#twittibal

[margotverger-rising]

Get ye to twitter and help trend #CrippledMasonProblems

Can't use Facebook. Technically does not have a face. #CrippledMasonProblems

Got 99 problems but a face aint one. #CrippledMasonProblems

Often mistaken for a Halloween decoration. #CrippledMasonProblems

[mostlymasonverger]

@M_Verger Solo (Not An Easy Task)

[Mason meets and begins to plot the seduction of his future husband]

Six years ago, I officially met the man I was going to marry. The day before that, I’d decided to have him one way or another.

            I was in between stages of my life. I’d been living on my own for a long time, with the occasional warm body I invited into my house and my bed. They never lasted long. I was scarred physically and mentally by what had happened with Mark, but as of yet hadn’t even imagined the scarring I’d receive later down the line.

            I was working at a play group as a pro-domme. For years it had lacked charm, but I used it to find new subs. My current live-in was an angry, gold-digging redhead named Marissa. She still slept in my house but not in my bed. Eventually I’d get up the resolve to kick her to the curb. What I needed was fresh meat.

            On the last day in March I sat on the sidelines and watched the new class get started. An even mixture of men and women, some couples, most motivated by curiosity that wouldn’t carry them further than this one class. Others would stick around and learn how to give or take in the house of pain.

            I didn’t notice the doctor at first. I saw plenty of tall, well-built guys with nice faces. It was only when Daniel started the safety talk that I locked onto him. This man, dark-haired and blue-eyed, looked wide-eyed at every tool and toy with an impossible amount of innocence. It was intoxicating. I could already imagine him staring up at me like that as I tied him down. Immediately he sprang to my number-one priority.             Daniel was wrapping up his little introductory speech when I interrupted him. “How about a demonstration before they go?” I was tugging on leather wristbands, wearing tight leather pants and nothing else. I selected a crop off the wall and ran my eye across the assembled men and women. Mostly I wanted to feel his eyes on me, but I see something else in them. God, I have his full attention, and he looks mesmerized. It’s the look I can’t ignore as a predator. “How about you, gorgeous?”             There was the possibility that he was straight, that he’d come only to watch, but I doubted both. He took a hesitant step forward and I knew I had him.             “On the floor, face down.” I shook my head discretely as Daniel gestures at the fold-up table propped against the wall for demonstrations. I wanted him on the ground. I wanted him looking up at me somewhat fearfully as I stood next to him.             I contemplated asking him to take off his shirt, but this would be good enough. I dropped into a couch, straddling him, and a couple members of the audience—who probably hadn’t seen anything so deliberately sexual in public—groaned or sighed. The man below me was silent. Holding my position, a mimicry of mounting, I trailed the crop down the back of his button-up. He shivered. I couldn’t wait to have him in my bed, crying out. I brought the crop down for a snap right above his waistband. Even if his shirt deadened the blow, he and the audience jumped slightly.             “Stay still.” I murmured, retracing the crop’s journey with my hand lightly, and flipping the tail of his shirt up enough to strike bare flesh.             I had to stop myself not long after. The temptation and desire were too great. It was frustrating that this man with the gorgeous blue eyes didn’t meet my gaze before he left. I had no clue if he’d be back.             I did, however, have a plan. I called up Carlo and gave him his mission: Find out who the man was, what he did, and where he lived.             In less than twenty-four hours, I opened up a position for a private physician on Muskrat Farm, and was arranging to have a Mr. Cordell Doemling interview for the position.             I thought he’d be an easy target.             I was dead wrong. 

[mostlymasonverger]

Attention Twittibal!

With school and work and the holidays approaching, lots of us are having trouble staying up to date. To help, I'd like to propose that whenever someone does an SL or has something particularly important, they make a tweet staring with #LatelyOnTwittibal (twitlonger if necessary) and say a few words. People can do daily, weekly, or just SL only update, whatever they want. This is to help make our SLs more reader friendly! Please let others we RP with know!

[mostlymasonverger]

@M_Verger Solo (Nathan)

[Mason describes his first meeting with @/_Hush_Hush]

I know people would think less of me if they could see every dark thing I’ve ever done. I try to keep the dark stain of the past hidden as best I can. Sometimes someone will rummage around in the dark and bring something back to the light. Sometimes I can’t bear to look. Sometimes I have no choice.             What happened between Nathan Sherman and I might be seen by some as twisted. It is. But to me, with full knowledge and recollection of my other actions, it’s a sign of what was to come, the person I am today. A flicker of possibility that even without the ordeal I went through, I might have become a better man on my own.             I met Nathan ten years ago. I was twenty-four.             He was nine.             Let me preface this story by saying that in all the time I knew him, I barely touched him. Wrong as it was, what little there was was consensual, and mostly a few years later.             I came across him through my other activities, in circles where I could voice or even flaunt my desires. A boy, they said. Big money, but worth every penny. I was intrigued, and money was no object.             I met the boy’s handlers first. I don’t know who they were to him, or where his parents were. I found out very little over the two or three years I knew him.             It was quite clear he was being exploited. Strike a deal, hand over the money, and they lead the boy in. Two men, men without names. One seemed to be the banker of the operation, the other the brawn, in case a client tried to break the rules. I was never alone with Nathan. One or both of these men in cheap suits were with us at all times. Usually we’d discussed beforehand what I was and was not allowed to do, and I’d just get to it. The first time, however, I hadn’t know what to expect. When the cheap suits had finally opened the door, they’d led a boy in, one with a hand between his shoulder blades as if to guide him along.             I remember thinking that Nathan was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. Short reddish-brown hair, intense eyes for such a young kid, and perfect features. I’d knelt down to see eye-to-eye.             “Don’t expect him to talk much.” On of the guys said.             So, instead of saying, ‘Hi Nathan’, I just smiled at my little hushpuppy. His lips didn’t move, but I could swear he smiled with his eyes.             Later I would talk to him—or rather, /at/ him—while we were together. It isn’t to say that he was entirely mute. He just rarely spoke. Sometimes—the best times—he called out my name. I could swear half of the things we did were for him. Initial pay was to have him put his mouth to use. It cost extra to cane him or whip him first. No marks to the face whatsoever, no direct blows from the hand. None of his clothes came off, few of mine. I was allowed to get myself off, but not touching him. He moaned with pleasure during the beatings more often than I did.             These men weren’t protecting Nathan…they were preparing a progression, fostering an obsession. For a little more money, I could get a little further. When they found out that money was no object, time became their second big assistant. Not this week, Mr. Verger…come see us in a month. Nathan got older and my obsession grew. One day I was surprised to find that it wasn’t entirely about fulfilling my desire, completing the fantasy by possessing the boy. I wanted him alone in a room. True enough…but the first thing I was going to do was ask him how his life got like this. Maybe it was just curiosity, but some part of me needed to know. I like to think that deep down, I was already beginning to change.             It doesn’t really matter why, however, because I ruined the fantasy. I tried to adopt Nathan. He was twelve by that time, and I was twenty-seven. A few years from my first meeting with Cordy and a few years from my arrest and fateful meeting with Doctor Lecter. The cheap suits saw that I was more of a nuisance than I was worth. I never saw Nathan again, not even in court.             I didn’t get arrested. Not then. But when Nathan’s handlers finally got caught, they made sure some of the money led back to me.             I paid a small fortune to the right men to get my sentence whittled down to mandatory therapy sessions with one Doctor Hannibal Lecter. The cheap suits got jail, where the probability that they’d been boffing their merchandise did not go unnoticed. I never found out what happened to Nathan.

            Sometimes I wonder. He’d be nineteen now. What kind of person is he now, and how did he get where he was when we met? But what I mostly wonder about is what it all meant, the way I felt. If I could have saved myself before that painful therapy session. If second chances really are possible. 

[mostlymasonverger]

@_BoyIsABottom Solo (Lukas)

[Lukas's farewell] 

Lukas McBride was a lot of things. One of those was troubled. It was the alcohol he drank to forget rather than the memories that were his biggest problem of all, however. His body just wasn’t suited for it. Thanks for the genetics, mom and dad. Without the proper medical attention—which never seems to appear in either the Twittibal or Hannibal universe—the medicine for his failing kidneys was carelessly prescribed. His condition went unchecked, and from a very young age his hormones were shot, leaving him irritable, depressed, and impotent.             The timing couldn’t have been worse for him, medically. The symptoms of the medication began to manifest themselves most strongly right after his rejected proposal to his friend and sometimes lover Cordell Doemling. For years, he blamed that incident rather than the medicine.             Finally, after years of suffering, he found his ex. Just because he’d been unable to get it up didn’t mean he hadn’t been having sex. For a while, bottoming allowed him to feel some faint flicker of desire. Lukas had felt sure that if he made amends to Cordell, things would be right again.             Finding Cordell married was only a minor roadblock.             Cordell’s new husband Mason was dismayed to find another ex on his doorstep, but one thing clicked. A memory of his father blaming erectile dysfunction on his medicine. Whether or not Molson Verger suffered from this condition was never clear to his son, but it soon became apparent that Lukas did.             Lukas had intended to commit suicide if groveling to Cordell hadn’t worked. It hadn’t, but now there was something new, something worse…hope.

            Either way, he would be leaving. If the damage was too great…

            But perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps when he finally worked up the courage to give it a try, he would find a different result than all those years ago. Perhaps there could be someone there for him back home eventually.             He hoped. 

[mostlymasonverger]

M_Verger Solo (Tears)

Living the way I do, it makes sense that sometimes I get told that I’m less than a man. Most of the time it’s because I married another man, sometimes it’s how I react to stress. I cry far more often than I’d like to. Anger, sadness…it all ends in the same place. I’m pretty sick of it, actually, but I can’t do much about it.       It’s strange, given that I hardly ever cried when I was little. I can’t remember doing it much after the first few times my father dragged me to the stable. It spurred him on, so I learned to be silent…to go away and not come out again until it was safe.       I don’t remember crying when my mother died. I don’t remember crying when I got dragged to court for my crimes, not even crocodile tears for the jury. The first time in a long time I remember crying is lying on my back in my cripple’s early tomb, being told that my father had died. All that red meat finally did a number on him.       For years I’d lived somewhere deep inside myself, with empty stares and an easy retreat whenever I needed it. Now robbed of that, I so often feel exposed…       The truth is, if I was ever forced back into that time, I would never survive. I thank God that my father’s dead, because I’m not a strong enough person to face him any longer… [Starter for a new SL. Keep an eye on @MolsonVerger, @CordellDoemling, @M_Verger, @@ReturnTheSlaaab!]

[mostlymasonverger]

Dragging Out My Soapbox

Let me just preface this by saying that I was gone while the events on Twittibal occurred earlier. My information is secondhand and my opinions are that: merely opinions. Anywhore. For those of you who also missed it: Excessive drama that ended in deleted accounts and bad feelings all around. My commentary isn’t limited to today’s events. On the subject of twitter rants. The only circumstance that I find them anything but childish is IC rants. OOC problems should be taken care of directly, with @s better, in the privacy of the DMs. Even if the person they’re about can’t see them because they don’t follow or your account is locked, it can also put AEs who are friendly with both of you in an unfair situation. The best solution is probably to take a break from the computer, or to rant to a person who knows you IRL and can therefore be nice and biased in your favor. These aren’t orders. I control no one but myself. I merely see this as good advice that, if followed, could save a lot of drama. /Completely/ ridiculous are oblique comments intended to be seen by and hurt another person. If you don’t like how someone RPs, unfollow them or talk to them about it. If you don’t like how they RP with another player, is it really any of your business? If the other player is fine with it, let them be. We all have the right to ignore material we find irritating or offensive, not to attack the person behind it.

  One thing to keep in mind when RPing with such a large family: you’re writing with others, not just yourself, as many of you are used to. A lot of the times we love being surprised in the SL the way improvised RP allows. However, with serious issues…killing and/or seriously injuring someone, life-changing events, etc, it’s always polite to run it by the other people first. And on the subject of deleting… I’m pro-choice on the matter, but really, with Twitter there will always be some people you’re sad to leave and some delighted to have out of your life. I like to take the liberty to ask AEs to think things over first and take a week off before they delete; it has worked in some cases and hasn’t in others. Saying goodbye first usually eases the jolt somewhat.

  Some RP groups are extremely disciplined. You have to apply and interview to get in. There’s a probation period. Then the Big Brother Beauru decides whether or not to keep you around. SLs are /all/ planned in advance, in accordance with the president’s vision of the story. Twittibal isn’t even an official group. It’s a bunch of people having fun under a name I made up one day with half a second’s thought. We can chat for hours OOC, or botch an SL on our own due to lack of sleep. We can do nearly anything we want. I personally enjoy that. I wouldn’t change it for the world. However, with great freedom comes great certain guidelines. Everyone has an intrinsic responsibility to keep the OOC drama to a minimum to make it enjoyable for all. Misunderstandings and grudges are inevitable. Trying to work through them should be, also. I sincerely hope there will be no hard feelings directed at me or anyone else on the TL for speaking our minds on the matter. I would like you to keep in mind that my DMs are always open to my Twitter family if you need to talk.

[mostlymasonverger]

@M_Verger Solo (Newspaper)

{I goes back in time to have a little fun with my future husband, but this will be more than a social visit..}

What would later become one of the most harrowing experiences of my life started out as a simple quid pro quo. Cordy had gotten to go into the past and meet my twenty-year old self…I would do the same. I would infiltrate a weekend of drinking and rampant sex in his past for a little taste of the man he used to be. I knew Tyler (@Eatorbeingeaten) and Lukas (@_BoyIsABottom) would be there. I knew I could handle them. About Cordy I was less sure. But, worst comes to worse, if he didn’t like me, I could go back to my time to my husband and all would be well with the world.  Stealing the Tardis was probably a bad idea. I had no idea how to work it except for the vague ideas I’d picked up from a handful of episodes of Doctor Who. I didn’t do too badly, however. When I stepped onto the street, it looked like this /could/ be 1999, the second week in July. This wasn’t a world completely new to me, there were cell phones and clothes not too different from what we saw in 2013, but the date had to be very precise. I walked into a coffee shop, a little amused by the low price, and picked up a newspaper. 1999? Check. July? Check. But instead of the second week, it was the third…early in the third, but by now Cordy would be nursing a hangover on his way home. I stuffed the newspaper into my suitcase and went back to the Tardis, tweaking a few controls. This time when I checked a newspaper it read the correct date. I smiled and forgot all about the newspaper in my suitcase. *Ominous music* (Follow me, @M_Verger, the boys in the body text, and @CordellDoemling to follow the SL)