#but I’m only willing to stick it out because I know I’ll make more money if I stay here

[crowcryptid]

it’s so home of phobic that I spent most of june being exhausted

[igotanidea]

Date gone wrong : Jason Todd x plussize!fem!reader pt 1

@jasontoddsthickbabe - here you go :D

summary: being bigger girl is not always easy. Especially when it comes to the dating and relationships. However, they say that there are plenty fish in the sea, so maybe some people are just to stubborn to realise they are looking in all the wrong places,

This can be read as a story preceding to my other plussize!fem ff: Beneath and Snickers and Hoodies

Warning: mention of past trauma and eating disorder.

Clarification: I have nothing against make-up, dresses, woman's magazines and girls who are feminine. I'm just creating reader as more of a tomboy, because I seriously believe we need more representation of such.

***

„What are you doing?”

„Thinking.”

„You sure you are not worrying?”

“Yes, Dick, I am pretty sure I am not.”

“You got that face you know. “

“What face?”

“The face you do when you are worried” he grinned, making her roll her eyes

“You are unbelievable….”

“I know. Now come on, if there’s anything you want to share with your best friend….”

“On second thought there may be one thing.” She tapped her chin “and you may be right , I may want to share with my best friend.”

“Well then….”

“I’m gonna go find Tim. Have you seen him around?”

“That is so not fair!” Dick rushed right after her, not wanting to miss any of the gossip that she may tell Tim. After all, he was the oldest brother, and her oldest friend, it was his dutyto take care of Y/N.

***

Before Y/N started working in tech department of Gotham’s press and met Dick, she was a freelancer for a woman’s magazine. Now, thinking back it was the worst time of her life. She was never really interested in all those articles like  “12 make up tricks to make your eyes look bigger” or “10 ways to make a man fall for you” Ugh! This was just too objectifying – was it really the purpose of a girl to play pretend just to catch attention?  But she was newly graduated and needed money to keep herself afloat, so the best option to have any income was to adjust to the realities. And that meant accepting the open slot and cut down on her ambition. Just a bit and just for the time being.

“One year” she was telling herself “you have to stick here one year, get a name for yourself and then you will be able to choose any other newspaper to work for.”

Biting the bullet she was writing all those silly news and gossips, counting the days to the desired promotion and submitting to the wishes and whims of her boss. The editor was not the person to discuss with, she always knew better what would turn out to be popular, and when one day she called Y/N into her office, the girl knew there was a task for her. Arguably the one she would not like.

“I’m sorry, boss, you want me to do what?”  she raised an eyebrow involuntarily, but quickly realized it was not professional. She was the newbie, with no power to bargain, treated rather like a coffee delivery and courier than a real journalist. If she was to act even a bit too cocky with the boss that would end with her on the street.

“I’m pretty sure you heard me the first time, but I’ll repeat it for you. I need you to go to ten different dates with ten different boys found on dating app and write a reporting on it. “

“But….”

“No buts.” The boss cut her off “you got two weeks and I want to see it on my desk.”

“Two weeks?” that would mean she would be forced to go out almost every night “But…..”

“You can go now, Y/n. Good luck.”

This was like a nightmare coming alive. Y/N did not have good experiences with men or with dates or with that whole relationship stuff. Maybe it was partially because of her childhood issues. She never felt wanted or accepted for who she was. Her father practically did not care about her, only willing to acknowledge her presence when he was in need of help or feeling lonely enough to settle for her in the absence of someone better. Not exactly a role model. Y/N did not have any male friends in school as well, to focused on being an A grade student to please her strict mother. Burdened with pressures and expectations from everyone, herself included, she got dragged into eating disorder that left her a bit bigger than her friends. At some point it felt like food was her way to suppress all the emotions, good and bad. Instead of letting her feelings out she was drowning them by sticking food in her mouth and stomach. It was shameful and embarrassing and the more she tried to hide this sick self-defense mechanism the worse it got.  Finally, after a lot of hard work she dealt with it, but her weight and curves stayed in place. She was still bigger.   

On good days, the outlook and weight never bothered her, she was just doing her own things, not caring who thought what about her, but on the bad days – she didn’t even want to leave the house and show herself. On those days she watched comedies and sitcoms that would lift her spirits and help her regain some confidence. But not with men. Her sarcastic and a bit harsh attitude alongside with emotional unavailability was not helping either. There were countless times when she heard from her mother, grandmother, aunts and cousins that she should be sweeter, lighter, feminine ….. All those words made her laugh inside. To hell with those comments. She was not going to be the men pleaser, and if that meant being alone then so be it.

But now, the task to come was bringing back all her insecurities. Again. So instead of treating it like a cruel joke from the boss (since at first she believed it was assigned to her only to mock her) she started thinking about it more like a job.  Involuntarily she created a fake account on the app and started her work. Maybe this would turn out to be a good social experiment.

***

“Hey Tim, can I have a minute of your time….” Y/N asked noticing the middle Wayne seated on the couch with some newspaper in his hands  “what are you reading…..? Oh, shit……” she hissed realizing the article Tim was so engaged in.

“Y/N?” the boy raised head and his eyes landed straight on her face “You did work for this magazine in the past, right?”

“I…. um…. Yes” there was no point in lying. Knowing Tim, he already got everything figured out.

“And you had one very particular nick you used for your articles, right?”

“Yeah, I…..”

“I am sorry.” Tim put the paper down and stood up to hug his friend. Y/N just stood frozen for a second not sure what to do, but after a few seconds reciprocated his embrace “you did not deserve any of it.”

“It’s in the past, Tim. I haven’t really thought about it in a long time.”

“Still. You did not ….”

“Mhm, you said it” she cut him off “and thank you for that. But what interests me the most here is how the hell did you find this outdated magazine?”

“I…..” Tim hesitated  and scratched his head

“Oh, you were spying on me.” She smirked

“That’s not the word I would use, but…. Look, you have been sad lately and Steph suggested….”

“So she was involved in this as well, great. I guess I should have known it from the beginning.”

“Don’t be mad at me, Y/N.”

“I am not.” she assured “I just need you to keep it to yourself, all right? Can’t risk your brothers finding it and…..”

“Finding what?” Dick peeked through an open door with a shit eating grin on his face

“NOTHING!”

“Oh you two are hiding something.” He muttered coming closer to the sofa. Predicting his next moves, Y/N quickly reached for the magazine, grabbed it and started running the other way but before she was able to escape Jason stood in her way and she ended up crashing into his chest.

“Auch!” she yelled, the paper falling from her hands, while Jason’s arm grabbed her securing her before hitting the ground.  Too close, too damn close.

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, eyes switching between Tim, who just shrugged, Dick who quickly throw himself to gather the magazine and Y/N who wriggled out of his embrace, being the first to grab the paper.

“Come on, Y/N. Don’t be like that. Show me what is it.” Dick hissed, while Y/N hid behind Jay using him as a shield. “Don’t be a kid.”

“I am not the only one who’s acting like one! This is mine!”

“And yet, you let Tim read it!”

“In her defense, she didn’t know about it.” Tim chimed in

“Irrelevant. If Tim knows, we all knows.”

“Is that how it works now?”

“Pretty sure it was always like that.”

“I wonder why the hell do I even came here in the first place” Jason sighed and without any effort grabbed Y/N from behind, snatching that damn paper off her hands. “And you claim I am the crazy one here.”

“Give it back!” she struggled against his arms, but he did not let go. Just one of them was enough to keep her in place.

“What even is it? 10 dates that went wrong? Wait, did you write it?”

“Please…..” she whispered “please, give it back to me…..” her eyes were so pleading that it almost, almost got Jason wavering. He wondered why. Y/N just seemed to have strange effect on him and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

“I…..”

“Hey, Y/N. Relax. It’s just some funny article of yours, right. Nothing to be ashamed of. Or worried. Or…..” Dick opened the article, clearly ready to read it out loud “Y/N? Are you all right?” she was sobbing now and that was an unexpected view.

“You know what. I’m done fighting with you. Read ahead, but it’s not a funny little article.”

“Y/n….” Jason looked at her carefully. He recognized that look in her eyes. It was the same as he had when after coming back from the dead and dealing with all the shit in Gotham he still felt not wanted. Like a piece of trash. Clearly, just the title from the past brought some bad memories in her.

“I’ll be fine.” she took a step back “like I said, read ahead. Just…. not with me here” turning on her heels she rushed out of the living room.

“Tim?” Dick glanced at his younger brother.

“I’ll check on her. And just a word of advice to you two – prepare for some additional trauma after this.”

***

Date number  1 – he showed up late using some lame excuses about having an important job and being a really big fish. For the whole night he was talking about himself, not asking a single thing about me. After an hour of his monologue I excused myself into the bathroom to catch a breath and when I came back found him flirting with the sexy looking girl on the other table. “What, can’t blame me for being attracted to a good looking girl, for a change.

Date number 3 – he seemed like a nice guy. Came right on time, focused on me (perhaps a bit too much, not caring about personal distance), saying that he enjoyed my company. He paid for the meal. But when I started thinking that maybe, maybe he was a good one, the situation turned around. Despite my clear “no”, his hands were all over me, definitely in the places they should not. “come on, honey, you know no one else would want you. You’re just not the kind of girl to be desirable.” I used my pepper spray on him and got away, chased by his yells that I was a bitch

Date number 5 – “You should have posted your profile picture on the side. I wouldn’t have to waste my time if I knew you looked like this”

Date number 8 – “I believe man are far superior to woman. We are just stronger, tougher, smarter. Oh, and you probably did not know this, but color red is believed to be attracting to you, girls. I had plenty of woman falling to my knees just because I was wearing it.”

“Jason?” despite the seriousness dripping from the article Dick could not help a laugh

“What? That’s not why I chose to be Red Hood and you know it!”

 “Maybe that is why you are just staring at me with those dumb, pretty eyes without a single word.” I was staring, but definitely not because I was enamored by his behavior.

Date number 10 –Honestly, I was planning to skip it, but much to my surprise my date found me. “You must be Y/N” he smiled approaching the table “I knew it from the second I saw you sitting here all alone.”

“Did you?” I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, sipping on my drink.

“Mhm. You are smart girl. And those are rarely wanted. If you were pretty however….”

Ok, that was the end of that joke of a date.

So, to sum it all up, I am pretty sure finding yourself a good partner is a challenge I was not able to tackle. But if you follow all the rules and guidance we prepare for you in our magazine your chances for meeting your price charming are rising significantly. Go check our tips for weight loss and new trends in make up for the spring……

Dick voice broke at the ending, not capable of finishing.

“Poor Y/n” he sighed “she’s been though a lot.”

“She shouldn’t have searched on the Internet. “ Jason scoffed but clenched his fists. “She should have known better.”

“It was for a job.” Dick pointed out “she would never come up with something like this on her own and you know it.”

“How much time ago was it written?”

“Three years ago, why….? Jason! Jason! what the hell are you planning on doing?!”

“Making it right.” The younger brother muttered walking out of the room, grabbing his helmet on the way.

“Don’t you dare! Jason!” now Dick really felt like it was his responsibility to make sure his brother won't do anything stupid.

to be continued

@pinksirensong

[a-student-out-of-time]

If you want a more analytical take on ‘Queen of Despair’ from me, personally I feel like the reason LINUJ went ‘BTW these two are terrible people’ in the narration is because Iroha’s and Syobai’s actions fall into ‘Pay Evil unto Evil.’ territory. Like oh no they are scamming people that’s bad. But…they’re scamming Despairs who are basically demons incarnate so they basically deserved to get all their money stolen. I feel like he was trying to avoid people developing that mindset. (1/2)

//That’s a different take and one I can see working

//The thing is, while it’s a problem both have as writers, I think LINUJ is actually worse than Kodaka in that respect. While Kodaka doesn’t really present a nuanced view, he at least lets the events of the stories and actions of the characters largely stand on their own. He presents the conflict in extremely good vs. evil terms, to be sure, but that’s more of a lack of nuance

//LINUJ has the problem of being able to present a more nuanced view, then backpedaling and specifying who was wrong, that they’re bad people and that we shouldn’t agree with them.

Some examples:

Kizuna finds out that Yuki and Akane were the masterminds and tries to kill them despite both of them being amnesic of their identities...oh, but she’s a gold-digger and a bully, so we can’t say she was doing the right thing

Syobai was abandoned by his parents in another country, nearly sold into slavery and had to get by through selling whatever he could to survive. Despite becoming a cold-blooded survivor, he still has a sense of honor and takes a stand in favor of helping the others over saving himself...oh, but he’s still human garbage, so we can’t like him.

Kokoro is a genius with Alexithymia who wants to study human emotions, and while she has some darker qualities to her goal, she still has a caring and compassionate side and it was that lack of emotional understanding that sadly got her killed...oh but she’s also an abusive mother and nothing anyone did could’ve gotten her to change.

The Voids are a group of scared, lost, desperate children who are seeking out the power of Utsuro because it’s the only thing that’ll allow them to survive once their Divine Luck flips, and they’ll either return to their old lives or die...oh, but they’re still the masterminds of the game and thus deserve every bad thing that happens to them. They’re fated to die regardless of what anyone does.

//And that’s not even touching on the fact that he completely rewrote his plans for Kanade because of V3′s third chapter, and then talked about how her entire character now revolves around her her creepy obsession with her sister, and how nothing anybody did would’ve changed how she turns out

//I know LINUJ has a very different view on human nature from me, and I’m not gonna say he’s wrong. I’ll stick to my views on storytelling and just say that I don’t much care for stories or authors that feel the need to spell out who you should and shouldn’t be rooting for

//It almost feels disrespectful to fans of those characters if you tell them that they’re wrong for liking them and sympathizing with them, and it exposes a sort of narrative insecurity where you feel like people won’t grasp that what they did was wrong. Not to mention the idea that none of them would ever change, which...I mean, I don’t want to get into it, but that’s not a take on humanity I agree with either.

//Kodaka, for all his flaws as a writer, at least is willing to let people like villainous or morally ambiguous characters, and doesn’t go out of his way to tell you who’s right or wrong, or that they never would’ve changed no matter the circumstance.

//But most of all, it’s a disappointing case of show, don’t tell. If you want me to believe that these characters were bad people incapable of true growth or redemption as people, it’s up to you as the creator to make that abundantly clear in the story itself and not just their character sheet or a Q/A

//Some details can be left as author’s notes, but when it’s core to them as characters or the stories, you need to bring your A-game and make that obvious within the narrative

[katasstrophy]

Feel free to ignore this since this is wildly specific and may not be appropriate for your blog, but who out of the Bllk guys do you see as the biggest social activist or is the most progressive??? Bc I had an entire dream of hanging out with Reo for example and dropping at some point that I didn't really believe in capitalism as a just or fair system, and my god did we get into a debate lmao

hi nonnie!! a truly great perk about fiction is that it lets you explore more loaded topics like this in a safe, controlled environment without taking it too too seriously (i mean come on we are on the anime men thirst side of tumblr dot com after all hehe) so i’ll try to answer this to the best of my knowledge and character understanding, but i’m hoping all of us here can interpret things in good faith and remember to be respectful if you don’t happen to agree with opinions expressed here. SO

with that out of the way it’s interesting that you brought up reo because it got me thinking again of this panel from chapter 207 (so spoilers if you haven’t gotten that far)

the manga makes it very clear that reo grew up with both wealth and privilege, with his upbringing eventually building up to him one day taking over the mikage corporation, which i imagine fulfils every consumeristic and capitalistic example in the books, seeing as his parents’ company is portrayed to be one of the largest and richest businesses in the blue lock universe. reo is not only very willing to give that all up, but is actually adamant about making it big in the soccer world so he can stick it to his parents lol.

obviously we have to remember that where we currently are in the manga, with blue lock tv operating on subscriptions and betting pools from prominent clubs - it all still very much feeds into capitalism. that doesn’t exactly make reo progressive, but it does make him keenly aware of how the system works. i find this kind of reflects the mentality of those who benefit from capitalism - they’re aware maybe deep down it’s not a fair system, but they do not care or won’t ever admit to it because it’s making them wealthy.

ANYWAY that’s about as political as i’m brave enough to be on here, but i think it’s interesting where that leaves reo, with him all for “taking the funding of the money-loving capitalists” to motivate nagi to get a salary of 300 million yen so they can become the best in the world while he himself is like a… rogue son (???) of money-loving capitalist parents lmao. what i do know is that i would have LOVED to hear you debate with him hehe sounds like it got intense 👀

this is more of a gut feeling, but i think chigiri would be the most likely to partake in social activism, or at least as much as his contracts and career would allow him to. and with how much these bastards would get paid for being pro soccer players they BETTER be donating some of those figures to charities or nonprofits i got my eyes on them 🤨 in that aspect, again, chigiri comes to mind but also barou, hiori and yukimiya too. circling back to reo for a little bit, because apparently i can’t shut up about him lol, i feel like if he ever got hold of his inheritance? mans would absolutely donate most of it away out of spite pls he’s so petty

[irresistiibles]

hello waddup here is a plotting/starter call for the mini event! below the cut is just some brief descriptions of what my characters will be up to. toss this a like if you want to plot but also feel free to just reply and i will throw some starters your way once it starts. please specify who you want the starter from/for! some characters have more info than others because they just made more sense for the event, so if you want a general starter for anyone let me know. i’ll also be keeping most of my other threads of course, though i’m slowly dropping older stuff, so if you want a new thread for something fresh just let me know!

achilles (1/?) - josh washington

i for sure know he’s gonna wind up kicked out of the snowball fights. he’s not using any powers he’s sure of it but then why the fuck is his aim absolutely perfect??? he’s also a menace unafraid to just cram snow into someone’s face so he should not be there. after that he’ll mope and complain but just kind of check everything out. definitely not a big fan of the cold.

amber (1/?) -  imogen moreno

will be taking part in the snowman building competition and also just making snowmen in general. beyond that probably hanging out at the hot chocolate stand and generally having a good time

asami sato (0/?)

mostly exploring the vendors and buying a few too many gifts. gets weird rich people vibes during the holidays and may attempt to give things to strangers. not taking part in the snowball fights but will like watching.

chihiro ogino (1/?) - rei hino

mostly sticking to the food and drink vendors and giving in to her sweet tooth. will also want to watch some of the music performances. could attempt some ice skating or art but isn’t really interested in engaging in anything competitive. will try pouring espresso into hot chocolate.

ciel phantomhive  (1/?) - lizzie midford

his toy company has a stall again this year but because his memories are still out he’s actually having a semi enjoyable time. 

donna noble (1/?) - the twelfth doctor

not a big fan of the cold but she doesn’t want to be missing out. will be staying near the hot drinks and potentially doing some gift shopping for herself. will be getting several pictures with sexy santa

edward elric  (1/?) - winry rockbell

will get goaded into competitive snowball so fast it’s embarrassing. is having an automail arm that’s going to be stronger than any organic arm cheating? maybe so but what are they gonna do? tell him to take his arm off? i think not. my man is going to win.

entrapta  (0/?)

goes to build a wreath and somehow makes something completely different. or builds a snowman and tries to stick electronic parts in it to bring it to life. can she put launchers on the sleds? entrapta’s not sure but they definitely want to try. chaotic but having fun.

esther mckinnon (0/?)

she is a sucker for stuff like this and will be having a lot of fun. trying all the creative stands and hanging around the food vendors. really willing to try anything that isn’t competitive. 

glinda upland  (0/?)  

doing some shopping mostly and taking pictures (there will be a sexy santa picture for sure).  may try building a wreath but who knows if it’ll be any good.

jin ling  (1/?) - orpheus

does not know how to social and will bring the dog as a buffer and though he will not get a picture with santa he may get her to lmao. can also compensate for social struggles by just buying people things. dogs and money are the only way he knows how to make friends. will probably do some snowball fights

katya goncharova (0/?)

this all feels a little chaotic and maybe childish for her but katya will check it out regardless. she’s probably not well dressed for the cold but oh well. will do some shopping.

lily evans (2/?) - rubeus hagrid, marlene mckinnon

may offer to help referee a snowball match and will be trying to get holiday shopping done.

mianmian (0/?)

she’ll give ice skating a shot even though she has no idea how to do it. someone is more than welcome to try and help her. beyond that she’s keeping it chill.

madoka kaname (1/?) - homura akemi

having a lot of fun! she’s not as into the super active things but will be hitting up the food and craft stalls without hesitation. will also definitely hit up ice skating.

mob (2/?) -  lucrecia montesinos hendrich, rosemary winters

he’s not going to work at a stall but is willing to lend out his powers to help with set up, cleaning, whatever you need if you need a psychic to lift heavy things he is your guy. beyond that he wants to enjoy the other stalls, maybe try a craft or ice skating, but he’s an awkward guy and will need some help getting dragged into things.

nie huaisang  (1/?) - dani powell

someone out painting. ornaments are not his usual medium but he’s happy to trying. he likes the aesthetic of everything but will be complaining about the cold and going for several warm drinks.

rita skeeter (1/?) - sha hualing

giving unwanted commentary on the snowball and snowmen competitions. maybe even taking bets. getting pictures with sexy santa. judging people’s gift choices. being a general menace.

shang qinghua (0/?)

here for the food and drinks but could easily be bullied into face planting on the ice skating. he’s for sure whining about the cold despite the fact it’s incredibly manageable compared to what he’s used to.

shi qingxuan (1/?) - abby anderson

has a flask to pour into hot drinks because this whole thing is cute and fun but how are you supposed to stay warm in the winter without a little alcohol? come on people get it together. very social and will drag strangers into doing stuff with them because qingxuan hates doing things alone and makes friends by force

toph beifong  (2/?)  - aang, katara

struggling cause it’s cold enough that she has to wear shoes most of the time so they can’t use their earthbending to navigate super well but will take them off to be very competitive in the snowball fights!

victor nikiforov  (1/?) -  langa hasegawa

will mostly be on the ice rink showing off, but also offering to help people who are nervous ice skating. if there’s any alcoholic warm beverages he will be drinking a bit

zagreus  (0/?)  

had a fun time at the event last year and is coming back this year, at least a little more well dressed for the cold this time! will be doing some snowball fights before attempting some of the more chill stuff. man gets competitive fast though so he ay say he’s going to do a lot only to get stuck in matches for a while.

zhongli  (1/?) - childe

may be offering to referee some snowball fights. mostly just exploring vendors. this is an old immortal who just likes seeing societies getting together, so he’s mostly happily sightseeing in it all.

[jermai]

since novelAI is currently being used for art theft i’ve discontinued my subscription because i can’t support that. that being said, if you have a prompt you want to see, the time to send those in is now. theres like a month left before it expires then its limited generations. so it’ll become less frequent. i’ll probably put them on a queue. when the generations are less frequent the less likely it is for me to pull out the gold it can create.

that being said i’m still going to stick around and provide transcriptions for clips because i feel that they are a valuable resource for the accessibility of others. i’ll also hang around and jermapost.

as for the release of the AI as public use, i wanted to release it at jermAI’s 10th prototype and that progress is currently slowed. when i feel theres enough transcriptions to make that prototype i’ll fork up the money to novelAI and release it for public use.

there is however something i truly need help with and if you have coding knowledge related to novelAI or solutions the problem i’m having and are willing to help me out, info is below the read more.

i didn’t want to bring up the ugly side of ai development, but i feel its necessary to actually finish the AI, because it’s the main problem i’m having.

the AI doesn’t only pull from transcribed content, it pulls from the internet. and since the internet is full with harmful things, the AI will occasionally pull out some awful harmful and offensive things. i’ve tried to transcribe and put in summaries showing moments where jerma has been supportive of minority communities and anti-bigotry, but it still pulls. i think the solution may be an actual coding thing, like writing a script thats like these words aren’t allowed and then its a list of slurs. its ridiculous. i don’t have experience in the area of writing scripts like this and i don’t even know if novelAI can have that written into it’s modules.

SO if any of you have any experience with novelAI and coding that would help fix this, please reach out LOL, or if you have any idea to help resolve this issue i’d be incredibly grateful.

[anagramtransitory]

15. At the end of the day, all I’m ever really gonna do is what I put my heart into. And while my heart and mind are filled with anger at the rest of the world I can’t focus on myself like I deserve to be able to. Some people only figure that out when it’s too late, some people don’t care. The power and intensity of things I put my heart and mind into is really something to behold. And when I don’t care, I don’t care at all. So anybody that wants anything from me should make sure to not do anything to signal to my my heart shouldn’t be in my work anymore. It’s happened recently, it’ll happen often, but usually, work is worth putting your heart and mind and body and soul into, because anything you put love into you’ll get good results out of. With myself, good results are infinitely possible. With people who treat others like servants: good results are not possible at all in any way that’s worth it and genuine. Again: I don’t get roped into things, into states of effort. It’s a conscious daily choosing to hold ideas in my head or to discard them and take up others. I know I am nothing to them, but I am everything to myself. If I ever want anything I’ll go get it for myself. If I ever have a problem I’ll fix it myself. There is nothing I can do about other people. I can only ever control myself. I can only ever parent myself. My life will never be fun or easy, but that’s what I’ve chosen for myself. I’ve seen fun and easy lives, and I don’t want that for myself, there’s enough of those around to get you sick of anything fun or easy. Here’s what it will be: a continual improvement, a lifetime of gathering cool things and information, a lifetime of giving and getting kindness, a lifetime where I only get stronger in the face of challenges which I conquer alone. Of being tall, and strong, and able/willing to help with a lot of problems others can’t/aren’t, and not owing anybody money, and having insurance, and having all my teeth, and having non-broken glasses, and knowing and trusting myself and fixing myself on a level few people who are scared/financially unable to be alone ever do. I don’t need easy and fun. I don’t want easy and fun. And anyone that demands my life be that way to stick around in it isn’t my type at all, truly. I’m never gonna sell my soul, and I’ll never be in a position to have to anyways. It’ll be a lifetime of being misunderstood at first. It’ll look like I’m cold and obsessed with money. And I will be cold and obsessed with money. But also, I’m powered by love and live based on a philosophy of kindness=strength and kindness/love=meaning. Right now, I have the gift of obvious problems. Soon, I’ll miss it, when people think I’m capable of way more than I am, or that I’m way more normal than I am. That’ll be a hard one to explain: “oh no, I’m not normal, I’m normal but in an abnormal way with abnormal methods of achieving at appearance of functionality.” That’ll sound like a normal thing to do. Fake it till you make it and all that normal stuff. Not: “I am basically insane and have imaginary parents and have so many issues that would horrify you, I’ve seen the worst things in the world with these same eyes and also the best things, I am very intense very large very androgynous and the least stable normal person you’ll be able to find around here by here. If my soul isn’t in every little thing I do I shut down. I live in silence as I have for many many years. (:”People…do not care. I could say all that and people would be unfazed. That’s their problem. They should be fazed, I am a walking possible large problem that doesn’t go away that they don’t want if I decide I don’t like them. I am very friendly. It will hurt when I shut any possible relationship down over and over for years. I will want it to hurt. People are really bothered by conflict that doesn’t get resolved in a way that I am not. I am a snapping turtle. You should be fazed, or have heard anything I just said, if I explain why I shouldn’t be asked to do normal woman things, and I’m being serious. You know who will always listen, though?

[chamoemileclown]

I honestly would love to talk to you about 3d because I really like your 3d works but i' m like really shy so , do you have any advice you would like to give people starting doing 3d art? (sorry if bad english)

I do!! I’m so sorry this took me so long to answer I’ve been busy and wanted to explain this in a proper/ thought out way so here’s just some things about my experience getting into 3D below the cut.

Okay so I think one of the biggest things you should know about before getting into 3D modeling is that you don’t necessarily need to be an art person to get into 3D modeling?

I’m mostly an illustrator and sometimes and animator but I’ve found that those skills don’t really transfer over into 3D as much? If that makes sense. Of course it helps for things like texturing but it’s not the exact same thing they’re very different skill sets.

As long as you have a laptop/ or pc already on hand it costs nothing to get into 3D modeling. Most programs are free (blender and blockbench are at the very least and those are the two I use) and I don’t use any fancy equipment to model I just use the trackpad on my laptop and I find that easier than my drawing tablet. (I know a lot of people who model use a mouse but I get by fine without one)

If you’ve ever tried to get into 3D modeling, opened up a program, and then went “wow this is really overwhelming” I’d recommend using blockbench. It’s a 100% free, open source program intended to be used to model and animate entities in minecraft but you obviously don’t have to do that. It’s relatively limited, you won’t get like high poly really smooth models but it has enough tools to acclimate you to modeling and learn some of the shortcuts. I like it because there isn’t a lot going on with the program so you aren’t just overwhelmed with options. You can also edit and pose minecraft skins in this program if that’s something you’re interested in.

I’ll link some tutorials at the end that helped me if anyone reading this wants some guidance on getting into block bench and I might stick in some blender stuff too. For what I do I model and texture in block bench then export it into blender so I can do some lighting effects and render the model.

By biggest pieces of advice is really just to:

-Don’t let it frustrate you. If something isn’t working or you’re confused walk away, think things through, and then come back to your project. Don’t feel scared to consult tutorials or ancient reddit posts to try to troubleshoot. Just don’t troubleshoot while frustrated, that always makes me want to drop the whole process. Don’t feel discouraged if you have bumps in the road it gets so much easier after you’ve done it a few times.

-Never spend money on courses/ programs. Maybe this is because I’m broke but like unless you know you’re really into it and you’ve exhausted all your resources it’s not worth buying something. There’s so many free resources and so many people out there who are willing to help you out. I’m more than willing to help anyone if they have any problems with blockbench. Artists should uplift other artists my inbox is always open to questions.

-Start small and slow with projects and build from there. I think this applies to art in general but if you start out with a big complex project you will only confuse yourself. Just start small and familiarize yourself with your tools. Your first model may not look the best and thats okay (I definitely made some scary looking stuff that hasn’t seen the light of day)

-You don’t need to know a program inside out before you start. I’m better with hands on learning so being able to explore myself helped me personally. I still don’t know everything about blockbench (I haven’t even touched the animate tab) and I know nothing in blender other than rigging together lighting and moving around the camera. That doesn’t mean I can’t render cool stuff.

-Learn the keyboard shortcuts!!!! Can’t emphasize this one enough but it’s true. It’s so much easier to really navigate and use blockbench once you know the keyboard shortcuts. ctrl z to undo and ctrl y to redo are essential to know. Most functions you can hover over and they’ll show you the shortcuts. Don’t be stubborn like me and learn them they’ll just make your life easier.

-Organize your cubes when modeling, use folders to their fullest potential and name them when you can. It gets confusing quick and you can always select a cube to show you where it is but it’s so much easier for your to label things as something like “left leg” than “cube43”.

Okay here’s some tutorials now:

(side note, not sure what your native language is anon but all these tutorials are in english. A lot of blockbench tutorials are sparse and blockbench is sourcing community translations of the program in a ton of different languages [including French, Portuguese, and Spanish] so check those out if you’re interested)

The fundamentals of blockbench, just some very basic stuff about modeling and how things work

This one is a little longer and I didn’t follow it exactly but I feel like this explained a lot about the basics of modeling that helped me:

This video is all about texturing and I found it very informative. It’s short but to the point and covers a lot of the different options with texturing

This is one of the only tutorials I could find about exporting models from blockbench and importing them into blender to render out. I wouldn’t worry about this step yet until you got modeling down and want to present your work nicely.

This tutorial is about rendering and using hdris in blender. I wouldn’t worry about this one either until your more comfortable with modeling but it’s a really great resource on how to make your model look really nice.

Another don’t worry about it yet tutorial! Lighting in blender, this is a really great detailed overview of lighting in blender. If you already learned how to use hdris in the last tutorial you might not really want to worry about this but if you want to use more dynamic and even colorful lighting this is a really great resource!

[roseblack2222]

Erased

I need help badly. I’m not sure where else to turn, so I’ll post here. Does anyone at all know a man maned Ernest Treverson? Blonde hair, green eyes, above average height, big on jogging. I can’t find him anywhere and it’s because of that thing, that abomination.

I suppose some background is necessary. Ernest and I went way back from meeting in eighth grade and since then we did pretty much everything together. We were like magnets sticking together. Now, I will say while he was always health-conscious, I was anything but. He’d be having a protein shake a day and the only protein I’d be getting would be from a Big Mac large combo.

The topic of my weight would be brought up a lot by both family and friends much to my annoyance. I was in denial which resulted in me being morbidly obese up until about two years ago. Ernest and I kept in touch after graduation. He continued his passion for fitness and became a motivational instructor. Meanwhile, I didn’t have money for college so I ended up taking different office jobs, something where I could sit on my ass all day.

This, of course, didn’t help my weight problem. It was getting worse and a visit to my doctor gave me a serious reality check. Extreme cholesterol and on the verge of becoming diabetic will give anyone a serious fright. Not to mention, the heartburn I would occasionally experience around that time. In fact, he said I was lucky I hadn't experienced a heart attack at that point.

I was scheduled with a nutritionist who informed me if I wanted this reversed, I would need a serious lifestyle change. The issue is I’ve never been good at committing to something like that. I’d try crash diets plenty of times only to fall off them mere months later. That night after my nutrition appointment, I did a lot of introspection, going over each time I tried and failed to change my habits. I already knew where I was going wrong.

The main issue is that, as unhealthy as my lifestyle was, it was comfortable. Exercise and healthy eating require dedication. Why do all that when you can get a Baconator from Wendy’s? Convenient and satisfying with the only drawback of clogging your arteries like wet cement through a garden hose. The more I thought about things, the more I began to realize the reason I kept failing was that I would always rely on willpower alone.

What I required was outside help and therefore, I turned to Earl. We both didn’t work weekends so I gave him a call.

“Travis, how’s it going?”

“Can you help me with something?”

“Sure, what?”

I explained everything to him and his response almost made it seem as if he’d been expecting this from me for a while.

“I can help you no problem, but if you aren’t willing to make a permanent change then there’s no point.”

Even though his words stung, I knew he was right.

“How do you do it?” I asked. “It’s so hard for me.”

“Well, why don’t you come over tomorrow and we can see if we can figure something out? Be there early and bring your jogging clothes.”

Another way in which we differed was that he was a morning person who’d be up an hour prior to the crack of dawn. Meanwhile, if work wasn’t a factor, I’d be awake bright and early at two in the afternoon. I drove to his place and parked in his driveway. He must’ve already heard my car’s engine because he came out to greet me.

“Why’d this have to be so early?”

“You’ll be doing more than that if you’re serious about turning things around.”

We went inside and talked for a bit on his couch and I told him how it was hard for me to resist temptation.

“Have you considered that your issue may be you’ve been trying to do too much at once?”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, you said that you always try to only eat healthy with your diet, right?”

“Yeah.”

"And that you only tried to eat healthily?"

"What about it?"

"What if instead, you used certain foods as an incentive?"

That piqued my interest so I asked him to elaborate.

“In short, instead of quitting the food you like altogether, try the healthy alternatives like I mentioned and give yourself a cheat day.”

“Cheat day?”

“Where you treat yourself to whatever foods you want for a day.”

“That might work. Is it a once-a-week thing?”

“How often did you say your diets lasted again?”

“Only a few months, four at the most.”

“Then try a once-a-month cheat day.”

I thought about it and saw no fault in his logic. If I was able to go months at a time without junk food, in theory, what Earnest was proposing made sense.

“Now, you’ll slip up sometimes,” he continued. “Don’t worry about that. It happens. Besides, once we get you in shape, you’ll be able to afford a few extra treats outside of your cheat days. Just don’t overdo it. Anyway, are you ready to get started?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be I guess.”

Ernest told me to pick an exercise to help with my weight loss and I chose jogging because it seemed like the easiest. That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. Over the next few months, I was subject to two-hour-long runs and my feet would be screaming at me by the end of them. My diet also changed drastically and it actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Ernest gave me some of his recipes, including a pretty good protein shake.

Turns out that no matter what you put in if you add chocolate that’s all you’ll taste. Even though I didn’t find turkey burgers as good as beef, the way he had me prepare them was undeniably tasty. I should mention, my two-hour runs were spaced out, once in the morning and the other after work, and two hours straight on my days off. I wanted to quit plenty of times and I would have if not for Ernest.

He kept pushing me and while I did get irritated with him, he remained patient. I apologized to him and he laughed it off, saying he’s dealt with much worse. Eventually, my hard work paid off and my pounds slowly shed. It felt great., especially in contrast to how I was originally. I was proud of myself and so was he. In fact, when I hit my goal he treated me to pizza at a local spot we went to often back when we were in school.

He paid most of the time. I don’t want to get too off-topic, but I didn’t have the best home life growing up so I would spend a lot of time at his place. Eating at that place really took me back. Even after my weight loss, he and I would still jog together. We would talk which would help time fly.

By then, he’d gotten a girlfriend named Kristy which meant he and I weren’t hanging out as much. That’s to be expected, though. However, about two weeks ago something happened during one of our jogs. Looking back, something about that night felt off and in retrospect, we should have recognized that as a warning sign. We met at the usual trail and found that we were the only ones there.

“Looks like it’s going to be quiet,” Ernest commented as we were stretching.

“Fine by me,” I replied, “I hate having to deal with the cyclists.”

We hit the trail and made conversation as usual.

“So. how’s work?” he asked me.

“Pretty good, I switched jobs.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. It’s hard for me to sit still for a long time now. I wanted something where I was moving around more.”

“What did you switch to?”

"Security at the natural history museum."

"Cool."

"Thanks, anyway what's been going on with you?"

He glanced at me and his lips curled into a smile.

"What is it?" I asked with a slight chuckle.

"I'm going to ask Kristy to marry me."

"Holy shit. Are you serious? Dude, that is awesome. Who else have you told about this?"

"Only you."

"Only me?"

"Yeah because you won't talk. Kristy means a lot to me so I want to get this right."

He and her really did make a good couple. I just wish their relationship didn't have to end the way it did.

"Well, good luck with that. Let me know where the wedding will be so I can drop off my gift."

"Come on, Travis, don't be like that. You know you're the only one I want as my best man."

Truth be told, I've never seen the appeal of weddings. However, in Ernest's case, I was willing to make an exception. We were coming up to a curve in the trail that was overshadowed by branches.

"Alright, I guess I can pop in for a little while."

"Hell yeah, that's the spirit. I knew I could count on you."

"No prob-"

I stopped. Then so did he.

"Travis? What's wrong?"

I pointed and he squinted. Then he grew concerned as well. There was a long-haired woman sitting on the trail. She was in a crouching position and from what we could tell, she had her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Do you think she’s an addict?” I whispered, not wanting to alert her.

“Could be,” Ernest replied. “She must be freezing.”

The woman was only wearing a gown similar to the ones in hospitals.

“Maybe she got out of a facility,” I said. “Know what? I’m getting a bad feeling about this. We should head back.”

“What if she needs help?”

“Then we’ll call someone.”

“Like who, the cops? Come on, you know how they treat these kinds of people. Besides, what can she really do against the two of us?”

I couldn’t deny his points. Still, I wasn’t able to shake off the sense something wasn’t right.

“Look,” Ernest went on, “we’ll see if she has a medical band and if it has a number we can call. If not, we’ll turn around and leave. Sound good?”

“I guess.”

We approached the woman. Ernest was in front with me slightly behind him.

“Excuse me,’ he called out to her. “Do you need some help?”

She shifted slightly but didn’t respond. Up close, we could now see her skin was eerily pale. I wondered how long she’d been out there before we found her. Ernest stepped closer and I watched closely. What happened next did so in slow motion.

He reached for her and that’s when she acted. She looked up from the trail. Her face made my breath stop. It wasn’t ugly. It was wrong.

I don’t know how else to explain it other than it was as if she was never meant to be there. I wanted to shout at Ernest to get away from her. Before I could, it was already too late. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist exposed between his glove and sleeve. He vanished.

It wasn’t some rapture scenario where his clothes were left behind. He was completely gone simply by that woman making contact with him. She stood up fast and I could now see that her arms were incredibly long. They had multiple joints giving them a crooked appearance. She used a nearby branch for support.

It vanished too. What was unsettling is that there wasn’t even any imprint or indication a tree was ever there. I backed up slowly and I swear she smiled at me. I didn’t waste another second. I bolted.

She was fast and in the back of my mind, I was questioning how she was able to keep up without shoes on. Then again, there’s no way she could’ve been human. I’m so grateful for Ernest whipping me into shape because that saved my ass. I didn’t dare glance back.

However, every so often I would feel the breeze on the back of her neck when she tried swiping at me. I pushed myself harder than I ever have in my life. Up ahead, was the parking lot. To my confusion, Ernest’s car wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t have time to think about that, though.

I hit unlock on my keys and yanked the door open, slamming it closed and locking it when I was inside. As soon as I was, I jumped as the woman’s hand slammed against my window. She began pounding it in an enraged frenzy and a crack was quickly forming. Shakily, I jammed my keys into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life and I reversed it, speeding the fuck out of there with her still giving chase.

I glanced at my rearview mirror, She was standing at the edge of the parking lot, screaming her head off. The sound of it was deafening and it made my windows rattle. When I got home, I immediately reported Ernest missing. Then I called Kristy. Her reply has left me shaken to my core.

“Who’s Ernest?”

My veins turned my blood to frost.

“What the hell do you mean?” I shouted.

“Travis, calm down.”

“Ernest, you know, the guy who’s been your boyfriend for the last four years?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, I don’t know if you’re on drugs or something, but you should get help.”

She hung up, leaving me dumbfounded. Was this a joke? I couldn’t imagine her pulling a prank this cruel. I tried his parents next and got a similar result. I even tried his sister, Ann and some of our other friends. They all thought I had lost it.

The police contacted me and I was told not to waste their time by giving fake reports. I couldn’t believe it. Nobody else believed Ernest ever existed. I’ve tried convincing people to no avail. Whatever scenario they met him in has been wiped completely from their memories.

I’ve even asked how I met them since sometimes Ernest introduced me to people. They’ll describe the correct places only without Ernest there and with someone else introducing me aside from him. None of this makes any sense. Ann insists it was her I spent the most time with when we were younger. Both of them were less than a year apart.

I don’t get what’s going on. There’s no way all my memories can be wrong. I may have a lot of flaws, but forgetfulness isn’t one of them. I know there was an Ernest Treverson who was my best friend. I know we grew up together and I know he’s the only reason I’m still here to type this.

I know all this and that I’m not crazy, because I still have a gift he bought me. It’s a Fitbit that he ordered online and nobody else can confirm they brought it for me. I even checked through my order history on every account I have which means I couldn’t have been the one to buy it. Too bad that won’t be enough to convince people. At the very least, it’s given me some peace of mind.

I’m not sure why I’m the only one who remembers him. Maybe it has something to do with the fact I was the last person to see him before he disappeared. What was that woman and where did she come from? What is she? I’ve been trying to figure that out for weeks now and have come up with nothing.

It’s as if she made it so Ernest never even existed in the first place. How many others has she done this to? When someone dies or goes missing, there’s usually something they leave behind. Even blood or a butchered corpse are signs that a thinking feeling person with family and friends once lived. No matter how gruesome, they were signs a person was once here.

Ernest doesn’t even get that. I’m so angry about all of this. I want to confront that woman again. I want to make her pay for what she did and demand she bring him back, but I know that I would only end up meeting the same fate in all likelihood. Still, if anyone knows anything that might help bring him back, please share it.

That woman didn’t kill him. She made it so he was never here, to begin with, and to me, that is a very scary thing.

Author's note: It's been a while since I uploaded a story here, This one was originally posted to the NoSleep subreddit and I thought I'd share it with you all. If you read it, let me know what you think and if you like it consider tipping me, checking out my links at the end of the story, or just sharing my work. Whatever you can do helps and is appreciated.

[cpanther]

K&K Book 2 exert

An hour after he left the station he was before the needed warehouse. Rex had called him back letting him know that it appeared that there was a Kareen Mayshellfeel listed in one of the city state records. She was fifty four years of age, elf as her mugshot showed. “There’s a few variations of her name each one the vital information is the same, age and race is pretty much unchanged. She changed her birth date a couple of times but not enough to change her over all age.”

“Is this current name the right one?”

“Seems to be. She’s been married four times, each one she got a large share of the cash, either because he passed away, and before you ask no, I doubt she had a hand in. he died while fighting the lizards on Karen. She was here body was sent back.”

“How sure are they?”

Rex sighed. “Positive, his face wasn’t touched Konya. They like to make sure we know who they killed.”

true enough. The lizards no matter how brutal never messed with the face, at least not enough to change what a person looked like. They wanted the army to know who they held. More than a few of their people took their lives when they could removing the pain and the lizards ability to torture them. “When will it end?”

“When the lizards are willing to surrender, and stick to their native lands instead of trying to take over the island. Not that I really blame them. We did colonize the land.”

“Years before they were even a people.”Konya reminded his elven friend.

Rex sighed. “I know that man, but they were intelligent and they have records of a time when there was no one else. Most of them still believe they would have discovered fire without us.”

It was possible of course but as the lizards hadn’t progressed much in the past several hundred years Konya wasn’t inclined to believe it. “So her first died while on Karen?”

“Second too.” Rex told him as he’d made his way to the warehouse he’d need. According to the residences someone was always there and if he had the money they could even make a new ID though that was far more costly. One told him it was better to do it the legal way once they had the “proof” of residency.

“She married another army man?”

Rex confirmed it. “Yup. Both times she got a nice pay out. I think she was hoping the third would go as well but he was discharged before he brought the farm. They stayed together for a couple of months then she divorced him. She got half his pension, a good part of his discharge pay and an insurance policy she’d taken out before he got back. From what I’m seeing that was never cashed out. From what I’m seeing her forth was another divorce, he files. Not sure why. She didn’t get much, a few thousand, a car and of course another insurance policy. The last and the one the police want her for –”

Konya cut him off. “But our papers say insurance fraud.”

“True see the thing is she claimed to be married to a man who’s… well dead yes but he died about a week before the insurance claim was filed.”

The door to the warehouse stood before him. “So she found a guy who was either already dead or she killed him filed the claim, waited a few days and then what cashed it out?”

“Pretty much. In a way it was ingenious, she didn’t have to be with him only have enough information to sell the insurance company, she just had to plan it right, old guy keels over dead ans she collects.”

“What was the tip off?” He asked sucking in smoke as he lit the end of his cigarette.

Rex sighed. “A second claim, and a dead body weeks old found in the guys bed.”

that would do it. “Huh. So the cops have her on fraud. And possible murder. I’ll call you back.” With that he hung up took three more long drags before he tossed it and headed inside.

If he’d expected some dark room, with a common household printer going in a corner while a man took cash and promised the world he was very wrong. Instead the warehouse was brightly lit, several commercial printers were going, one making the needed envelopes including the windows, on another machine a stack was being put through to have the plastic added, rid printer was clearer of a more house hold size. Konya watched as one man pulled a sheet off the printer double checked it then carefully using a folding machine folded it then inserted it into one of the stacks of envelopes it was added to a small pile. When he finished he rose heading to another table and handed them off to the person seated there. Money changed hands and that one left.

[88088-8]

It’s sad to say but right now I’m really just feeling it over everything and I know the only thing that makes me not feel suicidal is my daughter. I don’t feel like my mom loves me like I need to be loved. I don’t feel like the man I’m supposed to marry loves me like we need to be love, and also on top of that neither of them are willing to learn. And I know years ago by and Halie will leave me too and I’ll be left alone. Like I always have been.

I just feel like I’m putting all this effort and the people who are only putting effort into themselves. And I’m just helping them take care of them and at the end of the day whenever I need help or I ask for anything my needs usually are not met.

And I don’t have anyone I can talk to about it. I don’t wanna give up, but I feel like it. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve spent the last nine years building a relationship in a family with a man who doesn’t have any appreciation and respect for me and the things that I do. If I don’t make money a lot of value, and even if I do make money, I’m not a volume as I’m making more money than him and if I ever make more money than him, then it would be a total power trip and he would not like that either so there’s literally no winning.

I just want to give up. But I can’t leave Halie and Avery. What really sucks is whenever I start feeling really bad for the person who supposed to be my person acts like I’m just being dramatic. He’s never on my side he never sticks up for me. I mean if he does love me, his love isn’t enough for me.

Maybe mines not enough for him. He says that I talk to my shit but what do you means is I have a nasty town because I have anxiety I am overwhelmed or I told him this already and he doesn’t listen to me.

But whenever he talks to me like shit, he’s actually calling me names. Call me stupid or dumb ass or something today. And whenever I said, I feel like a second glasses in my own home, he told me this isn’t my home.

So yeah. And I know probably never get an apology and even if I do, it’ll happen again next week.

Basically, he was implying today that if I continue to bitch, I don’t have anywhere to live.

But I had asked him to get my nails done and get a birthday gift for Nataly. And he acted all like bothered by the fact that I asked him that and then he said that he just wish I could get my own nails done with my own money.

Which mind you a couple weeks ago I got my nails and toes done and he and I both agreed I should do it more often and it looks nice. He likes it and I like it..

But he hates when I ask him for money. And tbh I wasn’t even mad that I wasn’t going to get a gift for my nose and I was more mad. He acts bothered by anytime I ask him for something. Like I’m able to get it any other way?

So I said, never mind and I went to my bathroom and I started filing my own no polish off, and I was going to make them look presentable for this dinner I’m supposed to go to for Nataly‘s birthday. So he came in with money. I’m sorry to yelling at me telling me to go and I was just like forget it never mind I don’t wanna make you feel stressed out or you know I don’t like feeling like a burden so

And by that he took it to the point where he told me, I don’t have a house. So I gave him all of the logins to all of the new business I’m setting up and I’m just gonna let him do it because he can do it better than him as he says.

I’m just worth nothing.

[faithhearted]

Clown Girl and Mr. Dentist sounded like the perfect match. They could have little clown children with perfect teeth and all would be well, albeit bizarre. It seemed as though there was someone for everyone. Well, everyone except Rebekah, who couldn’t even make it work with a socially awkward orthodontist. If Clown Girl could make it work, maybe Rebekah needed to take some notes, because the woman must be doing something right. 

Benjamin made a good point. Raising a baby wasn’t exactly cheap. There was no telling if she’d wind up conceiving on the first cycle, or the second, the third, and so on. That was assuming it was successful at all. Regardless of the success rates, there was always a chance that it might not work – rendering all the money spent for nothing and sticking her with another round of payments if she wasn’t too emotionally crushed to try again.

If it did succeed, then a baby needed all sorts of things, the most important of those things being formula and diapers. With as expensive as those things were getting with the rise in inflation, it was no wonder stores had to keep those things under lock and key nowadays. 

Amid the awkward proposal of sleeping together to avoid the test tubes, turkey basters, and wasted money altogether, it was obvious to both of them that it would be equally as strange. 

"Look," Benjamin cautiously treaded as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "you're definitely right: it'd be way too weird... I've never slept with a friend before, so I'm not even sure I'd be able to get in the mood." 

Bekah wished she had more water to sip at as she pondered how much easier it might be for her to get in the mood with him than the other way around. She was the one who’d harbored a crush on him all those years ago, and him turning out as handsome as he did present day was prompting a lot of those feelings to resurface, even as they sat there in a crowded diner discussing perhaps the most ludicrous of topics. 

"Unless, of course, you started playing Randy Newman in the background," he teased. 

“Right. I’ll be sure to add it to the sex playlist,” she answered sarcastically. Wait. Did anyone other than her even keep a sex playlist? Did she have room in her mouth for more than one foot?

He must have found it funny because he laughed, "Still, I'm sorry for making this a whole ordeal. I just wanted you to save your money...but I guess if this is the cheapest option, then we'll do it." 

“I mean, it isn’t the cheapest option, bu-” she paused, needing to backtrack on the conversation to register that he’d just agreed, “Y-you’ll do it? Really?” 

This time when she slumped back in the booth, it was in relief rather than anxiety.

"I can help with the bills, if need be. Seems only fair, since...you know..." He gestured between them. "I may not have asked for this, but if you insist upon mixing our genes together, then I consider this partially my responsibility."

About to protest, Bekah paused to consider. It would certainly be a big help with all the impending medical bills, as well as anything they’d need to prepare for the non conventional arrival of a bundle of joy. Maybe she should let him do it, especially if he wanted to. 

Breaking the momentary silence, he added, "Will I even be able to call this child mine, or...? Would that be 'too weird' too?"

Oh. Oh…

Feeling like a fool, she stared at him, gawking in confusion. How could she not have considered that he might actually want to be a part of the child’s life? Unlike getting a random container of sperm from some stranger that had donated to the clinic, Benjamin was someone she knew well enough to call a friend, who’d grown up with her, who she’d flown all the way out to Connecticut just to have this conversation with. Of course he’d want to have some say in the life they were about to create together. 

“Well, if that’s what you want, then we could work something out. I’m certainly willing…Should we get a lawyer and draw up official paperwork concerning it?...Would you want some sort of custody?” 

Regardless of how it might complicate things, her eyes were soft and curious. Maybe it was too early for such questions, but now that they were on the topic, she wasn’t sure what was appropriate anymore.

Rebekah made a face. “Please, do not call them ‘swimmers.’ This is hard enough for me as it is.”

Ben scoffed. "Okay, Mother Teresa, then what should I call them? Baby messengers? Little pollinators?"

Despite her visible disgust, Rebekah laughed. “She wanted to cram you inside her clown car, huh? Sounds rough. You really kept the rain check?” 

"Well, at least I could cram several children inside her, if I wanted to," Ben quipped. "And yeah, I did, actually...figured it was a nice souvenir, if nothing else, to prove it actually did happen. I was afraid -- or perhaps hopeful? -- that I'd had too much to drink."

Rebekah winced. “Okay, I might have you beat still. One time I went out with a dentist and his idea of foreplay was giving me a free check-up – a literal checkup at his office. I never called him back and a few weeks later I got the bill in the mail.” 

Ben laughed. "Okay, yes, that's pretty bad," he agreed. "Do you think maybe he'd like Clown Girl's number? She might enjoy the water getting sprayed inside her mouth, seeing how it's on par with the whole 'squirting carnation' thing."

A look of unease crossed Rebekah's face, and feeling slightly guilty for bringing up the monetary expense, he almost asked her to drop it when she said, “Depending on what my insurance doesn’t cover, it'd be 300 bucks per cycle – uh, the process lasts for six of them. Technically, you’d be donating to the clinic, but I could financially compensate you, if that’s a concern.” 

"What?" Upper lip curling, Ben was quick to shake his head. "No, that's not why I asked...it's just...children are expensive, Bekah, and throwing out approximately eighteen-hundred bucks that could go towards your baby seems wasteful."

Rebekah dropped her fork with a loud and jarring clank. She blinked up at him, stunned, before asking, “You’re saying that…that you’d rather sleep with me?”

Ben balked. "W-well, no, but...I-I mean, I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing to happen, like being under duress, but-"

���Seriously, that wouldn’t…I don’t know, be weird to you?”

Okay, so she had a point.

Sighing, Ben pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, slowly rubbing as he contemplated the best way to dig himself out of the hole he'd so inconveniently fallen. "Look," he cautiously treaded, "you're definitely right: it'd be way too weird... I've never slept with a friend before, so I'm not even sure I'd be able to get in the mood." Here, he lifted his head with a hint of impishness. "Unless, of course, you started playing Randy Newman in the background."

He laughed then, knowing he wasn't about to let her forget this any time soon. "Still, I'm sorry for making this a whole ordeal. I just wanted you to save your money...but I guess if this is the cheapest option, then we'll do it." Ben looked up at her again. "I can help with the bills, if need be. Seems only fair, since...you know..." He gestured between them. "I may not have asked for this, but if you insist upon mixing our genes together, then I consider this partially my responsibility."

A silence passed over the table, long and dense before he asked, "Will I even be able to call this child mine, or...? Would that be 'too weird' too?"

[toby-determined]

Day 20: Short and Sweet One-Shot - 10 Story Pitches that got denied

1.

“It will feature where, when, and how. People love interactive things so they’ll want to try going to the locations that I’ve written into the article which will help people be more engaged with both the town itself and the nature surrounding us. It’ll be great! Kids will like it, too, because they love them so much, you know.” 

“Rocks?” Morales deadpanned. “Kids love rocks?”

2.

“There has to be something going on down in there. People have reported hearing strange noises coming from them from all over the town! Even from within their houses. My theory is some sort of animal probably got all the runoff from the magic of this town and transformed into some sort of terrible monster that will eventually hurt someone. I’m willing to investigate this myself, I’ll even-”

“Toby, you’re not going down into the sewers.”

3.

“The hospital staff were so adamant that I couldn’t come in that they had security toss me out. That means the rumors have to be true! Why else would they not want me in there asking questions? If a kid sticks a magnet up his nose that’s anyone's Friday. But a fairy flying up some kids nose by mistake? Now that’s what we need on our front page!”

4.

“I’m telling you, this will be a big hit! Everyone in this town has been trying to get their hands on that thing for years. I mean, I personally wouldn’t know since I’ve only been here for a couple but from what I’ve heard from other people? It’s worth killing over! I have a foolproof plan that will ensure that secret will be everyone’s to share, not just some capitalist trying to make money off the common folk.” 

“I don’t think old lady Manning is a capitalist and you cannot break into her house for a apple tart recipe, Toby.”

5.

“Now I’ll have to go undercover for this one but with a little research and a good makeover I know I can pull it off! I may have to miss a few days in the office but it will be worth it to bust this thing wide open. Think of all the people that will be grateful to us, the Swynlake Squire, when we expose these people for what they really are! We’ve all just been living with them right under our noises, I mean the parent population alone in this town will be sending us fruit baskets for weeks!” 

“Toby, there is not a secret drug ring going on at the secondary school and even if there was you could not pass as a student.” A beat. “Or a dealer.”

6.

“Think about it, we could be solving a murder! I mean, I don’t know which murder yet but I figure I can just take whatever comes up. It’s not like I can pick and choose on that sort of thing. Unless…maybe I can if I pay them enough? Either way, it’ll be great. It’ll be just like the Mentalist but actually really solving a murder with a medium!”

7.

“That girl got bit by something. Even the town put out a statement about investigating what’s going on in those waters. I’ve heard rumors that there’s a place in there that doesn’t even have a bottom. It’s our duty to report the news to the citizens of this town and I would be more than willing to dawn a scuba suit, take a camera down with me, and dive until I reach the very bottom of that lake.”

8.

“You’ve seen it! They’ve got their own business alliance among themselves. They must be conspiracizing among one another. There’s something there, I just know it. I can figure it out. I promise! There’s an angle in there somewhere about capitalism or monopoly’s, right? That guy McWiggin is on the board! You think he would let a petition pass if someone came to town wanting to open one of those computer cafe’s and take away his customers? I don’t think so! They’re probably gouging prices, too and standing in solidarity with one another!”

9.

“I’ve never seen that bird move off that branch in the entire time I’ve been living in this town. Look! I’ve got the pictures to prove it.”

“Toby, that’s just a bird.”

“Morales, look! It’s so obviously a robot. How about this, I’ll climb up there, get a picture of it’s mechanical wiring, and we can run the story about how government is spying on this magic friendly town, right?”

10.

“I just think that this story could-”

“Toby?”

He turned away from the theory board he had been working on, eyebrows raised at the newspaper editor. “Yeah?”

“No.”

“But I-!”

“No.”

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#255

This is a direct follow up to #35.

“Glad to see you make it up here ok. I’m Robert, and you are?... Eddie. Good to meet you. Did you enjoy the drive? It really is nice. That’s part of the reason why I live up here. We don’t get many clients that come up here. Most order on line, but you are the first of the season. I reviewed your e-mail again and I think I have a selection of rimchairs for you. It would help me to narrow down your selections more if you answer some additional questions….

“Here, let’s go into the workshop. So, is this going to be a chair for you? Good. Are you the ass or the ass eater? Will you ever go underneath it?... No? Ok. Don’t worry, the only time I go under mine is to work on it.... Women, men, or both?... Women. Is this part of a S&M or kink situation?... That’s fine. It’s very rare for me to find someone willing to spend all this money for the sensual aspects of eating ass. Did you bring a slave woman with you? That’s fine. Most straight men don’t….

“No, I prefer fags under mine; is that going to be an issue here? I only ask because, I want to find the best rim chair for you, and I have a wealth of expertise I rely on. I don’t want to share my experiences with you and have it be awkward.

“Good! Good! Unless we need him, the faggot is up at the main house. That reminds me, will you be using the rim chair for full toilet activities? No… you would be surprised with just how many people are. Hell, every single dominatrix I have made a rim chair for is into it. And some of those women are fucking brutal to their slaves.

“So here let’s start with these three. The left two are designed primarily for rear entry and this third one is for the front. Me personally, I prefer my slave lying behind me when he’s attending to my shithole. His tongue seems to go in deeper and at a better angle. And I don’t have to spread my legs when he’s there. That’s one of the big difference between men and women is that women are narrower than men. It gets uncomfortable at times. For me it’s just easier with it behind me. Do you have a preference?... That’s fine. They will be designed for front and rear entries, but structurally it will be designed one way.

“It’s really all about comfort. Comfort was actually that reason that got me into making rimchairs. What I saw out there was horrible. They were rimseats. To me rimseats are different than what I make. Rimseats are essentially toilet seats on legs. The faggot lies underneath, and I would squat down. I’m a big guy and I can’t sit that low for a long time, before my legs start to cramp up, about fifteen to twenty minutes at most. The problem with making the legs longer is that the faggot underneath is then straining to keep his head buried in the crack of my ass. Either it is straining to keep its tongue buried deep, or its head can move all around. Either way, the faggot tires quickly and it’s a piss poor rimjob.

“That’s why I started with the idea of transforming regular chair designs into rimchairs. I have throne-like chairs, deck chairs, reclining chairs, dining chairs, and so on. Every one has support for the toilet lying underneath, so that multiple hour-long sessions are not a problem. I can customize it to a specific head size, as well as how far in you want the slave’s face when you sit down. Or, some of the chairs allow for adjustability. I personally like feeling my faggot’s face getting wedged in there, and then to have its mouth lined up to connect with my shithole. That is priceless. No other feeling of power compares with it. If you are into slaves that are reluctant, I can make the head spaces very restrictive. I can even create a box, measured exactly to your slave’s head where they can’t move an inch. My slave tells me that it gets very claustrophobic under it. I even designed is so that the slave places its head in the box and the hinged platform lowers with a piece going below the slave’s chin preventing the slave from pulling out from underneath until you get up off the chair and let it out.

“I see you like the casual desk chair. I have one just like it at my work desk. My faggot is under that one for hours. I can be doing work, surfing the internet, or jacking off to porn. I’m not even paying attention to the tongue fucking I’m getting. It’s just adding to the general euphoria of what I’m doing.

“You have a wife, girlfriend, bitch slave, or whatever?... Oh you have an out of state friend with benefits that likes to eat ass? From what I have learned through the years, it’s hard to find a woman into it. That’s fucking awesome.

“If you really love your butthole tongued for a long time, maybe you should get a fag, until you find the right bitch. Seriously. I had one client purchase a similar seat to that one, that he had installed in his playroom. It was up against a wall. He enclosed the sides of the chair. There was a hole in the wall that the ass eater would crawl through. It was an 18 year-old faggot from down the street, and that fag tongue fucked like no other I have ever tried out, and yeah I tried it out. The most interesting thing is that they had a set time each week when they did this. The kid came in through a dedicated entrance, and the client sat down, neither of them said a word to the other. Truly amazing.

“Go on, have a seat. I’ll have it customed to your ass and thighs so that when you are sitting, your cheeks are comfortably spread. You know, those Carhartt pants are restricting your ass and legs. You’re not getting the proper placement of your ass.

“Why don’t you take them off? Other than me and shithead up in the house, no one is going to see you. I get maybe, maybe one customer a week. When we go into the design room to take measurements, I will need you to have them off. Leaving your underwear on is better than this. Briefs, no briefs. We don’t care…. Commando? We don’t care about that either.

“Look, if you think this is my way of seducing you, let me say that I like faggot boys, not real men like yourself. I get turned on when I know a man—a real hard working man—is getting his dick, ass, and everything else taken care of at the expense of faggots. I’m not talking about gay boys. I mean faggots, boys who exist to serve a real man, to take care of that man’s needs including draining his balls, eating his ass, and so on. To a faggot, draining your cock and eating your shithole is the reason for its existence, even at the expense of its own needs. So no, I wouldn’t dream of sticking my cock in you. You can count on that.

“Don’t worry about my faggot; its tiny pecker is permanently locked away. It has been that way ever since he got here last fall. You remember that first snowstorm we had? Well right before the snowfall hit its car ran out of gas, and it got stuck. At least that was its story. I made it an offer, find someone else to help in the snowstorm, or submit to me. I’ve kept it naked, with its pecker painfully locked up in that device ever since. I’ve trained it to service my shithole for hours on end. It hasn’t cum in the five months it’s been serving me.

“Let me text it to come down here…. No, it’s no problem. Go ahead and get comfortable. Take the pants off, leave them on the table. It’s best to put your work boots back on.

“That’s a beautiful cock you have. I bet the women love it. Stop the modesty thing. You are a fucking hot man, you should relish in the adoration. Have a seat. Doesn’t that feel good on your ass? You can feel the spread, but it doesn’t feel like you are falling in? Now imagine a moist tongue darting in and out of your crack.

“And speaking of a moist tongue, here’s the fag…. Faggot! This is Sir Eddie. Get under the seat and get to work….

“No more protesting. I don’t care how dirty it is. I saw your skid marks in your pants, the fag will clean you up. He lives for shit like this. Its tongue feels good in there, doesn’t it? Don’t answer, I can see it on your face. Just relax.

“I will be over there in the design shop if you need me. Try out any of the other chairs. The faggot will do whatever you want or need to feel good. You can stay as long as you like. Even over night or throughout the rest of the weekend. The fag will take care of everything for you. It’ll eat your farts, drink your piss, throat your shaft, take a beating, or whatever. Just tell it what you want, and it will comply. By the end you will understand why a faggot is better than a bitch. Make me a good enough offer, and I may throw the faggot in.”

[writingpracticetime]

Interactions with other villains

From the notes of Mitchell Newman:

Let me set the scene.

First, the Discreet Entrepreneur’s Network, or the DEN as it is appropriately titled, is a loosely organized guild of sorts for villains to meet and exchange illegal goods and services. It’s members are vicious, super-powered criminals of all stripes--master thieves, serial killers, unethical scientists, the whole spectrum. They’re dangerous, violent, and not at all kind to non-members, or even new members.

Second, we have Constructor. A famous hero and  goody two shoes who only ended up in prison for protesting a mass eviction. More to the point, an (admittedly, not self described) pacifist who at the time was famously bad at combat.

The DEN should have torn Constructor to pieces, and this whole problem should have ended there. Instead our goody two shoes swipes dozens of members and eventually breaks the whole network into pieces.

How?

---

You have always been bad at public speaking.

You don’t stammer.  But seeing lots of eyes on you makes you freeze and all of the words you planned slip away. It doesn’t help that at least half of the people in this room are murderers, but they would have the same effect if they were third graders.

You wish Sandy was here again. She was always good at coaching you through these things. The only reason you ever made it through interviews or press talks was because of her prep work.

"The pipeline," you try again.

The Organizer quirks an eyebrow at you. For a second he looks to his assistant, a pale woman whose eyes are fixed on, and then he motions at you. "Go on."

"the pipeline they're building," you try again. "Its damaging to the environment. The people don’t want it there. And it’s. Illegal."

The crowd actually bursts into laughter.  You’re too used to talking to politicians.

---

Afterwards, Bonfire nods sympathetically at your grimace on your way out.

“There’s a reason I’m not a member,” she tells you.

“Did you hear? Did I…?”

Did I do good? It’s the sort of approval you used to seek from Sandy. You stop yourself, because you already know the answer regardless. Not a single person in that room approached you to join your next operation.

“There’s still the two of us,” Bonfire shrugs. “Best not to work with too many, anyway. That’s how snitches worm their way in.”

“Yes but…”

“Wait!”

A reedy voice calls after you. You don’t recognize the stick figure man who darts after you, eyes darting.

“Wait, okay okay okay okay,” he says, quickly. “Constructor. I’m--Cyberscout. I, your pitch, I mean--”

You wait. You hear a flare of irritation at your shoulder.

“Okay, your pitch sucked,” Cyberscout says. “Didn’t you used to go on TV? Man. N-not to down you or anything, what I mean to say is, just… I can help you with that. Not with your speaking skills, but getting the word out other ways, and doing some information gathering for you. So I’ll sign on. Pay back the favor.”

“Favor?”

“Yeah, uh. You jailbroke me,” he says. “I don’t work for nothing, normally I’d ask for a favor or cash but… since you already did me a solid… just this once.”

You hold out your hand, and like that you make your second ally.

---

Your second venture into the DEN goes better. You practice with Bonfire and Cyber ahead of time, so your voice is stronger. When you enter the latest venue, you nod at the Organizer and the silent pale woman next to him, taking a deep breath and refusing to feel intimidated.

Again, you  describe what you’re opposing as wrong. Again, you talk about the people’s wishes. Again, you call it illegal, and again there is snickering, but instead of falling silent your voice booms.

“Are you going to pretend you all don’t care?” you ask, and you hear yourself echo from the back of the hall. “How many of you have been thrown into solitary Akonite cells for store robbery, for having? How many of you got beaten by guards? Now CEOs are lining their pockets with medications they got from experimenting on prisoners just like you have been, and they go completely free. This is illegal, against the public good, all of the things they say about your own actions--and yet the men doing this go free.”

Dead silence.

“If the hypocrisy doesn’t make you furious,” you say. “That’s because you have no fight left in you.”

---

When you leave the conference, you know Bonfire heard because she’s smirking.

“Better?”

“Better,” she agrees. “Still no takers?”

“They’re probably worried about losing face,” Cyberscout says. “I mean, I was. But after a talk like that, just wait. They’ll trickle in.”

And they do. Days after, a greying old woman approaches you. She seems hesitant to meet your eyes or speak at first but when she does his tone is cold, brusque, and to the point.

“You may have heard of me, you may not have,” she says. “But to the point, I know a few things about unethical experiments, how they are run...and how to help the subj--victims. If you are willing to look past my past indiscretions, I can be an asset.”

“I care more about what you’re willing to do now than anything you’ve done in the past,” you tell her.

She holds out her hand stiffly.

“Call me Asag,” she says. “Dr. Asag.”

---

At your third DEN meeting, the Organizer’s lips thin as he sees you. He once again exchanges whispers with his assistant before glowering at you. You brush him off, and stand to explain your next venture.

“One more thing,” you say. “Before anyone here thinks of joining, this is going to be a no-kill operation.”

“What?” booms a hulking figure in the back. “Are you fucking serious?”

“No interrupting,” the Organizer drones, but you speak up.

“Wait,” you say. “Let him talk.”

The man steps forward, and you have an instant flash of recognition. It would be impossible not to recognize him, actually. You don’t think you've met anyone else that big.

“You don’t know shit about what it’s really like out there!” the giant says. “You really expect anyone to go out and not defend themselves?”

“I didn’t say you can’t defend yourselves,” you explain. “I said you can’t kill anyone.”

“You can’t get shit done if you’re not willing to kill,” the man says, darkly.

“Really. And how has that worked for you? Wait--” you make a show of trying to remember him. “Oh wait, I know. It got you in prison. Where I broke you out, without killing anyone.”

There is actually some laughter. In your favor this time. It makes you grin.

“Hobbes, right?” you ask. “It’s possible to fight and neutralize someone without killing them, and it’s usually better that way because then the feds can’t justify using as much force against you.”

“Then I’d like to see you try to neutralize a real super,” Hobbes spits.

“Alright,” you say. “Come at me then, and I’ll show you.”

“Absolutely not!” the Organizer shouts. “There will be no fights during conventions!”’

You don’t even spare him a glance. “Outside, then”

The Organizer hisses at the entire crowd follows you both, eager to see blood. “This isn’t--the rules--”

After a fight that admittedly takes a lot more out of you than your previous efforts neutralizing low ranking heroes, Hobbes grumpily becomes your next ally.

---

More and more come to you. Some asking for monetary compensation, some asking for prison breaks in the future, and some who seem to be as drawn to your ideals as you are, deep down.

With each venture, the Organizer seems less and less happy to have you appear, until one day when you are about to come to another gathering you find yourself barred.

“You’ve broken enough rules,” the Organizer says, darkly. “You aren’t welcome in the DEN anymore.”

“What rules?” you ask.

There are a few, of course. Some minor things here and there, but nothing that got anyone else banned. He tells you, and you are about to object but someone else cuts in first.

“You’ve been cutting into his profits.”

It’s the pale assistant. Her voice is weak and thready, like she can barely speak up.

“What are you talking about?” the Organizer sneers. “I never--”

“He’s been working with some of those corporations you’ve been undercutting with your, um, stuff,” she says, her voice getting higher. “B-both sides. Always got to work both sides, he thinks. Get some villains to help, sell out the others.”

Other people inside are listening, murmuring. The gathering of villains are getting agitated--clearly, this is news to all of them, as well.

“Please,” the assistant says. “I have proof. I’m a--I read minds. I can tell you everything, just get me away safely and I’ll--”

He turns on her and attacks, hands around her throat. You don’t even have to think about it. You slam concrete into the Organizer’s face, and all hell breaks loose. Someone grapples you--and then Hobbes wrings them off you. Bonfire, always drifting at the edge of the event, darts in and jerks the coughing assistant out of the fray. And with that, your last venture at the DEN becomes an all out brawl.

You decide it’s still better than public speaking.

---

---

MN: So, real talk for a moment. How did you do it? Money? Threats? Brainwashing? I know there were a few mind control types in your group.

#4598: Hm?

MN: How does a hero go to a bunch of violent crooks and end up leading them?

#4598: The only way you can. With their consent.

[trentaafcsblog]

Midnight Memories

Mason Mount

This isn’t like him at all. Trapped in a crowd of drunk and disorderly people who are staggering around to the beat of the music, sloshing their drinks all over one another when the pink and purple strobe lights descend upon their bodies and start flashing in a series of random patterns, enhancing their alcohol-induced illusions and perceptions of the world as they flail their limbs around and claim they’re flying or walking on clouds - a stage that Mason isn’t willing to reach tonight, or any night, for that matter. 

A sea of girls in overly tight dresses and heels that barely support them crowding around him and slurring things in his ear. Running their fingers up his bare arms and begging for another drink as he awkwardly shakes his head and tries to break away from them, only for another person to grip onto him from the other side and smear their cheap sticky lipgloss all over his neck in an attempt to add ‘I kissed a footballer’ to their CV. “Just kiss meee” they whine, pouting in his face and trying to pull him closer before giving up and making a move on the next available man, one who’s willing to explore their mouths and buy them endless rounds of multicoloured shots for the rest of the night without gently shoving them away or not-so-subtly avoiding their alcohol-coated lips.

This isn’t your type of place either, although you’re five cocktails deep into the stack of pornstars that your friends insisted on ordering. A stain down the front of your white bodycon dress thanks to an escapee half a passion fruit that decided to leave your triangular glass in order to explore the vomit-tainted floor. Your lips all patchy now that your lipgloss has migrated to decorate the rim of your empty glasses with sparkly nude smudges, although you’re slightly relieved because it means that your hair won’t get coated in it anymore, and it minimises the evidence if you end up kissing someone too, not that you came here to do that, or risk putting yourself in the same category as the girls that are now trying to climb into the VIP section with a bunch of semi-famous people, all because they want a drunk kissing video to plaster across their social media, hoping that it takes them to the front of the papers in the morning for being such-and-such’s ‘mystery girl’.

You’re looking up at the VIP area cordoned off by security guards in black puffer jackets and walkie talkies in their hands, feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy for all of the people that have to tolerate that kind of behaviour. Your eyes start scanning across the section of the club that is far too expensive for just a few hours’ stay, wondering if you can recognise any famous faces, but it’s just the ‘I lasted one day in the Villa and still managed to secure a Pretty Little Thing brand deal’ Love Islanders and the friend of the friend of the friend of a semi-professional footballer that made one twelve minute appearance for Arsenal back in 2010 and thinks he’s God’s gift. All of them either eating each other’s faces or taking boomerangs of them cheers-ing their margaritas before having to retake the same video five times because they’ve lost several lime slices in the process and it’s ruining the aesthetic. Your focus sharpening on someone with their back to you and at least ten girls around them, taking it in turns to have a drunken selfie or begging him to buy them a bottle of champagne with one of those fancy sparkler things on the top that gets brought out by women wearing elaborate carnival-inspired feather headbands and very revealing dresses. And you can’t help but feel sorry for him because you can tell just from the back of his head that he’s incredibly uncomfortable, even more so when he gets offered a blowjob from a girl who’s now threatening to get her boobs out in exchange for a whole bottle of Don Julio, in a bucket of ice, just how she likes it.

He’s turning around to face the rest of the club just as you go to look away at the menu that’s being wafted under your nose by one of your friends, and you can’t help but do a double take at his familiarity. Squinting your eyes so that you can get a better look at his features. ‘Nice drink’ you think when your eyes catch the glass of Diet Coke in his hand, quite obviously not accompanied by a swig of vodka going by his incredibly tense frame and stiff dance moves. Well, it’s not really dancing, it’s more of a ‘I’ll just copy what my friends are doing so I don’t look awkward’ move, aka a two-step shuffle from one side to the other. You can’t help but giggle as you watch him from across the room, your friends completely giving up on trying to entice you with a selection of expensive cocktails as they leave you to stare at some random man on the other side of the club, their need for a second stack of bright coloured drinks clearly overriding the want to look out for their friend.

You’re watching him for a bit longer. Becoming completely fixated on this familiar stranger who you can’t help but sit and giggle at. Part of you wanting to cringe with him at how hellish this night has become, but at the same time, it’s kind of funny watching someone who should be so used to having a large following blush and laugh awkwardly if anyone happens to recognise him. Okay, maybe it’s slightly uncomfortable to sit and watch a swarm of girls attack him with their overdrawn lips whilst he does everything in his will to not shove them into next week, especially when his friends start laughing and taking little videos of the awkward encounters, clearly ready to embarrass him at a later date. But regardless, it’s nice to know that fame hasn’t gone completely to his head, unlike an ex-reality TV star who’s screaming ‘do you know who I am?’ at one of the bouncers who won’t let her hang out with her ‘friends’ in the VIP section.

But you’re quickly forced out of your trance when you feel somebody shoving something into your hand. Looking down at your palm and clocking the ten pound note before your eyes are lifting to the hand that it’s been given from. “Go and get us those cocktails” your friend slurs before slumping back in her seat and falling to one side slightly, her pink lipstick slathered all over her chin from where she’d tried to apply it without a mirror when a man wearing an extremely tight fitting top happened to settle down in the booth next to you, obviously hoping that he’d look her way. “Hurry up, I’m thirstyyy” your other friend whines, making you sigh and mutter something under your breath in reference to them being lazy and ruining your evening, as you slide out of the row of pink arched seats and stand up. Having to grip onto the back of the chairs when your legs go all warm and fuzzy from the one too many cocktails you’d already consumed, pulling your dress down to a more appropriate length before heading off in the direction of the bar. Trying to catch a glimpse of Mason as you swerve in and out of the sea of dancing bodies, but you just end up feeling as though you’re going to fall to the floor when the strobe lights start spinning on the ceiling before dispersing their blue and green beams around the room at the most ridiculous speed. Everybody around you swaying from side to side and elbowing you in the ribs as you try your best to dodge them, kicking yourself for wearing the most stupid pair of heels as your toes crush into each other more and more with each step, cursing when you skid in a puddle of what looks like - or at least you hope is - vodka, and you have to grab onto a stranger’s arm to steady yourself, much to their dismay until they catch a glimpse of your apologetic face and suddenly want to make out with you.

You’re breathing a sigh of relief when you finally make it to the bar, setting your bag down on the counter and ordering what you think your friends want, although you probably should have double-checked with them first considering you were too busy having a nosy at someone across the club to pay any sort of interest to their alcohol preferences. “What?” you’re shouting at the barman when he tells you the total of the drinks, hoping that you’ve misheard him but ten pounds clearly isn’t going to cover the cost of sixteen cosmopolitans with added shots of vodka. Panicking when he repeats the price and turns his back to get started on making them, your hands now frantically searching your bag in the hope that you manage to find the extra money before he starts yelling at you for ordering things without being able to pay. “Fuck” you’re hissing as you turn the contents of your bag out onto the countertop, checking the inside of your phone case and a pressed powder incase they happen to house the remaining money. Your heartbeat pounding louder in your ears the closer it gets to having to admit that you’ve actually only got a quarter of what you need. 

“I’ll get it” someone’s saying, clearly sensing the tension between you and the barman as you shrug your shoulders in response to him sticking his hand out for the money. “I’m not a charity” you snap back, your slightly tipsy state giving you a rush of confidence as you continue to search your bag in the hope that the money has magically appeared just so that you can laugh it off and shut everyone up. “I know, but it’s on me” they’re saying again, leaning forward and tapping their card on the machine before you can even consider fighting back a second time. “Thank-” you’re starting before realising who it is that’s just saved you from an incredibly awkward situation. Surely not. Surely Mason Mount hasn’t just bought you, of all people, a load of cocktails for your mates.

“It’s okay” he laughs nervously, making your heart melt because clearly he’s just as awkward around you as he is everybody else in this club. “Prices have gone up, haven’t they?” he smiles as he takes a step closer to you, propping himself up on the countertop with his elbows before asking the barman for a lemonade, with ice, just so it isn’t too fizzy. “Yeah, I don’t normally come out so I underestimated it a bit” you laugh shyly before looking off in the other direction, simultaneously cursing and thanking your friends for leading you to believe that you could get sixteen cocktails for a tenner, because without their stupidity, you wouldn’t be talking to the boy that you’ve been watching all night. “Prefer to stay at home then?” he asks as you turn back and nod your head. “Me too” he’s saying, “I’m normally in bed by now” he giggles as his gaze rises to the clock above the bar, the time reading 00.04am. The slight dark glow under his eyes letting you know that he’s normally tucked up by 9pm in his pyjamas. “What are you doing here then?” you ask. Stupid question really. He’s here for the same reason that you, and probably half of the people here, are - he’s been dragged along and forced to pretend that he’s a right party animal whilst he sips his non-alcoholic drinks and fights off every woman in sight. “My mates made me tag along, I’m kind of glad they did now though” he’s telling you, the second part of his sentence almost becoming inaudible as his voice quietens just as the volume of the music rises with the chorus of ‘My Yé Is Different’, ironic since you’ve just spotted the twenty grand watch decorating his wrist whilst you’re stood there in a passion fruit stained dress. But you’re still managing to hear it, and you can’t work out whether that’s in reference to you, or the fact that he’s been able to drink fizzy drinks when he’d normally only have water. Except you’re not stupid. 

“Bet you say that to everyone” you tease, gaining his attention again as he laughs nervously and shakes his head. “Only the special ones” he replies, which is true, but now you can’t help but wonder if his drinks have been accompanied by a few shots of something or another because those words and the sincerity of his tone aren’t a reflection of the awkward man you spotted ten minutes ago, let alone the fact that he clearly considers you to be one of these ‘special ones.’ “Yeah, yeah” you’re saying back, flicking your hair over your shoulder before taking a sip of one of the cocktails that are sat before you, still waiting to be taken back to your friends. “Got quite a few drinks for somebody that doesn’t go out much, no wonder you needed me to pay” he winks as you roll your eyes and blush at the thought of somebody having to give you a helping hand with the price. “This is my last one, I’m off in a minute cose I can’t keep up with everyone else” you’re shouting over the music, watching him throw his head back and laugh because he thought he was the only one in that position. “I’ll join you” he’s replying, thanking the barman for his drink before taking a sip through the straw. “Not the sort of thing you say to a girl after only knowing her two minutes, Mason” you’re teasing, studying his face as his eyes blow wide slightly and he shakes his head, quickly swallowing his lemonade before stuttering on his words. Unsure whether he’s panicking about you jokingly misinterpreting his comment, or if he’s uncomfortable over the fact that yet another girl knows his name, but either way, he’s laughing awkwardly when you tell him that you’re only messing. 

“I wouldn’t mind though” you say smugly, causing another nervous giggle to escape his lips. Your alcohol-induced confidence only adding to the butterflies that are already batting their wings against his rib cage, something about your slight feistiness and sarcastic sense of humour attracting him to you, even more so when he takes in how beautiful you still look despite being on the verge of your alcohol limit.

“Where are you going afterwards?” he’s asking once the lights have swivelled around in the opposite direction and the blush on his cheeks isn’t so evident. “I’ll just go to the chippy down the road and then get a taxi home” you’re telling him, looking down into the fluorescent pink concoction in your glass and feeling your stomach churn at how rough it’s going to make you feel in the morning. “Mind if I join you?” he’s asking as you look across at him in disbelief, watching as he downs the last few sips of his drink and stands the glass back on the countertop. Is this a dream or something? “Sorry, that was a bit forward...again” he panics, feeling a surge of anxiety run through his body incase he’s greeted with newspaper headlines in the morning about him unintentionally trying to latch onto girls that aren’t interested in him, even if half of the club know his name. 

“No, it’s fine, of course you can” you laugh, your cocktail glass almost slipping out of your grip thanks to the layer of sweat that is now developing across your palm. “I’ll just take these over to the girls and then I’ll be ready” you smile, looping the strap of your bag over your shoulder and grabbing as many glasses as you can, which really isn’t a wise move since you’ve partially lost all sense of coordination thanks to Mason’s ability to wipe any drop of confidence out of your body and replace it with nervous butterflies. 

“I’m off” you’re announcing once you’ve made your third trip back to the booth your friends are sitting in, their drunken reactions to your words making you giggle as you reach over them to grab your jacket. “Where are you goinggg?” one of them whines, gripping onto your leg and pouting before another one is drawn to the verge of tears at your confession. “I’m just tired” you nod, blowing them all a kiss and ensuring that they text you when you’re home as you turn around and head off towards the exit, not wanting to keep Mase waiting any longer. Praying that he’s stood just around the corner outside as he’d promised as you stagger across the dance floor and dodge a sea of flailing limbs and slurred shouts of ‘can I get your number?’. A sigh of relief forcing itself out of your nostrils when the ‘exit’ sign hanging above one of the fire doors becomes within touching distance and the bouncer in charge anticipates your departure, pushing down the grey bar across the middle of the door and letting it swing open, enabling you to step out into the night.

“There you are” you smile as you approach the back of his figure, his head kept down and a cap adding a nice accessory to his outfit, although it’s definitely worn as some form of disguise. “Hi” he’s smiling nervously when he realises that it’s you, a swarm of butterflies invading his tummy again when you link your arm through his and gently rest your head on the top of his shoulder - a move that you’re aware might push you into the same category as the other girls that have been after him all night, but your crippled feet and wobbly legs are grateful for the extra stability, even if your motivation to make that move takes you both by surprise. 

“Let me get this” you’re saying once you’ve made your way into the kebab shop, your arm dropping away from his as you gesture towards the table up against the front window. “You sure?” he’s asking, dipping his hand into his back pocket ready to pull his wallet out just incase, but you’re nodding and confirming that you’re more than capable of paying four-pound-fifty for a kebab and a couple of drinks - just as well really after the events earlier this evening. Giving him a small smile as he turns and heads off towards the table in the corner, his celebrity instincts kicking when he takes the seat right in front of the glass, conveniently covered by a sticker of the menu, and some extra protection offered from the back of his body. 

You’re setting the gold foam kebab box down on your table for two, along with two plastic forks, a bottle of water and a Fruit Shoot because you noticed him eyeing them up in the fridge when you came in. And it turned out to be one of the hardest decisions of your life trying to work out what flavour he wanted. Maybe it was the alcohol that was messing with your brain, making you think that he was more of an citrus guy than a berry one. Or maybe it was the fact that you were buying a child’s drink for a fully grown adult, a famous one too, who probably hasn’t had one for ten years, which only added to the pressure. Or maybe it was because you liked him and you didn’t want to ruin your chances by getting him the wrong flavour. But after flicking your gaze between the stack of bright coloured bottles and his body cowering away in the corner, you settled for the blackcurrant one, just because he looks like the type of person to play it safe - well, he is the type of person to play it safe, going by his Diet Coke and lemonade choices tonight. 

“This for me?” he’s asking as he picks the purple bottle up, smiling when you nod to confirm his answer. “How did you know this was my favourite flavour?” he’s questioning, a smug look appearing on your face as you shrug your shoulders and reply with ‘only the ‘special ones’ know that kind of information’. A giggle escaping his mouth at your words before he’s pulling the plastic lid off the drink and taking a sip, humming at the familiarity despite not having one since his seventh birthday party. “Still as good as they used to be” he’s saying, something about the additional happiness that’s now surging through his body after a drop of blackcurrant juice making your tummy fill with butterflies because he really is just the cutest, biggest child.

You’re both sitting in a comfortable silence as you pick at your shared kebab, trying to eat from separate ends so that you don’t cross any boundaries or run the risk trying to stab your forks into the same piece of chicken. But the fuzzy filter that the alcohol has brought to your eyes and the slight delay that it’s caused between your thoughts and your actions means that you find yourself diving into the last piece of pitta bread just at the same time that Mason does. And from his side it’s a poor judgement call. The sugar from his Fruit Shoot clearly giving him an extra boost of energy and causing his arm to extend outwards towards the polystyrene box, clouding his mum’s reminder that ‘you need be a gentleman and let girls eat whatever’s left, even if you want it’. And truth be told, he doesn’t really want it, which is why the pang of anxiety as soon as his plastic fork clashes with yours is stronger than ever. His cheeks turning a violent shade of crimson as he quickly pulls his fork back, leaving just four little holes from where the prongs had been as you panic and do the same.

“Sorry, no you have it” he says quietly, nudging the box towards you in the hope that you get the hint. “No, you eat it” you smile, pushing it back towards him. The two of you just repeating the same movement as the box moves two centimetres one way, and then two centimetres back the other. “Mason, just eat it!” you whine as he sits opposite you and shakes his head. “I said you could have it” he smiles nervously, subtly wiping the sweat off his palms and onto the material of his jeans when he realises that you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Why are you getting all nervous for? Just eat ittt” you groan, a giggle escaping his lips because there’s no way you’re backing down on this one. “Fine” he huffs, stabbing his fork back into the little holes that it made earlier before slowly moving it towards his mouth. Your eyebrows raising more and more as you watch it edge closer to his lips. And then he’s doing the unthinkable and quickly changing the direction of his fork so that it starts heading towards your mouth instead. Involuntarily parting your lips whilst you wait for what’s just happened to register, and the next thing you know, you’re swallowing the piece of pitta bread. 

“What a fuss about nothing” he hums as you roll your eyes at him. “You’re quite romantic, aren’t you?” you tease as his eyebrows furrow in the middle, waiting for you to clarify your comment. “Is that all of the alcohol that’s made you so desperate to share the last piece of food with me?” you question, another layer of blush painting itself across the tops of his cheeks. “Oh, sorry, you didn’t have anything to drink, did you? Lightweight” you smirk, making him roll his eyes this time. “I’m just being a gent, plus you’ve been drinking so you need something to sober you up, maybe it’ll stop you being so rude next time I offer to buy you a drink” he says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. A wave of composure washing over him now that he’s left you slightly speechless and he’s matched your sense of humour. “Next time? You’ll be lucky” you sass as he scoffs at you. “You’re the one that needs to buy me a drink to apologise for snapping at me, so there will be a next time to call it quits, thank you” he smiles, his sudden burst of confidence talking to you allowing his real personality to shine through, and you can’t help but start to get lost in it. “Was I really that rude?” you ask, secretly dying as you think back to your ‘I’m not a charity’ comment at the bar. “No, I’m just messing” he laughs, eliciting the same response from you as you erase that memory out of your brain. “You’re just confident, I like it” he’s saying, the last part of his comment getting lost when a group of people come staggering through the door, drowning out his words for the second time tonight, but you’re ninety-nine percent certain you managed to catch it. And now you’re the nervous one.

You’re quickly moving the conversation on to something else when you feel your chest starting to heat up with anxious prickles. Mason going all funny inside because it’s clear that he has the same effect on you as you do him, but he’s trying to push that to the back of his mind as he listens to you rambling on about your favourite breed of dogs, and how you had a fish finger sandwich for tea before you came out tonight, and how you actually know quite a lot about football but you’re reluctant to bring it up because you don’t want to embarrass him, although your drunken state causes you to let a few football facts slip out, all of them relating to Mase but you’re too caught up in your fuzzy alcoholic state to even recognise. But he does, obviously. Finding it sweet how you know exactly how many appearances he’s made for Chelsea, and what minute he came on in his debut against Manchester United, and what colour boots he wore against last season’s match against Newcastle. Just sitting back and letting you talk in between the occasional swig of water, hardly being able to get a word in edgeways because the alcohol is well and truly running through your veins now, making you come out with all kinds of mismatched comments and slurs. But he doesn’t mind, which takes him by surprise a bit, especially as he’s secretly scared of drunk people and he can count the amount of times he’s felt a bit tipsy on one hand, but there’s something different about you. Maybe it’s your sense of humour and how you’ve got him in stitches, or how your drunken state leads you to be more concerned about the welfare of a stray cat outside than it does anything else on the planet, or maybe it’s how deep beneath that strong outer shell you’re protecting yourself with that he knows you’ve got a heart of gold, an inside of ‘pure mush’ as his mum would say. 

“What time is it?” you slur after knocking back your last swig of water. “Nearly one o’clock” Mason’s replying, glancing at his overly-expensive watch as you sit there and wonder how he actually knows what hour of the day it is when all of the numbers have been replaced by diamonds. “Better head off” you mumble, staring blankly into the empty kebab box and trying to process what move you need to make next in order to get yourself back home in one piece. “I’ll order you a cab if you want, or I’ll walk you back, I don’t know how far away you live” he’s saying, forcing you out of your trace as you look up at his tired, bloodshot eyes. Knowing full well that as soon as you’re gone he’ll be running home to bed with a glass of water to tone down the bubbles in his tummy from his fizzy drinks, paranoid incase they give him a fizzy version of a hangover. “I live about half an hour away and I can tell you’re ready for bed so I’ll go with the cab” you smile, making him giggle nervously at the fact that his tiredness has been uncovered, although it’s not difficult to pick up on the fact that the only other time he stays up this late is on New Years Eve, and even then he normally sets an alarm for 11.57pm so that he can wake up from his nap in time.

You’re letting him help you put all of your belongings back into your handbag after you insisted on showing him your favourite lipgloss midway through your earlier conversation. Linking your arm through his and stepping out into the coldness of the night, a breeze nipping across your legs and causing you to let out a little squeal as you start pulling your dress down to try and hide your goosebumps. “Here” Mason’s saying, taking his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. “Mase” you’re replying. Mase - he likes that, and he likes how naturally it’s left your mouth too. Trying to give it back to him but he’s adamant that you keep it. “Gives me another reason to see you in order to get it back” he winks, making you roll your eyes as you stand snuggled into his side on the edge of the pavement. 

“Did you want my number?” he’s asking, already taking his phone out of his pocket and holding it out in your direction before you even have chance to respond. “You’ve not really given me an option have you?” you laugh, making him giggle as he shuffles awkwardly from side to side, waiting for your digits to appear on the screen. “Only because I need to give your jacket back, there’s no other reason for this” you tell him, smiling as he nods his head but you both know that’s a little white lie. “There you go” you’re saying, passing his phone back to him as his eyes study the new contact in his hand. A new number written beneath Y/N. 

‘Shit’ he’s thinking. He didn’t even ask for your name before this. Awkward. 

“Pretty name” he smiles, trying to play it off cool, but you’re not drunk enough to not notice his mistake. “So pretty that you didn’t even know that’s what I was called until now” you reply, making him giggle and let out an awkward ‘oops’. “I’ll let you off this once” you’re saying as you look up at him stood beneath the lamppost that’s towering above the two of you. A golden glow adding a filter to his face and making him look even more gorgeous than he did when he was sipping his lemonade in the club and shoving lettuce and chicken into his mouth. And you’re desperate to just kiss him, especially since he’s got a bit of dried Fruit Shoot in the corner of his mouth and you know his lips will taste all sweet like they do in the movies. But considering he’s only just learnt your name you don’t think it’s the right time, and there’s also a bunch of Tottenham fans making their way up the street, not wanting to have to make him endure any teasing, especially when he’s already stayed up late in a part of town he wouldn’t usually be seen dead in to spend time with you. 

“Thanks for tonight” you whisper as you briefly rest your head on his shoulder, pulling it away when the taxi he’s ordered for you appears at the side of the curb. “My pleasure, thank you” he’s saying back, removing his protective hand from the small of your back and stepping forward to open the back door of the car for you. “Told you that you were a gent” you tease as he mumbles ‘shut up’ and pretends to shove you into the back seat with a giggle. “See you soon for that jacket, yeah?” he winks as you reply with ‘yeah yeah, whatever’, making him let out a little chuckle as he closes the door on you. Giving you an awkward little wave as you head off down the street, standing and waiting for your car to turn the corner before heading home himself. Leaving just a message of ‘thank you again, can’t wait to get my jacket back cose it’s freezing without it ;) x’ that’s just appeared on your screen connecting the two of you. And even if you have been slightly tipsy tonight and now can’t remember half of the things you spoke about, there genuinely doesn’t seem like a better person to sit in a kebab shop with in the early hours of the morning after stumbling across him by pure chance a club that neither of you particularly wanted to spend the night at. Thanking your lucky stars for allowing your paths to cross because you already know this is the start of something special. Very special.