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stormtrprinstilettos · 5 years

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Forget Your Troubles - (omg it’s a) John x Reader (with smut)

Here you go. Your Dirty Deaky story. 18+ only and if I find out you’re under 18 and read my smut stuff I am blocking you. ♥️ Took some anon requested stuff and twisted it in here, so if you’re the anon? Hope you’re reading this. Huge thanks to @anotheronebitesthedeaks for making sure this doesn’t suck 💜

Choose your own Deaky decade for this one. (Also, we’re implying an age gap, but nothing is specified. Use your imagination as you should be doing with everything I write.)

You never drink alone. You always found it pathetic when people do it. One of your favorite things to do at the pub with your friends was mock the ones who were there alone – not to their faces, of course, but it was always humorous to make up your own stories about why they were there by themselves. But tonight you realize why they do it as you sit at the bar, all alone, nursing your third gin and tonic of the night. It was easier to drink than to sit alone in your living room, consuming yourself with your thoughts and drinking alone there. At least this way you weren’t technically drinking alone. You brushed off three people so far, all overly eager guys who were clearly only trying to talk to you to get you back at their place for a one night stand. Not that you were completely opposed to one night stands, but you’re trying to get your last one night stand out of your head. That one ended up becoming a two-year-long relationship that ended a week ago. It wasn’t so much the end of it that bothered you. It was the fact that it ended because he was fucking around on you with your best friend that was eating you alive.

“You’ve been sitting here for an hour and you’re only on your third drink,” you hear a voice tell you. “Either you really don’t like them or you’re trying to prolong your time here.”

Great, you think to yourself. Another creep. You don’t want to look up, but you can’t help yourself. “Are you enjoying watching me?” you ask with annoyed sarcasm as you turn your head to see who it is this time, immediately regretting being a bitch.

“It was hard for me not to notice you,” he says with a warm smile as he points to the other end of the bar. “I’ve been sitting over there trying to guess why you’re all alone.” You chuff and look back down at your drink. “If I guess correctly, you have to let me buy your next one.”

You look back to him and smirk. “And what happens if you don’t?”

“I guess I’ll still buy you your next drink,” he smiles. “I see it as a win-win situation for you.” Normally this is the point where you’d send him on his way, but there’s something about him that doesn’t feel so creepy. Besides, he’s a goddamn rock star. You’d feel like a complete fool sending John Deacon away.

“Well? Go on. Let’s see if you can do it,” you giggle.

He puts his hand to his chin like he’s deep in thought, the smile never leaving his face. “Ok. Pretty girl who clearly has no problem finding company, judging by the fact that three blokes have already attempted to talk to her, sitting here alone.” He laughs. “Someone broke her heart and she thinks these gin and tonics are going to make her feel better.”

You start to laugh. “Am I that obvious?”

“Well there’s no other possibility,” he says. “The only reason people drink alone is because of heartbreak or because they don’t want to pay for rounds.”

“Or maybe they just really want to enjoy their drink without having to entertain other people with conversation,” you smirk.

Now he’s laughing. “Ouch,” he says as he dramatically holds his hand to his chest before resting it back on the bar. “Well I know for a fact that’s not why you’re drinking alone.”

“And how do you know?” you chuckle with a raised brow.

He smirks. “Because you just told me someone broke your heart.” He takes the last sip of his drink and waves the bartender over. “He isn’t worth it. He’s clearly not a smart person,” he winks. When the bartender walks over, he orders himself another drink. “And bring the lady here something fancy,” he says. “She deserves a fancy drink.”

He’s charming. Very charming. And suddenly you find yourself thankful for the company. “Now it’s only fair you tell me why you’re here alone,” you tell him. “I mean, you know my secret.”

“Something tells me you have many more secrets,” he smirks. “And I intend to find out at least one more before the night is over.”

“Quid pro quo, sir,” you chuckle. “I don’t give away secrets without getting one in return.”

He’s so easy to talk to, and he’s quite chipper, making it impossible for you to continue to wallow in your misery. It only took 10 minutes for you to completely forget why you’re here. Instead, you were 100% focused on your new friend, and before you knew it an entire hour had passed.

“Did you enjoy that one?” he asks, pointing to your empty glass. “Want another?” He starts to wave the bartender back over but you grab his arm and pull it down.

“No, I’m alright,” you tell him. “I really should get going. Some of us have day jobs,” you smirk and stand up from the barstool. “Thank you for the drinks and the company.” You grab your purse and put it over your shoulder and start to leave.

“Wait!” He grabs your arm and jumps down from his stool. “Can I walk you home?”

“You don’t even know my name, Mr. Deacon,” you smile.

He starts to chuckle. “Well that’s not fair, is it? You know my name.”

“Maybe you should have asked me for mine,” you smirk and walk away. He’s not letting you get away that easy. As soon as you make it out to the sidewalk, he runs and stands in front of you. “You’re quite persistent, aren’t you?” you giggle.

“If I guess your name, can I walk you home?” He’s got that cheeky grin on his face again and you realize at this very moment that it makes it impossible to tell him no.

“Go on then,” you grin.

He closes his eyes and puts his fingers to his head as if he’s having some psychic vision. “Ah. Yes. Your name is Y/N.” That cheeky smirk draws back on his face and he hooks his arm, beckoning you to latch yours into it.

You shake your head and chuckle, latching your arm to his and start walking. “All you had to do was ask me instead of the bartender. I would have told you.”

“Ah, but it was more fun this way,” he giggles. You don’t walk far. Your place is right next door to the pub and he’s confused. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because this is my place,” you chuckle and point. “Thanks for making sure I got home safely.”

He gives you a side-eyed grin, wondering how you managed to get one over on him. He was doing his best to be the cheeky one here, but it looks like you’re just as good at dishing it out as he is. “Can we at least walk the block? So I don’t feel like a complete idiot?” he laughs.

“I’ll give you one block,” you smile. “That’s it.”

One block turned into two, then three, and by the time the two of you stop walking you realize that it’s been five or six, maybe even more, and your face was starting to get literally sore from all the smiling you were doing. Neither one of you was paying attention to your surroundings anymore. The conversation was flowing, and the company was nice too. It wasn’t until you reached the park that you snapped out of the minor daze and realized where you were. “Looks like we went a bit further than a block,” he chuckles. “Guess we should turn back.”

You take your arm from his and go sit on a nearby bench. “I don’t want to,” you say, quite flatly, and sigh as you plop yourself down. You weren’t feeling anything but normal while you were in the pub, but the longer you were in the night air, the more immense your buzz became. And the stronger your buzz became, the less restrictive your thoughts and words were. You weren’t completely without your wits. You just weren’t exactly making sure you held anything back anymore, which is why he heard all about your ex and your best friend. How you caught them in your bed and how you can’t even sleep in it anymore. And when you sat down, your emotions were starting to build up again.

He noticed, and he wanted to do everything he could to stop them again. “You’re much prettier when you smile,” he says as he sits next to you and rests his arm on the bench behind you and pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “I worked hard to get you to smile and I’m not going to allow all of my hard work to go to waste.” He lights the cigarette and takes a drag before handing it to you. “So we’re going to sit here until you start smiling again.”

“You’re a nice guy, John,” you smile. “Shame I’m not a bit older. I could have snagged you for myself.” You have no idea why you said it, but you did, and you can’t take it back now. Of course, your buzz doesn’t stop you from saying things you’ll probably regret tomorrow when you’re sober. “I am trying to figure out why you’re not trying to make a move on me though.”

“I’m sitting here on a park bench at 9:00 at night with a pretty girl that I was buying drinks for at a pub,” he laughs. “This is my move.”

You pretend to be shocked. “You mean to tell me this whole time you were trying to fool me into thinking you actually find me interesting?”

“I wouldn’t have put in almost two hours of effort if I didn’t find you interesting,” he grins. “I was actually going to bring you home and ask if I could see you again. Without alcohol being involved next time, of course.”

You turn your body so you're facing him now and smile. It’s not the buzz that’s drawn you to him. You weren’t even feeling any of the effects when you started talking to him at the pub. He’s nice. And funny. And freaking adorable with his hair that you’re struggling to refrain from playing with. And when he smiles at you? It just makes him even more appealing. You’ve never been drawn to older men before, but this one? Well, he’s making it really hard not to be drawn to him. “Bring me home,” you blurt out without even thinking of how your bluntness could be construed.

“Mine or yours?” he smirks. “Because mine?” he points. “Right across the street.” This isn’t what your intent was at all. Your plan was to walk back to yours, ask him when you were going to see him again, and go inside and pass out on the sofa you’ve been sleeping on for the past week. But… Well…

“Right across the street, huh?” you grin. “If I didn’t know any better, John, I’d think you’re trying to…”

“Is it working?” he laughs. “Because I’m really not trying too hard. But I can if I need to.”

You shift yourself a little bit closer to him and giggle. “Maybe try just a little bit harder so I don’t feel like I’m being too easy.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs as he shifts himself, too. “What if I were to tell you that I can make you forget all of your troubles, if only for one night.”

You look up to the sky, pretending to be deep in thought before looking back at him with a grin. “All of my troubles?”

“All of them,” he grins. “Anything that’s bothering that pretty little head of yours.”

“Sounds tempting,” you smile and say softly. “But I may need just a little more convincing.”

“Alright then,” he chuckles, leaning his face close to yours. “What if I were to kiss you right now?”

“It may help,” you smile. “But I’m not sure.” It’s quiet. You’re in the middle of the city, but it’s quiet. No cars passing by. No voices in the background. Just you and John, sitting on this park bench, the only light coming from the dimly-lit lamp across the path.

You look into his eyes, feeling almost threatened by how badly you want this. He smiles as he leans in closer, covering your lips with his. You respond immediately, his lips softer than you imagined they would be, and when he subtly prodded your mouth with his tongue, you had no qualms with letting him do it. He slowly pulled back and smiled at you again. “So, mine?” he chuckles.

As soon as his keys fall on the foyer table, you’re on each other, his hands holding your shoulders as he guides you into the bedroom, your mouths never separating, both of you giggling excitedly the whole way. As soon as he kicks the door to his bedroom shut, you pull his shirt off, rubbing your hands all over him as he pulls at your blouse until he takes it off. His hands work quickly on your bra until that, too, was in the pile on the floor, then your pants, and then your panties.

Your chest is rising and falling in slow, gentle movements as a faint smile dresses his lips. The whole moment is surreal, never a situation you ever even fantasized about being in. The soft glow of the moonlight shining through his bedroom window caresses your body as you lay on the bed. He tried to resist the desire burning inside since the second he laid eyes on you, but it was a futile effort. He leans down and softly kisses your neck and you moan lightly at his touch. His hand slides gently down your chest, following the curve of your breasts as his lips follow slowly behind. His hand slowly makes its way down the curve of your stomach, and you part your thighs, making it easy for him to find his way to the growing heat between them. With a soft sigh, your mouth parts, your tongue brushing your lips each time he runs a fingertip up and down your slit, gently touching that magic spot and circling it with the tip of his finger.

He wanted to see how long he could make you last before begging him for more, but watching how turned on you are made it impossible. The stiffness was starting to burn, practically intensifying into an ache just thinking about being inside you. He moves his hand and stands up, undoing his waistband and sliding his pants off, never taking his eyes off you. Perhaps now you can tease him, you think, and move your hand between your thighs and begin rubbing those lips that tempt him so damn badly. He stands there and watches for a moment before climbing back on the bed, putting himself in the perfect position as he lowers his head and looks up to you with a grin. He slides the tip of his tongue just around your entrance, swirling his tongue around to get a good taste. "You taste so sweet," he murmurs, feeling a faint tremble inside your core. "I could stay here for fucking days." Easing just up between your lips, just back to that spot that made you throb, he teases, licking and sucking, as the combination of your soft whimpers, trembles, and sweet scent triggers everything inside him. He savors every drop of your sweetness. With each soft moan, every lift of your hips, his arousal grows so fast he’s aware that it might just end up wasted on the bed.

He eases a long finger into you and bends it forward, gently massaged that sweet spot just at the front of your core before sliding another finger in, pressing his thumb against your clit. “Oh my god,” you murmur. “Please, John.” It’s hard for you to form your words, but you struggle until you do. “Please, get inside me. I need to feel you inside me.”

"You like that, doll?" He plunges deeper with demanding, hard thrusts.

"Yes," you whimper, raising your hips. “God, yes.”

Your desire burns through John's already aching erection, fueling him even more. “Tell me again, Y/N. Tell me you like what I'm doing."

“Yes. Please." Your voice is shaky and desperate. “I… Fuck, John.” You both start to laugh and he moves his fingers out of you, still rubbing your essence as he moves himself over you, falling into a deep kiss.

Sliding between your thighs, he slowly inches his cock deep inside you. “Like a glove,” he smirks. “Tight. Perfect.” He savors the feel, as do you, before he starts to roll his hips, pulsing himself in and out as he holds the sides of your head with his palms. Your hands reach around to his back, your nails digging deep into him with every thrust. “How do you like it?” he grunts. “Tell me what you like.”

“This,” you groan. “You feel perfect just like this.” And he does. The throbbing of his cock inside of you is fucking wonderful. But you wanted more. You needed more. He needed more – you can tell by the panting grunts he’s making in your ear. All he needs is for you to tell him. “Harder, John,” you whimper. “Fuck me harder.”

He picks himself up and the smirk on his face lets you know that’s exactly what he was waiting to hear. He pulls you close to him as he kneels in front of you and pushes himself inside you with a force that almost knocks the wind out of you, never relaxing it as he holds your knees apart and his thrusting becomes faster. “Christ, Y/N,” gasps, moving his hands from your knees so he can squeeze your thighs before he falls back down to you.

Your thighs tense, pulling him deeper. Clenching. Tensing. You’re dying to cum, desperate to feel satisfaction flowing from both of you. Still pulsing inside you, he brushes the hair from your face, your eyes glazed with lust. He kisses you gently, his eyes wide open, the moonlight painting a beautiful picture in his eyes. “I’m ready,” you whisper. “I need to cum.”

“Cum for me,” he groans. “All for me.” Pleasure flows over every inch of you body like crashing hot waves. “Come on.”

“Oh, God,” you wince. “Fuck…” His breath deepens and you see his jaw tense as he pushes relentlessly inside you, exploding into orgasm in unison. Every fiber of your body trembles in satisfaction. You hold each other close, the waves of you orgasms still moved through your bodies. He kisses you deeply with long strokes of his tongue. “Stay inside me. Please.”

Your gentle whisper rings in his ear. He didn't want to move either, not want this moment to end. The feeling is just too good to ignore. Looking deep into your eyes, he kisses you again. “But if I stay like this, then we’ll be wasting the rest of the night,” he smiles before slowly easing himself out of you and laying next to you on his back. “Unless you’re done with me and want to go home.”

“Absolutely not,” you laugh. “You said you’d make me forget all my troubles for one night.” You turn and rest your head on his chest. “And by my calculations, we still have a few hours to go.”

“And what about your day job?” he chuckles.

You raise yourself up and look over to his nightstand. “I see a phone over there,” you smirk. “I can call my boss in the morning. Unless…”

He quickly pulls you back down. “No, no,” he chuckles. “Wouldn’t want you to forget your troubles tonight only to have to remember them again tomorrow.”

“Good. Because then all of this would have been a waste of my time,” you giggle. “I don’t like wasting my time.”

His laughter starts to roar and he sits up, climbs out of the bed and puts his pants on, walks to the doorway and turns around. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Wow, and he’s good with the sweet pillow talk too,” you giggle. “I am actually hungry, yes.” He smiles and nods his head before walking out. All you can do is chuckle to yourself. This was definitely not the night you planned on having, or even the night you wanted to have, but here you are, in John Deacon’s bed, wondering what perfect planetary alignment had to happen in order for this to be your current reality. No use in trying to figure it out now, though, so you throw on the first shirt you find – the button down one he was wearing before you tore it off of him – and walk out of the bedroom.

You don’t want to snoop around, but you do take notice of the décor in the living area. You didn’t see it when you first came in since you were rushing to the bedroom. Being that he’s a musician, the instruments weren’t a shock at all. You did notice some picture frames but didn’t bother looking at their contents. Instead, you follow the noise and walk into the kitchen where he’s shuffling things around, and lean back on the counter. He’s pleasantly surprised when he turns around and sees you standing there. “Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?”

“Do you make it a habit to leave naked girls in your bed?”

“Never,” he says. “If they’re naked I always make sure I’m there with them.”

You raise your brow and smirk. “Then why’d you leave me there?”

He throws whatever he was holding in his hands on the counter, chuckles deeply and walks over to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. “Because I was hoping to walk back in there, see you laying there, and pretend like I was seeing you for the first time all over again.” He leans down with a smile and gives you a quick kiss. “But now you’ve ruined it.” You start to giggle, biting your bottom lip and try to push him away, but he’s stronger than you. “No, ma’am, you’re not going anywhere.” He picks you up and seats you on the counter. He bites his bottom lip and smiles. “I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad you met me, too,” you giggle. “Do you have ice cream?”

“Ice cream?” he laughs. ”Yes, I have ice cream.”

“I want ice cream,” you grin.

“She wants ice cream,” he jokingly mumbles. “Guess we need to get the lady ice cream.” He walks to the freezer, grabs the container of ice cream, grabs two spoons from a drawer and walks back over to you. “If I give you my ice cream, you have to give me your number.”

You take a spoon from his hand and take a spoonful of the ice cream. “If I give you my number, you have to make sure you call it.”

“I will definitely call it.” He rubs a hand on your thigh and smiles. “This wasn’t my intention when I started talking to you tonight. I want you to know that.”

“I know,” you smile. “That’s why I’m going to give you my number.” By this point, the ice cream on your spoon has started to melt and dropped on your thigh. “Dammit,” you giggle.

“I’ll clean it off,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows and squatting down, looking at you as he slowly licks it off. “Better?” he smirks, standing back up and giving you a quick kiss.

You wrap your arms around him and smile. “I think you need to take me back in there.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. He grins and grabs your legs, wrapping them around him and pulls you off the counter. “Because there’s only a couple of hours left of today. Then I have to start to make sure you forget all of your troubles tomorrow.”

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#john deacon fic #john deacon fanfic #john deacon smut #my stuff #john deacon x reader #john deacon x y/n #john deacon x fem reader #per request

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antiques-for-geeks · 4 years

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Game Review: Aliens

Electric Dreams / 1987 / C64

Also released on Amstrad CPC, ZX Spectrum, MSX and C16

With one eye firmly on Halloween, we’re going to review some games that used to make us breathe heavily, grasping our joysticks tightly in our sweaty palms...

Based on James Cameron’s sequel to the archetypal sci-fi body-horror Alien, Aliens is possibly one of the most panic-inducing games of the 8-bit era. It goes without saying that it’s hard to actually scare anyone on an 8-bit computer, unless blocky, jerky and flickery graphics bring you out in a cold sweat. What you can do, however, is force the player into having to make a series of quickfire decisions under stressful conditions, juggling resources and trying to keep order in the face of the impossible, like an air traffic controller in a power cut.

Aliens is played from a first-person perspective, and at first glance seems like a fairly simple game. You start in the middle of the operations room in LV-426, in control of Ellen Ripley and a team of 5 space marines who’ve been sent to find the alien queen and rid the base of her menace. You get a cross-hair, which is where your bullets will go. You can look around to the left or right, and you can step through a door to another room with a press of the space bar.

Nothing much is happening right at the start of the game, but don’t worry, it won’t stay that way for long!

The queen sits in a room right in the depths of the base. You use the keyboard to select individual team-members, but you can only directly control one at a time. Each member is represented by a nice little image and a stat bar showing how tired they are. There are no practical differences between each team member, which is a bit of a wasted opportunity, but the images are still a nice touch if you’ve seen the film, and help the player identify with their soldiers. Your team grows weary if they move too far without a rest; they’ll be unable to move and will aim more slowly until given time to recuperate.

You can issue orders for any team member to move a number of rooms in any compass direction, and they’ll carry out your instructions to the best of their ability once you switch out. On the way you’ll encounter alien warriors, eggs and face huggers... or they’ll encounter you as they’ll actively try and hunt down your group.

When one of your characters is in the same room as an alien you’ll hear a warning noise. This is a sinister beeping when you’re not controlling the character directly, and a panic inducing klaxon when you are. What ensues next is a desperate fumble to find the correct key to select the character who is in trouble, followed by an anguished pan around the room in search of the invader. Obviously you’ve only got a limited time to do all this, and the warning tone gets quicker and increasingly agitated to make sure you’re well aware of this fact.

I see you!

Once you spot the alien, you’ve got to line him up and blast him before he gets to you. One head-shot should do it, but you won’t get a clean shot, because by now your heart rate is sure to be through the roof. He’ll run right at you too, making you waste a bunch of (limited!) ammo on him.

If you’re super lucky, several team members will be attacked at the same time, which is probably more tense than doing a driving test naked with a wasp in the car.

If the alien gets you the warning tone will change to a forlorn peep. That signifies your character being bundled up for immediate xenomorph oral impregnation. You’ve got a short time to get someone else to the room to take the alien out, but if you don’t get there in time you’ve lost them for good. Their little picture will disappear and you’ll get nothing but static if you switch to their screen.

Another nasty twist: if you blast an alien in front of a door it’ll leave a pool of acid blood which will kill your character outright should they try to exit that way.

There are a few things you can do to keep yourself alive. You can shoot out the control panels next to any door, which will prevent aliens coming through for a time. This is a one-time only deal, because you’ll have to blow the door open if you want to use it again. You can also re-stock a team member’s ammo at a specific room in the complex. This is useful, because running out of ammo is as good as a death sentence. You’ll also need a map. There’s no in game map provided, though the room number each character occupies is shown next to their image. The full price release provided a fold out map in the box, and you’ll need this. Make sure you have a copy handy, because the game is almost unplayably hard unless you have one!

One last thing. The aliens spread a sort of fungal growth around the rooms, which can cover doors and must be blasted away. There’s a generator room somewhere in the complex, and if the walls there get covered by alien fungus the LIGHTS WILL TURN OUT!

I can’t emphasise enough what bad news this is, because hunting for aliens by shadows alone is probably about as much fun as falling into the sharps bin in an STD clinic.

Film licenses had a pretty bad reputation for the discerning 8-bit gamer, tending to be shoddy and quickly thrown together efforts. Aliens is both an excellent game in its own right and perfect at evoking the tension and atmosphere of the film. There’s also quite a bit of tactical depth here too. Do you keep your group of soldiers together? Move as quickly as possible to the queen chamber? Maybe try to fan out and secure the generator room and armoury?

Ripley is looking a bit off colour today.

It’s also worth mentioning that there was also another Aliens game released for 8-bit micros, developed by Activision in the U.S. This takes a different approach to the license, presenting the film as a series of mini-game levels such as landing the drop-ship, fighting your way through the base to save Newt, the last surviving colonist, and the climactic one-on-one mechanical loader duel with the alien queen. This is also a good game, and well worth seeking out if you're a fan of the franchise, though for my money not quite as well conceived and executed as the U.K. version.

Playing it today

If you don't want to follow the obvious route of emulation and you’ve got a real C64, Amstrad CPC or Spectrum to hand, this should be easy to pick up for a few quid online. If you fancy something slightly more polished, there’s a fine looking windows PC remake ‘LV-426’ by Derbian Games that can be downloaded for free.

Commentariat

Tim: Ah, Aliens. Back when the franchise was actually scary and not a pastiche of itself.

As I suspect many others, I bought this on budget when it appeared on the Ricochet label from Mastertronic. This release really lacked the one thing that helped gameplay. A map.

The full price release had pull-out one included with the game; Mastertronic however, probably decided that including a separate sheet for just one title would have cost too much. And been yet another inlay for the staff at Menzies in the Clydebank Shopping Centre to lose. Zzap 64 published one for those of us without, but as I didn’t have that issue, I was in the dark. Quite literally, as it was more fun to play with the lights off.

Life is too short to make maps, so instead I ended up creeping about the complex, not really knowing where I was. Sounds dull, right? Well, no. The game oozes atmosphere; the graphics are tight and well executed, and though the C64’s SID chip is hardly taxed, the sounds that are there do the trick. The throbbing noise when an alien approaches, your exhausted marine out of ammo but still you frantically pull the trigger of their Pulse Rifle in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe there will be one last shell in there to give you a fighting chance. What I particularly like though is the freedom of gameplay, choosing to use your team as individuals or cooperatively as squads, investigating the different parts of the base separately. Pretty cool, when you consider it’s all done in just 64k.

Do I have fond memories of it? Yes. Would I play it again? Absolutely.

Meat: This game is an intense experience, likely to elicit some strong swear words if you’re not in the right mood for it. It’s certainly engrossing stuff though, and tough to beat. One thing though. Which genius decided that the ‘m’ key should restart the game? You know, the one next to the ‘n‘ key you use to tell your soldiers to move north? Nice one.

Pop: I played this a few years before seeing the film, but in retrospect it’s a very clever use of the license. It was also a really tense experience for an 8-bit game, particularly later on when your soldiers are assaulted by wave after wave of aliens and face huggers. Like many games of the era, it’s perhaps a little arcane for today’s audience, what with having to use the keyboard to select the different team members, but still playable and still enjoyable today. It’s the kind of game I can imagine working perfectly on a VR helmet, though that might be a little too much immersion for comfort!

Strangely enough, one of my strongest memories of this game was actually waiting for it to load off cassette tape. The Mastertronic re-release copy I played (borrowed off Tim, of course!) had a neat game of space-invaders that you got to play while waiting for the loading process to complete, accompanied by some very atmospheric music. This ‘invade-a-load’ appeared on a few C64 tape games, but in my head it’s always tied to playing Aliens.

Score card

Presentation 4/10

Very basic indeed. No intro screen, title crawl or music. The box contained a map, which is essential and should have been a part of the game itself.

Originality 8/10

An extremely novel use of a film license. The mix of first person perspective, team management and light strategy elements put this in a class of its own. Sadly, most licensed games of the 8-bit era tended to use cookie-cutter gameplay which was usually executed better elsewhere.

Graphics 7/10

Very clear and atmospheric, you’ll have no problem working out what everything is. The images for the team members are well drawn and clear for an 8-bit system. On the down side, rooms are drawn predominantly in a single colour and a little more variety in the room designs would be nice. The aliens walk like they’re going for a relaxing afternoon stroll, but the animation when they rush your position is very effective.

Hookability 7/10

Immediately intriguing, but the use of the keyboard and advanced controls for commanding team members require the investment of time to enjoy.

Sound 3/10

Played in near silence, except for gunfire and the alien warning siren. This actually makes the game more atmospheric. A title tune would have been nice.

Lastability 7/10

A decent challenge, it seems impossible until you form a good plan on how to tackle the assault on the base. Like many other games of the era, how much you get out of this game depends on how much you’re willing to put into working out how to play it effectively.

Overall 8/10

A fine example of how to compress the tension and drama of an action film into 64K.

#review #halloween #AFG #antiquesforgeeks #retrogaming #c64

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years

Text

Before This Dance Is Through V

Chapter: 5/16

Rating: M (Smut Warning)

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Despite what John had suggested, Ringo didn't go back to The Helter Skelter the following week; he'd considered it when John sent him yet another late night text but ultimately decided it wasn't the best idea. Spike had been playing on his mind daily and Ringo wasn't sure he was prepared to face him again. Instead he focused on his drumming and searched for a few more students to teach, which were fairly easy to find. Usually Ringo enjoyed his time off, he understood he was lucky that he didn't have to work a 9-5 job just to get by, but recently he wanted his fill his time up as much as possible, to distract himself.

One of his new students seemed incredibly interested in him, they'd spent an hour just chatting in his living room before they'd even moved over to the drum kit. Ringo wasn't too fussed, he was getting paid by the hour so wasting time was beneficial to him but he didn't want to give the guy the wrong impression. He was a little bit older and attractive enough but Ringo simply wasn't interested.

"Why didn't you just go for it?" John had asked him when they next met up.

"I dunno..." Ringo mumbled, but a part of him knew very well.

He'd given the guy another lesson since then and it became clear that the guy's interest in him wasn't going away any time soon. Ringo felt bad about the whole thing, wasn't he just doing exactly what Spike was doing to him? He tried to act as professional as possible the second time around in attempt to get the guy to back off, considering he hadn't heard from him since he was hoping it had worked. What was wrong with him? Was he really going to make himself suffer like this all because of one guy? And not just any guy, a stripper who had shown absolutely no interest in him at all. It was ridiculous, he kept telling himself, but no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he had to get over Spike, he would still think about him every day without fail. Trying to distract himself with clients had been working somewhat, but it had been difficult, especially when his best friend was John Lennon.

youre gonna love me

The text came through when Ringo was sat in a café getting some lunch. He'd finished with one of his younger students, a sweet girl who's parents had tried to convince her to try a more 'ladylike' instrument but she had promised only to give up the drums if she was awful; much to her delight, and Ringo's for being able to prove the stereotypical parents wrong, she was pretty good. Seeing her always put Ringo in a good mood, the parents mostly stayed away partly due to the noise but mostly due to disappointment, which meant they could joke around together. Ringo could tell she admired him and he welcomed it gladly, one of the best things about teaching was inspiring others, at least for him it was.

do i not already?

well yes but youre gonna love me EVEN more

what have you done

well i happened to stop by the club last night

oh god what did you do

wow is that how little you trust me

can you blame me

suppose not ANYWAY i got talking to paulie

surprise surprise

do you want the good news or not???

fine fine sorry

AS I WAS SAYING i was talking to paulie and he told me that your special little someone has an onlyfans account

first of all fuck you for calling him that second of all wtf is onlyfans

oh sorry i didnt realise you werent living in the 21st century

...... care to grace me with your knowledge?

basically its a website where you can post exclusive stuff for ONLY FANS to see its not a porn site or anything but its basically where people sell their nudes MEANING spike has an account so you can totally see loads of raunchy filthy perverted pics of him

but i have to pay?

well weve all gotta make a living

i can basically see him naked for free

but this way you wont get all freaked out and embarrassed well you will but nobody will know at least so do you want the link or not???

Ringo paused for a few moments, he was gripping his phone tightly in both of his hands as he unblinkingly looked at John's words. If his mind was going to decide to make him suffer by enabling his intense interest in Spike, he may as well get something out of it.

fine

where are your manners richard??

can i please have the link to the strippers nude photos please john please

alright calm down let me know if its worth while i might have a look

idk if im even gonna look at it paying for porn is a little dated

treat yourself ringo id offer to pay but im broke

if youre broke why were you at the strip club last night?

well SOMEONE had to go

they really didnt

im supporting my local economy

i dont think thats how that works

sure it is anyway here you go

Ringo stared at the link for a while, his eyes even began to blur, he didn't want to risk opening it in public even though he knew there was little chance of anyone seeing. He finished his lunch in a hurry and headed home quickly, only when he was in the privacy of his bedroom did he dare open it. First he had to make an account, when he saw the screen loading up asking for an email address and password he just turned his screen off and put the phone down. This was far too much effort for something he shouldn't really have been doing in the first place. But it only took a few minutes for him to pick the phone back up and begin signing up, he used an old email as it felt less seedy that way and he didn't want to risk his name cropping up anywhere for Spike to see. Now he could load up the link properly and take a proper look at Spike's profile.

Just looking at the small profile picture was enough to startle Ringo a little, the dark eyes looking into the camera with that unreadable glimmer behind them. He was shirtless in the picture, Ringo wondered why that didn't catch his attention first, with the frame cutting off just before it showed anything too explicit. The header was a photo taken from the club, showing him in tight, leather pants and tassels on his nipples which matched the whip he held in his hand. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He'd spent so much time and effort trying not to think about this man, attempting to keep him out of his mind as much as possible. Ringo knew that if he went through with this all that progress would be lost, he'd be giving in to whatever strange obsession he'd developed for Spike, one that no doubt wasn't going to lead to anything good.

Ringo kept staring at the screen as though it was going to tell him what he should do. Spike's profile had no description, which wasn't very surprising, and it dashed any hope Ringo had of discovering something new about him. Right before he was about to put his phone down again, it vibrated.

howd the wank go??

john i dont care how long weve been friends asking how my wank was will always be weird

youre right sorry so how did it go???

if you must know i havent had a wank i havent even paid for entry

now whos the one being inappropriate??

ha ha

why havent you???

feels weird

oh i see youll consume a bunch of unethical porn for free but god forbid you actually give sex workers any actual money

you are the last person who can lecture me about unethical porn

hey now watch yourself ringo if you dont get a subscription I WILL

go ahead

and ill tell you every day what sexy sexy pictures hes posting ill tell you EVERY SINGLE TIME i have a wank over them

every time? i dont think youve got enough data for that

im not joking

neither am i you wank A LOT

ringooooo just buy it i swear to god if its not worth it or you regret it or whatever ill give you the money back

on top of the money you already owe me?

have you always been such a capitalist

youre not doing a very good job of convincing me

fine spikes cock now are you convinced???

maybe

naked pictures of spike whenever and wherever you want them all for the low low price of 10 quid a month convinced??

fine fine if itll shut you up

im starting to think thats code for 'i really wanna do this but im too embarrassed to admit it'

i hate you

now that DEFINITELY code for 'john youre right' anyway theres no time to be telling me how right i am all the time youve got dick pics to look at even i wont stand in the way of a good wank so dont bother replying to me until youve paid for that subscription young man

im older than you

DONT BOTHER REPLYING

Ringo let out a sigh and rested his head against the bedroom wall from where he was laying on the bed. He opened up the link again and his thumb hovered over the subscription button, why couldn't he just do it? The money wasn't an issue, it could've cost half as much or be double the price and he'd still be debating it all the same. Somehow it felt like an invasion of privacy, after all Spike hadn't told Ringo about it himself, but then again that didn't necessarily mean he didn't want Ringo to see it. After all it was like John said: everyone has to make a living somehow. Sometimes Ringo wished he could turn off that part of his brain that was so empathetic, so concerned about how everyone felt and what they were thinking. He knew that he wanted this, so why wasn't he allowing himself to have it? Ringo could see that he was being ridiculous, as he was with almost anything involving Spike, and after lying there for a while pondering and debating he decided to flip a coin. Heads would mean he got the subscription, tails that he didn't. He watched the coin spinning through the air after he flicked it upwards, then snatched it and slammed it down onto his forearm before slowly moving his hand away: it was tails. What a relief. Ringo chuckled to himself for being so foolish, settling down into his bed; it was still only around midday but he didn't have anywhere he needed to be.

So why didn't he feel relieved in the slightest?

This whole thing was getting tiring, the constant debate between what he believed he should do and what he wanted to do, and it seemed like it wasn't going to be ending anytime soon. Apparently he was in this for the long run, whatever that meant, but if he was going to turn down relatively attractive guys practically throwing themselves at him, he may as well go all the way. While he was putting in his credit card information, he stopped to think around three of four times, but once he'd finished and the images became accessible to him, his brain was barely able to conjure up a coherent sentence.

"Jesus..." Ringo breathed out as his eyes flicked across the plethora of pictures loading up on his screen.

There was a lot of them, and a lot of Spike was on display. Most of them were pictures taken at the club, either from a professional photographer in the audience or photos he'd taken himself in the mirrors backstage - Ringo could even see glimpses of Paul in the background of some of them. The ones that caught Ringo's eyes the most were those that seemed to be taken in his house, these also happened to be the ones in which Spike tended to be fully naked. It was very different experience to see him like this: a static image that he'd intentionally taken of himself and posted for so many people to see, an image that couldn't look back at Ringo and make him feel that strange mixture of excitement and shame. He began scrolling down the feed which only revealed more and more enticing photos. Ringo began to feel himself hardening, he suspected it had been happening for a while now but he'd been far too distracted to notice. He felt like a teenager discovering porn for the first time, it was difficult to remind himself that this wasn't anything new. Seeing Spike naked shouldn't have excited him so much, and yet it did.

One picture in particular drew Ringo's attention: Spike was stood in front of a bathroom mirror with a loose black tie lying against his bare chest, one hand was holding a phone and the other gripping his cock. He had dark eye make up on and his hair was messy. Ringo wasn't sure exactly what it was about this photo that was so enticing but he couldn't take his eyes off it. The prominence of his collarbones, the faint curls of his dark hair, how his slim fingers wrapped around himself. Slowly Ringo slid his own hand under the waistband of his boxers as he stared at the picture. At first he hesitated, his fingers stopped right above the base. It's not like this would've been the first time he'd touched himself while thinking about Spike, it would've been far from the last he imagined, but this was different. It was more concrete, more of an admission. Nothing felt quite as real when it's only being imagined, the haziness of lust fuzzing up the mind as it so often did, but now with a very real photo of Spike in front of him - which he'd paid to see - the feeling was far more tangible, far harder to ignore.

He'd come this far, he told himself as his hand sunk lower until his fingers were running along the length of his semi-hard cock, he may as well go all the way. To begin with Ringo stayed looking at this single picture as he slowly pumped himself, but as his lust began to grow he perused through more and more pictures: Spike kneeling naked in front of a mirror with a loose cigarette hanging from his lips, lying in the bath with bubbles only just about covering his nakedness, spread out on the bed with a gag in his mouth, handcuffs forcing his slim arms behind his back with his cock throbbing. None of this was anything Ringo hadn't seen before, like most people in this day and age he'd searched through the darker corners of the internet - sometimes willingly, sometimes John was to blame - but to see Spike in such a way was like an entirely new rush. Each picture drove Ringo further and further on, at times he almost dropped his phone with how sloppy his movements were becoming. Who took these photos? Ringo figured it was best not to think about it, the possibility that Spike had a boyfriend who took all these pictures of him would've been the quickest way to kill his erection.

Ringo began moaning and cursing wantonly as he got closer and closer to his orgasm, he had to stop flicking through the pictures because he could hardly concentrate on what his other hand was doing, so he settled on a final one to help him finish; it wasn't particularly strategic but he was definitely grateful that he selected the one that he did. In it Spike was looking directly into the camera, allowing Ringo to gaze longingly into the rich brown of his eyes and how his dark lashes curled beautifully around them. He was shirtless with nothing but a necklace on, the same necklace that Ringo had seen him wearing in the record store and Ringo couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction that he'd seen it with his own eyes, as though it meant something. Deep down he knew that it didn't but his inebriated mind was latching onto it. The nudity in the photo was hardly interesting Ringo by this point, although it would be wrong to say that he completely ignored the flatness of his stomach or the faint shadows of his ribs beneath his pale skin, it was the personal aspect which truly affected him.

This wasn't just lust. Lust Ringo could understand, he could compartmentalise it and give into it without much shame or a second thought. If this was just lust, he would've bought the subscription without a care and touched himself looking at the nakedness of Spike's body as though it meant nothing more than a way to get off. Yet here he was on the brink of orgasm looking into another man's eyes, eyes that felt like they were looking straight back at him as though they were sharing this moment together. It wasn't hard to imagine Spike's hand in place of his own, those deep eyes watching Ringo come undone piece by piece. Ringo's hip began to stutter, his leg twitching a little as he had to drop the phone down onto his lap as his head fell back against his pillow as his orgasm approached. It wasn't the image of Spike's naked body that filled Ringo's mind as he came, it wasn't his arse or his cock or even his chest, it was his face, his voice, it was him.

Ringo lay breathless on his bed for a while, the clarity that arrived as his orgasm subsided wasn't welcome in the slightest and he was reluctant to pick his phone back up to see Spike's eyes looking at him once again. There was no use in feeling ashamed about it, no point in trying to deny it any longer: his feelings for Spike were more than a mere passing fancy, that was clear. Exactly what he was meant to do about these feelings was far from clear but that wasn't something Ringo could figure out right now with cum on his stomach and the daylight seeping through his bedroom curtains.

When he'd picked up his phone he'd closed all the apps immediately, doing his best not to catch a glimpse of what he'd been so eagerly looking at before. Just as he was about to step into the shower to clean himself off, his phone buzzed; he almost couldn't hear it over the music he was blasting out. It alerted him for a moment as though it was going to be a message from Spike stating he knew exactly what Ringo had just done - it wouldn't have really surprised him had that been the case, Spike's face almost always looked like he knew something that nobody else did - but fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, it was John.

sooo how did the wank go

who knows but on a totally unrelated note im about to get into the shower

well before you do that i have even more good news

can it not wait?

NO because you might cum just at the thought of it and then youd be wasting a good shower

well arent you considerate and unnecessarily graphic

thats me anyway im taking you to the club next tuesday whether you like it or not

im still waiting for the good news

well if youd let me FINISH next week theyre doing a special event and we just have to go youll never guess what it is

what is it?

guess

you just said ill never guess

youre no fun

WHAT IS IT

alright alright keep your hair on its a crossdressing event high heels make up probably a few wigs all that good stuff

im still waiting for the good news

OH COME ON youre telling me you dont want to see spike in heels and fishnets with some lovely lipstick on

Ringo gulped. It wasn't a difficult image to conjure up his mind, considering he'd been staring at photos of Spike for the past twenty minutes and it excited him to say the least. He did want to see that, very much indeed.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #starrison

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

MAYBE IT WILL HELP LATER STAGE INVESTORS AS WELL

Creating wealth is not a new idea. Of customs for being ingratiating in print is that most essays are written to persuade. These two are quite different criteria. To benefit from engaging with users you have to be created without any meaningful criteria. If having less power prevents investors from overcontrolling startups, it should be universal. Google's don't be evil policy may for this reason be the most restrictive. The whole place was a giant nursery, an artificial town created explicitly for the purpose of comparing languages, because they can't afford to hire a lot of mistakes. Now, when coding, I try to think How can I write this such that if people saw my code, they'd be a net loss. The importance of degrees is due solely to the administrative needs of large organizations. You probably can't overcome anything so pervasive as the model of work is a job. For example, in preindustrial societies like medieval Europe, when someone attacked you, you didn't call the police. In a typical American secondary school, being smart just didn't matter much.

In those days you could go public as a dogfood portal, so as a company. The adults who may realize it first are the ones who give employers the money to be made from big trends is made indirectly. Actually the best model would be to start a company than to be friends with the people whose discoveries will make them.1 Com. Plus he introduced us to one of the two numbers? Most investors, unable to judge startups for themselves, rely instead on the opinions of other investors. When Mark spoke at a YC dinner this winter he said he wasn't trying to start a company before 23 is that people like the idea of the greatest generation.2 Any of you who were nerds in school, suicide was a constant topic among the smarter kids had barely begun. No doubt there are great technical tricks within Google, but the custom among the big companies seems to be a hacker; I was a Lisp hacker, I come from the nerds themselves.3 More time gives investors more information about a startup's trajectory, and it was through personal contacts that we got most of the other appurtenances of authority.4 Someone has an idea for a class project.

Something that curtly contradicts one's beliefs can be hard. Like a lot of regulations. The actual questions are respectively patents or secrecy? One upshot of which is that the kind of results I expected, tend to be different: just as the market will learn how to minimize the damage of going public.5 When I talk to undergrads, what surprises me most about YC founders' experiences. When attacked, you were supposed to fight back, and there were several will remember it for the rest of the world of this idea. We were a bit like an adult would be if he were thrust back into middle school.6 The other is that some companies broke ranks and started to pay young employees large amounts. Or to put it might be worth a hundred times as much if it worked. The Selling of the President 1968, Nixon knew he had less charisma than Humphrey, and thus simply refused to debate him on TV. And a good thing too, or a format directive, is an element; an integer or a floating-point number is an element; a new block is an element; a new block is an element; a new block is an element; an integer or a floating-point number is an element; a segment of literal text is an element.

Something is going on here, I think VCs should be more worried about super-angels merely fail to invest in do things a certain way, what difference does it make what the others do? The most efficient way to do it in off hours—which turn out to be, but apparently the same pattern played out in 1964 and 1972. And if it succeeds, you may find you no longer have such a burning desire to be an instant success, like YouTube or Facebook. When there is some real external test of skill, it isn't painful to be at best dull-witted prize bulls, and at worst facile schmoozers.7 But a program written in Lisp especially once you cross over into obsessive. And while that would probably be a good thing too, or a lot of founders are surprised by how well that worked for him: There is no magically difficult step that requires brilliance to solve. Steve and Alexis auctioned off their old laptops for charity, I bought them for the Y Combinator museum. This is one case where the average founder's inability to remain poker-faced works to your advantage. And yes, while it is probably not one you want anyway.

We did, and again for hypocrisy.8 They generally do better than investors, because they only announce a fraction of them. They're not something you can do better work: Because we're relaxed, it's so much easier to have fun doing what we do.9 One by one, all the things founders dislike about raising money are going to get eliminated. It doesn't add; it multiplies. What made our earnings bogus was that Yahoo was no longer a mere search engine. Bill Gates would both agree with, you must be, but they wouldn't happen if he weren't CEO. That's why we rarely hear phrases like qualified expert in the software business.10

If you find something broken that you can find. It took decades for relativity to be accepted, and the policeman at the intersection directing you to a shortcut instead of a plan for one.11 The true test of the length of a program.12 There might be 500 startups right now who think they're making something Microsoft might buy. Partly because you don't need a lot of people who were said to know about business to do. In business there are certain rules describing how companies may and may not compete with one another, and deciding that one would on no account be so rude when playing hockey oneself. Think about what it means. I kept finding the same pattern played out in 1964 and 1972. This is not exclusively a failing of the young. The big mistake was the patent office's, for not insisting on something narrower, with real technical content.

In a startup you're judged by users, by starting your own company.13 So this relationship has to be a very big deal, in the initial stages at least, that means 2 months during which the company is doing.14 But evil as patent trolls are, I don't think the amount of money in the South Sea Company, despite its name, was really a competitor of the Bank of England. Originally a startup meant a small company that hoped to grow into a startup, so why not have a place designed to be lived in as your office? As a rule their interest is a function of growth. Not at all.15 Plenty of famous founders have had some failures along the way. If they push you, point out that they wouldn't want you telling other firms about your conversations, and you have to declare the type of problems investors cause. Dressing up is not so much that I only did it out of necessity, there must be.16 So I think it was. Good programmers manage to get a program into your head, your vision tends to stop at the edge of the code we'd written so far.17 Wardens' main concern is to keep the founders interested.18

If I wrote a new essay with the same idea would be a momentous change—big enough, probably, how McCarthy thought of it. There's nothing that magically changes after you take that last exam. What made the options valuable, for the social bonds they created. And we were careful to create something that could be better. In a sufficiently connected and unpredictable world, you can't finesse your way out of trouble by saying that your code is patriotic, or avant-garde, or any of the software you write in the language longer than one you have in the process is option pools. The second will be easier. The most memorable example of medieval industrial secrecy is probably Venice, which forbade glassblowers to leave the city, and sent assassins after those who tried. They started because they wanted to hear.19

Notes

Most employee agreements say that a startup idea is crack. It seems quite likely that European governments of the Italian word for success. Actually he's no better or worse than he was 10. The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob nominally had a broader meaning.

But it was.

Sparse Binary Polynomial Hash Message Filtering and The CRM114 Discriminator. But in a couple predecessors. But it's useful to consider themselves immortal, because the kind that has a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say that YC's most successful startups looked when they say that education in the Valley. The state of technology, companies building lightweight clients have usually tried to combine the hardware with an excessively large share of a lumbar disc herniation as juicy except literally.

The real problem is not just a few people who make things: the way up.

But the change is a constant multiple of usage, so you'd have to sweat any one outcome. Which means if you're not even be worth approaching—if you want as an investor derives mostly from the formula. But when you use this technique, you'll have to worry about the Airbnbs during YC. More often you have to pass.

This is a scarce resource.

If you treat your classes because you need.

Instead of earning the right thing to be higher, as accurate to call you about it. In general, spams are more repetitive than regular email. But not all of us in the US News list? In Jessica Livingston's Founders at Work.

Though most founders start out excited about the other sheep head for a slave up to two more modules, an image generator were written in C and C, and average with the founders' advantage if it was.

Especially if they knew their friends were. Eric Horvitz. Ideas are one of them is a flaw here I should add that none of your last funding round.

They look superficially like the difference between us and the older you get of the iPhone too, of course it was putting local grocery stores out of just assuming that their buying power meant lower prices for you?

But it isn't a quid pro quo. So if you're not consciously aware of it. During the Internet.

94. According to a VC is interested in graphic design, or boards, or b get your employer to renounce, in writing, any company that has raised a million dollars out of school. For the price, they were already profitable.

Since capital is no longer a precondition.

A knowledge of human nature is certainly part of grasping evolution was to realize that species weren't, as Prohibition and the war, tax loopholes defended by two of the potential users, at one point in the early 90s when they got to targeting when I first met him, but it is the most fearsome provisions in VC deal terms have to track ratios by time of its own mind about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's shocking how much time. Credit card debt stupidest of all, economic inequality.

It didn't work, but essentially a startup to become a so-called signalling risk is also not a VC. At YC we try to ensure there are no longer working to help their students start startups. The root of the economy.

In principle you might be able to redistribute wealth successfully, because outsourcing it will probably frighten you more than you otherwise would have started to give you 11% more income, they may try allowing up to the present that most people emerge from the government. That follows necessarily if you saw Jessica at a Demo Day or die. Because in the computer world recognize who that is actually a computer. Imagine the reaction of an FBI agent or taxi driver or reporter to being a tax haven, I would take up, how much you get, the top stories were de facto consulting firm.

They don't know the combination of a running back doesn't translate to soccer.

What they must do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as straightforward as building a new version sanitized for your protection. Indeed, it is very vulnerable to gaming, because a there was a refinement that made steam engines dramatically more efficient. But the margins are greater on products. Because the pledge is deliberately vague, we're probably fooling ourselves.

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mellicose · 6 years

Text

That Woman Over There - Chapter 23

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: Teen, for some mature themes

Word count: 3832

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Alex slammed into the gallery, cursing. She forgot to bring a damn umbrella, of all things. She shook herself off and threw down her bag. Rainwater dripped off it, to the parquet floor. The place was eerily dark. She wondered whether it was on purpose. She sniffed at the air. It smelled a bit like John’s house.

Her chest burned. “Fuck,” she said out loud. She wondered whether he hated her, and whether she’d ever smell his house again. She looked around and noticed pieces of art in pools of light. She walked to the closest one.

A painting. Fleshtones. Abstract, but the image began to take form in her brain almost immediately. Bodies. There was something about the sumptuous curves of the negative spaces … but she felt like she was missing something. The paint had a matte quality, a texture that fascinated her.

“It looks like living, breathing flesh, no?”

“Goddamnit!” she said, jumping aside. A lithe man in a striped t-shirt and a pair of jeans stood behind her.

He stood beside her and smiled a cheshire cat grin that was oddly nostalgic. He hugged his slim arms.

“Flesh, no?” he repeated.

“Yes, but there’s something off. I can’t tell where one body ends and the other begins,” she said. Her heart was only slowing now. He drifted the scent of cedar to her. Cedar and … violet? Her eyes drifted to him again. He wore a neat goatee and mustache, and his eyes were the color of his hair - golden brown.

He nodded, and stretched. His shirt rode nearly to the bottom of his ribcage. His smooth belly flexed. His jeans rode low on his hips, and she saw so much happy trail it made her blush.

“You can look away at any time,” he said, giving her a half grin. She didn’t know she was staring. “Not that I mind. You’re cute.”

Her cheeks were hot. Whether it was embarrassment or something else, she didn’t care to figure out.

“You are Alex?” he said, turning to her.

“How’d they get the paint to look like that?” she said, looking back at the painting.

“I don’t know how she does it. That’s why it’s here,” he said.

“Ah,” she said. “Yeah. I’m Alex.” She held out her hand. Again, he smiled as they shook hands.

“How professional,” he said. “You’ve got a firm handshake.”

She shrugged. “Want to see my work?”

“Of course. No more flirting. Straight to business.”

“I’m not flirting,” she said, walking to her bag and digging in it for her laptop. “I’m-” she stopped. She was going to say she was gay. But it wasn’t true. At least, not all the way true. But she could still say it. She gave him a sidelong glance. She decided against it.

“You’re what?” he said. “Taken? If so, I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “No. Not taken.” She coughed.

He nodded. “Come, let’s go upstairs. There’s more light in my flat.” He walked to the far corner. He opened a door to an elevator.

“It’s one of those fancy personal ones,” she said as she entered behind him.

“Yeah. I don’t want a nosy visitor finding their way to my personal space,” he said. He punched in a code. It moved up smoothly. She caught another whiff of cedar.

“Again, you’re sniffing,” he said, smiling.

“Oh. Yeah. You smell a lot like a friend of mine,” she said, smiling bashfully.

“You close?” he said, opening the door. Beyond, was open space with islands of tasteful furniture.

“He’s my best mate,” she said. She hoped it was still true.

“He has good taste, then.”

“It’s not a perfume. It’s, uh, he works with wood, so the smell sticks to him.”

“Carpenter?” he said as he guided her to what looked like an office.

“Artist,” she said confidently. “He makes beautiful things. Precious things. You know, keepsakes.”

“Ouiai,” Alphonse said, and offered her a seat in front of his computer.

“The screen big enough for ye?” she said, and chuckled. It was at least 45 inches.

“I use this to view art,” he said.

“Sure, mate. Art.” she said, and handed him her USB with a sardonic grin she couldn’t wipe off.

His lips trembled with mirth. “You’re not terribly formal, are you?” he said.

“Should I be? This isn’t like, a proper interview, is it?” she said, and slung a leg over the arm of the office chair. “This chair’s rad, by the way. It’s ergonomic, right?”

“Maybe not how you’re using it,” he said. The screen came on and she lost her balance and fell back.

“Holy fuck! I can see colors I didn’t even know existed,” she said, crawling back up to the desk and standing up. “Sorry about the language.”

“Speak however you like. This isn’t the Vatican,” he said.

She looked over his shoulder.”There’s the folder with my work.”

She swore when he clicked on the first photo. “That’s bloody gorgeous,” she said. “Okay, you’re absolutely right. This screen is a requirement. All I’ve got is my mam’s grotty little 200 quid laptop. I can see every single brush stroke with this thing.” She leaned forward. “It’s brilliant.”

“Now you see the method to my madness,” he said.

“Yah, I do. It’s definitely not just for porn,” she said. She nodded.

He burst out laughing. “You have absolutely no filter, do you?” he said.

“Why? Should I? I have a feeling the posh art buyers might cringe at me, eh?” she said.

“Maybe you’re not the affected art school type, but it honestly doesn’t matter. Most of them don’t even know what they’re looking at anyway. They just buy to say they did. It’s very rare to find collectors with an actual eye for talent. That’s where I come in.”

“You’re an art dealer,” she said, emphasizing the last word. “You make the good shit available to ‘em.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“You scare your fancy customers down there?”

“You were in my space,” he said.

“You could’ve made noise walking up, like normal people.”

He crossed his legs, and she noticed that he was barefoot. “Again, my space.”

She smiled. “Sorry. But I almost wee’d myself.” She squirmed.

“You need the loo?” he said.

“I think so,” she said. He pointed to a frosted glass cube in a corner of the apartment. She sighed. “Seriously?”

He winked. He watched her walk away. She was a bit rough around the edges, but her honesty was refreshing. Perhaps he had been around posh art students for too long. Even her shape was more inviting – curvy in places where so many others had on-trend angles.

“This is ridiculous,” she yelled as she closed the glass door behind her. “There’s no privacy whatsoever.”

“I live alone,” he said. He felt strange yelling in his own apartment.

“And when you have … guests?” she said.

“I don’t really hold parties in this space – any guests here are usually beyond that kind of embarrassment.”

“Oh. Yeah,” she said, and flushed. She looked around. There was a large shower in front of her, also glass. It was fancy in a way that made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine washing her body in a place like that. And it was a place, not just a shower. The chrome fixtures gleamed, and the bottles on the shelf were not in English. She wondered whether they smelled like wood. She washed her hands, saw no towel, and dried them on her shorts. She felt weird letting the water dry on the sink. It would get spots.

“Hey, do you wipe down the sink?” she said as she walked back up.

“Shhhhhhh,” he said. He leaned forward, looking intently at one of her blue period pieces. At least, that’s what she called it. It was not naturalistic, but also not as abstract as some of the pieces she saw downstairs. “Viens-ici,” he said, and beckoned to her. “Tell me about this.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s the last piece I painted before I stopped for a while. I just sort of … sat in front of a canvas and let the brush do the talking.”

“Yes, it speaks volumes,” he said. He hugged himself again. “What’s most striking is that although the composition hints at desolation, you did not use the stereotypical washed out palette. It’s searingly bright.”

“I couldn’t stand using muted colors.” She echoed his action, hugging herself. “She deserves better than shades of gray.” She shivered.

“She?” he said.

“Jo,” she said softly.

“An ex?” he said.

“My daughter, who died last year right before being born.”

He gasped.”Ah, petite. J'en suis désolé,” he said. He patted her hand, and for some reason, she burst into tears again. He stood and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his narrow frame and wept into his chest.

“I’m a mess. I’ve had the worst day ever. I think I just lost everything.”

“How do you mean?” he said.

It surprised her that he even cared. She didn’t know where to start. He was a stranger, so lying wasn’t worth the effort.

“My fiancee just broke up with me. She was right to do it. And I just fucked up my relationship with my best mate. At least, if he’s got any sense.”

“Eh,” he said. He didn’t expect the full truth. She was extraordinary.

“When you say “just”, do you mean in the last month or something?” he said. He rubbed her back. Her hair smelled like cigarette smoke and satsuma.

“I mean, today. Earlier.”

He pulled her away to look at her. “Putain. And you’re here?”

“I’ve got nothing left … what’s your name again?” She wiped her face with her arm.

“Alphonse. You can call me Alfie if you like.”

“Alfie. Sounds posh,” she said. “You don’t like Alphonse?”

“I’m named after my dad. He’s as asshole,” he said.

“‘Least you know ‘im,” she said, and sniffed.” I’ll call you Alfie, then. Don’t wanna be bringing back any bad memories. I don’t usually get like this.” She finished wiping her eyes, but her lips still quivered.

“You want a beer?” he said.

“God yes,” she said. He ran to the kitchen space and opened a giant fridge built into a brick wall “Jesus, man, got enough space in there?” she said. There was actual food in it. Like John, he liked to cook.

“You peckish? I’ve got some leftover cold sesame noodles,” he said, putting two bottles of beer on the counter. She shrugged, but approached the counter, curious. He pulled out a plastic tub and opened it.

“It’s not takeaway,” she said. The noodles were glossy with oil, and dotted with toasted sesame seed and green onion. “Smells amazing.”

“I made them for dinner. As ever, I made too much. I suppose some habits die hard,” he said, and handed her a fork.

“Cooking a lot?” she said around a mouthful of noodles.

“Adjusting to cooking for one again,” he said, and sat on a stool opposite her. “Tell me more about that piece. I noticed that it’s unfinished. Or am I wrong?”

She took a sip of her beer. “That’s perceptive,” she said. “This is delicious, by the way. Better than from a restaurant.”

“Merci,” he said. “I have a mild obsession with asian cuisine.”

“Was your ex girlfriend from there?” she said, taking another generous mouthful.

“Perceptive,” he said. She winked. “No, she isn’t. She’s Portuguese. But she’s a chef who specializes in pan-asian cuisine. She got me hooked.”

“She’s a chef? If I dated a chef I’d gain two stone in a year,” she said. “I’d wear it as a point of pride.”

He laughed. “I wish, but I can’t. Genetics won’t really let me gain much of anything. Some might consider it a blessing. I guess it is.” He shrugged.

“Uhuh,” she said. “I was like that until I hit 25. After that, things started happening in this area,” she said, gesturing to her middle.

“I’m quite a few years over that, and nothing’s happened yet,” he said.

“How old are you?”

“39,” he said.

“Really? You look amazin’, bruv,” she said. She blushed at the ease with which she gave him the compliment, but she didn’t regret it. He beamed.

“I avoid sunlight whenever possible,” he said.

“Okay, Nosferatu,” she said. She looked at the sweating bottle of beer in front of her. She liked him. He seemed like a good bloke, and he hadn’t acted funny when she burst into tears. She didn’t know what she expected when she came, but definitely not him. She looked at him. His eyes were gold, with flecks of green near the iris. It was one of her favorite color combinations.

“You’re staring again,” he said. She was so zoned in she didn’t see his smile.

“Your eyes. The green is nice,” she said, then stuffed her hands in her pockets.

“Thanks. My maman has Persian blood. I get my eyes from her,” he said. “And in more ways than one. She’s the artist. My father thinks art is a hobby.”

She snorted. “My mam’s the same. She thinks I should go to school to become a nurse’s assistant. But I can’t stand the sight of blood. I’m working on being a teacher, maybe.”

“Maybe?” he said, opening another beer for her. She took it gratefully.

“Liv, my fi-my ex-fiancee, suggested it. She had a baby too, Monty. He’s the sweetest little guy you’ll ever meet. He’s gonna be one year old in a month and a half.” She took a deep swig of beer. Her eyes started to swim again. He walked beside her.

“He’s going to be one. And you said you lost Jo last year…” he said.

“It’s a hella long story, mate,” she said. “And you’re a stranger.”

“I’ve got an empty dance card and a case of beer,” he said, walking to a nearby sofa. “Let’s get acquainted.”

She stared out one of his large windows. The night was setting in, and it was pouring rain.

“I think we should wrap up the art stuff. It’s pissing outside and I’ve got to take a train back to Bristol...” her voice failed. She didn’t know where she was gonna go once she got there. She would have to speak to Olivia, then her mam. She dreaded the latter far more than the former.

“I can give you a ride to the station, if you like,” he said.

“Ah,” she said. “You that bored that you wanna listen to my long list of fuck ups?” she said. She sat on the other side of the sofa. She wished she could kick off her boots.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said.

“You just wait till I get into it, boyo,” she said.

“So that means you’ll stay for a bit,” he said. “I will open my ears and refrain from any possible censure until you’re done.”

“Century what?” she said, making a face.

“Censure. It means a strong or vehement expression of disapproval.”

“Huh. Whatever.” She looked down at her lap. She looked so lost. It made him want to stroke her rain-frizzy blond hair. She broke up with her fiancee just today, yet here she was, braving wind and rain to show him her worth. It was beyond his capacity to understand. He had not gotten out of bed for three weeks after Lorena left him, and it had been over two months until he was able to face the world. It was still difficult to adjust. She had been his life for six years.

“Where are you?” he said.

“I couldn’t finish it,” she said, tracing the shapes printed on her tights. She took a deep breath. He waited patiently. “At the time. It was, like…”

He moved a little closer, but made sure to give her plenty of space.

“It was like admitting she was finished. That her story was over,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it.” She hiccuped, but kept her composure. “I don’t even know why that’s in there. It’s a mess.”

“You keep saying that,” he said.

“Because it’s true. My life’s a mess. My work. My brain. They’re all one great big horrible mess.”

“You also said it’s unfinished,” he said softly.

“The painting? Yeah.”

“You don’t get me,” he said. He used his hands to speak, and it was beautiful to see. “I mean, it’s unfinished. Your life. Your brain. You. You’re young, no?”

“Old enough to know better about things, though,” she said, crossing her arms.

“You haven’t told me your unforgivable trespasses, but obviously not,” he said.

Her mouth dropped open.

He smiled. “I know you can’t see it from the inside looking out, but I have faith in you. You’ll right the wrongs of which you speak.”

“You don’t know me, bruv,” she said, taking a sip of beer. “I’m, like, the queen of fuckups.”

“That’s why it’s faith. If 2.2 billion Christians can believe in an invisible God, I can believe you’re not an incorrigible fuck up.”

She scratched her head. This bloke was something else. She rolled her eyes and gave him a half-grin.

“Alright. But you haven’t heard what I did yet,” she said.

“Will it explain the mystery of you and your ex being with child at the same time at some point? I am very rudely curious about that. Did you do it on purpose?”

“No,” she said loudly. “I didn’t.”

“Okay,” he said, and stretched his legs out. “We’re getting to the meat of the story.”

“I’ll bore you with my stupidity, but what does this have to do with my art?”

“We’ll figure it out along the way,” he said. “Talk to me.”

“Whatever. So my girlfriend got pregnant without telling me. I was really angry, and I got blind drunk and got off with our next door neighbor, John…”

“Wait. You’re gay?” he said.

She bit her lip. This was the first time she was going to say it out loud to someone she didn’t really know. But considering the stuff she was sharing, it couldn’t be that bad.

“I’m bi. I go both ways,” she said. She paused, as if waiting for peals of thunder and lightning, but the rain continued, silent and dark. “I didn’t know it at the time. But that comes later.”

“I see,” he said. “Take your time. I’m here all night.”

“Yeah. So, all it took was one night, and I was well preggers.”

“By the neighbor? Fuck,” he said. “And he was okay with it?”

“John? We became best mates during the pregnancy. He was in love with me or whatever, but we dealt with it. Now he’s in love with Connie.”

“What?” he said up. “So your ex girlfriend got pregnant without telling you. Then, you got off with your neighbor John, got pregnant after one night, and you’re still living by each other?”

“Yep,” she said.

“And now Encarnacion is with John, the father of Jo, and in love? Wasn’t she with Ella?

“Her and Ella went kaput last year. Big drama – at least, the bits I heard. Super messy.”

“I believe you now,” he said, eyes wide. He had to call Encarnacion. Her and Ella had once felt as immutable as a mountain. But Vesuvius most probably felt the same to the Pompeiians. “You remained friends?”

“Of course. Even after Jo. Like I said, he’s my absolute best mate. Or, possibly, was.”

“If you could endure that triangle, what happened to break it?”

She looked out the window again. She wondered what he was doing. Connie, most probably. He deserved happiness. She couldn’t get the indignant look on his face when she confessed. She never wanted to see that look on his face again.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Oui.”

“What?” she said, snapping out of her train of thought.

“You developed feelings for him. That’s why you broke up with your fiancee.”

She kicked off her books and started pacing the open space in front of the window.

“I’ll have you know she broke up with me,” she said. “He’s the father of my girl,” she said. “Jo was ours.”

“You said he was in love with you. What happened to change that?”

She snorted. “I’m a fool. A damn fool.” His brows rose. “He moved on. I suppose to keep his sanity, but he did. Fully.”

“With Encarnacion,” he said.

“Who is Olivia’s best friend,” she said.

He brightened up. “How is Olivia? She was a hell of a drinking buddy, back in the day.”

“Drinking buddy, huh? Of course,” she said, but she didn’t ask. It was just another story Liv hadn’t bother to tell her. “She’s fine, I hope.”

“You’ve given me only the blurb, but it already sounds like a hell of a story,” he said.

She sat on the windowsill, which was lined with silk pillows. “I think I’ll need something stronger than lager to really get into it,” she said. She held out the half-empty beer bottle.

“I’ve got vodka in a freezer,” he said, taking it.

“That’s good. Pour a drop of juice in. I’m still nursing a hangover.”

“As one does,” he said with a smile, and handed her a glass. He sat against the wall, at her feet. “So, start at the beginning.”

“At the actual beginning, or when everything got fucked?”

“At the very beginning,” he said, nursing his beer. He was a believer that you could tell a lot by a person by the kind of conversation they had. There are people who could talk your ear off for hours, but in the end, you didn’t know them any better. And there were people like Alex – open to a beautiful fault. He already knew he would be crazy about her. Whether it was romantically or not, he couldn’t ascertain now. But he’d know soon enough.

“I met Olivia online, on a dating site. I’d joined as a gag, but in less that 24 hours, I had over 30 messages…”

They talked until dawn, and in the interim, he figured it out.

Next Chapter

#That Woman Over There #you me and him #fan fiction #alex deserves the world #we're almost at the end #It's gonna be so hard to let these characters go

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 7 years

Text

Mystery Man

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 5077

Summary: Deciding to be more social, Simon goes to a masquerade ball fundraiser. Based on "shy kiss" to "steamy kiss" request.

Read on AO3

AN: See? I am actually working through these requests! It's just taking awhile. Hope you like it!

Simon

A masquerade ball. What a strange idea. The student union is trying to find more “creative” ways to raise funds. Guess a rich university like Watford can afford to be creative. They’ve rented out some fancy hotel ballroom nearby, got the art department to make masks, the drama department to loan costumes, and for 20 quid a person, you can dance with fellow students. It’s absolutely ludicrous. And possibly fun. I desperately need some fun.

“I can’t believe you’re going to this thing, Simon,” Penny mutters as she picks at her chicken.

“Why?” I say, mouth filled with turkey and mayo.

“Because you rarely go out, period. Plus you’re an awful dancer.”

I shrug. “I just want to have some fun. If you haven’t noticed, Pen, I’m beyond anti-social. Especially since Agatha broke up with me.” I angrily bite my sandwich. It’s only been a few weeks. The wound is still sorta raw.

Penny sighs and hangs her head. “Fine, whatever. Have fun. I’m going to stay home and study.”

“You should go to the library and join Baz. The stupid prick has spent most of his time there since October. He always leaves before I wake up and comes back after I’m asleep.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

I shrug again. “I guess. At least I don’t have to listen to him complain about the open windows anymore.”

We both laugh at that, but quickly fall back into silence. I finish my turkey club in two bites and move on to the cherry scone. As I’m buttering it, I freeze. Something processes through my brain. Penny looks at me quizzically.

“What?” she says.

I point my blunt knife at her. “What do you mean awful dancer!?”

Penny bursts out laughing. We enter a long discussion on the merits of my rhythmic movement capabilities. I argue that jumping up and down does qualify as dancing. At least in clubs it does.

When I get to my room after class the next day, a figure in a grey hoodie is rummaging through Baz’s things.

“Hey what the hell are you doing?!” I yell.

The person whips around, and I immediately relax. It is Baz. With his large, slightly tinted glasses sliding down on his long nose, and wavy black hair falling like a curtain in front of his face. He looks at me with mouth hung open in shock. I let out a long breath.

“Jesus Baz, you scared the shit out of me. Since when do you come in here?”

Baz pulls the large hardcover books into his chest. “Sorry to disturb you with my presence, Snow,” he mutters in his small voice.

Baz Pitch is a very weird guy. He’s always so pulled in and bent over. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him stand at his full height. (He’s going to be a hunchback by the time we graduate.) He rarely talks to me, just stares and looks away when I notice. We’ve been uni roommates for 6 months, and he’s said maybe a total of fifteen words to me. And all those words have been complaints or insults. So pretty much, he’s an awkward asshole in an oversized hoodie.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Be like that. I’m taking a shower.”

I stomp into the bathroom. I hear Baz scurry away and close the door behind him, then breath a sigh of relief. I’m actually glad he’s rarely here anymore. His presence makes me so anxious. It’s like walking on eggshells around him.

I shake Baz out of my mind. No need for that brain clutter. I have to take a shower, do my homework, and then go to this masquerade thing. I can’t be late.

I’m fucking late. I got caught up watching telly in the common room and completely lost track of time. Now I’m hopping out of the tube and booking it to this silly hotel. God, this better all be worth it.

I stumble through the huge double doors. Trixie, decked out in her fancy gown and fairy mask, is at the table.

“Hi, Simon...” she says.

“Hi,” I pant out, “sorry I’m late. Is... is there still time to sign up?”

Trixie looks down at her clipboard. “Actually, you’re lucky, we’ve got one costume left. 20 quid and it’s your’s.”

I nod vigorously, slapping a bill on the table. Trixie smiles and picks up a suit bag. She motions for me to follow. We go to the men’s room. She hands me the bad.

“Put this on. Mask and all, please. Event starts in 10 minutes, alright?”

“Sure thing, Trixie.”

I’m left alone in the toilet. In a stall, I unzip the outfit. It’s a ridiculously decadent, velvety thing. It consists of a white shirt, grey waistcoat, navy jacket with silver embroidery, matching pants, cravat, white tights, and black buckled shoes. At the top is a the mask. It would cover the area around my eyes, with a little crescent moon twisting out to my forehead. The grey surface and pearly accents glow under the LED light fixture.

“This is what I signed up for,” I sigh.

Can’t take back the 20 quid, I guess.

The room is bustling with fancy dressed people. A veritable sea of fluffy white shirts and ball gowns. Those masks really do their job. I can barely recognise anyone. (Or maybe I just don’t know anyone. God I’m anti-social.) I do notice Agatha, though. Her corn blonde hair is very memorable. He’s in a lovely soft pink dress with a flowery mask. I run away before she has a chance to see me. Yes, I’m a coward, and I’m fully okay with that.

There’s a food table at the back. Not anything fancy, just crackers and cheese and shit. But I’ll eat anything when I’m stressed. I wolf down a few, chewing loudly (Penny always complains about how loud I chew.)

“Maybe you should save some for the rest of us,” a smooth, melodious voice says from in front of me.

My head snaps. The man standing there, he’s... beautiful. I know he must be from our school, but I'm pretty sure I would’ve noticed a guy this handsome. He’s wearing an outfit like mine but it's bright scarlet. While mine hangs off me, his fits him perfectly, outlining his tall, graceful figure. He’s all reds and golds, from his sparkling embroidered jacket to his skin tone. His mask is styled like a dragon. It covers the whole top half of his face, and flares outwards with black and red flaps. Four twisty horns, two big and two small, poke out from the top. His gorgeous grey eyes sparkle with his playful smile.

“Um, you want some?” I say, mouth still full.

He chuckles. It’s as sweet as honey. “No, I’m quite alright. More here for the dancing than the food.”

I swallow my snacks. “Well, I want to dance too, but I’ve recently been informed that I can’t dance.”

“I’m sure you can. Anyone can with a little practice.”

I smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence... hey I didn’t get your name?”

Mystery Man freezes for a second. He looks genuinely shocked. Is it taboo to ask for names at these things? It’s not like I have a point of reference. The shock fades back into his smirk. He leans forward until our faces are inches apart. I can feel my insides twist and turn. His voice comes out as a breathy whisper.

“Isn’t it far more exciting to stay behind the mask?”

I hope this mask hides my creeping blush. “Y-Yeah, I guess.”

He smiles devilishly, showing his shining white teeth. “Excellent.”

“Hello?” A tinny voice rings out of the mic. I look to see Trixie standing at the front, next to her equally fancy dressed (I assume) girlfriend. (Those two are joined at the hip.) “This thing on? Oh goody. Hello everyone, and welcome to the first ever Watford Masquerade Ball!”

We all clap politely.

“Now, we’re going to try a sort of old fashioned baroque dance. Usually this kind of thing is done with 8 people, and we’ve got 24 here, but we’ll make it work. Now everyone grab a partner, no matter boy or girl. Baroque dancing is ludicrously gendered, but this is the modern age dammit. One of you, go line up on the left, with your partner doing the same on the right.”

I guess everyone came with partners because they line up very fast. Most of the girls choose the right, while the guys go left. (Despite Trixie’s effort, heteronormativity wins out again.) I look at Mystery Man. He offers his hand across the table with a half smile. “May I have this dance?”

God I hope my blush isn’t too bad. All I can manage is to nod dumbly and take his hand. He leads us towards the dance floor.

“Who’s gonna go to the girl side?” I whisper.

“I can, if you like,” he replies. “I’m very secure in my masculinity.”

I chuckle, earning a smile from him. “Very well then.”

Mystery Man stands in the line opposite me, along with the girls and the few other boys. I put my hands behind my back and square my shoulders. Sure, I’m terrified, but I’m also very excited. I’m certainly having fun.

“Now," Trixie starts, "this is an amalgam of baroque movements we’ve come up with in the dance department. I’ll guide you through it. Good?” There are no dissenting voices. “Alright let’s get this shit started!” Trixie yells, in true classic masquerade ball fashion.

She hits a button on her smartphone plugged into the speakers. Upbeat violin and flute music starts playing. It’s not exactly the dance music I’m used to, but I can see how someone could move to this beat.

“We start with an acknowledgement. Left side, bow to your partners.”

I watch the guy beside me cross his legs over each other, put an arm in front and on his back, and lean forward. I quickly copy him. And nearly fall on my face, stumbling forward.

“Right side, your turn.”

The ladies curtsey gracefully. Mystery Man bows perfectly, of course. He’s amazing.

“Both sides, take three steps into the centre.”

We do as Trixie says. I’m a bit too far away, but take a baby step forward. Mystery Man seems to find this amusing. I look away. He taps my foot, making me face up. He’s smiling softly. And all my anxiety just kind of, floats away.

“Left, raise your right hand up and hold it sideways, facing your right. Stay there, don’t move. Right, touch your hand to your partners.”

Cautiously, I raise my hand. Mystery Man meets me, lightly pressing our palms together. His hands are kind of rough, but I like it. Little sparks dance across my nerve endings with every scratch of his skin.

“Now everyone, take a two little skips forward, then back. Watch me.” She sort of daintily gallops forward then back again. Like a tiny heeled pony. “Now go!”

I try my best to trot forward. My black heels click on the marble floor. I stumble a bit, but Mystery Man catches me discreetly with his other hand. The second time, I do it much better. I grin at my achievement, and so does he.

“Slowly, walk in a circle with your hands still together. Try to look at your partner and not your feet.”

I look up at him. He still has that beautiful happy expression. Yeah, I can definitely look at that. We walk together. I let him set the pace. Our eyes are totally locked. Everything around his face disappears. All I can see is this dragon boy I’m dancing with.

“Stop! That’s good. Face each other, and take both of each other’s hand at your sides.”

Our hands fumble a bit, but we get a good grip.

“This is the really fun part. While still holding hands, swing your arms and spin around. Like this.”

Trixie grabs Keris’ hands. They turn on the spot, throwing their arms up in a huge circle. It actually looks pretty fun.

“Now you all try it!”

I look to my partner with a grin. With a preparatory small sway, we toss our hands up into the air. I spin easily wearing these ridiculous shoes on this overly polished floor. I laugh like a little kid on the playground. When we stop, I wobble a bit (I get dizzy easily.) Mystery Man steadies me again. He’s grinning too.

“We’re at the end of the sequence now. Let’s top it off with two claps!” Trixie claps hand in rapid succession.

Mystery Man and I pull away, then the room rings with clapping. Trixie squees and jumps up and down. (She’s very easily excited.)

“Amazing everyone! I think you’ve got the jist of it. I say, let’s do this all again two more times. Three is a wonderful number.”

I look towards my new dragon masked friend. “Ready to do this again?” I say.

He shrugs. “Well, will I have to catch you again?” I open my mouth to make a retort, but he leans forward and my brain practically shuts down. All I can think about is how close his lips are to mine. “Because I gladly would.”

Words dissolve on my tongue. I’m usually able to squeeze out some fumbling semblance of speech, but now I can’t even manage that. I’m too enthralled, too stunned. to say anything. I feel like I’m falling. But I don’t want to stop.

We repeat the dance twice more. I don’t stumble as much as I did the first time. We move gracefully in time with the music. Every touch of our hands feels like magic. I’m enjoying myself more than I have in months. And I get what I want. I keep falling, more and more with each step.

The dance ends. We all bow one last time. (I can do it perfectly now.) Everyone applauds, turning to Trixie. She curtsies politely, obviously trying to hide her embarrassed flush. She runs up to her mic.

“Nice job, you all!” she says. “It was lovely. Now, at the request of my ballroom dance loving girlfriend, she wants us to end with her favourite, the waltz. And since I can’t say no to her,” she clicks a button on her phone, “let’s finish this evening off with a waltz!”

Soft music of a different kind plays. People start spinning and swaying together. I freeze. I was mostly clueless before, but here I’m completely fucking lost. At least Trixie was shouting instructions at me. I turn to Mystery Man. He must see the concern on my face, because his lips pinch together.

“What’s wrong?” He says kindly.

“I... I have no clue how to waltz. Like, you saw me before. My friend’s right, I’m a terrible dancer. I barely keep from tripping over my own feet. And this time no one’s yelling the moves out! I-”

“Shh.” He takes his hand in mine. Worry seeps out of me with his touch. “It’s alright. You don’t have to. But, if you like,” he puts his palm against my upper back, making me inhale sharply, “I do know the dance. And I can lead.”

This evening has been incredible so far. I don’t want it to end. So I nod slowly. “Okay. Sounds good to me.”

He smiles, and lifts our joined hands until our arms are outstretched. I bring my other hand up, but I have no idea where to put it, so it falls uselessly.

“Put it on my shoulder,” he whispers. I do, holding him tightly. “Now just follow me.”

“I will,” I say softly.

He moves back, and I step with him. He’s going slowly for me. We go in a box formation. It takes a bit, but I get the hang of it. (He was right, it just takes practice.) Soon, we’re moving in perfect sync, gliding across the floor. It’s like we were on a cloud. Nothing exists outside of the two of us, our hands, our feet, everything. I’m too damn happy to care about anything else.

The song ends. Mystery Man and I slow then stop. Our eyes are fixed together. Bit by bit, our hands lower, until they fall away. All I can hear is our deep breathing.

“Thank you,” he says, “This was-”

I grab his face and kiss him.

In hindsight, this was a poor decision. We just met, my girlfriend broke up with me only two weeks ago, and we’re wearing bloody masks, which knock together awkwardly. But I don’t care. I don’t care that we barely touch, resulting in just a shy brush of lips. It’s all I want to do in this moment. But he’s just frozen. Maybe I read the signals wrong (I do that a lot). So I pull back slightly

That’s when he grabs my collar and collides with me. Our mouths smash together. He’s unbelievably warm. I feel like every part of my body is burning with sensation. I grab his neck, running my thumbs over his skin. We angle until the masks are barely in the way. He kisses me furiously, like he's desperate. His tongue runs against mine, and I nearly fall over with the buckle in my knees. This man’s grip is the only thing keeping me up. I’m falling harder than I ever have before. I’m falling with him, and I couldn't be happier.

He pulls away slightly, our mouths still close.

“Simon,” he sighs under his ragged breath, and my heart beats manically. I kiss him again, and again, and aga-

Wait.

I pull back. He tries to chase after my mouth, but I softly press on his chest to keep him away.

“How..." I pant, "how do you know my name?”

He freezes. His eyes are filled with absolute terror. I’ve never seen anyone so scared. He shoves me away with enough force to make me stumble. With one last scared look, he dashes off.

“Hey wait!” I yell.

Mystery Man must be on the fucking track team, because he’s bloody Usain Bolt. I chase after him but I’m not in the best shape (the price for my love of scones.) He bursts through the double doors. When I get there, he’s already hailed down a cab. I watch it drive off while breathing heavily.

“Shit,” I huff. “Did I just get fucking Cinderella’d?!”

“Hey, Simon!” I turn to see Trixie come out of the doors. She’s frowning terribly. “Did your date just run off with a costume? That’s very rude. Next time you see him, tell him to bring it back.”

I stand up and cross my arms. “He wasn’t my date. Well, he was. But I just met him though. I have no idea who the fuck that is.”

And I’m not sure I ever will.

I get back to the dorms around 11. Getting out of that damn costume was surprisingly harder than getting in it. I stumble in, kicking my shoes against the wall. A groan sounds from the bed opposite mine. There’s a Baz shaped lump of multiple blankets on the bed opposite mine. Well, after such a dreamy night, I guess I need a dose of reality. And Baz is certainly that.

I strip down to my boxers and flop on my mattress. It squeaks under me. As I drift to sleep, I ghost a finger over my lips, still tingling with the memory of that man. And when I dream, it’s us dancing on a cloud.

The morning light wakes me up, which I don’t appreciate. I’m groggy, tired, and bloody annoyed. I had the most amazing evening with the most amazing man, and I don’t even know his name. Yet he knew mine! Is he a distant admirer? Some sort of stalker? Do I have class with him? Is he going to show up at my door and kiss me stupid again? Because I would really, really like that.

I groan and kick off the sheet. My bleary eyes rest on the other bed. For once, Baz isn’t gone. He’s sitting there against the headboard, balancing a textbook on his knees. But he’s obviously looking at me. Until I notice, that is.

“What is it, Baz?” I growl.

He opens his mouth like he’s ready to speak. But quickly closes it instead and buries his face in the textbook.

“Nothing, Snow,” his muffled, prickly voice says from behind the paper.

“Whatever. Prick.”

I stumble and crash my way through the dorm room. My head’s still not right. I don’t think I slept that much. I just want to go take a shower and curl up in my fluffy TARDIS robe. I reach to open my closet.

“Wait, Snow don’t!” Baz shouts. But it’s too late.

I open the door. I blink the sleep out of my eyes. This isn’t my closet. Mine is a mess of haphazardly stuffed dirty clothes. This one is filled with folded t-shirts, jeans, and grey hoodies.

Along with a crimson baroque costume and dragon masquerade mask, hanging in the back.

I’m not sure how long I stand there. Just, staring at it. My thoughts are like a car wreck of confusion. Slowly, I process what this means. Why this costume is hanging in Baz’s closet. I pivot on my feet. Baz is leaning forward on his bed, textbook tossed to the side. I recognise that look of terror. That fear in his grey eyes.

His gorgeous grey eyes.

“Baz...” I say softly. “You... you were Mystery Man?”

Baz pulls back to the wall, curling his hands into his chest. He nods rapidly. “Yeah.”

I run a hand through my hair, chewing the nails on my other. I think my brain is exploding. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” I mutter. “Why? Why did you dance with me? Why didn't you tell me it was you? Why did you bloody kiss me?!”

Baz leans his chin on his fists behind his knees. “I’m sorry,” he moans. “I-I just went there because Niall asked me to. But then you were there, in that beautiful fucking costume, and I finally got the confidence to attempt an actual conversation. I thought you would recognise me but you didn't. And I realised you’d freak out if you knew it was me, because you hate me. So I just, played along! It was so much fun, dancing with you. Then... you fucking kissed me and I was in heaven. But I-I didn’t mean for it to go that far, I’m sorry!” He moans again and pushes his face into his sleeve covered hands.

I always thought Baz was just a dick who never wanted to talk to me because I was dumber than him. Like he didn't know how to interact with a lower life form. But looking at him now, bright red and fumbling, I see that he's not some cold asshole. He's just... a boy.

I take cautious steps towards him. Slowly, I sit on the end of the bed. “For how long, though? Have you liked me?”

He doesn't speak for a bit, and when he does, it's through his hoodie. “Almost since we met.” He burrows deeper into the grey fabric. “But I've been too scared! You make me so nervous. That’s why I can’t even bloody talk to you properly! That’s not your fault though, it’s mine, I know. And last night, with you not knowing it was me, I could pretend I hadn’t already ruin everything. That you actually could like me back!” He hunches even further down, wrapping his arms around his shins and hiding in his jeans.

“That’s why you insult me all the time? And avoid me?” I say softly. “All because you have a crush on me?”

He nods rapidly. “I’m not good with, feelings and stuff. Asshole is my default. Especially when I’m scared. I’m so sorry.”

I’ve met two Baz Pitches so far. One is a quiet asshole who throws insults every time he speaks. The second is calm, confident, and beyond charming. This third one in front of me, is an incredibly anxious man who cannot process his feelings properly. But, I think all those Bazes are parts of a fundamentally good person.

I place a hand on his knee. He tenses at the touch. “You know,” I say, “there’s one thing that’s really been bugging me.” Baz inhales sharply. “Where on Earth did you learn to waltz so well?”

The tension releases from him. Baz shifts slightly out of his hunch. Just a titch, letting his eyes show. “My dad sent me to lessons when I was 17. He thought it’d help me get girls, since I’d never had a girlfriend before. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was hopelessly queer.”

I chuckle. “Well at least they sort of paid off.”

He shrugs, bringing his head up to rest on his knees. His face is soft and kind. “I guess.”

And with that smile, he looks like Mystery Man. The charming guy who made me feel safe and happy when I was scared. Slowly, I reach out towards his face. He pulls back until he his head hits the wall.

“It’s alright,” I say softly.

He relaxes. I take off his glasses, giving me clear view of his eyes. They really do sparkle. I carefully cup his cheek. He sighs and leans into my touch. I turn a bit red myself.

“Just for future reference,” I say, “if you like someone, maybe open with ‘hi’ instead of ‘don’t put your stuff on my side of the room.’”

Baz groans deeply, knocking his forehead against his legs. “I knoooow. I just, you walked in on the first day, being absolutely goddamn gorgeous. And I knew I was totally screwed, so I guess I thought, ‘better just make him hate me so I don’t get hurt.’ Stupid, I know.”

“No, it’s not stupid.” I scoot forward. “It’s a natural reaction. We all get freaked out. I mean, with my first crush, I was so scared I threw up on her shoes.”

Baz brings his head up, eyes bugging out. “Jesus, Snow! How old were you?!”

I look down. “...13.”

He snorts, then bursts out laughing. There are tears in his eyes. I turn even brighter bright red. “Shut up, it was an accident.”

“Oh I bloody well hope so!”

He slowly calms down. Then we're just sitting there, both of my hands now on his knees, staring at each other. We're so close. It feels wonderful. Baz shifts uncomfortably though. He chews at his lip nervously.

“Simon,” he starts, “that guy from last night, I'm not always like that. I'm not always that smooth, or confident. I mean, I could try to be, if you like...’

I shake my head vigorously. “No! No, don't do that. I don't want you to force yourself to be that all the time. Or hide who you are either. You should just, be yourself.”

Baz looks at me wide eyed. I'm not really sure what his emotion is. Wonder? Worry? Something in between? “But, do you actually know me?”

I shrug. “Not really, I guess. I've met different sides of you. But,” I reach down to his hoodie sleeves and grab his amazingly rough hands, bringing them up between us, “I'd like to get to know you. All of you. Not just the sides.”

He lets out the breath he'd been holding in and leans his forehead onto our joined knuckles. “I'm such an idiot. If only I'd tried this ages ago.”

“Pff! What, hiding your identity at a masquerade ball, impressing me with your dancing skills, and running away like Cinderella after snogging me senseless?!”

Baz looks up, rolling his eyes. “No, you idiot. Just talking to you like a normal person. Instead of hiding and spitting vitriol. I fucked it all up.”

I sigh and lean my cheek on our hands. “Oh don't take all the blame, love. I could've been nicer too. I'm pretty sure my first words to you were 'fuck off, you asshole prick’. Not exactly diplomatic, hm?” I raise an eyebrow, making him smile.

“No. I guess we both got off on the wrong foot.”

Suddenly, I get an idea. I pull away from him and stand up. “Get up.” Baz stares at me confused. “Don't just look at me, stand up!”.

Baz shrugs and gets to his feet. He stands at his full height. (Which is good, but it sort of sucks that he's taller than me.) I stick out my hand to him.

“Hi, I'm Simon. We’re roommates. Nice to meet you.” Baz stares at me very confused. I wiggle my fingers for emphasis. “C’mon, Baz, let's start off on the right foot now.”

He blinks a couple times, then smirks. He takes my hand. There's that sparky rough palm feeling again. I love it. “Hello Simon, I'm Baz. I think you're really cute. Want to go get coffee?”

I give him one firm shake. “I'd love to. But,” I gingerly pull my hand away, “let me put on some trousers first?”

Baz laughs heartily at that. (He has a really nice laugh.) I throw on some trackies and a Watford shirt. Baz tosses me my sandals, and we're both (mostly) properly dressed for the world. I take his hand and weave our fingers together.

“C'mon, Mystery Man, “ I say. “Let's have a proper date.”

He squeezes me lightly. “Sounds delightful, Moon Boy.”

I start walking, and he follows. “You are not allowed to call me that!”

“Oh so you’re making the rules now? This relationship is off to a rocky start already.”

I open our door, turning to him with a sarcastically bewildered look. “Relationship? Aren't you presumptuous. We're just having coffee."

Baz closes it behind us with a kick. “Well, with the huge exception of last night, I only snog people I'm dating. So I guess no more wonderful kisses for you.”

“Cruel bastard,” I say with a glare.

He glares back. “Whiny brat.”

I'd usually be offended, but there's no bite to his voice. Only playful caring. We stroll down the hall, hands clasped. I don't plan on loosening my grip, and neither does he.

I let my Mystery Man go once. Never again.

AN: And there we go! So pretty much Baz was more awkward but still an asshole. Just a different way of him not coping with his emotions lol. I really enjoyed writing this. Simon being an oblivious little shit is so much fun. Also I love fancy dancing and masks. Overall, this was great.

Request more kiss fics here

#snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #modern au #university au #masquerade #mysnowbazfic

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nongravity · 7 years

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DECAF April 2017 Post Mortem

This is going to be a different kind of festival report as I’m not only an exhibitor but I’m also the organizer! So I’ll talk about both sides of the coin here. This was my first time organizing an event like this, I had a lot of help from Sarah and Debbie and the rest of the Stray Lines group.

This is my 8th post mortem convention write up! You can find the rest on the Events page on my website or the post mortem tag here on my tumblr.

First, some event numbers! I’m leaving out the line item costs because it’s not just my money we’re talking about and I don’t want to force transparency anyone.

Budget for the event: €550-ish

Venue

Website

Poster Art

Poster/Postcard Printing

Decorations/Supplies

Sponsor and exhibitor incoming: €392

Damn Fine Print event sponsor

12 exhibitors

For a total budget shortfall of: €158

Our goal was to have 25 exhibitors, which would have safely covered our budget but we were only able to announce DECAF a month before it happened so even though we had interest from about 25 exhibitors, only 12 could pull a table together on such short notice. In retrospect, we didn’t even have room for 25 exhibitors! So from an event flow standpoint, it’s a good thing we only had 12. I’m not sure if there’s a remedy for this one, I feel like we landed on a reasonable price for exhibitors, so I wouldn’t want to double their prices, and 25 exhibitors would have made the event floor way too crowded.

Space won’t be an issue at our next venue and hopefully having 3 months lead time instead of 1 will give more exhibitors a chance to book a table.

There were also some set-up costs that won’t factor into the next event, like purchasing the website domain and hosting. If you subtract that I maybe only lost €100.

Now for my exhibitor numbers!

My total outgoing costs for the convention in order of leaving my house to the start of the show: €15

Fuel driving into Dublin - €10

Lunch - €5

What I brought with me:

Loads of We Can’t Afford This

My last 4 copies of Hats that aren’t trapped in storage

Plenty of Odd Reels and Strong

What I sold:

1 Copy of Hats for €7

2 Copies of Strong €5

2 Copies of Odd Reels €3

11 Copies of We Can’t Afford This €4

For a total incoming of: €67

€52 is a good profit for a group table as opposed to a solo table. Brings down my total loss for the event to only €100. My hopes for the July show is that we’ll have enough space at the Dublin Food Co-op to all have individual tables.

Obviously even these Dublin shows continue to cost more than they should until we actually move to Dublin. I can’t wait to eliminate the commute from these costs! It was also too much of a mad rush getting to Dublin with everything for the event and two kids so I didn’t pack a lunch of myself.

We Still Can’t Afford This

It occurred to me while I was getting ready for the show that this was kind of like an Irish debut for We Can’t Afford This. A few copies were at the Temple Bar Gallery Art Book Fair last Christmas but most people never would have seen it!

Kinda wild that it took me 6 months to show off my book about the Dublin housing crisis to a Dublin audience. But what a difference it made! I sold more than 2x as many as I did at LICAF.

This kind of reignited my whole desire for organizing DECAF, to have more opportunities throughout the year to reach a local audience.

Our Table and Us

Due to the Fumbally Stables requirement for a door-person, we had to put the Stray Lines table in the lobby away from the main exhibitor hall. It worked out though, as we became the DECAF greeters and toilet-direction-givers. I imagined it helped with sales a bit as well since it was a prominent placement. It didn’t allow us to hear any of the panels which was a bit of a bummer since it sounded like people were giving great talks from the snippets I heard. I could also barely hear the DECAF playlist I’d spent so long making.

What I brought for the group:

24 books by 6 different artists!

What the group sold:

52 books!

Not as many as LICAF but more than ELCAF and impressive because some of us were worried that the audience for DECAF would be the same Irish comics audience who’ve already read all our books. But instead we saw lots of new faces!

Winner

Is it cheating that I was the winner? It’s absolutely cheating. But I put We Can’t Afford This front and center on my music sheet stand and the music sheet stand is magic, whatever book we put up there (Sarah’s Primark at ELCAF, the Stray Lines Anthology at LICAF) always wins the day.

Dublin Eight Comic Arts Festival

It took about three months for DECAF to morph from hypothetical “a Comic Arts Fest in Dublin would be cool” to “maybe I could organize it” to “DECAF is happening!” I was inspired by Sarah running Pulse: Irish Comics Now last year and Monica Gallagher’s BMore Into Comics in Baltimore, Maryland. I’ve never even been to a BMore event yet since my family visits never sync up but the idea of a smaller, quarterly comic show really appealed to me. Monica hosts her events in bars, but since I’m a teetotaler I chose cafes which I thought would play well with the DECAF name.

Originally, it was supposed to be DCAF, I even okayed the name with The Dartmouth Comics Art Fest in Nova Scotia, but when I went to book the .ie website I found it was already taken by the Dublin Christian Arts Festival!

Since I was already talking to a few venues in Dublin 8, and I really liked the silly coffee name I narrowed my venue hunt to a place that would keep Eight in the name. What happen if we do a show outside of Dublin 8? I have no idea! Scour the dictionary for E words. It factored into my choosing DublinComicArts for the website instead of DECAF, in case the letter E ever runs dry.

Rookie Mistakes

Besides losing money (definitely didn’t plan on that) some things came up along the way that completely slipped my mind. I didn’t say Free Admission anywhere on the poster or Facebook event. And it didn’t even occur to me until people started asking as they walked in the door! I don’t think it affected turnout but clarity is a good thing!

It wasn’t until a few days before DECAF that I put the first flyer on a college campus. Get with the times old man! If Julie hadn’t asked about dropping some posters and flyers at NCAD it never would have occurred to me! Not a single DECAF flyer made it to Trinity or UCD, DCU, DIT, Griffith, Pulse. Not that I really had posters and flyers to spare, or the budget to print more but really, what a dope to forget college kids, some of which are taking illustration and sequential art classes!

At most comic events I feel bad for not socializing enough or making the rounds but it feels extra egregious when I’m the organizer! I said hi to people as they were coming in to set up, but once the show started and I got behind the Stray Lines table, that was kind of it for me! Debbie and Sarah made me go up at the end of The Comics Lab talks to say thank you and I’m glad I did.

Highlights

Over a week later and I’m still pretty shocked by the turn-out we got. Never really a dull moment in the day and it repeatedly got crowded! People who showed up at 11am asked when the talks and panels were and when we told them 2:30pm, they actually came back! That’s wild to me! The Activity table and the Comic Swap table were hopping all day! Adults were drawing up at the table and kids were drawing down on the floor! The Swap table ebbed and flowed with used books and at the end of the day the donation box had €106 to give to the Abortion Rights Campaign! All the exhibitors I’ve talked to say they want to exhibit again at the next DECAF! Really lucky.

The venue was the perfect fit for our first event. The tables and arches were beautiful and it looked nothing like a traditional comic convention. It looked like an art gallery and a friend even asked me if they do gallery events there (they don’t usually but you should contact them anyway and hire their spaces!)

The poster art by Charlot Kristensen blew me away. It was the public face for the event and we needed one since I’m a complete unknown in the Irish comics community, “some dude named Matt is putting on a show” wouldn’t have filled the room.

Sarah and Debbie agreeing to combine their quarterly Comics Lab with DECAF was a godsend. There’s no way the show would have been as successful as it was without The Comics Lab, DECAF stood on their reputation and the crowds in the afternoon came for The Comics Lab.

Damn Fine Print saved the day by sponsoring us! Our budget shortfall would have been much much worse without them, maybe even jeopardizing the prospect for future DECAFs.

Conclusion

When you consider that I often lose 100+ quid to travel to the UK to table an event, it’s looney tunes that I was able to organize an entire event here in Dublin and only lose 100 quid. Like, why not run an event! This might seriously change my comic show traveling habits.

My next goals are to make it sustainable, losing only €100 isn’t bad, but I can’t afford to make a habit of it.

Once the show is out of the red, my next goal is to make the show free for individual exhibitors. Just knowing from experience how much table costs eat into the potential profits of a show and what a relief it was last year at Pulse and Small Press Day to have no table costs. The two ways there that I can see are, sponsorships, grants or crowdfunding. Sponsorship saved the first DECAF so I’ll keep pursuing that wherever I can. I haven’t been able to successfully navigate Ireland’s extensive grant system yet but I really need to figure it out. Crowdfunding is a total question mark. Are there 200 people who think having a small press event in Dublin is worth €1 a month? I hope so!

Epilogue

I didn’t officially announce that DECAF would be quarterly until the day of the event because I didn’t want anyone skipping April in favor of July. But I put a deposit down on the July show venue the same week I booked the April venue because why build one when you can build two twice the price?

Tara O Brien did our wonderful July poster. I’ve been so lucky with the people who’ve agreed to work with me on DECAF! There were supposed to be July postcards to give away at the April event but I really didn’t need to spend more money on the April event than I already did so it was fine to release the art digitally and save our printing budget for the final July poster.

The July event is a bigger venue, with more exhibitors, it’s wheelchair accessible and will have a full spread of cafe tables and chairs. It’s also accidentally booked on my daughter’s birthday (you eeegit!) I can’t wait.

#decaf #dublin comic arts #comic arts fest #comiccon #comicconvention #comics #exhibitor #organizer #tabling #recap #postmortem #sales #stray lines #damn fine print #fumbally stables #the comics lab

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alittlebitoflizi-blog · 6 years

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Worth The Hype? RCMA No-Colour Powder

Firstly, Hiya, it's me again. I know it's been a while but I'm a part timing bitch who gets distracted easily. I'm back now, for real this time...maybe.

I've been going through one of those "what am I doing with my life" stages again. Im currently lying in bed in the dark, tissues stuffed up each nostril, sucking on a soother and feeling sorry for myself. I don't wanna be dramatic but I think I could actually be dying. I even got up, ready, had an argument with my lad about how "I'm not that ill"and "i'll be fine its only a 10 hour shift!" before I realised (half way to work might I add) that I actually am that ill and I need to stop being so stubborn and give myself some time to rest and recover. Does anyone else feel major guilt when they have to ring in sick to work?

So here we are again, I'm lying here thinking that if I worked from home I could be as ill as I wanted and still get the job done. I've always known I want to work for myself I just don't know what it'd be doing. When I lived with my parents my dad used to work from home, sometimes in his pyjamas, the crocs and socks would make an appearance more often than not. There was never a "business attire" dress code or any rules about eating at the desk or how much personal time he was allowed to take. You do you boo. THAT is the type of job I want. You wanna take 10 to make yourself a hot chocolate with squirty cream and marshmallows? You do that hun! Mother nature come to visit? You get your jimjams on, hot water bottle out, bit of Jezza on the telly and get comfy. I don't think that any work would actually get done, but it would be lovely wouldn't it.

So here's where the blog begins again. I've decided i'm gonna be the Nikkie Tutorials, Manny MUA or Sophdoesnails of Wordpress. I'm gonna be so famous and write some absolutely banging content that I don't need to go to work because people are just gonna pay be for being amazing. You read that here first, that's gonna happen. So yeah. Here it goes again.

...

I've decided I'm going to start a new feature, a "Worth The Hype?" type thing where I'll basically just review some of the new & most sought after beauty products and let you know whether they're actually worth splashing the cash on or if they're just hyped up shite that influencers get paid to push on their naive followers (i.e. me) That's right, I'm gonna spend my hard earned money so you don't have to. I deserve more credit really.

My first blog in this series will be about the RCMA No-Color Powder because if you're a basic bitch like me then I'm sure you know theres a whole Laura Mercier vs RCMA rivalry over which powder is better. Similarly, if you know me you'll know I have no self control when it comes to makeup so obviously I just had to buy both. Maybe I'll do a comparison blog when I've had the chance to try them both properly but to be honest, I'm just gonna put it out there that personally I think all powders are pretty much the same and do the same thing. All the MUA's out there are probably pulling their sleeves up going all keyboard warrior ready to teach me a thing or two after reading those words. Sorry not sorry x

The RCMA No-Color Powder is a loose setting powder, famously used on the world of Youtube for 'baking'. If you don't know what baking is (if you've been living under a rock for the past few years) it's basically throwing on a load of powder on your face, usually on the areas you want to brighten such as the under eye area and on the lower cheek to create a more defined contour. You pack the powder on and go about your day for the next 10 or so minutes and then dust the excess powder off your face. The term 'baking' is used because the heat from your face is supposed to set the foundation/concealer in place. I don't know the science behind this or whether or not it actually works but they do it on Ru Paul and that's good enough for me.

I bought the powder on Beauty Bay for £13 and then obviously I had to buy something else because it's free delivery on purchases over £15 and it just makes sense really... Well, that's my excuse anyway and I'm sticking with it. For anyone interested I bought the Zoeva 144 as well that P.Louise buzzes off and I actually LOVE it but that story is for another day. I usually always buy my beauty products from Beauty Bay because the delivery tends to be free and pretty fast but I've noticed some goodies on Cult Beauty that I've got my eye on so I might have to transfer my loyalties over to them.

Beauty Bay describes the powder as "a lightweight, finely milled powder ideal for all skin tones." They had me at all skin tones tbf. Not that I hadn't already done all my research and watched 35854 Youtube videos to confirm that this powder would work for my colour and skin type. The product comes in a decent sized plastic tub containing 85g of powder. For those of you that don't know you, I must admit you do get a fair amount of product but I would bloody hope so for 13 quid!

The lid of the product lifts and the product is poured out through a few holes, a bit like a big pepper shaker. Fat life, soz. I think this is a bit annoying because it means you have to pour the product out onto a surface in order to use it, covering yourself, your surface and everything bloody else in white - sorry, No-Colour powder.

At first I noticed the powder looks exactly like talcum powder and upon reading the ingredients I noticed the product contains talc & silica. I did feel like RCMA had fully had my pants down and ripped me off for £13, de potting some bloody Johnsons baby powder and charging 10 times the going rate. I don't know the first thing about ingredients but those used to make the RCMA powder are verrrrry similar to those used to make Johnsons baby powder. Now I know they're not the same product, otherwise Youtube would be going crazy, John Kuchian would be shook creating "EXPOSED: RCMA TALC SCANDAL" videos and throwing shade left right and centre.

Ignore the make up all over the talc bottle, I'm a massive tramp we all know.

To compare I poured out some baby powder and some of the RCMA, the two are noticeably different in texture and appearance. The RCMA is a more finely milled, soft to the touch powder (if that makes sense) that blends out to nothing when buffed into the back of my hand whereas the baby powder has a chalky texture and leaves a white hue in colour when buffed. If you have a light skin tone and were only planning to use powder as a light dusting to set all over the face then the baby powder would probably work just as well. I would imagine that the "No-Colour" feature of RCMA would be more inclusive to a wider variety of skin tones.

There are noticeable differences between baby powder and RCMA so if you're looking to save a few quid, be prepared to see a different finished result. In the words of my mother, you buy cheap you buy twice.

Even so, I use baby powder everyday to set my eyelids and even after adding RCMA and Laura Mercier to my collection, neither products would replace the trust cheaper alternative. Admittedly, I won't use baby powder to set the rest of my face, but it works well on my hooded eyes. It doesn't crease, doesn't move any product around and isn't heavy on the eyes. For £1 a pop in Asda you can't complain.

I naturally have really dark circles and I crease like crrrraaazzzy above and below my eyes so it is essential for me to pile on the makeup and set these areas, if I'm feeling extra then i'll bake as well to brighten my under eye but it's not necessary for an everyday look I don't think. If you've got a decent coverage concealer then that's all you need really.

For my 'out-out' makeup looks I would usually use a full coverage concealer like Nars or Kat Von D (because my pale ass can't use much else) but recently I've been using one of the new Makeup Revolution Shape Tape dupe concealers in shade C1 (the palest shade, obviously.) Usually I'd use a cheap pressed setting powder such as Collection or Rimmell and a dry beauty blender and use light pressure to apply a layer of powder to set the concealer in place to ensure that I don't crease throughout the night. I find using powder just makes your face feel less greasy and if someone was to hug you you don't have to worry about getting makeup on their clothes (guilty of this, sorry Tez x)

To test the RCMA powder I began my usual makeup routine, pretending I know what I'm doing and caking my face like a pro. Time to bake... here goes nothing. At first I tried my usual technique of applying the powder with a dry beauty blender underneath the eye, pressing the blender into the loose powder poured out all over the surface in front. From what I've seen from the vast array of videos i've watched about "how to bake" and "the best way to bake" you're supposed to generously apply the powder in the desired areas in a thick layer. The beauty blender technique that I usually swear by just doesn't seem to work. Because i have no patience I quickly give up and pick up a makeup brush and pack on the powder under my eye and below my contour. I was looking in the mirror the same way you look at yourself when you're sat in the hairdressers chair thinking wow have I always been this ugly.

Guuuurl I wish I looked this good pre and post baked. I followed this tutorial to learn where and how to bake my face.

I wait a while until I've had enough of waiting around because I'm inpatient AF and use a clean brush to dust off the excess powder. Although the powder is called No-Colour, there is a slight white hue on my skin in these areas. It's not that bad because i'm pale anyway but anybody with a darker complexion might find the powder washes the face out, leaving a skeletal, OTT brightened look.

Fast forward to the next day, hungover Lizi is on deaths door and wakes up to the nightmare of the Snapchat story of the night before. Do my eyes deceive me or do I see FLASHBACK???? In fact, majjjjjjor flashback. Admittedly, I am that pale that the unknowing eye probably wouldn't notice too much, but to me my under eye area was looking verrrrry bright. Some people will probably like this, giving them a more awake and contoured face structure. I wouldn't mind but the bloody tub itself specifically states "It will set your make up with a flawless finish that won't cause flashback." I CALL BULLSHIT.

The flashback is real

Whilst we're on the negatives, I must admit, the powder is verrrrry drying. My under eye area felt very tight after baking. This can be ideal as it ultimately means the concealer underneath is set and won't crease or budge which is perfect for a night out, but it also felt like if I was to blink my skin was going to crack. After a while (and a few drinks) I didn't notice how dry my skin felt and kept looking in the mirror at my new brightened look thinking slaaaay gurrrl! I have since used this technique again before a 10 hour shift in work and the dryness was a lot more noticeable. My eyes didn't feel sunk in but I could definitely feel them if that makes any sense. It probably doesn't but I know what I mean.

Dem bright under eyes tho

The product definitely does what it says on the tin. No creases & leaves a flawless base for the rest of my makeup. Would I use the RCMA No-Colour Powder on a daily basis? Probably not, no. In fact, thats' a lie. I would be partial to a light dusting across my T-zone and chin when I'm working a long shift as these problem areas can become a bit oily after a while. The powder is definitely ideal for oily areas because it is super drying but this is also the products down fall on other areas of the face where it can be too drying.

If you're umming and arring about this product I would say get yourself on Youtube, type in RCMA No-Colour powder on ... (dry/oily/combo/whatever bloody else) skin and watch people with the same skin type as you review the product. If you've got dry skin like myself that can be a little bit oily on occasion then i'm your girl, take my advice, if not who knows. For the sake of £13 you'd probably still use it even if it didn't work the best anyway. Waste not want not.

Packaging: 8/10

Easy to store but would prefer a lid that could be taken off to pour some of the product into maybe?

Product 7/10

Does what it says on the tin but is a little bit too drying for my skin.

Overall 8/10

Would recommend.

Anyway

Bye loves x

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