life is not a punchcard.

[fevertendency]

huntereyed:

     Admittedly, it can be hard at times to keep up with Mason and his ever-shifting attention span, but for the most part, Vesp is used to it by this point in their friendship. He isn’t so much as remotely bothered by his companion’s admission, name;y because he essentially knew about it before he even outright said it. There isn’t much about each other that they don’t know — or at least that’s what Vesper thinks. Why would Mason sell himself like that if it weren’t absolutely necessary? And why would he shoplift, for that matter? Vesper does it because he needs to, and he’s rather certain that it must be the same case with Mason. It would only make sense.      Letting out a laugh, he turns his head to look at the other male, who apparently can’t just say “butterflies” — which aren’t to blame for his stomach problems, by the way — and instead has to call them, rather endearingly, ‘tummy moths.’ Of course. Because Mason always has to take ‘cute’ to a whole new level, despite the fact that Vesper tends to despise everything having to do with the word — except his best friend.       ”Well, sorry you’re not getting fucked. And don’t worry about me — I’m fine.” That isn’t to say that his mother is, but he never really talks about her, and he’s not once asked Mason back to his for every reason in the world. “The mole people will have to cope.” 

Why's he laughing? The thought doesn't last a minute in the ever-winding vortex of flames and whatever else circulates his head, but he does -- in the moment -- offer a questionable look. By the time Vesper starts to talk again, his attention eats at the words as they're said and proceeds to start the spinning wheels that were surely behind his eyes as he generated a response. If only his eyes were transparent. "I'm sorry I'm not getting fucked, too. Uh-huh. I worry about you more when you say the f word." He's not talking about fuck.     "They can, but I can't. Here." Suddenly he's shifting again, reaching into his own loot bag and pulling out some sort of packaged -- pound cake? "This is proof that there is a higher power, my friend. Have you ever had Pound Cake? We'll split it. I'll feed you. It'll be totally romantic." He may or may not be shoving said poundcake at his mouth.

[fevertendency]

huntereyed:

     He may as well be speaking to a wall for all that his words affect Vesper — or at least that’s what she tries to portray. Mister Young has a way about him that she can’t quite pinpoint — a certain spark which makes it more difficult for her to just write his words off as bullshit like she did everyone else’s. Maybe it’s the sincerity in his eyes as he tells her that he wants to help, that he’s been sitting right where she is before, or maybe it’s something else entirely — something that she can’t name, and probably wouldn’t even if she could — but her feet are suddenly bering put on the floor, and she’s leaning forward slightly, folding her arms on her desk now rather than over her chest. She’s actually looking at him.       ”Of course there’s more to me than the rumors suggest.” She fixes him with a level stare, and her voice sounds a bit more urgent than she initially wanted to; stifled, but certainly loud enough to be heard without strain. “Do you think people actually know my life? I’m not a prostitute, Mr. Young, and I’m not a drug mule. Hell, I haven’t even tried drugs before, and I don’t intend to. Just because I like to take things and am not into socializing with a bunch of idiotic drones whose only issues consist of who they’re going to ask to prom, doesn’t mean I’m some kind of —of…” She’s at a loss — doesn’t even know which insult to choose from the plethora she’s heard. In the end, Vesper simply falls silent, anger flashing through her dark browns. It’s stupid. This is all stupid.       ”Can you just say what you want to say so I can leave?”

That's better. 

    Mason cants his head as her position and -- seemingly, to him, entire demeanor -- shifts and he locks his gaze with her once more, this time steadier than ever. He is very much sincere in everything he says, but that doesn't necessarily mean everything he has to say is of proper value. Hell, every instinct in his body tells him that he shouldn't be drawing anywhere near this line of topic with a student of all people, but there's no stopping it now. He's gotten her attention, and damn if any whiny irritant of a conscience is going to deter him from the mission. "Why would I think anyone knew anything about you, Vesper? I apologize if I implied as much ----" There's a distinct pause, and he dips his head. He tries to hide the grin that forms not because of her, but rather a stray thought that had been lured out based on something she'd said. "You're a few steps ahead of me at your age, then." He doesn't elaborate, but this implication is as clear as day. "But you're right, it doesn't. It doesn't mean that at all. That's not to say that people won't think it, but I don't. You seem good."      He raises an eyebrow and nods once, shoulders shrugging in acknowledgement -- why not? Might as well get to the point. He stands up somewhat abruptly and goes to the cabinet, unlocking it and opening both doors before standing to the side; it was almost like he was show casing what was inside. Coffee mugs. Coffee mugs stacked upon each other to the very top of the cabinet. "I don't know if you've heard, but the coffee mug bandit hasn't struck in quite a while." He's still not to the point, and he silently acknowledges that, but he continues to silently deem Vesper one silly goose if she thought he of all people would get to said "point" at any reasonable duration of time anyways. He was the king of rambling through an entire class, after-all. 

[teatrical]

i have a friend whos gay and one day we asked him what was like to have “the conversation” with his parents, like telling them he was gay and he just said he never told them, and then he said “my brother who’s straight never went to my parents to told them ‘hey i’m straight’ so why should i have to do it?” and he arrived home with his boyfriend and no one made a big deal out of it and i think that’s the way it should be everywhere

[fevertendency]

ohohilikeit replied to your post:binga dadda ding  who wants a thing i’m gonna...

binga dadda ding omf

so is that a yes

[fevertendency]

binga dadda ding 

who wants a thing

i'm gonna finish up masons bio..s see i kind of play two versions of him, i've decided (basically younger vs what i originally deemed as "now")

so i'll let ya'll know when thats done but until then all you need to know is that he's the cutest psycho you'll ever meet 

[fevertendency]

huntereyed:

     As if Vesper actually cares about what they say about her, or how often it’s said. She doesn’t precisely look angry — more bored, or disinterested, and her arms tighten a bit over her middle, an inadvertently defensive position that she would drop out of immediately if she had any idea how it looked. It’s stupid of him to think that for even a second he’s anything special to her, that his class is the one that she chooses specifically to not give a fuck about, and she’d just as soon tell him that if he’d given her the opportunity while it was still at the forefront of her mind. Fortunately for him, she slides on past in in favor of something else — perhaps in favor of trying to get out of whatever the hell this is going to be.      ”Look, Young — I get what you’re trying to do, but what I don’t get is why you’re doing it. You have no idea what I’m like, nor why I’m like it, and you couldn’t even begin to understand even if I tried to explain it to you. You don’t think I’ve been through this same song and dance before? The school councilor and I go way back.” She knows everything she’s saying will probably be completely overlooked, but as her last line of defense that doesn’t cross any specifically taboo boundaries, she’s got to at least give it a shot, right? If he’s really that concerned, then he’ll drop it right now and leave it the hell alone — allow her to walk out of here and never look back again. She can make it on her own, without his help, without her mother — without anybody. She just has to prove it. 

     Did she seriously just call him that? Don't get him wrong, he's totally used to being ridiculed -- be it from a co worker for having different means of communicating a lesson or be it from a student in the male category for having a shrilly voice, but there's something about the dropping of mister that really grinds his gears. "Mister," he corrects instantaneously, "Mister Young. I may be no more than five years older than you, but I'm still your teacher. Also, I'm the boss of you." He sits up then, and there's something so comical about the way he looks at her right here; as if he's just trying to push her buttons. It's unclear, really. Even to him. He stifles a laugh -- what at? Who knows.      Adjusting his glasses, he sits back in the chair and twists it about, shoulders shrugging. "Yeah? Well, I'm not a counselor. Fact of the matter is, you're disrupting class and that doesn't just affect you. I don't really know why I'm doing it either, honestly. You kind of piss me off. Every sign available says you're a lost cause, but if my teacher had thought the same thing about me when I was sitting where you are, I wouldn't be here. Probably at all. More than that, there seems like there's a lot more to you than what the rumors suggest and ---- Jumping to the point here; I want to help. But I can't do that if you don't let me in."

[fevertendency]

huntereyed:

     Boundaries aren’t really a thing that either of them have the tendency to address, and yet Vesper always, always waits for his invitation. He could probably be curled up in the fetal position freezing to death, and he would still wait for Mason to ask him before he went over to him. It’s just…a thing with him. Fear of rejection, maybe? Or fear of something else. Who the fuck knows. Either way, he swallowing his bite, and then crumpling the bag up in one hand before surging forward onto his knees, crawling through the little tree house that he’s slept in more times than he cares to contemplate, and plopping into the ripped bean bag next to his best friend. It’s barely big enough for one of them, let alone the pair, but they make it work — they always do, even if it means Vesp halfway on top of him, and Mason’s elbow in his ribs. It’s friendship bruises.      ”What were you going to do?” He raises his eyebrows at him, opening the chips once more, and shifts a bit so that they’re more aligned than they had been previously. It’s certainly warmer, if nothing else, and he fills the lapse between his question and Mason’s eventual answer with sating the angry growls of his own stomach. He hasn’t eaten since last night. 

   Mason is an incredibly touchy person -- there's no question about that; never has been. His arm wraps around the shoulders of the other boy and he brings him impossibly close, head leaning back and eyes focusing in and out at the make-shift roof. No mansion in the world could compare to what he's got right here. "What was I going to do?" It's a useless repetition, but he's known for that. Truth be told he doesn't really want to tell him, but not because he doesn't want him to know. He's relatively sure that he does know what he gets up to on certain nights; shit, it's not much of a mystery. Prostitution isn't something you could really hide from your best friend for a number of reasons -- especially if you slept next to them in a dinky little tree house nearly every night; but, that doesn't mean they'd talked about it.       "Was gonna get paid to be fucked. But, his wife came home early from a business trip. I think that's what that code meant, anyways. Candyland is no fun when she's here. Texting is weird. -- Have you eaten? I'm pretty sure they can hear the tummy moths you've got going on there from China. Like, underneath China with the mole people, even."      

[limondoritos-deactivated2021030]

when somebody jokes about your insecurities

[blelbinems-deactivated20190925]

when someone jokes about your friends’ insecurities

[freddieardley]

[fevertendency]

huntereyed:

     It’s cold out today — probably a bit too cold for the two boys to currently be sat in their tree house, but really, what does it matter? Vesp’s been in worse situations before, and he doesn’t know about Mason, but he’s come to assume that he has as well. Cheeks flushed and expression slightly amused in that way that it only gets when he spends a lot of time around his best friend, Vesper digs through his bag in search of the goods they’d only just procured from that corner store a couple of blocks over. That’s what they do together — one of them distracts, and the other lifts. They’ve got a great partnership going on, and honestly? Vesper no longer knows where he’d be without him. Starving, for sure.      Tearing open a bag of chips, he digs into them as he kicks back against the side of the little shack, focusing dark eyes on the male across from him, and resisting the urge to shiver. At least they can’t feel the wind — it’s insulated that much.       ”Got any plans for tonight?” 

   Mason has a wild look about him today; then again, it was more unlikely for him to be anything but -- especially when he was with Vesp of all people. He's his best friend, what else could be expected? There's no one I'd rather be with than you was brought to a whole new level when it came to them. They were partners and crime and absolutely everything in between. He offers his friend the laziest of grins and stretches his upper limbs above his head, eyes squeezing shut for just a millisecond before reopening, wide and bright as ever. He's sat upon a torn up beanbag chair with holes bigger than his knees and little beads that fall out whenever he so much as moves, and boy, he loves it. If only it had one of those car-seat heaters; like the one in his dad's car. Warms the butt right up.     Amongst a rapid stream of almost entirely useless thought he does take in what Vesper asks, despite the painfully long delay. You can easily tell when he's not listening and when he suddenly begins to hear you, thanks to awareness sparking in otherwise absent eyes. "I 'unno. Nothin' special. I mean, I did, but bitch cancelled on me, so, whatever ---- C'mere! It's cold. Cold, cold, cold." He scoots over on the chair and puts his arm up next to him, using the other to pat the spot next to him. Always a charmer. Body heat is a thing, right? "What about you, V?"

[acgust-blog1]

     ”Yeah, because holding me after class has helped so much before, right?” Vesper’s being a little bitch, and she knows it — feet propped up on the desk in front of her, arms folded over her chest, and gaze steady on Mr. Young like she means to burn holes into him with the force her eyes alone. She’s sick of this shit — sick of every self-empowered teacher trying to meddled in her shit and get to the “root of her behavioral problems.” She can’t even count the amount of times she’s been to the student councilor, and suspensions have been made into a complete and total joke. If only they could catch her actually doing what she’s accused of — then maybe they would have grounds for expulsion. Not that Vesper would care, considering she’s planning to drop out any day now anyway. There’s just no fucking point to any of it anymore, as far as she’s concerned.       So, instead of taking her English teacher seriously when he decided to detain her after all of the other kids had gone, she’s mouthing him off, and despite the fact that he’s just on the far side of hot damn, she doesn’t feel the least bit bad for it. After all, it’s not as if he could ever understand, now is it? No one can. 

[fevertendency]

    Never had he raised his voice at a student. Granted, this is only his second year of teaching and there would probably be many more instances to come, but the problem in itself was a new one and he wanted to fix it. Mason very well understood that what he was attempting, or who he was attempting it with, would likely be a lost cause  -- but thinking from that very same standpoint, he was just as much of a lost cause when he was her age, and look at him now!  ... Still an absolute nutcase no doubt, but at least he was a functioning member of society. That may not have happened if he hadn't pulled himself out of the same behaviors little miss Vesper was digging herself deep into and for him, it was a teacher who cared that changed it all. One talk. That was all it took. Perhaps it was crazy to think he could mimic it, but, hey.      His eye twitches only marginally as the words hit his ears and he closes the door, stalking over to his desk and sitting in the leather-bound chair in a respectfully calm manner -- considering how heated he had gotten in class, anyways.  He copies her position to a t, kicking his own feet up, crossing his arms over his chest and raising both eyebrows at her. It's kind of endearing, how angry she looks at him. Adorable, even. "Such a big 'tude for such a little girl," he muses, head canted and expression solid. Mason looks at her directly in the eyes, and despite wanting to run in the other direction, he holds the gaze as if she were some kind of wild animal he was trying to tame.      Not too far off of a comparison, really. "Honestly, Vesper. I just want to understand. Have I, as a teacher, wronged you in some way? Is there some reason that you choose to act out in my class? Or is it really just across the board? In which case, I ask, why? They talk about you in the lounge, kid. That's not a good sign. You're almost brought up as much as the coffee-mug-bandit is. What's going on?"

[tomlindrugs]

movin dat curvy bod so gracefully

[fevertendency]

tinyevil:

Basil: First, you are leap up a wall with dry salted fish in your mouth, and fight for territory with other wild cats.

Basil: And you must wear cat ears while doing it.

 Mason: Well, fuck me.

[wordsthat-speak]

It’s hard to resist a bad boy who’s a good man.

(via thealwaysforgotten)

[fevertendency]

tinyevil:

Basil: I’ll be missing you, too, Mr. Young. It’s a pleasure to work with you, I hope you know! Being your assistant has been quite the experience insofar. Basil: Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee that this’ll serve as an adequate reminder for me to keep quiet about the mugs. Sometimes there’s just that slip of the tongue, no? Basil: I may need you to do something else.

Mason: ... Excuse me? Mason: W h a t do you want?

[fevertendency]

Mason: Alright, Brat, listen up. I've had right quite well enough of you, and I can't wait until they send your little ass elsewhere after the semester ends.  Mason: So, take this picture of me in the underwear and leave me alone. Mason: [[attached picture]] Mason: You won't tell them about the mugs, right?

[fevertendency]

undercopperwires:

     He nearly laughs at how long it takes for Mason (if that is his real name) to bump fists with him, but settles for a cheeky grin and a chuckle. “Charlie St. Cloud.” His face is completely straight as he says it, despite the fact that it was a bold faced lie. “Maybe you’ll give me a discount if we’re friends. We can go on Undie Adventures.”

    Maybe you'll give me a discount if we're friends. He thinks about it for a second, and honestly, he doesn't know what to say. He's never told a friend of his about his little -- occupation. "I wouldn't count on it, bud, as enchanting as that may sound."