a wake-up call to get the drive going to get tasks done. That was a black breakfast tea leaf with a sprinkle of pepper in it. They were mixed with Gin (gin being a juniper infusion actually has an interesting history with being used as a cleanser and medicine though its obviously not used that way anymore) and tonic so they were all really herbal and refreshing (non-alcoholic drinks were just gin-free) and they all had a pretty light golden clear color. The clarity one was the most popular though I wish I drank some of the wake-up call one myself.

For food I made baked macaroni and cheese with mozzarella, sharp cheddar, brie, sweet sauteed white onions, black pepper and truffle oil. The plant-based option was stuffed cabbage rolls made with this BEAUTIFUL cabbage I had no idea existed (it caught my eye in the store) called sweetheart cabbage. It was snow-white colored and each large leaf was somewhat heart-shaped. I stuffed it with a sauteed combo of white sweet onions, white mushrooms, chopped parsnips, cauliflower rice and coconut cheese. Lastly I made a salad of chopped fennel and the smaller leaves of the sweet heart cabbage and raw parsnips.

The whole table's food had a white and beige theme lol. We all caught up about our lives and ate food and coo-ed over the cats. When everyone arrived we got to the ritual which I dressed his coffee table in different tea lights and bigger candles. Since I am WIZENED from many previous disasters with candles on tables and witch shenanigans, I put SEVERAL covers on his glass coffee table which consisted of 1- bamboo mats, 2- a white blanket as table cloth (mostly for aesthetic) 3- a coat of aluminum foil 4- 2 layers of cream table cloths. Just to ensure nothing could damage his table.

I am not the biggest fan of leading ritual cause it feels uncomfortable to me to 'lead' everyone's energy but its nice cause this is the third sabbat in a row I've hosted and I guess my friends get the gist now so they all kind of contribute their own parts to it which is.. WHAT I WANTED IN THE FIRST PLACE lol. I take initiative to host sabbats or gatherings or create a community so sometimes people think I am a leader cause I am initiating something but honestly I just want to hold space for others. Anyway the ritual started off with us cleansing baggage from our previous cycle so we can move into the next one purified. I had a juniper bundle I bought in glastonbury that I smoke cleansed everyone with.

Then we spoke about what Imbolc meant for us and how its also reflective on the cycle of life and death when the spirit enters the womb and how seeds of life and hope are stirring. I asked them each to take a tea light and visualize it as a goal or project they wanted to accomplish for this year and to dress it in herbs and oils. I had sage for clarity, rosemary for abundance, blue poppy seeds for growth and inspiration, tea tree oil for protection etc and they could carve in symbols to their candle or whatever. When they were working on that I read everyone's spirit's incarnation crosses from their human design since I knew everyone's birth time lol. The incarnation cross uses some astrology to take into consideration the position of the planets during your third trimester when it’s believed that the spirit enters the body in the womb. It’s to illuminate what your spirit’s intention in this incarnation seeks to fulfill. 

Before we lit the candle my best witch friend took us on this AMAZING guided mediation that was so creative and visual and wonderful. We grounded ourselves but she took us on this story-telling guided meditation journey of us being deep in the earth and smelling the damp soil but having our goal be this light or seed within us that grows and expands until it pushes us up and out through the soil into the wintery forest air. I really felt like some reborn forest faerie sprite after that like she should record meditation podcasts.

We then lit our candles and we used the flame to light the biggest pillar candle as our combined hope and it lit ABLAZED. One of my friends couldn't get her candle to light and we did divination for her to find out what was blocking her and did a road opening spell for her so that she could overcome the obstacles.

After we wanted to do some candle scrying so another friend who does these amazing sound healing ceremonies (I went to glastonbury with her) lead the candle scrying and Y'all.. it was INSANE Like none of us were READY for the fucking adventure.. Basically we thought we'd all be staring into a candle in a trance quietly but it literally felt like something took hold of her like a greater spirit used her as a vessel and it was incredible. She told us all to hold hands and we closed our eyes and did some breathing. We all had to pulse each others hands and visualize a white thread locking us together for protection and creating a circle. She then called on to our higher guides to protect us and create this link to our higher spirits to open a channel so that we may see and allow the fire to guide us. She then was speaking so fast but also with such precision on how the light is opening a door and whatever we will see will help us unlock our true potential and see how we are the light etc for what felt like 6 minutes nonstop and it was so hard to stay on cause I had the WORST PAIN come up in the center of my back where my heart was and I was feeling like it was the culmination of energy being blocked (I have been doing sound healing there to help my heart energy but its been a rough journey), and the fire just felt like it could not channel through me cause of that blockage, but though the knot still hurts even as I type this, I could not break the circle lol. My best friend to my right was staring so intently I knew she was off like astral projecting into this fire, and as I would catch glimpses of others around me everyone was just like.. ON a Journey. I felt like it was like that scene in Harry Potter when they took the port key like we were all locked in and spiraling through time and space and I just had to wait until it was done. I looked at my friend to my right and she was beaming with TEARS covering her face, and my other friends looked windswept for some reason?? We were all like goddamn.. Everyone had Some Shit they've seen in the fire. Even if some of us didn't see something we saw a lot of colors which I mostly saw since I was really focused on the pain in my back. My friend leading the scrying said that the back area I pointed out was a channel that was blocked and is connected to my throat energy so once I fix that it can be aligned/opened but its like.. healing is so hard guys haha.

Anyway we grounded ourselves after the ritual with dessert! :) There was cheesecake (of course) I decorated with white chocolate star sprinkles and the same silver bonbon sprinkles and pavlova that could be topped with blueberries. I also had a cookie spread of butter cookies, white chocolate chip sugar cookies and white chocolate twix bars. The rest were mostly vegan desserts which were lovely. I bought coconut rice pudding but my other friends got vanilla cupcakes with thick white vegan buttercream, there was vanilla soy icecream that was really creamy and light and my aries witch friend I went to Berlin with made home made vegan tiramisu which was fantastic! She also bought red wine.

We spent the rest of the evening chatting, playing with the cats and laughing about whatever, my Aries witch friend was upset I made the dresscode all-white but she was wearing her 'artist' shirt she does painting in so she didn't care that she got tiramisu ALL OVER IT lol. (which we pointed out that no one else had stains on their white outfits but I mean she's an Aries what do you expect), and when we were all getting drunk and sleepy I asked my best witch friend if she wanted to tell a story and Oh My God she fucking DELIVERED

Basically she took us on this adventure retelling the story of Baba Yaga cause it was a tale that does also have to do with crone passing power to a maiden and a cycle re-continuing. Plus it's a midwinter tale involving fire and illumination. Anyway I used to think about how sad it was that back in the day people didn't have movies and had to like tell stories and shit but she was so good at telling this story I was like damn I get it now why people just used to sit around and tell stories together cause this shit is lit.

Before everyone left I forced people to take home food (I mean I had to get rid of all evidence of anything happening in my coworkers house) and I made everyone white paper lanterns with goodies inside and I stuck an electric tealight in it so it glows. I put a bathbomb in there, white chocolate, mint crumbles, buttermints for the non-vegans and tiny spell-jars filled with salt flakes.

When I was finally alone and had to do cleanup it took me nearly three hours but I was also drunk at that point lol. I now have left-over mac and cheese for days but gladly my aries witch friend is vegan and took the cabbage rolls with her and everyone helped take everything else.The cleaner came in the morning and essentially all evidence of anything ever occurring in that apartment was cleansed away...

I hope everyone else had a fantastic Imbolc!! It was on such a perfect moon phase too since it's the first quarter moon!!

IT Fic Recs

Richie/Eddie

the years go by like days

It’s Eddie he wants to get a hold of, though, and he does, tucking him under his arm, and ruffling his hair, making him laugh. He’s startled when Eddie looks at him with such happy, shining eyes. And, for a split-second, he’s tempted to kiss him right then, right there in front of everyone.

He wants to. Badly. He doesn’t.

He leans in, instead, and he smacks a loud, wet kiss to Eddie’s cheek, punctuating it with a “mwah!” He does it again and again. “I’m so proud of my little Eds Spagheds!”

“Get off me!” Eddie says, laughing and shoving him away, swatting at his hands.

AU. in the 27 years in-between, Richie and Eddie forget a lot, but they don't forget each other.

just be still with me

Eddie Kaspbrak is 38, working as a driver in New York. Richie Tozier is a stand up comic who comes to New York on a one way ticket to audition for SNL, and his agent has hired Eddie as his driver. There's something familiar about Richie, though Eddie knows they've never met. While Richie insists on sitting in the front seat and making something more than small talk, Eddie struggles to maintain professional distance.

Basically - what if Eddie and Richie did forget, and didn't see each other for 25 years, but they fell in love anyways.

If You Believe

What if Eddie held on just a little bit longer? What if the losers figured out how to kill it just a little bit earlier? What if Eddie made it out of Neibolt, injured and barely holding on, but alive?

-

When Eddie emerges from the cavern to see Richie floating, he just about shits himself.

hit me baby one more time

Richie reaches up a shaking hand and puts it on Eddie’s stomach.

“Uhhh,” Eddie says. “Is this a bit? Is this a really inopportune bit? ‘Cause I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Richie, but this is kind of an important moment-”

“What the fuck,” Richie says, not for the first or last time, and lurches forwards to hug him.

(Or, Richie gets stuck in a time loop.)

in the morning

Beverly knows there’s something going on with Richie. The way he had lost it, the way he had cried—she’s not sure if he would ever cry like that for her, or Bill, or even Stan. He had always been particular about Eddie. She pets his hair back again and rests her head on top of his, sighing and closing her eyes. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s more than she thinks. Either way, she’s sure he’ll say eventually. Richie’s never been good at keeping secrets.

This Is the Way It Ends

An AU in which everything is the same, except Reddie disappear to have sex through most of the plot points and Eddie doesn't have to die to save the day.

Love Me Like You Do

“I need you hear you say it.”

“I want it,” Eddie says back. He’s surprised by his own words, how concrete they sound, how they break through the wall of nerves that’s shrouded over him.

Richie, in all of his confident-not-confidence, leans down and kisses Eddie. It’s gentle at first, the rough chap of his lips barely grazes Eddie’s over moisturized ones but the electricity rockets down his spine and bursts into tiny electrodes all over his body. He immediately leans up, chases Richie’s retreating form and captures him in a kiss that Eddie never knew he was capable of giving.

Men of Fall

Do you remember? He watches his own hand slide closer along the armrest. Do memories transfer by touch, in this fucked up magic town? Remember, Richie, please, and tell me I wasn’t imagining things.

put it all aside and hold me tight

"I'm not sad," he lies. He thinks of how his hands had trembled after he'd gotten the phone call from Mike, the foul taste of bourbon and breath mints and his own bile in his throat. Every morning he's alone, even when he isn't. He isn't afraid, except for when he is. And he isn't sad, not really, but he is.

Not that it's any of Eddie's business.

Eddie's gaze feels like it goes right through him. There's little Richie hates more than being read, especially when it's by Eddie — there's always a split second of bone-deep terror that whispers he knows. It's familiar, something that goes way back to childhood. Still just as shit-your-pants terrifying.

Or: After the reunion dinner from hell, Richie and Eddie have a long overdue conversation about, like, feelings and shit.

up off the floor

"In a world where we can kill a fucking clown from space, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t get to die from a stab wound."

still it’s so

Beverly screamed when she saw them. Then she covered her mouth with her hands and just stared, tears standing bright in her eyes. Bill stood up so fast his armchair jumped back, and beside him Mike did the same. Ben got up slower, a painfully hopeful look on his face.

“Surprise!” Richie said. “We lived!”

Things that Happen after Eddie Lives

In a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

swallow your heart

When he’s 24, at least once per night, Richie has what he would describe as an erotic nightmare. He never actually has sex in these dreams, nor does he die or even get seriously maimed. But they’re still definitely erotic, and they’re definitely nightmares.

Prompt: "I swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth."

With a boulder on my shoulder

Feelin' kinda older.

Or, Eddie Kaspbrak has his fifteenth birthday party.

we’ve been migratory animals

As they reach the town limits, he sees the sign up ahead: You are now leaving Derry. A thrill shudders through him — they’re out. Things will be different now, no more deadlight-visions swallowing him up inside. Richie rolls down his window, and before anyone can do more than look at him quizzically, he unbuckles his seatbelt, lifts himself up out of his seat somewhat, and leans out the window to flip the sign off. “Fuck you!” he bellows. The wind whips his hair into his eyes, and he lets out a slightly manic laugh. Then he feels hands grabbing at his shirt, and Eddie is yanking him back into the car.

--

Or, the Losers take a road trip to Florida, and Richie's having nightmares from the deadlights that he can't seem to shake.

if the children don’t grow up

Richie Tozier dreams, sometimes, of heat soaking through the soles of his sneakers from the July tarmac in the town where he grew up, the name of which he can’t quite remember when he’s awake, and of someone small and warm and familiar pressed up against him everywhere.

(Some scenes from a life – Richie and Eddie at 40 and at 13 (and beyond) and at 40 again.)

Richie Tozier Versus The Flu

“His parents don’t take care of him,” Eddie had told Bill, shaking his head, “He’s probably holed up in his room with a flop sweat, and neither of his parents have ever been bothered to help him. We should go see him.”

“G-Go see him?” Bill asked, alarmed, “I d-don’t mind, b-b-but I thought you’d n-never -”

“He’s sick! Richie’s sick, Bill,” Eddie insisted, thinking Bill was not nearly as upset as he ought to be, “Richie’s sick, and no one’s gonna take care of him, if we don’t.”

last ones out

Richie wonders if it’s always been this hard for him to touch Eddie. It hasn’t; they were incredibly touchy as kids, falling all over each other, gangly limbs intertwined. Even as adults, a few days before, Richie had barely been able to keep his hands off of him. Eddie almost dying did something, though. Chipped away at something deep within Richie. From the bed, Eddie laughs.

Talk So Pretty (And Love So Sweet)

Eddie was going to kill him one day, in his lace and crop tops and knee high socks.

Let’s Hear It for the Boy

“Oh, before I forget- keep this one.”

He pulled a tape from his bag that he hadn’t played yet, and Eddie took it with a look of distrust on his face. It had his name scrawled across the label in Richie’s awful handwriting- looked more like it said Edota on it- but the thing that caught his attention was the very obviously scribbled out heart in front of his name.

“Welp,” He snapped his gum again. “I gotta go. See you later, babe. If you miss me when I’m gone, just listen to the tape. Plenty of gushy shit on there.”

June

He can’t handle being alone with Eddie anymore.

He squats next to Eddie, brings their faces close, and he looks at the freckles on Eddie’s cheeks, the familiar chestnut hair perfectly quaffed at his fringe, how long, and thick his eyelashes seem against his sunburnt cheeks.

He wants.

Desperately.

Blood Runs Cold

He wants to say the feeling in his gut is foreign, but the truth is it’s been flowering for years, vines twisting and growing in the pit of his stomach, just waiting for him to open his mouth so they can finally see the sun.

(or a short fic about Richie Coming out to Bevvie while they smoke in his room)

Show Me a Good Time

This wasn’t the first time that Richie had brought Eddie to one of his meetings. Meetings, used very loosely, meaning they were at a restaurant with however many Michelin stars, while his agent talked to him and whoever else decided to show up to the dinner. There were currently about eight of them, Eddie and Richie shoved into the corner of a booth, while someone told a story about their latest stent on tour. Lucky for Richie, the story actually happened to be good, because if not, well, they might have seen just how often Eddie was leaning over to whisper in his ear.

we’re f***ing killing it, babe

Richie has been back in Derry for three days and murdered an Eldritch horror-esque monster from space or possibly from some weird meta-verse, who knows, and faced both of his childhood fears of clowns and his own death, as well as the possibility of losing his first love just as he remembered they fucking existed, he’d like some slack cut for him on the emotional front, thank you!

OR

Eddie is dead, but the Losers carry him out of the house on Neibolt anyway. Which is good, because Eddie is not dead.

Roads

Richie pulls out of the Orient parking lot first, and stares at the headlights of Eddie’s car in his rearview mirror.

The drive back to The Derry Townhouse is short, scary, and not well lit.

“It’s just Eddie,” he tells his reflection, trying to give himself a pep talk, but that’s the problem.

It’s Eddie.

Lakes

Ben holds Bev’s hand as they walk. Richie feels sick with grief, staggering along behind them, carrying Eddie’s dead, heavy body on his back.

Intro // Skydiving

Eddie Kaspbrak is ten years old. It's his first time at the quarry with his friends.

--

The descent feels like it lasts both for a few seconds and for eternity. Free fall is terrifying, but his hand is still latched onto Richie's, and it tethers him, makes him feel like he isn't just lost in space.

soul, I hear you calling

He catches a glimpse of himself, bruise-eyed and unshaven, in the bathroom mirror as he turns to leave, and that's when he sees Eddie Kaspbrak.

"At least wash your hands, you nasty fuck," Eddie says.

"Holy fucking shit," Richie screams.

Eddie comes back, sort of.

Unpack My Heart With Words

Read on AO3 HERE

@violetreddie @constantreaderfool @xandertheundead @tinyarmedtrex @eds-trashmouth @mrs-vh

Chapter Six: Thus of every grief in heart he with thee doth bear a part

From: Unknown Number:

How dare you make me worry about you.

The phone, sat on his chest, burns a hole straight down to Richie’s rapidly thumping heart. The messages, from an ostensibly unknown number, were imprinted on the inside of Richie’s eyelids.

blink – how dare you make me worry about you – blink – today was a fucking disaster – blink – how dare you make me worry about you – blink – make me worry about you – blink – worry about you

There was no question as to who sent those texts, and Richie could practically hear Eddie’s snotty tone ringing in his ears.

“You didn’t text me when you got in, you said you’d text me and let me know you’re safe but you didn’t”

“Eds, baby, I’m sorry, I forgot”

“I was fucking worried, Richie”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry”

“It’s not fair of you to make me worry like that”

“Baby, you’re killing me, I’m sorry”

“How dare you make me worry about you”

The familiar words burrowed deep into Richie’s gut.

To: Unknown Number:

Eds?

From: Unknown Number:

It’s Eddie. Where were you?

To: Eds:

trying not to vomit soz will b there on Mon

From: Eds:

Good. Feel better.

Richie doesn’t sleep at all that night.

– X –

The morning after the night before isn’t a rehearsal day. They have every Sunday off. Richie silently thanks a God he doesn’t believe in that he doesn’t have to face Eddie for another twenty-four hours. That gives him time to prepare, to try to school himself out of feeling too much. It doesn’t work, because as soon as Working for the Weekend starts pumping out of his speakers Richie is nearly sick into his cereal as he remembers leaping around his shitty little flat with Eddie, drunks as skunks on shitty three pound cider and a whole lotta love.

He decides to walk it off. Like a stomach ache. Or a cramp.

Richie aimlessly wanders the streets, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck like a dormant boa constrictor, pressing just firmly enough so that the constant pressure against his throat reminds him that he’s alive. His hands are numb. He can’t feel his heart.

Eddie had always hated the cold. He’d bitched and moaned when Richie dragged him out into the January cold, hats jammed on heads and clasped hands buried in coat pockets. Richie always laughed as Eddie’s nose always turned bright red, where it poked out above his scarf. A red scarf with a large black check. Soft. Always smelt like soft cotton. Sandalwood. Eddie.

Richie adjusted the red scarf around his neck. It was practically threadbare.

Richie used to love the cold. The kiss of the frost, the sparkling of the black ice on the road. The puffs of air when Eddie spoke, spiralling into the air. Dancing on the wind that bit at their noses, ears, eyelashes. Eddie would always huddle into him, a penguin seeking shelter from arctic gales. Richie would welcome him in with open arms. He’d let Eddie gut him, and sleep inside his still-steaming carcass for warmth, if he’d asked.

Perhaps he still would.

Richie walks until he finds himself in the park that sits on the outskirts of the city. The plush grass is still wet from the morning’s rain. Trees litter the border, and people scurry across the surface like ants, ever busy. Richie stands and stares at them, cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t bother to try and catch it when it falls, cherry red fading to inky, dull black.

A bizarrely familiar figure crosses the park.

The figure walks across the field, holding tightly to a lead attached to a large black Labrador that bounds next to them. The stilted, harsh lines of the figure remind Richie of late nights and early mornings, of running through London with fire in his veins.

The closer the figure gets the more familiar he looks, until he’s stood right in front of Richie and of course it’s Eddie.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Uh – yeah. Yeah I feel alright now, Eds, don’t you worry about me”

“How many times am I going to have to tell you not to call me that before you listen to me?” Eddie huffs.

“Oh, infinity and one more time, Eds. Infinity and one”

“Were you really sick?”

“Something like that”

“Are you going to tell me the truth?”

“Probably not”

“He likes you”

Richie glances up at Eddie, from where he’s crouched on the floor scratching the Labrador’s ears.

“Lots of people like me”

“He doesn’t normally like strangers”

“I guess he knows I’m not a stranger”

Richie watches Eddie close his eyes.

“Are you not?”

“No”

“I haven’t seen you for over a decade”

“Doesn’t mean I’m a stranger”

“I wish you were a stranger”

“I know”

“I wish you weren’t my Hamlet”

“Do you really?”

A pause.

“No, not really”

“It’s really great to see you again, Eds. I missed you”

“I – Yeah. You too, Rich”

Richie watches Eddie walk away.

– X –

“Jesus Christ, woman! I do have ribs you know. I am not, in fact, an invertebrate”

“Coulda fooled me”

“Wh–what?”

“I have no idea. Now shut up, I gotta adjust your inseam”

The costume department of the RSC was a jungle of dresses, powdered wigs, crowns, swords, handkerchiefs, and, of course, a large Papier Mache donkey’s head hanging from the ceiling attached to thin wires. Richie was standing on a rickety wooden chair, balanced precariously whilst Beverly Marsh, head of costume, poked and prodded at him.

“I need to take around 50 measurements, Rich, so you gotta stay still for me so we can work as quickly as possible. I’ve got to do the first fitting of Mike’s dress later, and god knows how long it’ll take me to pin the corset around his waist”

“Bev?”

“Hmm?” Bev responded absently, pins sticking out of her mouth. Brave.

“You were in my year at RADA, right?”

“Yup”

“Do you remember Eddie?”

“Sort of. I was only in one class with him, and I dropped out of that to take more costume classes but – Motherfucker! Leather really is the most annoying fabric to work with, I swear to God, why did Eddie have to decide that this damn production needed you to be wearing skin-tight leather fucking trousers”

“We both know why he made that decision, Miss Marsh, have you seen my ass”

Bev stepped backwards, bringing her hand up to stroke her chin pensively as she stared at Richie’s leather-clad ass.

“So?” Richie prompted, waggling his ass at Bev as much as the constricting leather would allow.

“Yeahhhh,” Bev drawled, still stroking her chin, “I still don’t get it”

“You’re a fucking liar, my ass is great. Eds says that – I mean, Eddie used to say that – Aw, fuck”

Bev patted Richie’s arm comfortingly, helping him down off the chair.

“D’ya wanna grab a smoke?”

“Aw, Dahlin’, I thought you’d never ask”

Bev helped Richie shuck off the tight leather trousers, and they walked out into the biting November cold. Leaning against the wall, they puffed on their cigarettes in silence, listening to the wind whip around the walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Richie instantly knows what Bev means. She wants him to tell her about why he didn’t show up yesterday.

“About what?”

He’s not going to tell her if she doesn’t work for it.

“You know exactly what, why didn’t you show yesterday?” Bev responds, sharp as a knife but her words don’t slice at Richie’s skin.

“Red, we both know that you know exactly what happened yesterday” Richie deadpans, flicking the cigarette butt into the gutter. Bev offers him another one, but he declines with one sharp shake of his head.

“Do you still love him?”

“Aw, hell. What kind of a question is that?”

“The questioning kind”

“I haven’t seen him for fourteen years”

“And?”

“He left me”

“And?”

“He left me! He walked away. He made it pretty fucking clear he didn’t want me anymore”

Bev hums, flicking her own cigarette into the gutter. It lands next to Richie’s.

“He wrote to you, though?”

“He did”

“Did you ever respond?”

Richie stares at Bev with tired, don’t push it eyes. She doesn’t push it.

– X –

The door to the office was closed, and three minutes had passed since Richie was supposed to knock.

Three minutes, twenty-four seconds …

Eddie was waiting for him on the other side of the door. The days rehearsal had gone pretty well. He’d worked on the ‘get thee to a nunnery!’ scene with Mike, which had gone unexpectedly well. Mike Hanlon, it seemed, was an absolute tour-de-force and his Ophelia was heartbreakingly sympathetic. A rather large part of Richie’s brain was ecstatic that he’d have someone so technically skilled to bounce off of, but a small, nasty part of Richie’s brain was worried that Ophelia would steal the show. He’d have to work on that.

Three minutes, fifty-five seconds …

Richie still hasn’t knocked on the door. He nearly has, twice. He has raised his clenched hand to the door twice, and twice he has lowered it again without making contact.

Four minutes, three seconds …

Perhaps he will never knock.

Four minutes, fifty-nine seconds …

Perhaps he is locked in a cyclical system of nearly-knocking-but-never-knocking.

Five minutes …

The door swung open.

“Richie?”

Where the closed door once was, Eddie was now standing, hands on his hips, confusion imprinted onto his brow.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh – Yeah, yeah, sorry, I was just about to knock”

“You’ve been stood out here for five minutes”

“How did you know?”

“I could see your shadow under the door”

“Ah. Well, I was just about to knock, though, honest”

The ghost of a smile chased its way across Eddie’s face, left to right, until it had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. His eyes remained brighter, though, stars reflected onto the irises. Eddie stood to the side, motioning for Richie to walk into the office. Richie slunk into the room, standing awkwardly in the corner as Eddie rounded the desk and sat down behind it.

“Whatcha wanna see me about, then?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about your no show on Saturday. You don’t have to tell me the reason you didn’t turn up, I understand that we are all complex life forms and some of us are more complex than others, but –”

A disbelieving snort forced its way out of Richie’s nose before he could stop it.

“Problem?” Eddie challenged, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.

“Nope. No problem, not at all”

“Richard”

“Edward”

“Can we – can we not play these stupid games? I thought we’d be more mature than this, that we’d be able to get past all this animosity and act like adults. We have a job to do. You have a job to do. Please fucking act like it”

Richie blinked.

“Sorry, Eddie”

“It’s okay, Rich. I’m just – you really screwed us over on Saturday. I had to get Bowers to stand in,” Eddie stopped talking to scrub his fists into his eye-sockets, before continuing, “and he’s … he can’t do it properly. He’s not – You do it…”

Richie blinked again.

“You can’t just not show up. You can’t do that to me, to us” Eddie implored, eyes and eyebrows earnest as ever.

“I won’t, I won’t do it again, Eds, I promise”

From his current position, standing in the corner of the small office like a spare part, Richie thought that Eddie looked awfully small. He’d always been small, of course, a tiny firecracker threatening to explode in your hands and burn off your fingerprints, but this Eddie was not that Eddie. Past Eddie, Richie’s Eddie, didn’t have these eyes that looked permanently punched by tiredness, frown lines etched into his forehead, or shoulders that dropped when he thought no-one was looking. This Eddie, not-Richie’s-Eddie, made Richie’s heart thump with something past-compassion and not-quite-yearning. Sitting behind the desk was a black sweater clad, fully formed human being that Richie didn’t recognise, with glasses and wrinkles and a slightly wonky front left canine. It wasn’t wonky when Richie had known him, when he’d been Richie’s-Eddie, he’d have known, he’d stared at the sun in Eddie’s smile that many times.

Richie wanted to ask Eddie why his tooth was wonky, and why the skin around his nailbeds was red and raw, but he didn’t.

“S’that all?” is what Richie said instead, rubbing at his left bicep furiously, scratching a phantom-itch.

“Yeah, yeah, you can go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Good work today. You work excellently with Mike”

Richie wanted to take advantage of this seemingly unguarded Eddie, sit down in the uncomfortable looking chair and rip his still beating heart out of his chest and serve it to Eddie on a platter.

Why did you leave me?

But he didn’t. Instead he waved his fingers at Eddie, an aborted attempt at a wave, and left the room.

– X –

Hamlet and Horatio haven’t spoken for fourteen years. Richie hasn’t spoken to Stan for fourteen years, and he can’t remember how to talk to his former-best-friend without causing him to roll his eyes. What makes this worse is that the pit of jealousy in Richie’s stomach grows ever stronger each time Stan stays behind after rehearsal for one-to-one sessions with Eddie.

Richie has never had a one-to-one session with Eddie. He knows he’s going to have a one-to-one session, to work on the various soliloquys. He knows this, and yet his gut still twists angrily every time Eddie dismisses them for the day, and Stan follows him back into his office. Smiling. Eddie smiles when he looks at Stan, but his mouth only twitches when he looks at Richie. It’s not a smile. It’s more like a grimace, but not quite as heated.

It all explodes before Richie realises he’d detonated.

“Why are you giving Horatio more attention than me? I’m supposed to be the lead!”

Richie holds his breath.

The rest of the cast filter out of the rehearsal space like liquid.

“Pardon?”

“I mean – I guess – No, you know what, I’m confused. I’m supposed to be the lead, and we’ve been rehearsing for nearly two weeks and we haven’t worked on my soliloquys yet”

Stan rolls his eyes. Richie wants to scream.

“Stop being a fucking child, Richie”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the lead. We all know this, it’s not like we’ve forgotten, but that doesn’t mean that this whole production revolves around you”

“I just thought that–”

Stan strides over to where Richie was standing, and stands toe to toe with him. Faces close, breath mingling. They were close enough that Stan could headbutt him right now, if he wanted to. Richie doesn’t think he would.

“You don’t have a claim to his time anymore, Rich” Stan whispers, and it’s kind, his voice is kind and soft but the words burn through Richie’s skin like acid.

Richie steps backwards, burnt.

“Woah, woah woah, Stanely the fucking Manly, I never said anything about that, this is purely professional”

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

“It doesn’t look very professional”

“Well it is!”

Neither of them say anything, just look at each other. Waiting for the other to strike.

– X –

The sky is mottled with stars. Stan’s humming a song that Richie doesn’t recognise as they lie on the grass out the back of Richie’s apartment building.

“You’re my best friend, you know”

“Aw, is this soft hours with Stan?”

Stan huffs out a laugh and smacks Richie on the stomach.

“Yeah, yeah it fuckin’ is”

“You’re my best friend, too” Richie replies, honest as the day is long.

They don’t say anything else. They don’t have to.

– X –

“What happened to us?” Richie asks, not wanting to hear the answer that he’s sure Stan is going to give him, anyway.

“There hasn’t been an ‘us’ since you ignored me when Eddie left,” Stan replies, eyes downcast, “I missed you, Rich, I rang you for two fucking years, of course I missed you. But this petulant child isn’t you. You need to sort it out. You can’t draw him in when you’re pushing everyone else out”

Only then does Richie remember that Eddie has been in the room the entire time, that Eddie has heard everything.  

So,

Before changing ownership a decade previous, Tony’s Taphouse had been a biker bar called the Civic. Notorious for its rough clientele and routine bouts of violence, and for harbouring regulars who acted like nocturnal animals, most locals knew it as the Zoo. It had been the preferred haunt for the Hell’s Angels, who had long since been banned from the premises. 

“It took us a long time to turn things around,” my boss told me one night, while I manned the door for a Val Kilmer and the New Coke concert. A crowd of twenty-somethings were smoking all around us.

“Whenever we tried to get people to behave they’d say ‘don’t you know this is the Zoo?’ And I would say ‘yes, and I’m the new zookeeper’.”

My boss reminded me of a small child in an enormous body, slightly immature and with a propensity for breaking stuff. He had a reputation for overdoing things, to the point that the Nelson Police Department had nailed him for multiple assault charges. The other bouncers told me he was well known for choke-slamming unruly patrons into unconsciousness, which was the reason he was no longer allowed to assist us when we ejected the city’s shitheads and drunks. The guy was easily 300 pounds, and scary as hell when provoked. The rest of the time he was an amiable teddy bear, quick to laugh and always game to sing “Chocolate Salty Balls” from South Park at karaoke, much to the chagrin of his embarrassed wife. 

Most of my shifts were spent alongside a fellow ginger beard named Luke who liked playing bad cop to my good cop. During the day he worked at a pet food store, and he was well-known as a huge softie when it came to animals. While I had a tendency to treat Tony’s like my own personal Cheers, he was monosyllabic and ominous. Late into the night we would hang by the entrance swapping jokes and taking turns shovelling back lettuce wraps and chicken strips, clad in all black.

Eventually I suggested we should update our uniforms. There was a local barber named Chris Brach who bounced at Spiritbar and I admired how he dressed and carried himself like an old-school gentleman. We ultimately settled on matching vests with dress button-down shirts, with each bouncer choosing their favourite colour. I chose a blood red that was almost purple, while Luke went with sky blue. Eventually the whole team adopted this new look, making the whole place that much classier. 

Working at Tony’s gave me a whole new perspective on Nelson. I knew who was doing drugs, who was cheating on their spouse, and who was banned from the premises until they came grovelling back to the owners. The Nelson Leafs were preening and omnipresent as peacocks, and in the early hours of the evening I’d encounter the more wholesome members of society as they engaged in events like paint night. Sometimes people would approach me with the latest issue of the Nelson Star, commenting on stories or complimenting me on the cover photo. The print edition was becoming increasingly irrelevant, but Tony’s was one of the few places I could regularly see people consuming it alongside their beer.

From where we stood during our shifts, we looked out at a sports bar that took up the ground floor of the Adventure Hotel. Because we were open later than any other establishment in Nelson, we would watch as the late night crowd funnelled in our direction. Crowds of drunk twenty-somethings would march diagonally across the intersection, ignoring the cross-walks, and it was our job to interpret whether or not they could come into Tony’s based on their lurching gait. Some would nod solemnly when we denied them access, while others would whip themselves into deranged frenzies. They would scream their threats to the uncaring black sky, or demand to talk to the owners. These people pissed me off.

“You’re a good bouncer and everyone loves you, but the other staff have told me you have a tendency to go from zero to sixty pretty quick,” my other boss told me, during a performance review. She was the owner.

“We don’t think it’s a problem, but it’s something we want you to watch out for. Obviously this job can be stressful at times, so it’s up to you to keep your temper in check. It’s about customer service.”

Though there were plenty of threats of violence at Tony’s, it was rare that we actually had to put our hands on people. Most were cowed into submission by our size, and knew they had to play nice if they wanted continued access to the bar. We tried to kill them with kindness, calling them cabs and reassuring them that they’d be welcomed back once they sobered up. More than once I found myself consoling despondent drunks who were horrified by their own behaviour, going through a break-up, or grieving. Some were so confused and inebriated they didn’t know how to get home. I came to love these idiots, or at least most of them, because I considered them part of the Tony’s family.

The most interesting employee was a behemoth brute named Gordo, a holdover from the days of the Zoo, who looked exactly like a bearded Bobby Baccala. The female staff adored him because of his gentle, benevolent presence. He made people feel safe. He wasn’t a bouncer anymore because, like my boss, he’d gone overboard a few too many times. He lived downstairs and oversaw the daily operations, and was only called to help during emergencies. He was the type of guy you didn’t want to fuck with, ever. He loved Tony’s and everyone on staff intensely, and if violence was needed he was more than capable of dispensing it. I’d never met someone with such a fascinating mix of kindness and malevolence to his personality, and I admired how effectively he funnelled his anger in appropriate directions.

One night, during a slow period, he stood out on the street and regaled me with stories of his bouncing days in Toronto. During those years he’d been stabbed and shot multiple times, a fact he delivered with a shy chuckle.

“This one guy was shaking my hand, right? And with his other hand he stabbed me right here,” Gordo said, pointing to his rib cage.

“So I pulled him close to me and snapped his elbow backwards, just like this.”

Gordo recreated the scene with a smile on his face, demonstrating how the guy’s arm had bent the wrong way while the bones snapped and popped. He’d regained control of the situation while the knife was still plunged hilt-deep into his side. He laughed and wiped his eyes, remembering.

“I was a lot bigger back then, if you can imagine that. So the knife didn’t end up doing much damage. It didn’t hit anything significant. Meanwhile this guy’s a puddle on the ground in front of me, whimpering like a little girl.”

When I wasn’t on the door, I would work my way slowly through the lounge area and out to the back patio where people were allowed to smoke. There was a row of comfortable couches and a long counter where people could pull up stools and drink under the gaze of Elephant Mountain. At times I couldn’t believe I was being paid to socialize, and the dance floor playlist introduced me to a new favourite artist: a young Swedish woman named Tove Lo. If we’re talking body, she sang, You got a perfect one so put it on me. If you do me right, we’ll fuck for life, on and on and on. 

Paisley had finally moved home to be with her parents, and her absence had proven to be a boon to my mental health. I still missed my dogs desperately but I was finally free to move on without her constant surveillance and gossip. I decided early on that I wouldn’t date anyone on staff, but there was no shortage of young women who would find excuses to linger by the door or stand outside smoking, sizing me up. Most nights I was still ending up at Natalya’s, where I would crawl into her bed and cap the night off with an early morning fuck in the dark. She’d leave her front door unlocked and we’d pant through our routine without speaking a word. She’d resigned herself to the fact I wasn’t interested in anything beyond that, and she never bothered me with small talk. We had what we had, and that was it.

The sleep deprivation involved with working at Tony’s ended up meaning that I spent most of my weekends asleep, recovering in Brendan’s basement and only leaving the house for necessities. Sunday was my only day off, and I needed that down time to get in the right headspace for the Star. I had a couple of ambitious series going on, including one about the Columbia River Treaty, and I needed my mental faculties operating properly to adequately approach these subjects. I could sense that Ed was growing tired of my rock star attitude and reluctance to put in a full 40-hour work week. I kept finding myself asking why I was still there, but I didn’t have another option available. Both jobs and housing were scarce in Nelson, and I was barely holding on.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I told my friend Tia one night. She worked at the Hume Hotel but had started her own business called Wurst Dog. We’d been discussing whether I could find some sort of entrepreneurial gig to transition to once I was finished with journalism.

“You just have to take a chance and jump, kid,” she said. “Then see where you land. I’m sure there’s all kinds of people in this town who would give you a job doing social media or something.”

“Or maybe I could be a full-time bouncer and write on the side? Finally finish my manuscript? I dunno.”

Tia smiled and mussed my hair.

“I believe in you,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

The Kootenay Goon

The broken showers/neighbor is amazing. Could you make at least a part two :) I love your writing, it's so intriguing

Ummmm, yeah why not. First part is here.

The city was alive tonight. People littered the streets andside walk, some swaying drunkenly to their unheard music, some loudlyproclaiming their own opinions, and others just off in their own world. Either waythis was not somewhere Eddie would usually find himself. He was unfamiliar withthis side of town, usually staying away from the bar scene as much as he couldbut here he was, being led by the hottest guy he had ever met, jumping overpiles of vomit and trash.

“Oh you’re going to love this place. It’s a total hole inthe wall set up.” Richie proudly proclaimed, pushing someone out of their wayas they headed down the sidewalk. “My friend owns it, I think you two are goingto get along great.”

Eddie didn’t answer because honestly what could he say? Ifthis guy asked him to jump he would ask how high, if he told him to leap off abridge he wouldn’t even second guess it. His infatuation may be clouding hisjudgment but hell if there was anything that could stop him now.

They eventually make it to a small restaurant, the neon sign reading“Hanlon Diner” and Eddie couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at theestablishment. When Richie had told him it was a hole in the wall, he didn’texpect him to actually mean a literal hole in the wall. The place was so tiny, itlooked like it would only able to hold about twenty guests at once. Richiejumped in front of him, holding the door open and bowing his head dramatically.“My lady.” He jeered, smirking up to his neighbor.

“My anatomy isn’t exactly lady like.” He replied, rollinghis eyes.

“Thank god.” Richie retorted, without missing a beat. Eddiecould feel his face fluster, but he choked down the lump in his throat andwalked through the threshold anyway.

“Well shoot me where I stand.” A voice boomed from the back,“Is that Richie Tozier?”

“Heya Mikey!” Richie cheerfully replied, walking up to thecounter.

The man from the back came forward, looking over to Eddiewith a curious gaze. He looked back to Richie, then back to Eddie, then back toRichie. “Is this a date?” The rather handsome man asked, whipping his hands offon his apron. He extended his hand out to Eddie, offering a toothy grin. “MikeHanlon at your service.”

“Uh. Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak.” The shook hands, Mike’s firmgrip nearly swallowing Eddie’s wimpy one.

“How do you know this kid over here?” He asked, motioning toRichie. “Don’t tell me you’re that dumb ass Calvin Klein model he was supposedto take out tonight.”

“No. I’m his neighbor.” Eddie replied, shrugging of the twisthe felt his stomach at the mention of Richie’s supposed-to-be date. “He used myshower? After that it’s all kind of a blur.”

Mike laughed at the joke, his chuckles were deep andpowerful. Richie smiled over to Eddie, winking at him. This only made Eddiefluster, “Yeah, you’re cool Eddie.” Mike managed between his dying spurts oflaughter, “The usual then?”

“That’d be great.” Richie replied quickly, offering not timefor Eddie to ask what his usual was. With the way Richie looked, Eddie figuredthat he would only be eating wheat grass and rice for dinner, although hewouldn’t complain even if he did.  

They moved to a table in the middle, sitting across from oneanother. Richie adjusted his black shirt, exposing more of his neck line with eachpull. Eddie could feel his body shiver with each tug. “So you do bring all yourdates here?” He found himself asking, unable to watch his sexy ass neighbor practicallytease him. “Or just the ones who listen to your crazy alien theories?”

“Hey those theories are valid. You’re friend apparentlyagrees with me.”

“Yeah well Bill’s be hit in the head one too many times. Ican only imagine what happened to you.” Eddie joked, a smirk curling at the cornerof his lips. It all seemed so simple. Talking to Richie was something that heonly dreamed of, and even in them it wasn’t anything like this. Although intimidatinglyhot, Richie had a certain aura around him that set Eddie at ease.

Richie’s gaze flickered up and he let out an exasperatedgroan. Before Eddie could even ask what was wrong, the door to the restaurantopened and in walked two equally attractive people. One was a tall, slim girlwith fire for hair. She wore fashionable clothes, ones that Eddie had only seenin magazines. The other was a rather lanky man, his clothes primped and pristine,his curly hair fell onto his face like feathers and it seemed that his legswent on for days.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Riche hissed as thetwo drew closer to the table.

The female smiled, her face lightening up with the brillianceshe carried. “Awe, I thought you would be happy to see us Rich, we are yourfriends.” She cooed, glancing over to Eddie. “I’m Beverly Marsh by the way.” Herhand extended and Eddie nervously accepted it, her skin soft to the touch.

“Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Eddie. This is Stan Uris.” Shemotioned to the man beside her, who only nodded in his direction. Eddie feltlike he was going to melt into his chair from embarrassment.

“Why are you here?” Richie bit, narrowing his eyes at them.

“We were in the neighborhood when Mike texted and said youbrought a date to the diner.” Stan replied, an evil smirk playing on his lips. “Wejust had to meet him. It’s not every day Richie Tozier brings someone over tomeet the family.”

“I feel so lost right now.” Eddie confessed, shamefaced byall of the people that surrounded him. He looked over to Richie and frowned,feeling something brew in his stomach. “Do you just hang around beautifulpeople or something, are you like a model?” Richie raised aneyebrow, his mouth gapping slightly opened.

It was Stan who replied, his voice losing the coldness itonce held as he giggled. “Oh, I like him.” He cooed, nudging Beverly in thearm. “I like him a lot.”

“Easy there Stanley.” Beverly whispered, pulling up a chairbeside Eddie. Lightly she adjusted herself so that she was half facing him,half facing Richie. Stan grumbled something under his breath before mirroringher on the other side. “So Eddie, what do you do for a living?”  

“Beverly don’t grill him.” Richie warned, shooting daggersin her direction that she merely waved away.

“I’m a nursing student. I work up at the hospital.”

“Oh, someone with an actual job. That’s a change.” Stanchuckled, and Eddie’s face lit up. “I like him even more!”

 Beverly smirked, “Andyour friends? What are they like?”

Richie groaned, “Why does that even matter?”

“Well.” Eddie hummed, thinking the question over carefully. “There’sBill, he works at a publishing company, although all he seems to publish is hisown books and Ben who is an architect.” There was a shrug from him as headmitted, “I don’t have a lot of friends. I guess you can consider me a loser.”Eddie couldn’t even look at Richie, but he could feel his gaze burning hisskin.

“That’s no way to speak of yourself.” She replied softly, “Youmust be pretty amazing for Richie to bring you here to meet Mike. That makesyou like something of an oddity to us.”

“Why?” Eddie asked, “I bet he gets tons of dates. Look athim.” It had slipped, honestly it did. He could feel himself cringe at his ownwords as they hung in the air between them. Richie only gaped at him, apparentlyat a loss for words.

 “Well, honey, he maydate a lot but there has never been someone special enough to meet us.” Beverlywhispered, patting him on the shoulder. “Although we can see why. You’re prettyawesome Eddie.”

“Hot plates coming through!” Mike’s voice warned as heleaned in to serve Richie and Eddie his food. What was presented to them wasnot wheat grass, but rather a greasy cheeseburger with a side of waffle frieswhich smelled heavenly. “Bev and Stan, yours will be up in a minute.”

“Thanks Mike.” Richie replied in a sarcastic tone. “Thanksfor everything.”

“Anything for you Rich!” He cheerfully said, whistling as heheaded back to the kitchen. His laughter echoed around them.

“Oh fuck you.” Richie groaned, stuffing his face with fries.“I’m sorry about this Eds. I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine.” He muttered, brushing off the awkward feelingunder his skin and smiling. “I like your friends.”

Richie snorted, “Yeah for now.”

maybe

note:

so hiiii i’m back with writing shitty fics & this time it’s for a ship from kpop group that i’m currently obsessing. idk if i should continue this or not hehez pls do tell me if you want a part 2!!

A G-clef.

That was the tattoo Jungkook was gifted with when he was born. Along with a watch that indicates a timer that counts down when will you meet your soulmate; the person you are destined, and the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with.

20 years was written on the screen of his timer as of September 1, 1997. He has exactly 20 years to prepare to meet his soulmate.

Jungkook didn’t really get all the idea, but as he grew older, he finally understood. In fact, he totally despised it. He hated having the stupid tattoo to choose someone you should be with. He hated knowing that the person he truly loves is not the person he will marry. He hated it – every single bit of it.

When Jungkook reached 16, he tried to take off the watch from his wrist. But, it is no use. The device is literally glued to your skin. He couldn’t remove it without wincing in pain. He just wants to stop all these nonsense about love. But, he didn’t give up.

Jungkook was in love with someone that doesn’t have the same tattoo as him. Though, it is against the law. You have to be loyal to your soulmate only, or you’ll end up dead. The thought of death is scary. But, Jungkook didn’t care. He’d rather die that be with someone he doesn’t know. He remembered the two of them sharing thoughts about the whole soulmate thing, with Jungkook hoping that he really is his soulmate, even though the watch says otherwise.

“So, what’s your tattoo then?” Jimin asked Jungkook, with curiosity laced all over his features. Jungkook suddenly felt shy, but he must know Jimin’s ink.

“It’s a G-clef.” Jungkook said, lifting his hand to reveal the black G-clef shaped ink on his right wrist. “Yours?”

Jimin laughed and jokingly slapped Jungkook’s hand. “You really don’t wanna see mine.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrow. Now he is very curious. Does he have a G-clef too? He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. But, Jungkook is foolishly hoping.

He checked his timer, 1 year, and he knows, right there that Jimin isn’t his soulmate.

“Why not?”

“Because my tattoo is ridiculous!”

Jungkook smiled. “C’mon, hyung! Let me see it.”

Then, like the speed of light, Jungkook lounged at Jimin and desperately tried to lift the amount of bracelets on Jimin’s. There were too many. They went on for a couple of minutes, tickling each other. Eventually, Jimin gave up and Jungkook felt that he won the world.

“Okay,” Jimin said, getting out of breath. “Don’t laugh.”

Jungkook, who also lost his energy, just nodded. Jimin stared at Jungkook as he hoists his right sleeve. Despite the fact that Jungkook promised not to laugh, he laughed. Like really loud.

“I told you not to laugh, Kook!” Jimin said, quickly pulling down the sleeve to hid his embarrassment. “You broke the promise.”

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook bursts into laughter again, clutching his stomach. “It is so funny!”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“Who would have thought there’d be a dick for a tattoo?” Jungkook giggled, suppressing his laughter and tried to compose himself. “It’s the first I have seen.”

“Is there anyone who has a dick tattoo also?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably,”

It may be absurd to hear, but Jungkook never had the strong desire to have a dick tattoo instead of his G-clef.

“Ya! Jungkookie, where are you going?”

Jungkook whipped his head to where the direction was from, it was from his other roommate, Yoongi. Jungkook just smiled at the dark haired boy and winked, knowing that Yoongi knows exactly where Jungkook is going.

This made Yoongi to sigh. “The music shop again?”

Jungkook shrugged as a response and opened the door. “See you later, hyung!”

“Whatever, kid.”

He smiled again and habitually checked his timer. 4 months left ‘til Jungkook sees his soulmate. He groaned internally. He still has 4 months to have false hope that Jimin will like him back.

When Jungkook stepped outside their dorm, a gust of cold air greeted him. It was the trademark of December – the frigid and frosty winter atmosphere. Jungkook loved it, though. It was his favorite time of the year. He enjoys drinking hot beverages, and it gives him an excuse to wear baggy sweaters the whole day, as if he doesn’t wear them even during hot summers.

December was also the time when he realized his feelings for him.

Jungkook kicked a lost stone on the sidewalk and kept on walking, feeling and immersing the air that he really enjoys. Occasionally sighing to see his breath coming out from his mouth. He was wearing earphones that boomed ballads, the perfect genre for today.

Then, a familiar sign was seen, and a smile crept into Jungkook’s lips.

“Hey, Jungkook.” Jungkook opened the shop’s door and was greeted instantly by the one and only Jimin.

“Hi, Jimin.” He replied.

“What are you doing here, Kook?” Jimin was in the middle of rearranging the vinyl discs at the corner of the room. Apparently, Jungkook disturbed him. Though, Jimin shouldn’t be surprised by now since Jungkook always visits the shop.

Jungkook responded with a nonchalant shrug and proceeded to check the new releases.

“Y’know,” Jimin started, but Jungkook didn’t bother to look at him and continued to flip the CDs. The Beatles, Taylor Swift, Fall Out Boy, Ed Sheeran. “My boss will probably be mad since you always go here and never buy anything. You just want to see me.”

Jungkook laughed sarcastically, pretending to not hear his latter statement and felt blood rush to his cheeks. It was hard not to blush. “Okay, hyung, I’ll buy one.”

This earned a victorious shout from Jimin.

“Finally!”

Fuck it, Jungkook though and grabbed a copy of Justin Bieber’s Purpose from the shelf. Jimin was already by the counter and was staring at the album Jungkook is currently holding. Jimin was at least amazed by what is happening.

“Justin Bieber? Really?”

“What? I could be the next Bieber.” Jimin laughed and checked out his item, still chuckling. “I should be called Justin Seagull or whatever.”

Jimin bursts into laughter, and Jungkook smiled widely at his view. He wants to see him laugh everyday until he dies. He desperately wants to be with him, but nooooo. The stupid timers and tattoos get to be in charge of everyone’s love life.

A nonstop beep started to echo throughout the room. This sound stopped their laughs. Jungkook started to panic, and started at his timer. It was the source of the beep.

15 seconds.

“The fuck?” Jungkook barely croaked it out.

Jimin froze and just stared at his Justin Bieber loving best friend. “15 seconds?”

10 seconds.

A feeling of anxiety bubbled inside Jungkook’s stomach, easily rising up to his brain. He wasn’t mentally and physically prepared. He should’ve at least worn nice clothing instead of his ugly Christmas sweater and boots. He should’ve at least practiced what he is going to say.

“I-I’m pretty sure the last time I checked it clearly said 4 months,” Jungkook said, completely shocked. “What should I do, hyung?”

5 seconds.

“Be yourself, Kook. That’s all you got to do when you meet your soulmate.”

But you’re my soulmate, thought Jungkook. Then, he realized he shouldn’t be panicked by all this. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a single flying fuck about the person who has the G-clef. His heart is solely for Jimin. He promised not to be astonished by the stupid soulmate law. He—

1 second.

And, like a K-drama scene, the world suddenly slowed down when a skinny boy went inside the shop. He was wearing clothes that made Jungkook felt better about not wearing anything grand; just a plain hoodie and sweatpants, accompanied with white sneakers. He was incredibly handsome, and Jungkook was stunned.

Yes, he was skinny, but he was well built. He has brown hair shone against the sun, a pair eyes that reflected the stars, a nose to die for, and pink lips that are kissable as ever.

“Well, at least your soulmate is handsome.” Jimin whispered into Jungkook’s ear, interrupting him from his stance. Though, he was still and paralyzed.

Jungkook hissed, “Shut the fuck up.”

In a matter of seconds, the boy’s timer beeped. The three of them were startled, to say the least. The brown haired boy started to touch his timer and pressed it repeatedly.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “It’s not gonna stop by you torturing it.”

The boy gazed into their direction. He looks unreal. Jungkook shouldn’t be feeling all this, but he was definitely blown over by the boy’s beauty.

“Uh, yeah,” The boy said sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. “So which of you is my soulmate?”

Jimin was fast to point Jungkook and pushed him towards the boy. “Him!”

Jungkook wasn’t slightly amused. “Yeah. It’s me.”

The boy smiled, it was an unusual box smile, but it managed to light up the whole room. He extended his arm towards Jungkook.

“Nice to meet you, soulmate. I’m Kim Taehyung.”

the SOS

A/N: this is for @frickfracklesackles challenge which i was supposed to post like ages ago.. so sorry about that.

my prompt : “zombie apocalypse with quote   “To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” ―  Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone”

pairing : Dean x Reader

word count : i don't really remember... its way above 500 *rolls eyes*

warnings : meh... idk. Its flangst ... and character death..? yea..

Beta-ed by the host of the challenge @frickfracklesackles thank you so much :)

feedback is very much appreciated even if its just a ‘fuck you’ ;)

Loud mullet rock blared through the speakers of the sleek, black car as the boys drove towards a town in the middle of nowhere. Sam was sitting shotgun, buried in the pile of research and maps.

This little town didn’t even exist on the maps, yet suddenly it was all over the news. Apparently they had launched a new video game – a real life-like experience with uncut gore, blood, and high end graphics. Now, that wasn’t a big deal; kids these days often pulled up a new stunt, got famous and made the town proud. The real deal started when the ‘life like experience’ turned into ‘real life’ itself. Things escalated from bad to worse and soon the boys were packing up for a road trip to this particular town. Dean was currently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his mind preoccupied by the SOS message he had received that morning and wondered if they would get there fast enough to save the sender. His foot subconsciously hit the gas, accelerating further.

They had been over the case files at least a hundred times by now, yet they were clueless. The few survivors they interviewed were a dead end, either too petrified or too awestruck by the events to give out sensible info. The SOS sender was now unavailable – this was terrible news. Dean sighed heavily, trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong. You were a highly experienced hunter. There was no way that you could’ve been outsmarted by some crap game. He smiled a bit, remembering your love for video games. You must have been real pissed about the case. By the end of day two, the only info they had managed to dig up was that the main theme of the game was a zombie apocalypse, the only goal being survival. The game was available in the town’s only cafeteria. It was a new place, built just a few months ago. All players were to sign in and provide some minimal details so that the game could program itself to the person’s liking. Each person that had played the game was convinced that they were out there for real. The first few to play, who were now dead, hadn’t survived the apocalypse in the game either. Over the days, people managed to complete the game, but now lived in the trauma. One even committed suicide, convinced that he had been bitten by a zombie and hence was a threat to the town. The boys had no clue about the creator – what new monster they were dealing with.

With the time running out, they were left with one choice... to simply wing it. Gearing up with the usual defence ammo, they set off to the café. One game of rock, paper, scissors later and Dean was walking to the game station in the café while Sam watched the perimeter for the troublemaker. Dean nervously sat to play, entering the details into the screen and waiting while the game loaded. A sudden shock wave coursed through his body and he found himself lying on the barren grounds of the game world. His green eyes wide with shock and alarm, he hurriedly pushed himself upright. Looking down on himself, he inspected his change of clothing; gone were the layers of flannel, replaced by survival gear, his usual handgun in a holster. He also carried a fully loaded machine gun, another two rounds of its ammo strapped to his belt. He hardly had time to admire them as the first horde of the dead men appeared. It was slow and foul. About a score of zombies – decaying, mutilated and gross looking, trudged towards him, their arms outstretched, a low rumbling growl of hunger echoing through the place when they spotted him. Dean knew that guns weren’t exactly the best weapon choice when it came to zombies, but it was definitely better than having nothing. He pressed the trigger, shooting a few right in the head, bringing them down. A few more of the undead joined in, their pace more hurried now. Dean backed off slowly, shooting down the newcomers that simply kept coming, before he turned and sprinted off, trying to find safer grounds.

He soon reached what looked like a cluster of abandoned buildings. Slipping into one of the rooms, he inhaled in wheezes as he calmed his racing heart. He needed a strategy. To face the zombies head on was plain suicide. From what the other surviving players had said, he had to trust ‘the girl’. “Find the Easter egg... she’ll help you win” they had said. He had no clue what that meant and wished you were around. He sighed, wondering why you’d sent the SOS... this case was totally your forte. A sudden whoosh of cold breeze broke his train of thought. His hand immediately found his gun, clicking off the safety catch, ready to fire. A soft ‘plink’ sounded from across the room. He raised his gun in the direction of the sound, steadily moving forward. The sound repeated - this time from the opposite end, and again from the other side. He soon was whipping his head around like a mad man, trying to find the true source of the sound. Was it the monster they were hunting? Suddenly, peals of laughter filled the air; high pitched and melodic causing Dean to freeze. No it couldn't be. He throat went dry with disbelief. That was exactly how you laughed.

Was he missing you that bad now?

"Oh my god! You should have seen your face. You looked spooked." Dean swung around to see you standing there at the corner, laughing your head off. Your hands rested on your hips, trying to hold yourself steady while you guffawed. Your words came out in a broken string of phrases, interrupted by hiccups of laughter. Dean simply stared at you. You still looked the same; your soft hair framing your face, your eyes shining even brighter with the tears of laughter, your lips parted as your gasped for breath. That whole look of pure happiness you had upon seeing him.... almost as if you'd never parted ways all those years ago, and yet, you were so translucent. It was all so surreal. "Y/N?" He reached out, his hand seeking you, wanting to be sure that you were real. Just as he touched your shoulder, you dissipated with a hiss. He withdrew his hand, cursing under his breath. "Dude! Don't do that. You're wearing iron you dumbass" he subconsciously twisted the ring on the his finger. You had gifted that to him two birthdays ago. You popped back on the other side of the room. "Y/N..." he started. “What is all this? Are you a - a - " You dismissed his question "I'll answer everything later Dean. First you gotta tell me. Do you know what you're hunting? Is Sam with you?" "Um yeah... He was, before I got sucked in here." He stated." And no... we don't know what we're dealing with." "Ah shit! I hoped you would figure it out. That's why I sent you the SOS message. Without knowing what the creature is, Sam's toast. We have to get it before it finds him... And the only way out of here is by finishing the game. Come on now... We got zombies to kill." You said while heading out, signaling him to follow. As the two of you hurried past a few buildings, you continued to tell him what you'd learnt. "It's a trickster...  An actual one this time. I’ve got a stake in my car. We just need to get outta here." You suddenly stopped and raised your hands, making a rusted truck go airborne and sent it flying towards the oncoming zombies. Dean joined in, shooting down as many as he could. You bashed a few zombies into each other. Blood and goo seemed to spray everywhere. Within no time, the two of you had reached your destination; a train station. “This is where it ends,” you said, turning to Dean. “You see that train there? That’s our ticket outta here... and it leaves in ten minutes. The problem however, is the horde of zombies that’ll be here in about two seconds. You gotta climb aboard and leave, I’ll hold them off. Hurry now!” you motioned, not looking at his face. Dean didn’t budge; instead he just loaded his guns and stood by your side. "I'm not leaving you here by yourself, sweetheart. We're gonna get out of this together." You gave a small nod before preparing yourself for the fight, reigning in all your power. This fight would need much more strength than usual; you'd probably even disintegrate due to the exertion. But that was a headache left for later. The first wave of the undead came at you, their pace surprisingly quick. You concentrated hard, making things fly into the nearest group of uglies. Dean tried his best to assist you, shooting clean headshots. The two of you made an excellent team, and together you were unstoppable. While you crushed them, Dean bashed their brains out with the hilt of the machine gun, the bullets emptied a long time before. The battle was almost won. Then, the ten minutes were up. Your attention was now divided, as you concentrated on holding the train in place, forcing it not to leave and fight the monsters at the same time. The strain was tearing you apart, and you were sure to snap in no time. If you lost control of this, you'd go wild and beastly and probably even kill Dean in your fit of insanity. Dean seemed to notice your exhaustion and took the lead. The two of you backed off towards the train as fast as you could while fighting. As you hopped onto the train you let go of the restrain, causing it to jerk ahead before gaining full momentum and thrusting you two out of the game world.

An hour later, the boys were in the café, cleaning up the mess. Between the two of them, the trickster stood no chance of survival. Dean had plunged the stake deep into its heart while Sam distracted it. You had stayed out of the scene, not wanting to startle Sam and throw him off his game. However, you had to face him at some point... and the opportunity presented itself when he came to rip the game lines off the power board. As his hands found the main cord, the air around him turned colder, and you shimmered into existence. His hands immediately found his gun, his eyes wide in shock. Dean hurried from across the room. "Sammy don't!" "Put the gun down, Sammy" you chimed, "I'm just here to talk." The boys had a million questions to ask, but one look from you shut them up. You then told them your story. You’d come here for the game, not really realizing that it was a potential case. You just heard the praise of the game and had popped up to try. Once in the game, you realized that something was terribly wrong. However, the only way out of the game was by playing it till the end. So you played. You were the first one to finish the game and come out victorious; the only player to have successfully defeated the game. Upon further investigation, you realized that the other players were dead and it was all some kind of twisted joke of a trickster. By then, the trickster had known who you were; he'd ambushed and killed you, just when you were calling the boys for backup. You’d chosen not to leave and tethered yourself to the game ever since; the gamers who played after that had your help in winning the game. The only reason you'd stuck around without turning into an angry damned spirit was because you expected the boys to come and had willed yourself to stay sane at least till then. Now that the case was done, it was your cue to leave. Dean seemed heartbroken; he was blaming himself for what had happened. Sam excused himself, knowing the two of you needed to talk. "Dean..." you started. "It’s not your fault, okay? I knew I was dying when I sent that SOS. stop blaming yourself, there's nothing you could've done.” he refused to meet your eye, his expression pained, his face looking way older with grief. When he finally looked at you, his eyes glistened with unshed tears of guilt. “Come on Deano! You gotta cheer up! The case is done!"

He sighed wearily. "So what’s next? You’re gonna die... for real. How is that supposed to be a happy thing?" "Dean! I'm going to another world altogether! I’m gonna experience an afterlife! How is that not fun and exciting?" He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Only you can be crazy enough to be excited about dying.” he huffed. Your eyes sparkled with excitement. "To a well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure...” you smiled, "...and this is gonna be the biggest adventure of all time." Sam had returned by the time your conversation ended. "Thank you for coming, boys. You are the best family I’ve ever had. Burn the game, just in case. See you in a billion years... wish me luck." you smiled broadly, winking a goodbye. The whole room was filled with hues of orange and gold as your translucent frame lit up, and you found your salvation. The boys piled into the car, ready to leave, But Dean still seemed sombre. "You know what sucks, Sammy?" The younger one simply raised his eyebrow in question. "I never got the courage or the chance to tell her that I loved her."

Sam was rifting through your belongings, the ones that Dean had insisted they take after they failed to find your body. A packet of letters addressed to the boys fell on his lap. "Actually... Dean?" A lone letter sat in the younger Winchester's hand as he read through it. "I think she already knew it." He held up the letter for his brother to see. "Dear Dean,        By the time you get this, I'm pretty sure I'll be dead. But i do owe you an explanation, so here goes… The reason I left all those years ago was because I fell for you... and I knew you felt the same when I heard you talking to Sam. But we couldn't have been together. I have too many mistakes on my name...mistakes that could harm you. You are an amazing person and i am blessed to have had you in my life. Take care of yourself. I'm sorry Dean... I love you too. Yours forever, Y/N."

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Indie & Rio

Indie: you 👀 this Rio: edie's snaps Rio: yes bitch Rio: so she gonna have a dog now, they setting up house Rio: where WHERE Indie: you know it in a whip Indie: if it any place Indie: wtf wtf Indie: he aint even got a nice ride & we all been knew Rio: he be driving without a license rn too Indie: he be driving w out his head on right fr Indie: you think im always high bitch Rio: I swear he been high since he been on the scene as a younger Rio: she makes a point of not dating lads her age but why if he only gon provide you what any waste of any age could Indie: i kno he has cos he come thru to me & drew when Indie: wasteman Indie: from day 1 Rio: exactly Rio: god Rio: saying poor dog but not even the point Rio: how she livin he stealing dogs for her now what Indie: we aint even gon be set to call any heads in cos we dont know where they @ Indie: cant say a 🐶 be stolen & holed up somewhere Rio: she lucky if someone don't clock Rio: it's a pup and it's clearly pedigree Rio: that's thousands, not to mention if they love it and all that fucked shit he ain't consider Indie: it probs chipped thats how mans do when they drop cash Indie: bet he aint thought Indie: he could go prison w drew if 🐶 are missed least get him away Rio: oh god Rio: i'll warn her, not that that'll be appreciated Indie: he should b anyway riding a girl her age at his that shit nasty Indie: get a wifey in your years Rio: i know Rio: surprised he ain't make her keep it on the low til her bday Indie: how your ma not merk him ages afore this Rio: you know how it is Rio: she gon do it anyway so don't fight her on it Indie: i kno she been tryna chase away any boy i ever been near & dey in my bracket Rio: yeah well you ain't gonna do something 10x worse when you questioned init Indie: bitch maybe Indie: if she gon have a dog in a car imma live how i want Indie: deal w it mama cavante Rio: don't even play Indie: she 🤡ing nuff for us all Indie: im vexed af Rio: seriously Rio: this is ridiculous Indie: u do kno she dating drew younger Indie: he buy shit to keep peace thats literally how it plays Indie: boy aint even as cute tho awks Rio: but worse Rio: at least drew isn't an addict, whatever else he got going on Indie: nah that just how he want his wifeys Rio: he should be proud Rio: twat Indie: i feel 😷 Rio: at least she admitted she's feeling on it Rio: buster tried to talk to her and got nowhere so Indie: how that boy exist Indie: 😇😇👑😇😇 Indie: get you a daddy who Rio: clearly she good like Indie: i aint even get a call back from the lad i want 👁👁👁 madness Rio: you wanna be wifed up by a lad like that, i think not Rio: he only got no chill cos that's how he livin' his whole life Indie: i want who i want Indie: he aint that Rio: exactly Rio: lord Rio: at least it ain't an actual baby Rio: 'cos that'll 'bout be it, like bye 💀 Indie: dont even chat it Indie: we aint need that possible in the universe Rio: 😶 Indie: u kno he aint ridin proper all the drugs he on Indie: no gettin hard Rio: as much as i ain't about u puttin that in my head i hope u right Rio: god Indie: i is Indie: i been round nuff customers to get the vibe Rio: yikes Rio: drew making a side hustle selling the little blue ones is it Rio: can't be dealing Indie: he should it y them boys so 💔💔💔💔 & vexed Rio: cracked it Rio: we'll do it and get the money Rio: is it prescription, not tryna go to jail with him Indie: hacks Indie: nah man it over counter Rio: nice Rio: so doing it, untapped market Indie: shame it aint work for girls too Indie: you could make more if it do Indie: 🤑🤑🤑🤑 Rio: i think there's a female one but bet that's still prescription, if even available here Rio: bullshit Indie: is it? Indie: if i been knew i coulda hit that w my ex Indie: 💔💔💔💔 Rio: yeah? Indie: he aint good i told you nah? Rio: i didn't know if it was just the first or what and i weren't tryna be too in your face at that time init Rio: not on speaking terms Indie: innit Indie: i been thought it me but i 👂ed others saying since he dashed me Rio: ha Rio: unlucky Rio: know he ain't trying and that's literally half the battle so he ain't gon' do better Indie: bitch if i tried any harder w it id have to pray Indie: waste Indie: 😭😭😭😭 Rio: aw baby Rio: happen when you ain't looking Rio: ma realness of the day Indie: but i want it to happen w the boy i 👀 everywhere in my circles Rio: is this science boy or another one? Indie: we aint tryna call him science boy but you kno Rio: okay gimme a better name i gotta keep track somehow Indie: he called zamari thats he name Rio: that's cute Rio: i'll probably remember that Indie: [sends screenshot of a snap so she can see his face] Indie: lookit Rio: aww Rio: sweet Indie: be sweeter if he was bout me Indie: but you kno Rio: no chance you reckon or what Rio: what's the vibe Indie: the vibe is he one of the boys now Indie: w the rest Indie: he aint see me like 😍😍😍😍 cos we ✌✌✌✌ Rio: I get you Rio: never know Indie: help me cos you 🔥🔥🔥🔥👑👑💖💖💖 Indie: aint no boy ever friended you how Rio: i have boy friends Indie: bitch where Rio: Rian Indie: please he wanna fuck you since he been known Rio: 😒 Rio: Still Rio: I got friends bitch Rio: I just been busy 😂 damn Indie: i aint tryna come for you i saying you a MILF i needs you to help me Indie: it been long & no thing i done work Rio: Hmm Rio: Maybe you gotta stop being friendly for a bit so he see you like that Rio: that way you know Indie: like stop showin him skate tricks? Rio: yeah Rio: start showing him other tricks Indie: but i aint have none Indie: how i gon do that Rio: just pretend Rio: he aint gone know Indie: i cant b like oi lads guess who know how to suck a dick it me Indie: we aint rollin w no girlie sleepover moves Rio: that ain't exactly what i mean 😂 Rio: just be more of a girl Rio: then they'll see it and fill in the gaps if they feeling it, you know Indie: 😒😒😒😒 Rio: what you poutin for Indie: why he not want me how i is Indie: rude Indie: this aint happen to me afore Rio: idk maybe he got a type Rio: don't take it personal, some people be so specific Indie: @mckenna Indie: 😂😂😂😂😂 Rio: exactly Rio: shows there's hope yet, just work out what he likes Rio: probably tell you cos you one of the boys Indie: there is this girl in science he 👀 @ when i looking toward him Indie: I just do how she do? Rio: Yeah Rio: but better, obvs Indie: [sends pic of the girl in question who is obvs more girly etc] Indie: can you do it bitch or nah Rio: 'Course I can Rio: though Grace would be gutted if you didn't let her in on the action too, like Indie: she gon own me w it Indie: but k 💄👗 Indie: we on it Rio: It'll be fun Indie: is it? 😒😒 Indie: when tho? Rio: you don't gotta Rio: n u don't need to but if you wanna get your mans Rio: it might work, boys are that dumb Rio: so whenever you wanna roll up on him Indie: imma do it but i aint vibin Indie: lets kick this now afore i think any harder on it & chat myself out Rio: you know this only good for a hookup yeah Rio: you ain't gonna makeover scene yourself for life Indie: naaah he gon get a taste and then he gon love me Indie: dont get me twisted Rio: Hmm Rio: expectation management baby Indie: he gon get himself a girl who do both Indie: 👑👑👑👑 Rio: slow your roll gurl Indie: 😂😂😂 Indie: wys i been waitin since he showed Rio: to ride him mayb Rio: you don't gotta go so hard for the d Indie: you want me to hit & quit now? Indie: damn ma Rio: nah you do you Rio: i just sayin if you wanna be w him then he gotta be about u for u Rio: goes without sayin but like Indie: so you not gon help me or you is? Rio: we gotta debrief harder on what this is and what you want Indie: 👌👌👌👌 Rio: just keep away from that tattoo gun this time yeah? Indie: 😂😂😂😂 you gotta chill ri ri its no thing Rio: nah Indie: nah? Rio: yeah but we dun had this argument then so we don't gotta now Indie: caraca bitch 😮😮😮 you gon do me like i aint learned Indie: i just want him i aint tryna head down no aisle w you & mckenna Rio: Nah, I know Rio: I'm just chatting on any more ink Rio: we're good Indie: his name aint fit in 💘 its all good Rio: 😒 shut up bitch Indie: you rude Indie: play w me Rio: I'm trying Rio: but her shit got me in no mood now like Indie: 💔💔💔💔 Indie: lets roll out somewhere some way Rio: where you wanna be Indie: idc Indie: far Rio: Okay Rio: I'll see what's on Rio: seeing as I do have friends, you know Indie: so you keep chatting 😂😂😂 Rio: 😒 Rio: lucky I don't have too many or I wouldn't roll w you would I 😜 Indie: bitch allow it Indie: im the most ✌✌ Rio: you certainly the most something Indie: innit tho Rio: 😂 Indie: tell yo friends baby 😏😏😏💘💘 Rio: You're chief Rio: also Jas and Kels are on pre-drinks now so you believe they exist enough to come or what Indie: i aint never said you w out squad Indie: just w out boyyys Rio: well they cramp your style how you gon meet boys when you surrounded init Indie: i aint had no issue w it babe Rio: 😑 Rio: you saying i'm dry Rio: i'm cool Indie: i saying what i been saying this whole they all 😍😍😍😍 cos you peng Indie: not tryna friend you when they can wife it Rio: they can't now tho Rio: soz about it lads 🤷 Indie: 💎💎💎 see from 🌚 Rio: You know it Indie: how you styled? Rio: Hmm Rio: I gotta see, my clothes are still all over Rio: Nothing too wild Indie: i feel that Indie: im clappin rn Indie: look & mood Rio: 😔 Indie: aint tryna have your mates think im dry crump Indie: gotta step in & up Rio: Nah they nice Rio: you know that kid in your year Rio: ugh, what do they call him Rio: O'Shea they last name, anyway, Kells is his sister Indie: !!!!!!!!!! Rio: Yeah but it'll be chill Rio: not trying wriggle into that fucking catsuit again and have you creasing 😂 Indie: i aint tryna help your drunk arse out again and be sweatin Indie: 😂😂😂😂 Rio: 😂 rude but fair Rio: actual mess Indie: how mckenna get under that? the boy is 👑👑🥇 Rio: i mean you can ask but you already worried peeps be getting the wrong idea about you, babe so Indie: girl please Indie: i aint worried bout no thing you hush Rio: 😏 is it Rio: ma be so proud Indie: wys Indie: it all good over here Rio: i saying she got a bisexual agenda Indie: 😂😂😂😂 Rio: gutted by how many straight kids she got Indie: she turned my ma i aint tryna follow in dem steps soz bout it Rio: 😂 Indie: kissed few girls but she aint need kno Indie: not bringin them home to meet Rio: Exactly Rio: Such a cringe, bless her Indie: her hair always be sick tho Indie: how she do it Rio: #blessed Rio: jammy bitch Rio: in the genes, obvs 🍀 Indie: im mad Indie: you aint tryna do me one solid drew is it Rio: you know you cute sh Indie: dash that Indie: 👾👾👾 Rio: what you talking bitch Indie: he got me lookin 👽👽👽 cos his dna Indie: vexin Rio: you don't look like an alien you mad Rio: if anything he's given you the looks, like Rio: literally bout the only thing Indie: nah Rio: 😡 Rio: where dis coming from Indie: im in the mirror bitch Indie: & my feelings Rio: you want me to sort your weave Indie: its chill Rio: you can't go out not feeling 💯 Indie: i been done that trust Rio: 😢 baby no Indie: you aint gotta amp it Indie: im w out a man stealing me any 🐶 for my woes Indie: just out here w it Rio: you got a 🐶 and you ain't need no man for no thing else either Indie: you kno Indie: how i mean it Rio: i know Rio: it's nice to have one about but only if they not a fuckboy Rio: otherwise it's just hassle, more than already you don't need, trust Indie: im just tryna feel caught up in a thing that aint walking the streets w this face wearing his name while everyone kno where drew is and he been livin Indie: i been stopped mad amount times today only Rio: makes sense Rio: i don't blame you Rio: this town always talks Indie: u think thats how science boy dont fuck w me Indie: he aint new now he been around & he kno Indie: ?? Rio: I don't reckon Rio: why'd he be that anti-drugs or like Rio: nah Indie: not 🚭 just anti waste Rio: not like he gotta hang w ur dad Rio: i don't see it Rio: would be fucked if he was Rio: you ain't drew, like Indie: but i be livin on top like him Indie: too hype maybe Rio: if he roll w u and ur squad he obviously about that life too Indie: idk man Indie: if you right you right Indie: 💖💖💖 ty for chattin me down from 👑👑 Indie: big love like Rio: don't be silly Rio: always Rio: 🧡 Indie: how much time it gon feel like this for us Rio: How you mean? Indie: will it be good again when i kno drews stretch or nah Indie: i aint tryna feel worse Rio: I don't know Rio: better for knowing exactly what's gonna happen Rio: it always helps Rio: not gonna make everything magically better like but least we know the plan, like Indie: least if he gets a few i can age out of him playin da Rio: yeah Rio: we'll see Indie: & you can get mckenna down the aisle w out him not holding his ☮ Rio: 🙄 Rio: christ, probably not making the guest list either way, like Indie: you gon do big & white or lowkey Rio: go big or go home init Rio: gotta be grown to have those funds Indie: 😂😂😂😂 i shoulda been knew Indie: mckenna aint do lowkey no time Indie: he got the 💸💸💸 tho so go off Rio: just tryna get out of the matching dresses, i 👀 Indie: allow it Indie: you aint want me to go out feeling less than 110 but you bout 🤡ing me in 💒 k k Rio: 😂 Rio: it's my big day, bitch 😉 Indie: yeah so how you want me in all the pics looking bare owned Indie: catch me 😒😒😒😒 in every frame bitch Rio: Obvs Rio: that's the kinda bitch I am Rio: long as I'm slaying, none of you hoes can be Indie: ruuude Indie: how i be hookin mckennas best man in 👗 nah Rio: thought you reckoned it'd be nance Rio: sure she'll think you look lovely 😘 Indie: i aint got enough years to be her type innit Indie: dont wear nuff 💄 either Rio: True Rio: least jailbait ain't her vibe or she'd be in real trouble rn Indie: catch her waiting to be sentenced w drew Indie: wild Rio: Bless Rio: she's doing better, I think Indie: is it? Indie: safe Indie: she getting her head shrunk still? Rio: yeah, well, she ain't asking me to go out on the piss with her as often like so Rio: must be Indie: 💖💖💖💖💖💖 Indie: more ri time for me Indie: sick Rio: You know Rio: so in demand 😘 Indie: innit tho

Radiohead for the music thingy I'm curious

Thank you Tiffy for the ask, I’m more than happy to oblige, this is going to be soooooo fkn hard ugh.... here we go. 

1. Song I like the most: Oh god..... of all their music (incl. b-sides) I have to go with “Talk Show Host”.... The song is unbelievably romantic && courageous. I love how the song is goading the listener to go for it bc they’re ready. Fight me Thom, fkn fight me!2. Album cover I like the most: My favorite album cover will always be Hail to the Thief. It was the first album I ever bought from them && I would spend hours staring at the art, && trying to figure out wtf it was supposed to mean.3. Song that makes me wanna dance: That would be “Separator”... from the moment it begins I just feel like swaying my hips. It’s not like I’m planning to pop-lock && drop it but it’s a smooth groove 4. Song that made me cry: Oh jfc... I think the song that always hits me, no matter how many times I listen to it, is “House of Cards”.... I love just how he starts the song with that line “I don’t want to be your friend, I just want to be your lover” ... that visceral grip of needing that physical warmth! It resonates deep for me && when I really sit down && listen to this song, I tear up.5. Member I feel the closest connection with: Thom. Duh. The guy writes poetry. He’s out there making art && I live, eat, shit && breathe for good A+ quality art6. Hottest/most beautiful member: I have always had a thing for Ed. He’s very fkn handsome && the older he gets, the better he looks.7. Most entertaining member: Oh Colin! He is so witty && it’s fun to watch him─especially at concerts because he wears his emotions as he’s slapping the fuck out of his bass && I am here for that shit.8. merchandise I own: Cd’s, cassettes, vinyl, boxsets, posters, pins, tshirts 9. If I have seen them live and where: I’ve only had the pleasure && the lord’s blessing to watch them once. But it was about a decade ago at the Greek Theatre in LA with Deerhoof opening for them. This was right before In Rainbows, so the setlist was full of bsides && new material. Fun times.10. Memories involving the band: The most recent memory is standing in line at The Shrine in hopes of obtaining tickets. I was there for like ten hours but no luck; however, they were the best ten hours of my life. This band really brings people together of all shapes, colors && sizes. I remember standing in line && I met this one guy who flew from Vegas && his wife was on standby at the airport to fly down to LA if he got tickets. I made some good friends with other guys who were heavily involved in the music scene like we’re talking “rubbing shoulders” with bands like Santa Cecilia && Ozomatli. Legit close rubbing. Then someone whipped out their phone && pulled up the periscope stream && the whole crowd was singing as we waited for more tickets to become available. It was a lovely experience. 

4 Surprising Stories About Masturbation In The Workplace

I work on the internet, so you can safely assume that every word you’ve ever read that I wrote here, or on Twitter, or on my personal blog “Things I Plan to Burn,” was written while I was knuckle-deep in furious masturbation. Don’t act surprised. But did you know that masturbation is a huge, turgid part of the working world around you too? I know, pop that monocle! Turns out lots of people are trying to corral the tadpole while on the job. 39 percent of people admit to tweaking the ham nubbin at work, according to one survey, and that simple statistic is only the beginning. So come (so to speak) and learn what’s happening around you.

5

Robert Pattinson Wanked It On Film

There’s a 60 percent chance that your favorite film with Twilight in the title which also stars Robert Pattinson is one of the Twilight movies. And Pattinson’s star has just continued to rise, thanks to him also acting in pieces of cinematic not-diarrhea. In 2008, he was able to thrust himself balls-deep into the role of Salvador Dali in the film Little Ashes. You’ve no doubt watched and rewatched it, because who wouldn’t want to see a sparkle-pire with a Dali mustache choke-slam Mr. Cyclops for a few minutes whilst sipping a Pepsi and contemplating their life choices?

According to Pattinson, the movie required a lot of nude scenes, which may shed some light on why Dali painted so many floppy, wilty clocks and whatnot. One of said scenes also required Dali to tubthump his chumbawumba, and being the consummate professional he is, Pattinson opted to do his own stunt work. You or I would have surely let Andy Serkis don a motion caption suit and fill in for Dali’s dong, but hey, this is Robert Pattinson. Dude gets the goddamn job done.

The experience was so moving for Pattinson that it made him quit acting for a while, since his O-face had been permanently set to film. And why didn’t he opt to just not do it for real? Because “it just doesn’t work” — with “it” being flogging the boglin, since it’s hard to pretend to have a handful of chubmeat without actually having a handful of chubmeat. Hollywood is where dreams come true.

4

People Get Paid $36,000 A Year To Wank

Obviously we’ve all taken a moment at work to think “Why are my genitals not out right now?” That’s human nature. But have you ever dared to dream of a job for which whipping out your giblets and setting them all a-twitter with various googahs and crotch-related bric-a-brac was actually what you got paid for? Dare to dream no more, my throbulous readers, for the future is now! And it’s damp!

LoveWoo, a company obviously named by a European who’s under the impression that “woo” in any way lends itself to sex and not half of a Homer Simpson impression, requires a sex toy jockey to try out their wares on a full-time basis. The position (heh) pays about 36,000 U.S. dollars a year, and includes health benefits (because you’re going to get a repetitive stress injury and we all know it).

The job has a good deal of other perks, including holiday leave, birthdays off, two days a week you can work from home, and also your entire job consists of inserting things into yourself or inserting yourself into things. Five days a week. For actual money. I dare anyone to last a month without constantly being haunted by the vague scent of pan-fried ham.

They say you should do what you love, and they also say that you should love yourself, and yet other people say “I wonder if this fits in here,” and it looks like all three of those people were the same person in this instance. Maybe that means this crazy world of ours still has a little magic left in it.

3

Freelance Writers Did Rubbing-Out Research

Mark Sergeant, senior psychology lecturer at Nottingham Trent University and not technically a doctor, has said that a workplace masturbation break would be a very effective way to relieve stress at work. This is something which I figure anyone jacking off in a back alley over a stained Teddy Ruxpin could have told you, but I guess the “lecturer” title gives this guy’s opinions a bit more weight.

Read Next

Feel Terrible? These 5 Reality Shows Will Definitely Help

Why do you care what a senior psychology lecturer has to say about shadow boxing the Pumpkin King? Maybe you don’t, but some writers at Metro, after hearing from Mr. Sergeant, decided to put his good ideas to the test by masturbating at work for an entire week. For this premise to work, you have to now get it into your head that these people are not the kind of people who were already masturbating at work all the time, which would be the 39 percent I mentioned in the intro. And what are the odds that anyone writing an entire article about masturbating at work would have done it previously? Probably not worth thinking about.

And so, two writers opted to burp the beluga on company time every day for a week. As an added bonus, they were both British, so the article is full of charming British slang, such as referring to the workplace bathrooms in which they whack it as “bogs.” God, that’s adorable.

Feel free to read the article to experience the trials and tribulations of two Brits putting extra bangers in their mash. But trust me when I say that if you’re expecting anything other than a fairly brisk rundown of the less-than-arousing places and scenarios that surround journalistic jerky-juggling, like an awesome revelation about how a once-a-day crotch creeping turns you into a hyper-efficient workplace sexborg, you’re going to be very disappointed.

2

A Woman Legally Won The Right To Masturbate At Work

I imagine that for a handful of people, masturbation is an important part of their day. Like breakfast or not being set on fire, they rely on it to give them the fuel they need to be productive members of society. I want you to think about that every single time you shake someone’s hand at work from now on. And then think of Ana Catarina Bezarra, an accountant in Brazil whose chemical imbalance causes her massive anxiety as well as hypersexuality. The only way she’s been able to manage her condition is, you guessed it, yoga and herbal tea. Ha ha! I’m just playin’ y’all. She masturbates. A whole lot! She was up to 47 times a day when she realized shit was not necessarily kosher and sought medical help. Now, with medication, she’s mostly able to keep her shit together, but still needs to masturbate a few times a day.

Now, punching the Munchkin a few times a day is probably manageable for most of us, but since Ana needs to do it whenever the need arises, she had to sue her employer for the right to do it in the workplace, and she fucking won. Now she’s fully authorized to look at porn on her computer and tickle the Sarlacc during work hours, presumably after drawing a curtain across the entrance to her cubicle.

Is it possible that you have the legal right to masturbate at work? There’s only one way to find out. Well, there are presumably dozens of ways to start finding out, but they tend to all lead down the same road to your boss either saying “Keep up the good work” or “For cryin’ out loud, Brody, everyone uses that water cooler!”

But seriously, don’t try masturbating at work. You’re going to get fired.

1

An Elderly Woman Teaches Masturbation Classes

They say those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach. They also never anticipated a masturbation class when they said that, because it’s some kind of bizarre logic landmine that blows up in a moist cloud of awkward feelings when you try to consider what that even means. So don’t! Instead, know that there are actual masturbation classes out there, and not just the ones that reactionary douches on conservative news channels talk about when they find out second-graders get sex ed before saying things like “Our public schools are teaching eight-year-olds how to masturbate! And next up, ARE YOUR CATS SOCIALISTS?” These are honest-to-goodness classes in which ladies go to learn from another super friendly lady how to invest in personal pork bellies.

Not being much of a lady myself, and even less of a woman, I’m not 100 percent familiar with the logistics of female masturbation. I know where you go and how you get there, but it’s a little trickier than it is for a man. Think of male masturbation like draft beer and female masturbation like a mojito. You just pull the tap for the beer and angle the glass right to cut down on the foam, but you have to muddle that damn mint for a while to get a proper mojito.

The classes are called workshops, because you’re working that ham wallet like a stevedore working the docks, and they’re group events led by one lady whom I assume is often described as a “free spirit,” because she’s leading a group masturbation workshop, and that’s not something for the faint of heart or groin. Whilst researching this entry, I discovered the tale of a lady in her 80s who teaches one of these workshops. After she’d been to some swingers parties in the ’70s, she noticed none of the women were having real orgasms, and consequently became the ultimate sexual humanitarian. Good for her.

A workshop consists of five grueling hours, the final hour of which I assume involves squatting in a washtub of ice and weeping a little. The rest of the time is literally complimenting the vagina of every woman in the class, going to town on yourself, and then a group massage. If I’m being honest, that sounds fantastic, but that’s mainly because it’s a room full of women. If the roles were reversed, I’d feel quite unhappy having several winded, sweaty men massaging me after they masturbated right next to me, but maybe I’m just not ready to enroll in this school.

You can watch Ian engage in everyday depravity on Twitter, and read his short fiction on his Tumblr page!

One place you definitely hope there’s no workplace masturbation happening is Cinnabon. Try not to think about it too much as you enjoy this cinnamony goodness.

For more, check out The 4 Best Ways To Jerk Off (According To Science) and 6 Bizarre Ways to Stop Yourself From Masturbating.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 5 Things the Worst People in the World Love Doing in Public, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow our new Pictofacts Facebook page. Or don’t.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/4-surprising-stories-about-masturbation-in-the-workplace/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/10/25/4-surprising-stories-about-masturbation-in-the-workplace/

4 Surprising Stories About Masturbation In The Workplace

I work on the internet, so you can safely assume that every word you’ve ever read that I wrote here, or on Twitter, or on my personal blog “Things I Plan to Burn,” was written while I was knuckle-deep in furious masturbation. Don’t act surprised. But did you know that masturbation is a huge, turgid part of the working world around you too? I know, pop that monocle! Turns out lots of people are trying to corral the tadpole while on the job. 39 percent of people admit to tweaking the ham nubbin at work, according to one survey, and that simple statistic is only the beginning. So come (so to speak) and learn what’s happening around you.

5

Robert Pattinson Wanked It On Film

There’s a 60 percent chance that your favorite film with Twilight in the title which also stars Robert Pattinson is one of the Twilight movies. And Pattinson’s star has just continued to rise, thanks to him also acting in pieces of cinematic not-diarrhea. In 2008, he was able to thrust himself balls-deep into the role of Salvador Dali in the film Little Ashes. You’ve no doubt watched and rewatched it, because who wouldn’t want to see a sparkle-pire with a Dali mustache choke-slam Mr. Cyclops for a few minutes whilst sipping a Pepsi and contemplating their life choices?

According to Pattinson, the movie required a lot of nude scenes, which may shed some light on why Dali painted so many floppy, wilty clocks and whatnot. One of said scenes also required Dali to tubthump his chumbawumba, and being the consummate professional he is, Pattinson opted to do his own stunt work. You or I would have surely let Andy Serkis don a motion caption suit and fill in for Dali’s dong, but hey, this is Robert Pattinson. Dude gets the goddamn job done.

The experience was so moving for Pattinson that it made him quit acting for a while, since his O-face had been permanently set to film. And why didn’t he opt to just not do it for real? Because “it just doesn’t work” — with “it” being flogging the boglin, since it’s hard to pretend to have a handful of chubmeat without actually having a handful of chubmeat. Hollywood is where dreams come true.

4

People Get Paid $36,000 A Year To Wank

Obviously we’ve all taken a moment at work to think “Why are my genitals not out right now?” That’s human nature. But have you ever dared to dream of a job for which whipping out your giblets and setting them all a-twitter with various googahs and crotch-related bric-a-brac was actually what you got paid for? Dare to dream no more, my throbulous readers, for the future is now! And it’s damp!

LoveWoo, a company obviously named by a European who’s under the impression that “woo” in any way lends itself to sex and not half of a Homer Simpson impression, requires a sex toy jockey to try out their wares on a full-time basis. The position (heh) pays about 36,000 U.S. dollars a year, and includes health benefits (because you’re going to get a repetitive stress injury and we all know it).

The job has a good deal of other perks, including holiday leave, birthdays off, two days a week you can work from home, and also your entire job consists of inserting things into yourself or inserting yourself into things. Five days a week. For actual money. I dare anyone to last a month without constantly being haunted by the vague scent of pan-fried ham.

They say you should do what you love, and they also say that you should love yourself, and yet other people say “I wonder if this fits in here,” and it looks like all three of those people were the same person in this instance. Maybe that means this crazy world of ours still has a little magic left in it.

3

Freelance Writers Did Rubbing-Out Research

Mark Sergeant, senior psychology lecturer at Nottingham Trent University and not technically a doctor, has said that a workplace masturbation break would be a very effective way to relieve stress at work. This is something which I figure anyone jacking off in a back alley over a stained Teddy Ruxpin could have told you, but I guess the “lecturer” title gives this guy’s opinions a bit more weight.

Read Next

Feel Terrible? These 5 Reality Shows Will Definitely Help

Why do you care what a senior psychology lecturer has to say about shadow boxing the Pumpkin King? Maybe you don’t, but some writers at Metro, after hearing from Mr. Sergeant, decided to put his good ideas to the test by masturbating at work for an entire week. For this premise to work, you have to now get it into your head that these people are not the kind of people who were already masturbating at work all the time, which would be the 39 percent I mentioned in the intro. And what are the odds that anyone writing an entire article about masturbating at work would have done it previously? Probably not worth thinking about.

And so, two writers opted to burp the beluga on company time every day for a week. As an added bonus, they were both British, so the article is full of charming British slang, such as referring to the workplace bathrooms in which they whack it as “bogs.” God, that’s adorable.

Feel free to read the article to experience the trials and tribulations of two Brits putting extra bangers in their mash. But trust me when I say that if you’re expecting anything other than a fairly brisk rundown of the less-than-arousing places and scenarios that surround journalistic jerky-juggling, like an awesome revelation about how a once-a-day crotch creeping turns you into a hyper-efficient workplace sexborg, you’re going to be very disappointed.

2

A Woman Legally Won The Right To Masturbate At Work

I imagine that for a handful of people, masturbation is an important part of their day. Like breakfast or not being set on fire, they rely on it to give them the fuel they need to be productive members of society. I want you to think about that every single time you shake someone’s hand at work from now on. And then think of Ana Catarina Bezarra, an accountant in Brazil whose chemical imbalance causes her massive anxiety as well as hypersexuality. The only way she’s been able to manage her condition is, you guessed it, yoga and herbal tea. Ha ha! I’m just playin’ y’all. She masturbates. A whole lot! She was up to 47 times a day when she realized shit was not necessarily kosher and sought medical help. Now, with medication, she’s mostly able to keep her shit together, but still needs to masturbate a few times a day.

Now, punching the Munchkin a few times a day is probably manageable for most of us, but since Ana needs to do it whenever the need arises, she had to sue her employer for the right to do it in the workplace, and she fucking won. Now she’s fully authorized to look at porn on her computer and tickle the Sarlacc during work hours, presumably after drawing a curtain across the entrance to her cubicle.

Is it possible that you have the legal right to masturbate at work? There’s only one way to find out. Well, there are presumably dozens of ways to start finding out, but they tend to all lead down the same road to your boss either saying “Keep up the good work” or “For cryin’ out loud, Brody, everyone uses that water cooler!”

But seriously, don’t try masturbating at work. You’re going to get fired.

1

An Elderly Woman Teaches Masturbation Classes

They say those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach. They also never anticipated a masturbation class when they said that, because it’s some kind of bizarre logic landmine that blows up in a moist cloud of awkward feelings when you try to consider what that even means. So don’t! Instead, know that there are actual masturbation classes out there, and not just the ones that reactionary douches on conservative news channels talk about when they find out second-graders get sex ed before saying things like “Our public schools are teaching eight-year-olds how to masturbate! And next up, ARE YOUR CATS SOCIALISTS?” These are honest-to-goodness classes in which ladies go to learn from another super friendly lady how to invest in personal pork bellies.

Not being much of a lady myself, and even less of a woman, I’m not 100 percent familiar with the logistics of female masturbation. I know where you go and how you get there, but it’s a little trickier than it is for a man. Think of male masturbation like draft beer and female masturbation like a mojito. You just pull the tap for the beer and angle the glass right to cut down on the foam, but you have to muddle that damn mint for a while to get a proper mojito.

The classes are called workshops, because you’re working that ham wallet like a stevedore working the docks, and they’re group events led by one lady whom I assume is often described as a “free spirit,” because she’s leading a group masturbation workshop, and that’s not something for the faint of heart or groin. Whilst researching this entry, I discovered the tale of a lady in her 80s who teaches one of these workshops. After she’d been to some swingers parties in the ’70s, she noticed none of the women were having real orgasms, and consequently became the ultimate sexual humanitarian. Good for her.

A workshop consists of five grueling hours, the final hour of which I assume involves squatting in a washtub of ice and weeping a little. The rest of the time is literally complimenting the vagina of every woman in the class, going to town on yourself, and then a group massage. If I’m being honest, that sounds fantastic, but that’s mainly because it’s a room full of women. If the roles were reversed, I’d feel quite unhappy having several winded, sweaty men massaging me after they masturbated right next to me, but maybe I’m just not ready to enroll in this school.

You can watch Ian engage in everyday depravity on Twitter, and read his short fiction on his Tumblr page!

One place you definitely hope there’s no workplace masturbation happening is Cinnabon. Try not to think about it too much as you enjoy this cinnamony goodness.

For more, check out The 4 Best Ways To Jerk Off (According To Science) and 6 Bizarre Ways to Stop Yourself From Masturbating.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 5 Things the Worst People in the World Love Doing in Public, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow our new Pictofacts Facebook page. Or don’t.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/4-surprising-stories-about-masturbation-in-the-workplace/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/179405325132