#but when these people keep doing the same thing - terminally late or just never come at all unreliable unprofessional etc etc

[mishkakagehishka]

An eco-friendly city without reliable public transport is not an eco-friendly city👍

[daddyhausen]

could you do 59 and 68 from the nsfw prompt list with hook? love your writing btw!

• for so long, i’ve waited — hook •

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ masterlist } | { aew masterlist } | { hook masterlist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ summary } — six months away was pure torture and tyler was determined to prove just how much he’s missed you

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, face sitting, oral sex { female receiving } switch!reader, female orgasm squirting

{ word count } — 700

{ pairing } — fem!reader x hook

{ genre } — smut

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ taglist } — @cosmoholic13 @boutmachines @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @baysexuality @slut4kennyomega @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @elsteenerico @igncrxntripley

{ beta readers } — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ 59 } — if we weren’t in public right now i’d have my head between your legs

{ 68 } — come sit on my face and i’ll show you how much i’ve missed you

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

you waited anxiously as the airport terminal filled with patrons

awaiting family members, friends and lovers

tyler’s plane had just landed and the anxiety that had flooded your veins only increased

it had been six long months since you’d last seen him, last felt him

sexting and late night facetime calls did not do it justice

and quite frankly, you’d been deprived recently

it did not feel the same without his touch

you scanned the terminal, noticing passengers already beginning their exit

your eyes locked on tyler’s, widening with relief as a heavy sigh filled your lungs

you raced towards him, almost knocking over others in your attempt to duck and squeeze past them

he engulfed you in his arms, holding you close

inhaling your scent as if it was the only thing keeping him alive

“god, i missed you” he mumbled into the crook of your neck

peppering small kisses to the skin

“me too…” you responded, voice quivering slightly, trying to hold back choked sobs

he held you for a moment, just basking in the warmth of your embrace

“if we weren’t in public right now i’d have my head between your thighs”

his voice rumbled deeply against your skin,

feeling his hands sneak around your waist, dipping into the curves of your hips

so dangerously close to your ass

“tyler, there’s people around” you reminded him, the both of you still standing in the middle of the airport terminal

“don’t act like you’ve never been fucked in public, princess”

he let his lips linger against your jawline a few seconds longer than normal

still holding your body close, so desperate from being away for so long

“i know but, i don’t want these other people to see or hear. i want you all to myself”

you cupped his cheeks in your palms, thumbs lightly grazing atop the apples of his cheeks

finding yourself getting lost in his warm irises

“well then let’s get you home then, shall we?”

he gave you a small kiss, eventually parting from the embrace

you’d never seen a man with such desperation to get home

he practically raced to the car, throwing his bags in the back seat with no hesitation

he insisted he’d drive, despite just getting off a ten hour flight

you adored his persistence, even when you offered to drive in his place

the drive home felt shorter than normal

mostly because of tyler’s impatient driving

he could not even wait until the two of you were inside

his hands already roaming your figure

his breathing laboured, hungry and lustful

dragging you to your shared bedroom

not even bothering to strip himself as he laid face up on the bed

“come sit on my face and i’ll show you how much i’ve missed you”

you were quick to comply, already shedding your clothing before he’d even finished his sentence

crawling up his frame, your breasts full and round, bouncing slightly with your movements

he craned his neck upward, lightly licking your nipples before you pushed him back down into the mattress

“wait” you remarked with a dominant tone tyler was not used to

“yes ma’am” he retorted with enthusiasm

licking his lips as your void hovered over his tongue

moaning into you as you sink onto his tongue

his hands instantly reached up to grab your waist

holding you down as he devoured you

he ate you out like a man possessed

drinking you in as you dripped onto his tongue

“oh fuck!-“ you whined, taking a fistful of loose curls

the brown sugar colour complemented your skin so well

his tongue flicked across your clit, sending shivers between your thighs

watching his eyes roll back into his skull as he sampled your taste

feeling himself grow firm in his sweatpants as the moments ticked by

your hips swirling against his tongue, feeling lighter than air upon release

tyler was in heaven, moaning against your walls, feeling you clench around his tongue

a small whine of displeasure leaving his lips when you pulled away

your hand fell to the bulge in his sweatpants

palming his cock lightly

“don’t worry baby, i’m gonna show you how much i missed you too”

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

[thenightlymirror]

When I was coming home from my first Trauma Survivors Support Group meeting, this was Leap Day, actually, I parked at the post office as usual and got out of my car only to be immediately greeted by a scruffy little dog. The dog waited for me to get out of the car and pet it. Her owner just stood there with the leash and waited too.

I asked the little dog, “Are you my CIA handler? Is this the drop spot?” Then she got the zoomies.

I have met this same little dog on two more occasions. Her name is Mia. The owner will tell me the dogs name, and listen to me banter with the dog back and forth, but never introduces herself.

Today, I got off late and saw Mia and her owner sitting on the corner bench. Winnetka is a place for dog walkers and New Trier students and quarter-zip fleeces and Tesla ports. It’s like a sitcom village. So people sit on benches. I walked up and asked Mia how her workday went.

“I’m looking for someone to inherit my dog,” the woman said.

“Mia can live on my little couch, and help me decorate my apartment,” I said. I’m a more than a little top heavy. If you’ve ever seen me, you know I’m basically built like a bowling ball on chop sticks. So petting a little dog for a long time is a funny posture to be in for a man my size, especially on the street.

“I’m a memorialist at a cemetery. I design headstones for families. Mostly I just push around paper.” I spoke about my job and the surprising stress for what you would assume was a quiet place, as an outsider.

Now you have to wonder, has she really been walking around the block every day, looking for someone to inherit her dog, and where am I in the running? #1? #5?

I accidentally gave a pretty good interview to be the new owner of a scruffy little dog. I would love that little dog so much. I’m a little scared, because if she dies, will it be by her own hand? And how will she bequeath to me this dog? Hand it off with a brief goodbye? Or post it up by her leash on the corner where it will just wait all day until I get off work and notice it there?

My Occam’s Razor guess is that she has some terminal illness. Patrick asked me if this was maybe a cry for help, and of course it was at least a little cry for help. And I just gave her a warm gloss.

“I don’t know how to respond well to cries for help. And I don’t know how to very well cry for help, I guess.”

(This is what Patrick wrote.)

I don’t either. I tend to let cries for help slide. Isn’t that what an angel would do? You do not disturb the dreamer. You keep things on an even keel. No one has to be embarrassed. No one has to regret making a short, stabbing remark. Agony is like the weather. It’s all weather.

Well. Borges’ Law. Nothing will happen now.

For the best.

[dianight]

Not directed at anyone in particular

...but rather because I keep seeing related stuff constantly.

Once you change your mentality, once you internalize that being a trans woman is not a bad thing but rather something good and to be desired, it'll be as if you automatically learn a new language, or more accurately learn how to decypher a code in front of you.

Said code being a metaphor, obviously, for the clear disdain and way more often than I'd like or I'd ever imagined outright hatred that people seem to have for trans women.

You read something that's palpably transmisogynistic and it's undoubtedly clear what the person who wrote wants to say, but needs a few logic jumps and beating around the bush since stating it plainly will be too blunt. You think, "am I reading this in bad faith or is this person hating on trans women?" You spend a few minutes trying to come up with some explanation of how this person typed what can only be interpreted as "being a trans woman is HORRIBLE" without spelling it out and eventually you accept that it's just transmisogyny, no matter how you spin it.

You keep seeing similar shit. You get literal poll data that screams what you already know: the average (ignoring sampling bias for a moment) tumblr user thinks being a trans woman is bad. You keep seeing harrassment campaings by hate groups targeting trans women. You keep seeing them get driven out of platforms that some (many?) of them need to get funds to live. You keep seeing absurd escalation only and only ever against transfems. You keep seeing the same blogs (already blocked) that start witch hunts or pile on them reblogging funny memes as usual. You keep seeing random trans women getting terminated for no reason, for minor reasons that literally any other demographic can get away with, for being the target (not instigator) of those same witch hunts.

Sure, telling people off can get out of hand after you get hatemail for days, weeks, months and maybe even years. Trans women are expected to always be ready to debate our right to exist at any given moment and endure all the random poking and insults all the while remaining civil. [<- See that? A bit of trickery, not quite a lie but not true either. Trans women are NOT expected to do all that. That's simply an excuse for when the time comes when a woman tells some random anon off, she gets reported and terminated. We are just illustrating the point about seeing the "code" here.]

And after many years of seeing the vitriol that gets thrown our way, after seeing all the excuses (the same ones, over and over), after seeing who gets driven out of communities and why, and who drives us out; after you see groups of women clearly explain "this happens because transmisogyny"and then being ignored, silenced and attacked; you eventually realize that you and the people who hate you just have a different perspective when it comes to trans women.

You (I) think that being a trans woman is good, and at worst a neutral aspect of who you are. Those who you (I) have seen over the years harassing, attacking and mocking trans women just think that being a trans woman is bad at best, and at worst it's something to be erradicated. They make it very clear if you pay a minimum of attention to their actions.

So whenever I see reblogs complaining about callouts and shit; well, you can't really stop them from happening (as an individual) but it does make me happy that I never see them since I block anyone who reblogs them. Whenever I see discourse (<- not my word) about eggs (<- recent), about calling yourself transfem when you are afab (<- less recent), about whatever fetish some popular (<- I assume) trans woman just happens to be into and magically it becomes the most terrible thing you can possibly get the hots for; I see it for what it truly is:

Excuses to hate on trans women. And in order to love every trans woman before it's too late people need to stop hating them first.

[bestworstcase]

I feel like 99% of bad media discourse boils down to people not actually wanting complex stories that challenges their perceptions, so much as they want complex-LOOKING stories to PACIFY their egos about themselves and their own perception of life.

are you referring to like the twitterati whackjobs who keep accidentally reinventing the hays code and such? tbh i don’t think that’s it, partly because i’ve never actually seen one of those types claim interest in complex storytelling and partly because the actual answer for how a person grows up to be an adult who pearl-clutches on social media about anything that isn’t a morality play is, “be a christian or an ex-christian who hasn’t thought critically about your former beliefs and consequently treats your present spiritual and political beliefs exactly like christianity” fjdbfkhdhs

they are the direct successors and often adult children of the 90s moms and dads who banned harry potter on the grounds of it teaching kids about witchcraft. all that’s changed is the new generation variously absorbed the language of modern social justice by cultural osmosis, or cynically adopted the same when they figured out they could radicalize teens and young adults by doing so, or are just parroting things they were told because this is not a demographic that is keen on teaching critical thinking skills.

the perennial discoursing among liberals and terminally online leftist types re: representation and problematic media and the like is a few more steps removed from the christian moral thinking but still the same phenomenon. western christianity is experiencing crazy levels of attrition right now (something like 20% of europeans and 30% of americans born into the christian church leave in adulthood) and while that is a massive and massively diverse group, there’s an obvious pattern happening a lot in left-leaning online spaces that goes something like this:

your parents are conservative christians who may be anywhere from the most evil fucks on the planet to just mildly shitty enough to put you off christianity; in your late teens or early adulthood you leave the church and veer hard into social justice territory either because you believe in it or because it’s everything your parents hate or both; you get inundated with endless contradictory opinions and arguments because that’s how it is in these spaces and that’s overwhelming and confusing because you grew up in an environment where questioning what you were told was a sin; if you were lucky enough to have mentors or teachers who showed you other ways to think you can adjust but if you didn’t you have zero tools for filtering, parsing, and fact-checking this new information and synthesizing your own opinions from it and you probably just wholesale adopt everything you’re told the same way you did what the preacher said on sundays; get a bunch of people with similar experiences following similar trajectories into a group together and you’ve got an echo chamber of extremely morally anxious people trying to get into social justice heaven together, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve.

it’s the lack of critical thinking skills and moral rigidity that comes with growing up christian without strong outside influences is all

[enneamage]

wow we read tommy really differently. i don't think he was genuinely worried he'd upset anyone at all. his actions never seem to go along with that, take the money issue tubbo bought up for example. if he wanted to make things okay he would have paid up the first, second, third time it came up in an argument but he never has

to me it's all manipulation. i don't think he's evil but a lot of people grow up using emotional manipulation as a fucked up coping mechanism for the shame. the shame of being called out and not being in control of how others are reacting. it's a form of immaturity and selfishness that is present in us all to a certain degree as children, he probably needs to grow out of it because being a celebrity so young has stunted him and kept some of his brattish entitled elements

he needs to feel powerful and in control and tubbo took that away from him so he took the control back in a way that "works" but is a bit toxic. the way he always spins situations around so that he's the one that needs to be apologised to is masterful and nothing ever changes in his behaviour to indicate he is genuinely ever sorry for the other person's feelings. it's very much about him and his own rsd and wanting to be placated that he's a "good person" therefore doesn't have to take responsibility for whatever he's done

I think we’re looking at two sides of the same coin. Up front I’ll say he twists things as well—I took this event in isolation because he was clearly freaking out but he wasn’t turning that energy into self-righteous anger in a serious way (this time.) I haven’t been following the debt thing so I’m not sure what the context or tone of that overall conversation is, but I can touch on the rest. It was the ‘cleanest’ example of him trying to people-please I’ve seen from him even if he did it in a dumbass way.

When Tommy is acting with The Audacity I can see why it would be hard to believe he’s afraid of anything but a big part of how I read Tommy is that he spends half the time moving towards things that freak him out so he can handle them, like a pre-conscious thing. It doesn’t make him humble when he’s ‘in a mood’, it just makes him act out. In the case of the fear of abandonment he gets up on peoples cases and bargains and pokes and gets in their business to try and prevent it because they can’t withdraw if he’s in their face.

I might be using a lot of woobie-words so I want to be clear that when I talk about how he freaks out easy I’m not implying that it should translate to other people being more sympathetic to him. He’s just a very interesting bug in a jar that has a lot going on and I want to try and explain why he acts up the way he does because it has an internal ‘logic’ that floats outside external ‘justice.’  

I agree that he needs to get out of his ego and be less afraid of being ‘the bad guy’ because ironically I think it would make him act like less of a jerk. Being more mindful instead of taking things/his own moral character for granted seems like a slow arc he’s on right now and it sucks to see the demons win, I just have to sit back and hope that “I think funny, I do funny, I am sanctified in this” youtuber brain doesn’t turn out to be terminal, even though it honestly might be. His need to turn things around to keep his sense of self safe really is a big problem (rip c!Tommy) but lately there’s been a bit of a tone shift from genuine self-righteousness to self-deprecating (still manipulative as you say, still a grab at sympathy/way to subvert shame) so the needle is moving… a bit. A tiny, tiny bit.

It's kind of a higher level conversation to talk about how fawning/begging/acts of desperation can be manipulative. It’s still relevant, just not what I would want to lead with as an introduction to a fawn response since there’s a lot of weight around the topic and I want to be able to link back to the post if it comes up for other people in the future (Wilbur does it, so does Q, probably a few others I can’t think of right now.)

It’s true—he freaks out, takes things and spins them around because he doesn’t like being out of control. It’s a bit of the fear of vulnerability that his ‘brother’ has, and it can come out just as shady when he lies down under someone else’s shoe and then scolds them for stepping on him. The other day it seemed like he was burning up from embarrassment / shame and using a bit of that, but he was mainly taking the fawny self-deprecating route because why is he talking about his dick being small again good lord—

[trainingtofreedom]

December 27, 2023 - Orlando, FL

I can't describe the feeling of leaving home for good. I'd left for college; I'd moved houses; I'd taken vacations; I've traveled with nothing but my car, twice. None of it compared to December 27.

I had two big suitcases, one small suitcase, one backpack, one briefcase. Amtrak said, "Four bags and one carry-on" and I took it seriously. I called an Uber to take me to the Bus Terminal, because the rail system runs through it. Waiting for the Uber was almost painful; I could look back and see where I was living, but I wouldn't ever see that house again.

That was the echo in my head: I'll never see that house again. I won't be going back.

It was almost dark when we got to the bus station, and I rolled myself through the building, out the back, across four lanes of bus traffic, around to the train station. Across two set of tracks, so that I was on the Northbound side.

I could barely carry it all; I recognized that mistake in the bus station, but it was too late to leave anything behind. I didn't know what wasn't important, either; in my mind, every item in every bag was important. So I carried 100+lbs of everything, and I watched the commuter rail go by, thankful that I'd be checking my bags when Amtrak arrived.

I went to the bus teller when I arrived, and asked them about the train. "Train tickets are only purchased at the kiosk. There's a attendant at the track to help you." She had nothing else to tell me. "There's supposed to be an attendant, anyway." She clarified. After I rolled myself to the tracks, I didn't see any attendant. Plus I didn't know what to ask him.

Just a weird guy floating around at the handicap ramp. He didn't look like a train attendant.

The commuter rail rolled by, and that weird guy calls over to me, "Hey, are you taking the train?" I answered him, "Yeah, the big silver one, the Amtrak." He replied, "The Amtrak doesn't come here. It goes to Orlando Health. Also, you can't sit there."

There's a dawning of fear in my mind, now: I'm at the wrong station. I can't walk anywhere, I have too much stuff. How the hell am I going to catch my train in 20 minutes? I was supposed to be heading to Raleigh on the Silver Service. The attendant couldn't help, how would I get there?!?

I caught my breath, but the panic still bounced around in my brain. Call an uber. I called an uber, and tried to drop a pin at my spot on the sidewalk; I couldn't find a good landmark. The first uber says, "I can't drive into the bus station." No, not the bus station, I'm along a downtown city street next to the train tracks. I have twenty minutes to get across town.

That uber cancels. I have 15 minutes.

The next one gets there, and thankfully is clean, comfortable, and prepared. I sent my destination as "Amtrak Station," so now there's no question. I'm watching the tracks the whole drive, praying the train wouldn't beat me to the station. What would I do if I missed it? Sleep in the empty house, I guess.

The Amtrak station is obvious, thank goodness. Big sign on the building, lots of cars and people, nothing related to the commuter rail. (Commuter rail drops off on the same track, about 50m south; I could see it from here.) It didn't matter which side of the tracks anymore: everybody waits on this side.

Checking my bags at the station, I had to walk them back to the cargo area. No one was at the teller. It was an unguided experience, I just got lucky that I met one of the Red Caps at the back. "Where are you heading?"

"Raleigh...well, Charlotte." I answered. They seemed confused, so they asked for my ticket. I showed them I had two tickets: Raleigh, then Charlotte five hours later. "Why is he going to Raleigh instead of Cary?" he wondered aloud. His partner replied, "Must have been a capacity thing."

I remember a few other things he said. "Why isn't there anyone up at the teller? You're not supposed to be staring at your phone!" "Keep the claim tickets." "You don't need them in Raleigh, just Charlotte." He checked my bags to Charlotte, though they would change trains in Cary, NC, even though I went to Raleigh first instead.

(Train stuff: Amtrak's Silver Star usually drops off people in NC at Cary, because it's one stop sooner and has more exchanges, like the Crescent. Raleigh is, uniquely, in between the two Silver-Service routes, and only on the Silver Star route. The only people that ride it to Raleigh are people -specifically- going to Raleigh.)

I still have my backpack and briefcase with me, and I've NEVER left from this station before. There's probably a hundred people here, almost all coach, almost all as confused as I was. Many college kids, many people going many different places. Only a few outdoor benches, and we were all told to line up at the lettered column. I leaned on the bench to help my injured back, and waited amongst the confused throngs.

Boarding was straightforward: they asked where you're going, and they told you which way to go once you got up the stairs. No one checks tickets, even though it's on my phone and ready. Just "Go in to the right, find a seat." I was on the long-distance car, the one that goes past Cary, NC. People were going to NYC, PHL, and all sorts of far-flung stops. No assigned seats, so you just do your best. I found two seats alone (a rare treat), and slumped down.

The train is ROLLING, and they still haven't checked my ticket. This is weird if you're used to planes, where you've been identity-verified and boarding-passed three times before you reach the door. On Amtrak, they don't do any more than count bodies. You're halfway to the next stop before anyone verifies your ticket, and no one ever checks your ID.

Reiterating: You will board the train, and no one checks your ticket or ID. They will never check your ID.

Finally, a conductor comes through and checks the ticket. He writes my three-letter destination on a card, and sticks it on the rail above my seat. Reminds me that my adjacent seat won't remain empty: "This is a FULL TRAIN, there will be no empty seats!"

It's 9pm, I'm exhausted, the train is rolling. I fall asleep to "No empty Seats!" and the sound of the Amtrak train horn, which blows at every single road crossing. All night, toot toooooooooooooot.

Twelve hours to go, then I'll be in Raleigh. Nothing to do but sit and sleep on the dark windows...

[absolut-vodka]

I think and I worry

Brazil, july

Brother,

I have enjoyed writing to you. I have enjoyed never knowing whether to say good afternoon, good morning, or good night to you. I have enjoyed thinking about the real distance between you and me, between us. I have enjoyed knowing that you are on another continent, and yet we share the same sky. I have liked the idea that you will read this days after I have written it - and that you will like it because we hate messages and hate responding to them. I have enjoyed talking to myself and learning to converse - alone. To think about what I want to write to you, what is relevant to say and what is important to keep. Thinking, I really enjoy thinking. It occupies my days, my nights, my skin, my bones, every hair on my body. It spreads through me like spilled ink, and I can't avoid it. I want to write, to speak, to hear opinions about what I think. I want people to know, and at the same time, I want to hide. I want so many things, and above all, I want you here to teach me to be silent, to keep my mind at peace, to stop thinking sometimes. I want certainty, I want security, and I don't have them because I don't have you. I want to talk to you, but above all, I want you to stay there, even though I know you are not happy and you don't miss home either. I want your life, I want to be you, but I don't want that, I want more. I want my life, I want to be me, I want my things, my plans, my dreams, my home, my lack of homesickness, my unhappiness, my silence. I don't want to repeat your steps, even though I'm very inspired by you. I hope you understand.

I have a crush on a boy. He is older, kinder, taller. Ruder, more patient, angrier, more worrying, more stubborn. He doesn't think as much as I do, but he listens to my thoughts. I think you would like him if you put aside your brotherly concerns. I think you would really like him. He has caused a lot of trouble, been very rebellious, lied a lot, a real headache. He also doesn't get along with his parents, doesn't like life very much, and has had many bad experiences. Just like me. Just like you. Just like us. I like him, and I wish you would like him too. He says he wants to take care of me. I don't want him to take care of me. I don't need him to take care of me. I know how to take care of myself, I just don't. It's amazing how many things I know how to do, I just don't do them. We're different in that, right? Very different.

Things have changed, lives have changed. I don't miss you as much as I should, just like I don't miss grandma, J.C., or Uncle Ricardo. I'm glad to know that you don't miss them much either. But we still miss them, right? I wish it were more, I wish the pain would swallow me and swallow you too. I don't know why I said that. I stopped taking my medication, maybe that's the reason.

I have been seeing my life in songs, movies, terminals (I have found many things in terminals), and in medicine leaflets. I'm very worried, I mourn for the living, I talk about the dead, I keep memories alive, and I worry about you. I worry about answering the phone and receiving bad news. I worry about your lack of smiles in photos, about your videos alone, about the distance. You say you don't want me to worry about you, but I still worry. I worry that your emptiness is not just emptiness. I worry about your lack of thoughts because I never stop thinking. I see myself standing still in the swiftness with which you left, in the happiness when you stayed. I feel trapped in diagnoses and more concerns. I'm afraid that your words might be a lie, that things are not going well, and that you don't tell me because you know I would scrape together every penny and do the unimaginable to come see you.

I hope you are less angry but happier. I hope the friends you made there are as enduring as the ones you have here. I hope you continue going out, listening to good music while taking a shower, coming home late at night, walking back from work because you enjoy thinking, driving above the speed limit on the streets, reading books that no one else understands but you, saving money, living in the present, and thinking about the future - just like me. I hope for so many things, and all of them are endlessly good, not far from what you deserve. Read the books I sent you, listen to the songs I shared, and discuss the movies I recommended. Write to me when you have the time. I can imagine you during a work break, sitting on the curb with dirty hands and aching limbs, with your crooked and barely legible handwriting, not thinking much - so different from who I am. Record yourself writing and send it to me. I can picture your expressionless face while you write, contrasting with mine that smiled, became serious, and made faces throughout the writing of this letter. I don't need to tell you about it, you know me. I don't want photos or videos, just the written word. Tell me about your days, your life, share your thoughts on this letter. I miss talking to you, and I miss my brother, even if not as much as I would like. Good morning, good afternoon, or good night.

With absolutely love and proud,

Absolut Vodka

[bigmoneypastelhalloween]

[Previous]

2 hr 24 mins 30 joanne in san diego predicts simultaneous fire+earthquake in cali

2 hr 25 responding

2 hr 26 anon prediction: covid management improves, new deuce bigelow movie {🤞} plus tangent, eerie repeat of Osbourne death prediction. Prediction that johnboy will do a cribs, or a cooking segment.

2 hr 28 response to anon. "Im gordon ramsey 2.0, im just waiting for the right time" i mean like what DO you do all day, do you order out even on days youre not reviewing and only eat the one thing? Watch yousuckatcooking. Your version of that would have people riveted. You could start practicing now with a few meals a week, privately, and in two years you'd have actual dormchow enhancement content. From there you pull a "jamie & julia". The fannibals et al are out there dying to be the audience for this. You couldnt be the next gordon ramsey (youre never going to work in kitchens) but you could be the next frugal gourmet. Of course if you dont think cooking is fun this is moot advice. I think its fun.

2 hr 29 email from steven with a variety of predictions: ukraine attrition continues, russia doesnt give (johnboy agrees). Inflation doesnt decrease. Uprisings, especially in impoverished nations. Covid in china. Cost of living/regulatory failure crisis continues. Extreme weather continues. response-bait abt shortwave.

2 hr 33 responsing to steven, pivots immediately to shortwave item. Drop in the medium in late 90s and then again in 2007-2012 or so. 50-70% decline in number of stations from 2007 to 2013.

2 hr 36 the 3 big stations that have died in the last year were his 3 faves

2 hr 41 a station he liked now just plays "soulless pop music" for 3 hours a night? He keeps saying soulless pop music, we want names

2 hr 43 penny predictions: more of the same, plus reviewbrah hot ones appearance

2 hr 46 "so close yet so far" re hot ones

2 hr 46 mins 30 hot one was filming in new york and he had to be up there anyway for some "personal issues", this is when he made the amtrak review vid [next tony bourdain nascent ever since]

2 hr 48 re being sick on hot ones "it just wouldn't be a good look"

2 hr 49 "its a couple hours into the show" with one hour left on the clock exactly. Reflecting on the seriousness of the predictions.

2 hr 51 big buildup to this one, "strap in, ok": ikea hotdog scandal. "This listener went there."

2 hr 51 mins 30 sam in slc, predicting tiktok implosion, rise of new social platform related to decline of tiktok or rebrand/restructure of tiktok.

2 hr 55 response about tiktok, coming out as not having an account

2hr 57 pondering what his tiktok content would even be. I mean, start with the memes, make them sounds people can use etc. Then just start finding random clips of gulps or times youre looking at the sky. Obviously the tiktok olympics gold is doing the king tut video in a metal wig. I figure you could master her moves/faces well enough in about a day. You could do an enough slices thing soooo easily, also. Get the fantano nod. Im kidding, fantano would be like "smacks of effort" and trish probably wouldn't notice because you cant raise her profile. But the terminally online would applaud the intertextuality.

2 hr 58 youtubes consistency amazes.

2 hr 59 mins 50 predictions from ollie; 1) swing from minimalism to maximalism, 2) death of american tipping culture, 3) continued drop in fertility rates (whose specifically and why is this relevant), 4) rise in popularity of nonmainstream religions {true}

3 hr 5 anon email; increasing visibility of effect of living online, new ecelebs going RL trend, neocons will neocon

3 hr 8 response, re the chronically online gen. "Sorry if it sounds like im a broken record" youre all good

3 hr 11 "are we gonna be in a hellhole that makes this look like paradise? But thats just me, that's my pessimistic attitude" the one who said thered be an offlineism movement was wrong about when, but people who didnt grow up there will find ways to recreate the internet of the mid 90s. Probably by legalistically dismantling all the major tech corps and parsing up the landscape on a micro/private scale plus centralized text only message boards and like nothing else. This will enter law in the 2070s. "Unshareable" data will become valuable but by 2100 very little data will not be available in some capacity from the public library. They will by this time have j/o booths, unofficially.

3 hr 13 "this isnt organic" {the way he says organic, divine} "...theres things and entities that could probably make things better with the flick of a finger but they dont"..."it would be artificially stopped... what does it matter if its artificial in that case, it doesnt" ..."since i started paying attention, in 2014 or so" ah yes...we who started paying attention...

3 hr 14 predictions from a 3rd world military officer: militarization of u.s. mexico border, another prediction about substation attacks and grid outages, u.s. out of syria results in antikurdish violence, culture war ambivalence with centrist squeeze, cali swings right as nimbys eat themselves alive in outrage, fast food automation continues and is memed on, hopes canada will swing hard con {miss me with that}, China has protests but no worker revolt and economic prosperity from levant/africa investments mid to late year, japanese militarization, russia will take 40% of ukraine not including crimea, unrest in britain, rightward swing in german politics, poland struggles.

3 hr 18 response.

3 hr 24 helen in scotland predicts next great depression. Prediction of 3 milly on yt for rotw.

3 hr 26 response; a lot of ppl see economic downturn on the horizon

3 hr 28 wrapping up, email from steven in alaska. Predictions about crypto etc.

3 hr 29 responding to steven. "I dont see anyone predicting that the economys gonna be booming in 2023"

3 hr 30 anon in the Midwest predicting johnboy endorsing desantis for potus {you dont have to imagine my reaction here you go 🤢🤢🤢} "or maybe not". Rehash of how he never endorses anyone and ALWAYS airs a voting year psa about JUST (research and) VOTE 🇺🇲 🫡🇺🇲 

3 hr 32 he's decided encouraging his audience to vote is probably doing more harm than good if theyre not really informing themselves

3 hr 33 he thinks the podcast audience might be more inclined to actually research their vote so he might urge the podcast audience to vote

3 hr 34 i dont think you need to be so hard on yourself about getting out the vote kiddo, florida will sort itself out. I would bet on it.

3 hr 35 weather predictions (continuing from midwest anon)

3 hr 36 predictions from dublin: new covid, kansas city chiefs win the superbowl, icecream cheeseburgers, "reviewbrah will bring back the vorw nightwalking segment, wishful thinking" we can all wish

3 hr 38 "I'll close off the broadcast with this"; the nightwalk segment ended due to technical changes on the production end. He used to use a little mp3 recorder "a piece of junk, im not afraid to finally admit that" lmao what were the stakes of not admitting it? Hilarious.

3hr 40 "i like the softness" i am cut to the quick

3 hr 41 he went thru 6 or 7 mp3 recorders in a couple years

3 hr 42 get a smartphone

3 hr 44 it would be hilarious, if you were wasted and someone else was handling the cart. The bike plus little red wagon is truly...inspired

[rawmeknockout]

Oh my gosh I feel like I’m ordering food,

-could I get uuuhhhh. LL crew reactions to their s/o telling them they are carrying their sparkling.

rodimus

over the moon, bursting out of his armor, skipping across the universe, ready to take optimus by the shoulders and shake him. he's going to be a sire. he's going to have sparklings of his very own to nurture and love and raise. oh primus he's got to prepare. what if he's not good enough? what if he hurts them? hes got to start getting ready to take on this new responsibility. cries during every doctors visit with you. ratchet puts him out in the waiting room to sort himself out. rodimus talks animatedly every night about what he's going to teach your children and the sort of adventures he'll take them on and, of course, that he'll love them no matter the alt mode. he really hopes theyre a speedster like him, though. so he can take them racing when theyre older. very touchy and always has his hands on your belly. even when you're very clearly with sparkling, it doesn't feel real to him.

megatron

oh primus is it too late to get rid of it now? not that he doesnt want a sparkling (i mean he doesnt) he's just got a lot of enemies that would be happy to take you out. even people that arent necessarily out to get him would NOT be happy with the fact that he has a spawn coming into the world. its bad enough you talked him into a relationship when you should know better than to involve yourself closely with someone like him. but he'll take responsibility for what he's created if you want to keep the sparkling. thats his kid and he'll do what he must to keep the two of you alive and happy. never really intended to have sparklings but the thought is novel and sweet to him with time. the domestic seems so far away from the live he's cultivated, who he was and still carries with him, but he wants that life. if he can find a way to provide that quiet sort of bliss, he'll do whatever he has to. optimus is your sparkling's godfather. he declares himself as such after he finds out. megatron doesnt get a word in edgewise.

tailgate + cyclonus

oh the mini is over every single moon from cybertron to earth. he cant believe this is his life. cyclonus has to hold and shush him when you tell the both of them, and thus he doesn't get to fully express his own emotions at the revelation. when you two have a quiet moment alone, cyclonus will lovingly stroke your head and ask to press his helm to your chest. the sparkling is just barely growing at this point, of course, nothing more than a clump of energy, but if he focuses maybe he can very briefly feel it's spark's pull. just for a moment, just a flicker. tailgate and cyclonus both fuss over names. tailgate likes more cutesy names, but cyclonus doesn't want a sparkling turning out like.... well, him and having a name like bit or bug. he prefers more traditional names. they both collaborate on the aesthetics of the sparklings nursery, though, and build a lot of the furniture by hand. their sparkling isnt going to sleep on any old cheap junk!

drift + ratchet

ratchet is actually the one to tell you that you're with sparkling, then you two have to tell drift. it's an everyday thing. drift wakes up shaking and blubbering about how he's going to be a sire and ratchet has to calm him down bc he's going to stress you out. drift is absolutely ecstatic. rodimus throws you guys multiple sparkling showers, but it's really an excuse for the entire crew to help out with buying you guys what you need. even if drift can afford a thousand sparklings, the entire crew wants to be involved with rearing your kin. at least you've got the best medical team on your side, and ratchet is going to make SURE that you are taking your supplements everyday at the same time. as much as he grumps that he's too old to be raising a sparkling, he's just as excited as everyone else. he just doesn't want to pressure you indirectly into keeping the sparkling if you decide to terminate.

rewind + chromedome

rewind is Stressed. he still has a lot of internalized prejudice about his own alt form and to think he might "curse" a sparkling with the same shortcomings of his function has him sort of tweaking. he's not even sure he wants to be a sire! thankfully chromedome is (mostly) taking everything in stride and trying to take it day by day. they're both the worst of worriers. chromedome has his own qualms, not wanting the little sparkling to take on his habit of addictions and self destruction. he worries it's going to be carried down in his coding, that the sparkling will have no choice but to carry out the same self destructive life he has. you all have some pretty serious deep talks about whether terminating would be more merciful to any potential kin of yours, but rewind and chromedome cant help already being attached to the notion that they could have a normal, happy family. that the three of you could conquer everything even the problems that arise from child rearing. they're responsible and self reflective to the point of getting in the way of their own happiness. all plans for how to go about taking care of a sparkling are really taken in stride after you all decide to just take the leap. they want to enjoy the bliss for a little while.

perceptor + brainstorm

brainstorm is nearly to the point of malfunctioning when you tell him. the thought that you could bear his sparkling never even crossed his processor! he plays it pretty fast and loose in the berthroom, so it was really only a matter of time. not exactly the most forward thinking bitch here. perceptor is sighing and rubbing his nasal ridge, but he expected as much. really, it's not the idea of having a spakrling that is giving him a helmache, it's the fact that brainstorm seems SURPRISED by the consequences of his actions. perceptor wants to look at all the possible alternatives, even if he doesn't think you'll end up taking them. after all, it's better to hypothesize the probably outcome and then decide from there on the best course of action. brainstorm is only interested in having a sparkling, though. he thinks he's ready. after all, he's one of the most brilliant minds to come from cybertron! raising a sparkling should be easy enough. at last easier than building a time machine! they both get into heated debates over the whiteboard on what name to choose. brainstorm is so sure it's going to be a flyer, but perceptor is dead set on NOT making the sparkling have a flight focused designation when they dont even know the altmode yet. (he's hoping it ends up being a microscope like him or maybe a gun he just thinks that would be tight)

i was going to do more but this post started getting long so maybe another time ill finish it up!

[qwilman]

Losing your Twitter Audience: Some Shit of the Top of  My Head, by Me

Reposting a Twitter thread I just made because it's got a lot of thoughts I've had stuck in my head lately:

I don't have a fully-formed version of these thoughts, but I think what a lot of artist are asking when they say "where will we go after twitter" is actually asking "where are all of the normal people going to end up?" I can name a half-dozen sites that are ready and waiting for more artists to come flooding onto their platform. I'm sure there are just as many for writers, musicians, filmmakers, everything else. The actual question everyone needs an answer to is where is the AUDIENCE going.

I've been terminally online for well over two decades at this point. I've been obsessed with the internet since middle school and I can honestly say I've never seen anything like twitter's user base in my entire goddamned life. I've never seen a website that EVERYBODY uses. The closest comparison I have is Facebook, which was really the first internet community that normal people ever truly appreciated. At it's core though, Facebook was a tool that kept you connected with people you knew in real life. As much as it changed, that idea was its bones. Twitter isn't really like that. It doesn't have shared calendars or photo albums or a base instinct to keep you hooked into communities you're already in. Twitter has performance in it's core. It's a bullhorn you pick up to shout to as many people as possible. As much as it's changed that's still it's core feature, the thing it's always going to want to do. That's why it's so appealing for every performer in the world, and I think since most people who don't want to be on stage want to watch a show, that's why it got so huge.

So a bunch of performers can reach enormous audiences and a bunch of us managed to make a living off of it. The question now that this stage is burning down with us on it is where is the next one, and I just don't think this massive audience is ever going to move in unison. I think the thing we all need to be prepared for is that we're going to fragment. We're going to find our own corners again and the more savvy members of our audiences are going to find those same corners as they seek out what they love, but our causal viewers will veer off. Twitter has been an incredible tool for us to put our art in the faces of people who would never think to look for it. This was a big part of what the people who found success on Facebook benefitted from as well, the audience who treated social media like television.

The people who are just looking for an entertainment box to turn on and comfort them without effort are most likely never going to use a Pillowfort, or a Tumblr, or a Cohost, and DEFINITELY not a Mastodon, because they all require a base level of interaction and engagement. And to be clear, this isn't me calling those people stupid, or a "bad" audience. People have their own lives and their own interests. Curating a feed of content requires effort and seeking out new artists is a skill. A lot of people just want to crash after they got off work. So those people aren't going to follow us to new sites. Either because those new sites are improved, but more esoteric, or just because signing up for a new site is a hassle of it's own. We're going to lose that audience. Period. Mourn them if you need to, but accept that.

I think success for artists online in the future is going to look a lot more like what it was in the early 00's-10's. Artists and willingly-engaged audiences seeking each other out. I just don't think putting as many eyes as possible on our work will be a winning strategy. Instead of finding as many people as possible, we need to be focused on finding the right people. 100 followers who are excited that their you, specifically, just posted are as valuable as 1000 followers who don't remember you that well and just want to see some cool art. A lot of people stopped trying to find their 1,000 true fans and focused completely on reaching 10k, 50k, 100k followers, no matter how closely they're paying attention. Honest to god, I think the later is going to be suicide in five years.

FWIW, I've never actually been any good at doing that. The biggest following I've ever had in my life is a little over 3,000 followers in TikTok. I think I just feel weird seeing a bunch of artist who have "made it" panic that they'll be losing everything when Twitter's gone. If you have 10k, 50, 100k followers right now, I don't think it's useful to focus on how many you're about to lose. Instead focus on who the best 10% of those followers are, the ones who've supported you financially and by sharing your work, do what you can to meet them where they live.

Anyway this started as an attempt to excise a stray thought I've had stuck in my head all week, didn't mean to spend 45 minutes on it. The point is get ready to post like it's 2007 again. Best case scenario, the internet is going to be asking a little more effort from all of us pretty soon, but I think at the end of the day if things go right we're all going to come out the other side better for it. If you made it this far, dig through your feed, pick one or two of your favorite artists who have links in their bio to give them money, then give them a little money. I promise you they'll notice.

[libraford]

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

[asset35-maya]

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

//

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

//

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

//

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

//

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

//

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

//

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

//

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

//

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

//

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

//

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

//

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

//

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

[babyboy-cody]

ch. 01 | finding out

summary: after feeling so different for the past week, you decided to go to the doctor in order to find out what was actually wrong with you. the cause of you feeling this way was something you weren’t expecting.

warnings: depictions of early signs of pregnancy, clueless grayson, mentions of sean, implications of smut, mentions of abortion

quick note: okay so this is my first ever grayson series, so hopefully i make you guys proud. some of the pregnancy signs are things that some people don’t go through, so i wanted to make it as realistic as possible. any feedback would be great! <3

word count: 2.6k

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Waking up early in the morning, you never expected to feel like shit. From the position you were laying in, your tender breasts were pressed into the bed, causing you the slightest pain. You groaned and winced as you went to turn. Just from moving, you felt nauseous and dizzy, the blinding light from the sun pouring into the room caused you to squint. Grayson wasn’t in bed beside you as usual. He always woke up at the ass crack of dawn to start his morning routines of breakfast, exercising for two hours, and shower. The rest of his day is spent doing activities, such as woodworking/building, spending time with you, long-boarding, or exercising some more.

A wave of cramps suddenly hit you, causing you to muffle your long moan into your pillow. You tucked your body into the fetal position, tucking your hand under your sweatpants to press down on your lower stomach, hoping that the pressure would ease the aggravating pain. For the past week, you’ve been constantly getting cramps. The breast tenderness happened only a day later. Premature cramps are the usual sign of starting your period. What confuses you is why you woke up with no blood staining your underwear or pants.

Sluggishly grabbing your phone from under your pillow, you opened up your usual period app. The last time you had gotten your period was exactly the same day as last month. Your eyebrows furrow when you see that you should’ve started your period exactly two weeks ago. You hastily sit up, immediately shutting your eyes as a wave of nausea hit you like a tsunami. There was brief commotion coming from the kitchen, followed by Grayson yelling, “Ethaaannn!” You faintly heard Ethan’s boisterous laugh, which only amped up his younger brother’s annoyance.

You swallowed the forming saliva at the back of your mouth. You suddenly felt so exhausted, even though you had a whole ten hour rests with no interruptions or disruptions. Swinging your legs to the side of the bed, you slowly got up, shutting your eyes to avoid feeling dizzy so fast. You desperately craved Grayson’s warm skin against yours in order to make you feel better, especially when his strong arms were wrapped around you, holding you nice and tight against him. As though the universe heard your thoughts, Grayson enters the bedroom, a comfy hoodie adorning his upper body as gray sweats adorn his lower half. He looks so comfy and warm and soft with his messy hair and growing bed and bright smile.

“Look who’s finally awake!” He announced and spread his arms wide, running over to playfully (and gently) tackle you into the bed.

“Gray, Gray, baby, be gentle,” you quickly told him, hands grabbing onto his arm as the room suddenly spun. “I’m not feeling too good today.”

He immediately sat up, using one hand to push his long hair from his face as the other slowly sits you up. His eyes were full of worry as they scan you up and down. You smiled tiredly and gently stroked his jaw, loving the feeling of his scruff on your palm.

“What’ve you been feeling?” He was quick to ask you, desperately wanting to know why you’ve been feeling sick and what could’ve caused it. “Do you think it’s cause E was sick last week?”

“I mean, maybe,” you shrugged. “I’ve been getting cramps and my boobs have been hurting as usual before I get my period.”

“So you’re starting you’re period?” He questioned, thinking that could be the reason.

“I don’t think so, babe. I’m getting symptoms I’ve never gotten before and it’s worrying me,” you quietly told him, your voice holding such worry that he’s never heard before. “I’m so exhausted and dizzy and I can’t even stand without feeling like I’m gonna pass out.” You rubbed your hands over your face, groaning at the uncomfortable churning in your stomach as you suddenly thought about eating. “I can’t even think about food without feeling like I’m gonna throw up everywhere.”

“Baby, you need to make an appointment for the doctor or the GYN to see what’s going on. You don’t know if this could be something serious,” Grayson anxiously tells you, his large hands cupping your cheeks to make eye contact with you, his thumbs lightly stroking your warm skin back and forth.

“I will,” you held onto his wrists. “I promise.”

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After your serious talk with Grayson yesterday, you made an appointment to go to the gynecologist the very next day. Nerves were bubbling in the pit of your stomach, causing you to use the bathroom four times in the past hour. Ethan and Kristina were worried as well, unsure of what to do or say to make you feel at ease and less anxious. If what’s causing your sickness something terminal, they knew that Grayson would quite literally go insane. You were his person. Grayson was a believer of soulmates, and he knew deep in his heart and soul that you were his.

This morning, it was eerily quite. The air was awkward and tense with no one knowing how to break the ice. Grayson’s jaw was clenched and he watched your every move carefully. You were feeling a little better, only eating in small quantities and being forced to drink lots of water (by Grayson). Your appointment wasn’t until 2 in the afternoon, so you had plenty of time to do your morning routine and talk to Grayson. He insisted on staying in the bathroom when you shower and do your skin care.

“Gray, I’m not dying,” you joked lightly.

“Don’t fucking joke like that!” He raised his voice, glaring up at you as he sat on the edge of the top, elbows on his knees with his fingers interlocked. “That’s not fucking funny.” There was anger in his tone, and you realized how insensitive it was of you.

You knelt down in front of him, unlocked his hands and slithering more between his spread knees. He doesn’t look at you as he looks down at the ground between your own knees. “Hey,” you whisper, hands on his broad shoulders, lightly shaking them. “Look at me, please.” When he does, you see the slightest of tears along his waterline. Your heart breaks when his face scrunches up in agony and his eyes shut, his hands immediately covering his face to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Grayson…”

He sniffles into his hands, shaking his head frantically. “I can’t lose you,” he weeped so softly, his voice muffled behind the barrier of his hands. “I can’t fuckin’ lose you the same way I lost my dad. I-I just can’t.” You let him pour out his emotions, all the while holding onto his shoulders and gently pushing his hands away from his face to wipe away his warm tears. The area around his eyes and cheeks were tinged red, his beautiful eyes now turning puffy. “You don’t understand h-how broken I’d be without you, Y/N. It’s like… a piece of me might die.”

“Baby,” you whispered brokenly, shaking your head as you hurriedly pull him into your chest. His head buries itself in the crook of your neck. “I am so so sorry for making that joke, alright? Hey, look at me.” You lift his head up, wiping more of his tears with your thumbs. “I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that everything is okay.” At the sound of your soft whisper, he lets out a quiet and shaky sigh. The thought of now hearing your voice anymore physically hurts his heart. He hesitatingly nods, desperately wanting to believe your words. But looking into your eyes this very moment, seeing the determination and confidence in your face, he has no other choice but to believe you.

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Sitting on the exam table in the cold room that slightly smells of hand sanitizer and wood, you didn’t know what else to think. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess as they tried to unravel itself to form a coherent sentence in your head. Grayson wanted to come in with you, but you had told him to stay in the car, out of fear of him hearing dreadful news. You closed your eyes and breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm the storm that’s beginning to make itself known. What you didn’t hearing was the door opening and the OB-GYN, Dr. Khaleesi, stepping in. She was a lovely Indian woman who was older than you by 20 years. You’ve been coming to her for a year and a half now for your usual STD checkups or any worries you had with your uterus. She was the sweetest woman you’ve come to known and you never felt judged by her.

“Everything alright, Y/N?” She asks as she shuts the door, leaving you both in privacy. She holds the clipboard to her side and sits onto the rolling stool to slide herself closer to you.

“Just nervous,” you laughed awkwardly.

“Well, it’s just me,” she tells you softly, her accent sounding so elegant as she gently pats your knee. “Now, it says on the appointment form that you’re hear for a checkup regarding your period.”

“Yes, um, I’m late on my period - about two weeks now. But I’ve been feeling a lot of cramps and breast tenderness and all the symptoms of starting my period. And I don’t know why,” you sighed and picked at your nails, not sure how to keep still.

“Alright, well, I’m going to be asking you a few simple questions and I want you to answer as honestly as possible,” Dr. Khaleesi tells you. “What day was your last period?”

“The 6th of May.”

“How long does menstrual cycle typically last?”

“Six to seven days, give or take.”

“And are you sexually active?”

You blushed as you thought about Grayson. You hadn’t forgotten the romantic picnic dinner he had set up in the backyard with a large projector hung up. Sitting there under the stars with him, being in such a close proximity to that man always made you feel so nervous. But having his hands on you, his lips on yours, his large and muscular body between your thighs, it made it all worth it. You most certainly didn’t forget how many times he made you orgasm in under an hour. You were thankful that Ethan and Kristina had gone to their own date night for a few hours.

“Y/N?” Dr. Khaleesi’s voice broke you free from your thoughts, causing you to clear your throat out of embarrassment.

“Y-Yes, I’m sexually active,” you softly responded.

Dr. Khaleesi nods and checks off the small YES box beside the question. “And how often do you engage in sexual intercourse?”

“Um, about three to four times a week.” You suddenly burst out into laughter at the surprised look on her face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she laughs as well. “At least one of us is getting some action, huh?” She laughs again when you cover your face, muffling your small groan. “Back to the questions. When was the last time you were sexually active?”

“I’d say last week, but I’ve been feeling these symptoms for the past two weeks now,” you hesitatingly told her, secretly not wanting to know the cause in order to avoid the dread and heartbreak if something was terminal.

“And what symptoms have you been having?” She asked you, now looking at your expression rather than the clipboard in her hands.

“Um,” you looked up in thought, “Nausea, cramps, breast tenderness, sudden feeling of exhaustion, loss of appetite, and I’ve been peeing a lot more.”

Dr. Khaleesi nods silently, her sudden silence makes you feel incredibly uneasy. You swallow down and exhale a shaky and audible sigh. She gives you a reassuring smile. “Do you mind if I exam your stomach?”

“N-No,” you quietly said and laid back on the cushioned exam table. “Go ahead, please.”

And after hearing your consent, Dr. Khaleesi pulled on some blue latex gloves and hovers her hands over your stomach. You pull up your shirt and pull the cracked skin of your bottom lip with your teeth. She gently presses down in different areas of your stomach, periodically asking, “Does this cause any pain? Discomfort?” And each time, you shook your head. As she was getting to the end of the exam, you went over every single possibility. What if it’s a tumor? What if you’re pregnant? Could it be cancer? Is it internal bleeding? Somehow, you couldn’t find a reason for each possibility to happen. You had no family members with a history of chronic illnesses. And you and Grayson always used protection, never birth control because of the harmful effects to your body. When Dr. Khaleesi was finished with the brief exam, she sighs softly and lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I know why you’re feeling like this, Y/N. And before I tell you, I want you to know that I am here if you ever need advice on how to do this, okay?” She tells you in a reassuring and motherly tone.

“Just tell me,” you whispered, voice cracking as you strong to keep a strong front. But with every second, it slowly disappeared, revealing a vulnerable and terrified woman in front of the doctor. “Please…”

Dr. Khaleesi sighed quietly and licked her red lipstick stained lips. “You’re… pregnant. Presumably one month pregnant.”

If you were standing, you were sure you would’ve dropped to your knees. Your mouth dropped open, trying desperately to form words, but all that came out was a weak squeak. Tears lined your waterline as you shook your head in disbelief.

“N-No, that’s… that’s fucking impossible,” you frantically said, shaking your head even more as you hastily stood up and walked over to the other side of the room. Your hands went to your hair as you paced back and forth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my, God,” you whispered to yourself, muffling a sob with the back of your hand. “I.. he’s been talking ab-about having kids for-for so long and…” your voice shook between every word. “We’re both so young!”

“We have options, Y/N,” Dr. Khaleesi gently told you as to not scare you if she rose her voice to speak over yours. “There’s abortion-”

“No!” You shouted. “That… That is out of the question. I-I need to talk to him. I need to see where his head is at first, and-and then I can talk to you about… options,” you whispered the last word. You are pro-choice, but you know deep in your heart that you couldn’t terminate this pregnancy. If Grayson thought the opposite, you’re not sure what would happen next.

“Would you like me to schedule your next appointment in one week?” Dr. Khaleesi quietly asks you as she notices the mental battle you’re currently having. “That way you have plenty of time to discuss what you both think, okay?”

You hesitatingly nod and look over at her with an expression that nearly broke her gentle heart. “I-I’m scared, Daksha.”

At the sound of her name exiting your lips, she immediately crosses over and pulls you into a hug. She understands that this may be unprofessional to her bosses and what other patients may see as inappropriate, but she would never let a terrified woman feel alone.

“You are going to be okay, child,” she tells you quietly, one hand wrapped around your shoulders as the other lightly pats the back of your head. “Whatever you decide, I will help you along the way, okay? Do not forget that.”

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CURRENT TAGLIST

@etherealdols @certainaesthetic

[dreamescapeswriting]

SKZ Reaction | Protective Because Of Sasaengs

Chan:

It was the usual crowd of people that followed the boys around but something just felt off today, Chan was holding on your hand tightly while his laptop was in his carry on in the other. He was always the protective one in the relationship but lately, with the newest comeback things had gotten a little crazier, fans were starting to act insane and more Sasaengs were starting to crawl out of the woodwork.

"Chan," You whispered as he tightened his grip on your hand, the place was overly crowded and you could see that the other boys were starting to worry about it as well.

"I know," He whispered back to you making sure to hold you as close as he could get you. He didn't want anything to happen to you while he was responsible for you and he also didn't want someone to grab onto you. While he was busy focusing on you he'd neglected to cling tightly enough onto the case he was carrying his laptop in and someone snatched it.

"Babe!" Chan yelled trying to stop you running after them, his arms grasped you tightly to stop you rushing away so that the security guards could do their jobs. Your breathing was heavy as you got angrier at the thought of someone coming that close to Chan like that, they could have grabbed him or one of the boys, seriously hurt them.

"Hey, look at me. Look." Chan pulled you behind the barriers were fans were being held off from and he forced you to look into his eyes.

"I'm okay, look." You stared up into his eyes as he cupped your cheeks, though his face was covered by the mask he was wearing you could tell he was doing his best to keep a smile on his face and keep you calm throughout all of this.

"We're all okay," You stared into his eyes trying to search for any sign that he wasn't but you could read him like a book, his laptop was returned instantly and you both began walking towards the terminal you needed.

Minho:

Your day had been amazing, not a single person had noticed that you and Minho had taken the day off to go shopping and doing basic tourist things together. It felt like a regular date with him rather than having to sprint away from destinations hand in hand trying to avoid crazy fans who stalked him.

"We should do it again," You said softly as you sat in the back of Soul Cup cafe waiting for your drinks, the date was slowly coming to an end and you were going to have one more drink before you left him.

"I think I have another day off next week, I'll ask Chan when I get back to the dorms." He sat down in front of you so he was facing away from the entrance so no one would notice him if they happened to come into the cafe.

"Yeah that sounds-" You stopped yourself talking when the bell above the door began to chime and crowds of people begin to walk in and began looking around, you immediately knew one of them. You'd spotted her around all day but thought it would just be a coincidence but now it was positive to you that she was a Sasaeng.

"Minho..." You whispered looking at him as she spotted you in the corner together,

"We need to leave, can you get out any other way?" He nodded his head explaining the back exit for employees and you nodded at him.

"Go, go and I'll figure out how to take care of these-" You were pulled out of your seat by him as he rushed you both towards the back exit. He wasn't about to let you try and stop Sasaengs when some security guards could barely do that,

"Just run and don't look back." He chuckled holding onto your hand tightly and headed in the direction of a car park where he could lose them all.

Changbin:

You hated when the crowds picked up whenever you were out with the guys, the last time it got bad like this your bag was stolen because they thought it would have something inside of it but luckily Changbin had thought ahead and told you to put your things in his pockets. This time however someone had just made off with your phone and Changbin was left trying to get a security guard to find it.

"It has everything on their Changbin, your number, the boys, everything." You panicked looking around, you were about ready to kick ass for someone coming that close to you and Changbin when they weren't supposed to. People had been grabbing onto the guys all morning and trying to pull them closer but luckily security had been doing a decent job up until now.

"What if they get your number!?" You panicked looking back at him, his hands cupped your face forcing you to look at him instead of around at the crowds of people.

"Look at me, if they have my number I can change it. That's changeable." He promised you, you knew how much Sasaengs terrified him as well, you'd seen it when one of them had followed him and Jeongin home one night.

"I just can't stand the thought of someone-" You were cut off when your phone was being held up in front of your face, a girl - that couldn't have been any older than 15 was holding it up for you.

"We saw a Sasaeng running off with it so we chased after her," You turned to see three girls all aged around the same age and you smiled thanking them as you took your phone back from them.

"I owe you guys one," You yelled as you began moving with Changbin and the boys again.

Hyunjin:

People had been crowding around the JYP building for hours, you should have expected it since one of the Sasaengs that constantly followed Hyunjin had tweeted out where he was and who he was with - you. STAY had been positive about the relationship finally being out in the open since JYP was hardly one to allow their Idol's to date, they were happy to see Hyunjin was happy with you. However, Sasaengs hadn't taken it great and were using their platforms to tweet out where you both were at every minute of every day.

"We have to get home, the car is outside alright?" You said to Hyunjin, you were ready to protect him through everything and if that meant standing on one side of him while a guard took the other you were willing to do that.

"Hold my hand alright?" You knew how nervous he got around things like this so you wanted to make sure he was going to be okay with everything happening,

"Lets go." You whispered moving in time with the giant guard, as soon as you stepped outside screaming started, begging for pictures and flashing lights. You weren't used to any of it at all but you kept your head down trying to head towards the car when a cup of freezing liquid splashed across your top.

"Car now." Hyunjin ordered pushing you faster and away from the Sasaeng that had thrown the cold drink over you, a couple of them started yelling about how it was your fault they weren't allowed to have photos when it had been the policy that he wasn't allowed to stop at all.

"You alright?" You asked as soon as the door shut and he shook his head at you,

"I'm supposed to be the one asking you that not the other way around." He sighed, searching through his bag for a shirt that you could change into.

Jisung:

Jisung span you around under his arm before pulling you back towards him and smiling down at you, even though the mask covered his face you could still sense how big his smile was.

"You alright? You've been weird all night." By all night he meant the last couple of hours, you'd snuck out of the dorms together at 3 in the morning to go to a local 24-hour store and get ice cream. It was one of the best times to get out because no one would suspect it, no one could guess that you'd been wandering around the streets together. He was in his usual disguise though - hoodie, baseball cap and a giant mask to cover his face.

"I just feel like we're being followed, ever since we left the store." You whispered looking around for any sign that it was true, it wasn't uncommon for Sasaeng's to follow Jisung around but since it had come out that you were together as a couple they'd began following you as well.

"We're alone-" He stopped midsentence when he heard the familiar sound of a camera shutter, that was all it took. You took his hand in yours and began walking in the opposite direction of the dorms, you weren't about to get him and the boys caught up in all of this. You didn't want to have their dorms address spread all over the internet, so you took Jisung through alleyways and back streets to get out of the way of the Sasaeng, you'd take these routes a lot over the last year of dating Jisung, you knew what you were doing.

Felix:

You knew flying with the boys was never easy but you would have thought it would calm down once you were on the plane but it hadn't. Some Sasaeng's had managed to get tickets onto the same flight as you, Felix and Chan. You were heading to Australia for part of their time off but people had managed to find out your flight times despite it being as early in the morning as possible and booked under false names they'd found you.

"They're right in front of us babe." You wanted to do something to protect both Felix and Chan but they didn't seem that phased by it, they had been in the game a lot longer than you had but it didn't stop you worrying about Felix.

"I know but I need to use the restroom, I can't hold it for a 10 hour long flight." You sighed watching as he got up from the chair and made his way down, the moment the fan saw him she got up from her seat. You went to stand up when Chan laid his hand on yours and shook his head, instantly a flight attendant and a security guard was escorting the ''fan'' back to her seat and making sure that Felix was on his own the entire time. They really would stop at nothing to be alone with the boys and it scared the hell out of you,

"See, told you it was fine," Felix smirked at you sitting down next to you again and laying his head on your shoulder. They were probably going to sleep through the whole flight but you couldn't. You felt like you were going to stay awake the entire time just to keep an eye on both of the boys.

Seungmin:

There was a huge crowd gathering around outside the small game shop that you and Seungmin had walked into, you were hunting for a new game for your switch and Seungmin decided to tag along with you  - it seemed like no problem at first but then people started to recognise him and tweet out about where he was.

"Y/n?" You looked up at the guard that was manning the door of the shop making sure that no one else had access into the building,

"Hmm?" He pointed at one of the girls standing at the door, she was wearing one of the shortest dresses you'd ever seen and waved at you.

"Claims she knows you?" You shook your head, you'd never seen her before in your life but Seungmin had,

"She's one of them," Was all he said to the guard before moving you away from the door.

"Sasaeng? They're everywhere." You whispered wrapping your arm around Seungmins waist and moving further into the store not wanting to be stared at by anyone that was looking through the window. They'd been getting creative lately, instead of just following the boys around they'd started to follow you hoping that you would lead them back to your apartment or the dorms but you never did. You took shortcuts to lose them but if you couldn't find a way to lose them you wouldn't go home, you'd go somewhere more public where plenty of people could see you and you could lose them in the crowds. All you wanted to do was protect Seungmin from them but some of them were insane.

I.N:

You and Jeongin had lost the guard when you were fighting to get out of the huge crowd that had been to swarm around you both. You'd gone on a day trip to a small mall thinking it would be easy enough not to be spotted but all it took was one fangirl seeing you and it was all over the internet, where you were, what he was wearing so they could easily find you.

"I think we lost them." You breathed heavily bending over on your knees to try and catch your breath, Jeongin held onto your hand tightly trying to keep hold of you in case they suddenly found you again when you heard a camera. You turned to see one of the girls you'd seen a million times, she was always around no matter what, she'd followed you both onto a plane once.

"Jeongin, behind me." You whispered you weren't sure what you were going to do but him being behind you felt like one of the best ideas for now.

"Y/n, you can't-" Her hand reached out to touch him as she started yelling about how much she loved him so you pushed him back away from her before pulling him into a run and began sprinting through the mall together.

"Can you remember the way back to the car?" You asked while running up a set of stairs and towards the in building car park, no one had followed you out yet which was a good sign.

"Yeah, fourth floor." You got into one of the elevators instead and hit the fourth-floor button when you noticed all of them lighting up to say someone was pushing it,

"Out and run," You told him not to look back until he got to the car and that you would just meet him up there.

"All clear?" He asked as you got into the car panting heavily,

"Took them to the top floor and said that you were in the farthest car away, then I ran down the stairs and they didn't follow me." He sighed bringing you into a hug as you waited for the guard to figure out where you'd gone.

Tagline: 

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOUR EMPLOYEES AND INVESTORS WILL CONSTANTLY BE ASKING ARE WE THERE YET

I think I've figured out what's going on. After the first 10 or so we learned to treat deals as background processes that we should ignore till they terminated.1 Don't Get Your Hopes Up. Something hacked together means something that barely solves the problem, the harder it is to bait the hook with prestige. And that is almost certainly mistaken. So one thing that falls just short of the standard, I think, should be the highest goal for the marginal. Big companies think the function of office space is to express rank. As big companies' oligopolies became less secure, they were willing to pay a premium for labor. You can see it in old photos. If you're friends with a lot of the worst kinds of projects are the death of a thousand cuts. And what's especially dangerous is that many happen at your computer.

And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. In 1450 it was filled with the kind of turbulent and ambitious people you find now in America. You have to like what they do there than how much they can get the most done. That's not what makes startups worth the trouble. Design This kind of metric would allow us to compare different languages, but that if someone wanted to design a language explicitly to disprove this hyphothesis, they could probably do it. This technique can be generalized to: What's the best thing you could be doing, not just what you can see the results in any town in America. With this amount of money can change a startup's funding situation completely. There I found a copy of The Atlantic. Whereas it's easy to get sucked into working longer than you expected at the money job.2 That's ok. I think you have to do all three. But more importantly, you'll get into the habit of doing things well.

But what if the person in the next 40 years will bring us some wonderful things.3 They all know about the VCs who rejected Google. The writing of essays used to be.4 You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.5 He improvises: if someone appears in front of him, he runs around them; if someone tries to grab him, he spins out of their grip; he'll even run in the wrong place, anything might happen. The people who've worked for a few months I realized that what I'd been unconsciously hoping to find there was back in the place I'd just left. It was supposed to be something else, they ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. By 2012 that number was 18 years. The first thing you need is to be willing to look like a fool.6 Google they have a fair amount of data to go on. John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman.

Many of the big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders.7 Empirically, the way to the bed and breakfast, and other similar classes of accommodations, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they hit them anyway. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake as the people who list at ABNB, they list elsewhere too I am not negative on this one was the only way to get lots of referrals is to invest in students, not professors. It will actually become a reasonable strategy or a more reasonable strategy to suspect everything new.8 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. Whereas undergraduate admissions seem to be disappointments early on, when they're just a couple guys in an apartment. Programmers at Yahoo wouldn't have asked that.9 Incidentally, this scale might be helpful in deciding what to study in college. VCs think they're playing a zero sum game.

I spend most of my time writing essays lately. Almost everyone's initial plan is broken. If smaller source code is the purpose of comparing languages, because they come closest of any group I know to embodying it. Distracting is, similarly, desirable at the wrong time. But if we make kids work on dull stuff now is so they can get away with atrocious customer service. In fact, here there was a kid playing basketball? Of course, figuring out what you like.

Go out of your way to bring it up e. The industry term here is conversion. Try to keep the sense of wonder you had about programming at age 14. At least if you start a startup, people treat you as if you're unemployed.10 But hacking is like writing. Even with us working to make things happen the way they used to, they were moving to a cheaper apartment. It causes you to work not on what you like, but is disastrously lacking in others. I do in the rest of the world. Their defining quality is probably that they really love to program.

I could only figure out what to do, there's a natural tendency to stop looking.11 Economies of scale ruled the day.12 One is that this is simply the founders' living expenses.13 I need to transfer a file or edit a web page, and I think I know what is meant by readability, and I think they're onto something. Multiply this times several hundred, and I get an uneasy feeling when I look at my bookshelves. You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.14 Everyday life gives you no practice in this. Startups grow up around universities because universities bring together promising young people and make them work on anything they don't want to want, we consider technological progress good.

Notes

Samuel Johnson said no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. Which is precisely my point. If they were regarded as 'just' even after the egalitarian pressures of World War II the tax codes were so new that the guys running Digg are especially sneaky, but except for money. They don't know enough about the new top story.

The image shows us, they tended to make money. But we invest in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and one of the fake leading the fake leading the fake. In No Logo, Naomi Klein says that 15-20% of the aircraft is.

But because I realized the other writing of Paradise Lost that none who read a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. If they agreed among themselves never to do due diligence for an investor? The best technique I've found for dealing with the other.

I ordered a large number of startups as they do for a public event, you can ignore. If you want to help the company, and a few of the Facebook that might produce the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors decide whether to go to die.

If you walk into a big company CEOs in 2002 was 3.

Or rather, where w is will and d discipline. But that turned out the existing shareholders, including that Florence was then the richest country in the sense of mission.

In Shakespeare's own time, because they can't afford to. The company may not be able to raise their kids in a company in Germany. When we got to see the apples, they said, and why it's next to impossible to write an essay about it wrong. That will in many cases be an open booth.

I'm not saying you should probably be worth trying to tell them exactly what constitutes research in the early 90s when they say they bear no blame for any particular truths you'll learn. As Jeremy Siegel points out that there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. Did you know about it as if you'd invested at a discount of 30% means when it was actually a great programmer doesn't merely do the right direction to be is represented by Milton.

But a lot of the next round. It's hard to say exactly what your body is telling you. In Russia they just kill you, they tend to be very unhealthy. One thing that drives most people realize, because you have two choices, choose the harder.

Though Balzac made a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this essay talks about programmers, but one by one they die and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. Or rather, where it sometimes causes investors to act. Eric Raymond says the best hackers want to trick admissions officers. And no, unfortunately, I mean efforts to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a truly feudal economy, you better be sure you do in proper essays.

The top VCs thus have a better education. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, books, newspapers, or some vague thing like that. You need to fix. But the question is not much to maintain their percentage.

Kant. Loosely speaking. The real decline seems to them to lose elections. Some types of startups where the recipe is to say incendiary things, they can grow the acquisition offers most successful founders still get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but they get for free.

World War II to the frightening lies told by older siblings. That's one of the most general truths. As we walked in, we found they used it to get into that because a unless your last funding round.

But this seems an odd idea.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Shiro Kawai, Garry Tan, Chris Small, and Nikhil Nirmel for sharing their expertise on this topic.